The Sons of Salem

At one time, Amaryllis's arms were normal, unscarred, and white as a dove. She would wrestle with her brothers, surrounded by soft and fluffy couches, plug protected outlets, and edge protected tables. They were safe, mostly, until one gave another a shallow scratch with their fingernail. From even a single scrape, the children would ruin rugs and throw pillows as the Fleischer Family Curse took its toll, forcing them to make a sizable plasma donation to the house. They all knew the risks, of course, they had the band-aids and medical bandages on hand to stop the bleeding. They continued their roughhousing beyond earshot of their parents...

Amaryllis's mother, Dahlia, knew the truth of their family's curse. She understood that time was running short as Sorin had already passed away years before. She and her husband studied the occult, making a fortune by reading futures, holding seances, and investigating hauntings. The greatest ritual they ever developed was one to break their curse. She knew Amaryllis, the first-born, would need to be saved first, as soon as possible, before she followed Death to meet her husband.

Something was not right, Amaryllis had passed out early in the bloodletting phase of the ritual. She struggled against her bindings and exasperated the new cuts on her wrists. The long gashes and otherworldly lettering on her arms wept until they went blue. Dahlia completed the runes and smeared a circle in blood around her daughter before realizing that the ritual was faulty. She then realized that her baby girl was on Death's door. She rushed Amaryllis to the hospital in heavy bandages, but her body would refuse to close her wounds. Dahlia would die a year later, consumed by the knowledge that the ritual failed.

She was wrong.

A cybernetic prosthesis that replaces the index finger, a biomechanical relic engineered from damascened orichalcum layered over carbon-shielded tungsten, embedded with a rotating matrix of self-replicating circuits and microscopic gears modelled after Heronian pneumatics allowing blood to flow. Its joint casings resemble miniature Roman arches, each housing magnetic servos that emit a faint, harmonic vibration calibrated to stellar drift, and a obsidian fingernail. Glyphs resembling a fusion of Arabic script, lauburu spirals, and machine-readable code scroll across its surface in response to proximity with encrypted or anomalous data.

Mountain dwarves are a hardy people, they won't go down so easily.

Film noir as a genre relies on grittiness, a hardboiled attitude and a willingness to overcome whatever adversity you're faced with. In response to a few failings from it's host, Frank's "benefactor" has begun to eat away at his mind, lessening the weight of various physical/mental burdens upon him.

He whispers a prayer as he marches on.

The mobster's been through tougher scrapes than this. A few cuts and bruises won't stop them.