The fiftyish man's destroyed face had been replaced with a pallid, featureless mask of synthflesh stretched across metal and reconstructed bone. His artificial eyes seemed to burn, macabre yellow-on-crimson orbs that provided him with data networking in addition to sight.

Bottleneck, pg. 287

His arms and legs were armor-plated, rather than synthflesh prosthetics; everyone knew because he made little effort to hide them. His regal burgundy tunic and knee-length black kilt were his only nods to normal attire[.]

A New Dawn, ch. 1, pg. 324