New teeth, new hair, new body, hew hands pushing against the metal, new strength in his veins, pulsing twice over with a proper bi-cardiovascular construction, and he feels SO alive.
All around a familiar hum, warmth, a completion that was missed, and he didn’t even know he was missing it until he felt it again. She knows him, knows what, who he is, and even as she protests under his fingers, it feels good.
The sparks fly; she’s fighting him, fighting the one who is not her pilot, but her pilot was never really her pilot to begin with, so what does it matter?
“End of the universe!” he crows to the ceiling, relishing the echo as his new voice — so flexible, so many ranges to explore — broadcasts over the intercom. “Have fun!”
And, just because he’s giddy — he feels so ALIVE — he grins in a manner not at all a characteristic of old, but a feeling most definitely new, and waves to the camera that doesn’t exist, inflicting every ounce of glee into two words. “Bye-bye!”
Revenge is the sweetest fruit of all.