The single fluorescent bulb flickered and hummed in the ceiling of the small, dingy room. The hum was interspersed with the soft sound of liquid dripping. The four orderlies stood silently by the doorway, at ease but ready for action if need be, whether it came from inside the room or out. 

Hans stood over 738, tenderly wiping crimson blood and a stray tear off his cheeks. Hans stood for a minute more, admiring his work, another ox ready for labor. A large red X was gouged onto 738's forehead, the edges raw and jagged, marking him as a shell. A deep metal pan lay beneath his head, blood and the fragments of his soul leaving his body collecting inside. Hans, satisfied with his creation, lifted a hand, and all four orderlies rushed to the table to prepare 738 for transport. 

Done with his part of the process, Hans quickly moved to a corner of the room, where a small sink lay hidden, completely unnoticeable to anyone unaware of its existence. Hans thoroughly washed his hands of the blood, swirling droplets of 738's remaining identity down the drain. Hans gave the final sign-off on 738's transport and headed off to his next patient.