He reached for a glass of water, but his hand wouldn't obey. The fingers had fused, elongated into a jagged cluster of copper wiring and rusted rebar. He watched, paralyzed by a mixture of horror and a burgeoning, electric ecstasy, as a television cable snaked out from his wrist and plugged itself into the wall socket. The surge was divine.
A scream tore from his throat, but it came out as a burst of static. His jaw unhinged, held together by gleaming bicycle chains. His skin cracked open, revealing a chassis of scrap metal and pressurized tubes. He felt the "Great Rust" itching at the back of his brain—the primal urge to consume, to weld, to integrate. Tetsuo: The Iron Man
He stumbled toward the window. Outside, the world was soft, fleshy, and weak. It needed to be reinforced. It needed to be hard. He reached for a glass of water, but his hand wouldn't obey