THE REDUCTION OF SKINS Part 2 of 2

 

T H E   R E D U C T I O N   O F   S K I N S

Part II of II

 

A HARROWING TALE BY strzeka

Contains expletives. For adults only.

 

 

P R O L O G U E

 

Amputee skinheads Ryan Anderson, DBE & DAK, and Paul Wright, DAK, were about to move from London to Leeds. A new friend, Craig Selton, DBK & DBE, would join them shortly.

 

 F R I D A Y

 

Ryan and Paul spent the rest of the week packing, filling several bin bags with clothes and a few pieces of cutlery and crockery. Sundry items from the bookshelf joined them and Paul found the tools needed to dismantle the giant tv from its frame. On Thursday evening, the trio of flatmates sat on the balcony and had an impromptu farewell party. Morag ordered some finger food from a Chinese restaurant and they raised several toasts to their futures. Both lads were in wheelchairs without their prosthetic legs, both wearing city camo cargo shorts and T-shirts. They watched the lights of the city below them, sorry that they had to give up such a fascinating vista. Driven away by the vagaries of wind and tides. But they were grateful to have the opportunity to escape.

 

They awoke next morning with medium-sized hangovers and set about curing them with a couple of aspirin washed down with the day’s first lager. The guys showered together and Paul shaved Ryan’s head.

            – Are you going to keep the hawk with your beard? It would look a bit funny, I reckon. I think you should go hundred percent chrome dome like me.

            – Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Alright, next time you can shave it off. Can you put my arms on? I can’t be arsed this morning.

            – Yeah, sit tight. You’re not wearing legs, are you?

            – No, not yet anyway. I might put stubbies on a bit later.

            – I’m gonna wear my short peg and crutch it. I might take the wheelchair downstairs and stash it in the car before the blokes get here.

Ryan’s phone chimed to indicate the arrival of a text message.

            – Talk of the devil. This says they’re on their way now. Just leaving their depot.

            – Good show. Right. What do you want for breakfast?

            – Scrambled egg on toast with Tommy K. Are you making it?

            – Well, I suppose so. I’m not gonna wake Morag up just so she can cook your fucking breakfast, am I? Come on, let’s go in the kitchen. I’ll let you break the eggs.

 

Paul and Ryan wheeled downstairs and stashed their wheelchairs in the Unums. Ryan had donned his stubbies on four inch pylons, Paul had his short peg and crutches. Morag used the time to check that the lads had remembered to pack sheets and pillowslips, towels and their toiletries. Their boots had been packed. There was a large cardboard box in their bedroom containing a wide selection of artificial legs, feet, arms and sundry related components. A plastic bag containing stump socks rested on top. Morag’s own move to Harrow was imminent. She was waiting for a sale to complete before the chain of moves could commence. Ryan had generously transferred the equivalent of three month’s wages into her account which she had not yet noticed. It would be useful for setting up a new home.

 

The lads stumped back in and sat on the sofa.

            – Do ye want coffee? There’s some Dundee cake too needs eating. Ye’d better keep yer strength up. Ye’ve a lang ride afore ye.

            – Go on, then. Come and sit in here, Morag.

It was the last time they enjoyed elevenses together in South Quay. There was no sadness. They could keep in touch virtually and Ryan had invited Morag to visit as soon as she had a few days off. Saying goodbyes was tedious so they avoided the whole matter. Morag ran the mugs under the tap, wiped them dry and packed them. The insane melody signifying a visitor at the door sounded. Morag opened it and greeted two burly guys in DM boots, cut-off jeans and matching red hoodies. They had impressive beards and moustaches and their scalps shone.

            – Hi! Artic Removals. Is this the Anderson place?

            – It is indeed. Come in. Ah, ye know about the lads bein’ disabled, don’t ye? Just so ye know.

            – Yes ma’am.

            – Come in and the lads’ll explain what they’re wanting.

They glanced around the flat, impressed with its size and surprised by the lack of stuff. Ryan slid onto his stubbies and walked towards the men as Paul struggled to stand on his peg.

            – Hi! Sorry, I can’t shake hands. It’s good to see you. Did you have a good trip down?

            – It was fine, thanks. Not much traffic in this direction this time of morning. Well, my name is Jack Braithewaite and this is my mate Jack O’Brien. I’m Jack, he’s Jacko. Easy to remember. Can you show us what we need to do and we’ll get started. Our van is next to your freight lift so I hope that’ll be OK for a couple of hours.

