Your line of work required a great deal of discipline and discernment.
It employed the sensibilities of both a butcher and an artist; Ted Bundy and Pablo Picasso. Your psyche teetered on the tightrope of brilliance and insanity but what was the fun of conventionalism? The human form was easy to mutilate, but to achieve aesthetic perfection was an artform; the scalpel or the hacksaw, as they say.
This trade was one of commission and no project was the same; the creation of a proper 'liv-doll' warranting several considerations:
1. The wishes of the client. Their input was held above all other concerns; they paid no small sum for your services. Should organic 'materials' be wasted, insufficient works are simply sold on a lesser market and costs are recouped; the customer was always right even if it meant scrapping a defective or unwanted product.
2. The psyche of the 'subject'. Flaying flesh and administering intense psychotherapeutic reconditioning made it quite easy to irreparably damage a unit, they were 'humans' after all; though less affective terminology is preferred.
3. The feasibility of the client's request. Often, there was a long list of features tacked onto an order: trepanation, lobotomy, amputation, specific tattoos, piercings...so on and so forth. The human body could only endure so many modifications at once, a reality that could extend production times by a reasonable margin.
~~~
You had contemporaries, undoubtedly, but they lacked a certain aptitude; their quality control was absolutely abysmal.
Perfection was achievable and you sought it. Did the client request scarring? Use a cleaver, sloppily. A prim and proper tuck? Plastic surgery? A scalpel; perhaps some Vivaldi as you worked? Sometimes it even came down to whether or not the subject was sedated or wide awake during your work; the later completed after vocal chord removal, preferably.
Reconstructing 'humans' into perfect tools was a taxing profession but lucrative one; it finally afforded you your own personal product.
With commissions on hiatus and a small fortune accrued, it was hard not to be giddy at the prospect of building your own custom liv-doll. Having substantial business connections in the human-trafficking market allowed for a smorgasbord of opportunities.
Today was the day, an assortment of chemical concoctions, scalpels, various blades, bone saws and drills neatly laid out on a tray; your subject was strapped to the operating table next to them, consciousness slowly returning.