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On the operating table, a pool of nitrocellulose, various chemical drugs. A quail, just anesthetized, lay on the table, its grey-brown feathers masking eyes that had lost their luster. A worker wearing gloves was parting the feathers on the bird's back, preparing to make an incision.
"Our masters here are very skilled. After a good anesthesia, their technique is top-notch, guaranteeing not a single feather will be lost," Skinny Fox, looking at Aisha who seemed only seventeen or eighteen years old, couldn't help but admire her lack of aversion to the process, even though he felt uncertain about her.