            – Sure it is. It will have to be. Right, follow me and I’ll show you what needs taking.

Ryan waddled on his short stubbies to the bedroom. He pointed to the mattresses and bedframes.

            – All this is going. It’s up to you how you pack the van. Careful with this box. It’s full of our spare parts.

            – Don’t worry. We’ll be careful with everything.

            – Then there’s only the lounge and balcony. The sofa will be the heaviest piece. The cushions come off but otherwise it’s one big bastard. They got it in, though, so I suppose it’ll go out again. Then there’s the steel furniture on the balcony. Plus all those bin bags. And that’s it. Oh, not forgetting the cars, of course.

            – And that’s all, is it? OK, let me scan the goods and we can get started.

Jacko took photos of the items in the lounge, the balcony furniture, the contents of the bedroom and the bin bags. His app calculated the most efficient way to pack the goods. Jacko refined the results by indicating which articles were especially fragile. The sofa should not be scratched, the prostheses should not be crushed and the tv needed some support. A new configuration appeared and Jacko showed his mate. Ryan watched them, intensely envious of their beards. Paul sat on a kitchen stool, looking at a map of the route north. He knew next to nothing about the geography around Leeds. He was surprised to see that Leeds and Manchester were practically next to each other. And York was the same distance in the other direction. Amazing! Jack and Jacko carried the contents of their bedroom into the hallway and disappeared for ten minutes.

 

They returned for the enormous sofa. They lifted it into the corridor and fetched the cushions. Next to go was the shelving unit, followed by the balcony furniture. They returned for Paul’s enormous screen and spent twenty minutes securing it. Finally, they dismantled its frame and took the bin bags down.

            – Well, I think we’re ready. There’s plenty of space in the back for your Unums – the blue ones are yours, aren’t they? Yeah, thought so. Have a good look around for anything we might have missed.

Ryan, Paul and Morag toured the flat, looked into the bathroom and kitchen cupboards, checked the closets were empty and declared themselves ready.

            – Great. All ready to go. Goodbye, ma’am. Nice to meet you. Guys, let’s go. You need to shift your cars.

Paul and Ryan looked back at their home for the past two years or so and followed the two Jacks down to the basement. Jack moved the van forward a little to let them move their Unums, one at a time, up into the removal van. Ryan was astonished to see how little space their possessions had needed. Jack lowered the loading platform with Paul balancing on his peg and invited the guys into the cab. There were comfortable seats for three passengers behind the driver but it was necessary to climb up into them.

            – We could lower the platform and you could come in through the back, if you like. Or we could just lift you up, if you’re OK with that.

            – Just lift us up, mate. We don’t weigh much.

It was true. Without their limbs, it was light work to lift the skinheads into the cabin. Paul’s peg leg fit into the space behind Jack and Ryan’s stubby legs would fit anywhere. They strapped themselves in and Jack manoeuvred the van up to the exit and past the flood gates. Jack followed the instructions from his gps until he hit the ring road and then turned northwards. Ryan looked at Paul and grinned. They were going home.

 

Halfway they stopped for a pee break near Leicester. Jacko lifted the guys down and they all enjoyed hamburgers and chips and a visit to the rest rooms. Jack asked if any help might be needed. Ryan and Paul were not sure about relying on a comparative stranger to lift them up high enough to pee into a urinal but decided to risk it after Jack said that his best mate was a DAK from Afghanistan and he had lifted him up for a piss a hundred times. Jack also helped open Ryan’s flies, although Ryan insisted he could piss with his hooks just fine. Going commando, it was easy enough.

 

It was evening when the van approached Leeds. They could see the dark outline of the Apennines to their left and columns of vertical light ahead of them. A red aviation warning light flashed on top. The columns gradually widened into sculptural forms and revealed themselves as impossibly tall tower blocks. The tallest had a ring of led lights chasing itself around its topmost rim.

 

The van exited the Leeds ring road and swung around. Two tunnels appeared ahead, one signposted Attenborough, the other Backshall – Wallace. Jack swung left and put his foot down as the road rose under them. The tunnel was well lit and the road curved anticlockwise at a constant rate. Several minutes later, flashing lights indicated the end of the road and the entrance to a parking hall. The van circled the area and stopped beside a lift signposted with the words freight all floors.

