One did not often get a chance to touch on corpses still living. Heavens knew, enough of them still walked here, and when one got down to it, the process wasn't all that thrilling. But there were differences here and there in the composition, minute variances in the psyche that allowed for anomalies to occur. If you tore one apart to set them free, weren't you closer to salvation than damnation? Ah, but he was not a man of god--only a proper scientist allowed to act. If asked, the young man probably lacked faith as well. It was all well and fine, though; there was nothing at all lacking in what could be felt with one's one senses, proven with one's own will.
A random choice or planned chance, however it was this one who found himself as the subject of walking deaths, and the board was clear in this case. No quaint abilities or deceiving powers--those had a hand in many "reincarnations," and the fine doctor would have none of it. No, a perfectly normal human was what was needed for this, and what better than a tottering genius fallen by his own careless living? It was too pleasing to test and try, and the man hummed happily to himself as he set the prop table nearly, his back to the dear patient. The clatter and clang of instrument gave a nice background to his hum, he thought. There was something that made him feel truly alive with his work.
Such a nice contrast, in the end.