"Right," Harvey says, touching his own cheek briefly for his own reminder. The skin, though soft, is still a bit rough. In the end it's just a patch over irreparable damage, the ghosts of his scars still remembered in his fingertips. Visually it's perfect; physically, it's only almost perfect.

"Right, sorry. I know you don't. Even if I could show you, you wouldn't be able to see it." His hands clasp together loosely on the table. "They smoothed down the scarring to transplant unmarred flesh over it. Hair transplants, nerve transplants, a new glass eye... I'm still getting used to how the muscles move now, but I don't think it's noticeable."