 

            – This looks like the place. I suggest we go upstairs to see what’s what before we start unpacking. Just to get an idea of the best order to take things. If you like, we could unload the cars right now and you won’t need to climb about.

            – Thanks Jacko. Let’s get the cars off first. We have a parking spot somewhere but I don’t know where it is exactly.

Ryan waited for Paul to arrange his peg leg and crutches so he could rise and then slid off the seat to follow on his stubbies. Jacko jumped out and circled the van and opened the rear platform.

            – One at a time, guys. Keep to the centre of the platform. Ryan, you come first.

Ryan inched the Unum forward and stopped in the required spot. Jacko lowered the car to floor level and Ryan drove off carefully. While Jacko tended to Paul, Ryan sought the parking space for Level Seventy-Two. He spotted it against the far wall. The parking areas were colour coded in groups of ten floors. The smallest area, indicated with a green light, was for floors seventy to seventy-two and the spaces could hold two limousines each. Ryan’s and Paul’s Unums would fit ten times over. Ryan parked up and got out, pulling his wheelchair with him. He settled himself into it and wheeled back to the removal van.

            – Go and park next to mine, mate. I’m gonna suggest doing a swap with someone who has a space a bit closer to the lifts.

Paul drove across and returned shortly in his wheelchair.

            – Right. Let’s go upstairs to see what we’re up against.

 

They entered the freight lift and studied a keypad. Ryan flashed his key card, pressed close and the door slid shut. The cabin rose for nearly a minute until it slowed and stopped. The doors opened directly into their living area. They wheeled out, found a light switch and hidden leds illuminated the walls. Jack and Jacko looked around at the huge living space. The walls curved gently to meet at a point about twenty metres away like the prow of a ship. A semicircular balcony extended the living space by another ten or twelve square metres. Ryan rolled into the middle of the space and looked around. The kitchen area was obvious but the bedrooms were well hidden. They were accessed from a corridor beside the curving rear wall. The passenger lift access was first, then the utility room and bathroom, a second toilet and two bedrooms with spacious walk-in closets. The bedrooms had no windows but their glass walls could be made transparent to let light in from the curving exterior window wall.

 

            – There’s enough room up here that it doesn’t matter what order we bring stuff in. We’ll get started. I think the balcony furniture will be off first. Can you open the door and we’ll put it out there?

Ryan was not sure how to open the balcony door. He still had the key card in his hook and waddled across to inspect the wide balcony door. There was a reader next to a conventional lock. Ryan flashed his card but the door remained closed. There were two keys stuck onto the window with tape. They were obviously intended for the balcony door. Ryan called Paul over and showed him. Paul pried the keys off the glass and tried one in the lock. He turned it and felt the lock open. Ryan tried swiping again and the door rolled smoothly into a recess in the wall. Cool air from the enclosed balcony entered the room. The glass panes could also be opened somehow. They would have to inspect the system in the daylight. Paul found a dimmable light switch and the balcony lit with the same hidden leds as inside.

            – We’ll have a smoke in a minute. I’m gagging. Don’t suppose we’ve got any beer, have we?

            – We might have. I can’t remember. I know I packed the booze in with the kitchen stuff so we can at least have a drink.

Behind them Jack and Jacko carried their beds to the bedrooms.

            – Put them in the first bedroom, will ya? Sort of in the middle of the room with the headboard against the wall.

            – Will do. We were going to put them in different rooms.

            – Oh, OK. No, they go together.

            – No problem.

            – Tell him to bring the humidor up next trip.

            – Yeah.

Paul wheeled across to the corridor and checked he bedroom. It was fine.

            – Listen, there’s a grey steel cabinet with a glass front about so big. Can you bring it up next time, please?

            – Yeah, I remember. OK, we’ll  do that.

 

Ryan wheeled over to see the kitchen area. It was separated from the living space by an island which featured a small sink and a boiling water dispenser. A couple of stools and it would be a comfortable place for meals. It was not their style to have a traditional dining table and chairs. It would get very little use, quite apart from being impractical for amputees. The cooker, fridge-freezer and dishwasher were as Ryan had specified, their operating instruction booklets neatly arranged along the black granite worktop. They needed a new microwave oven and an air fryer and an espresso machine. They would go into town and get some stuff tomorrow. Jack and Jacko brought their living room furniture and the humidor.

            – I know it doesn’t really fall under your responsibility, but would you mind assembling the shelves and tv stand for us?

            – No, of course not. We’re almost done. There’s only the balcony furniture and black plastic bags left. Where shall we put them?

            – Can you put them in the empty bedroom? We’ll sort them out a bit later. Will you put the humidor on the kitchen worktop, please?

            – Is that what it’s called? Sure. Shall I plug it in?

            – Yes please.

The two Jacks carried mattresses to the bedroom.

            – I hope they don’t ask us to make their beds for them.

            – Don’t be nasty. It wouldn’t kill us, would it? Imagine going through life the way they have to. You’d be grateful for any bit of help.

            – Yeah, I suppose. But they can’t be doing all that badly for themselves if they can afford to move into this place. I’ve seen smaller ballrooms.

            – Are we done? Shall we put the crockery and stuff in the kitchen for them?

            – Ask first.

Jacko did. There were two heavy bags on the verge of splitting with foodstuffs and plates which obviously belonged in the kitchen. Jacko returned and nodded. They each took a bag and put them on the counter top.

            – I reckon that’s about it, guys. The van is empty so everything we brought is in here now. Shall we do the shelves now?

            – That would be great. Thanks a lot for your help. We’ve had a great day thanks to you. Easiest move I’ve ever had.

            – It’s been a pleasure. You’ve also been the ideal customers, if I might say so. Not much stuff, you know what you want, and you don’t interfere. Can’t ask for better than that.

            – Ha! Good to know.

The guys had the shelving unit up in five minutes and the enormous screen was operational in its frame soon after. It was plugged in to the local cable tv service and the internet. Ryan tested it with Bluetooth and someone’s YouTube video of their trip to Belgium appeared. Jack arranged the speakers to sound natural in the enormous space.

            – Can we have a look from the balcony?

            – Course you can.

Jack pointed out various points of light to Jacko. They laughed at a private joke and high-fived each other.

            – We’re ready, guys. Thanks for using us. We appreciate it.

            – It’s been a pleasure. Er, I don’t know if either of you smoke but instead of handing over a tip, I’d like to invite you to help yourself to any cigar you fancy from the humidor.

            – That’s very good of you. Thank you very much. Yes, we smoke now and then but not while we’re working. These are some lovely cigars.

They were both shocked to see the smallest were eighty-five gauge ten inchers, and the largest hundred and twenty-five gauge fifteen inchers. Paul’s gobstoppers. They were not greedy and both chose hundred and five gauge foot long Cohibas, current retail price several hundred pounds each.

            – May we take these? They’re beautiful.

            – Sure, I hope you enjoy them. Thanks for everything. Bye.

The Jacks went down in the freight lift and felt extremely butch for possessing such enormous cigars for the first time in their lives.

 

            – What’s next? Shall we see if we have some beer?

            – Beat you to it.

They wheeled back inside, rolling smoothly on the grey slate floor, around the kitchen island to the black plastic bags containing the meagre provisions they had brought. There they were! Two half litre six packs of lager. They put one each onto their laps and selected a smoke from the humidor. Paul took his teeth out and left them on the counter. He picked a one twenty-five and Ryan smirked at him. He would make do with a one-o-five foot long Cohiba. Paul scrabbled around in the humidor’s drawer to find a cutter and the lighter Ryan could use. They wheeled back to the balcony and transferred from their wheelchairs into the steel balcony chairs. Ryan’s stubbies and Paul’s peg leg pointed skyward as they lay back with a tin and fired up their enormous cigars. The lights of a completely unfamiliar town shone far beneath them. Townsfolk noticed the first signs of life in the towers as people began to move in. The new towers were spectacular in the December starlight.

 

            – Happy?

            – Don’t know yet. Too early to tell. I suppose so. I have everything I need and I can have anything I want. I’m glad we’re together, mate. That’s the most important thing. I enjoy being disabled. I enjoy using my peg legs and hooks. I like being in a wheelchair. And I like the way my stubble looks. And yours. I reckon you’re gonna have a great beard. So yeah, I’m happy. How about you? Are you gonna miss London?

            – It sort of depends what Leeds is like. We’ll have to look around for a decent pub or two, see what the clubs are like. We don’t often go out, do we? It’s not because we’re disabled, though, is it? We just don’t go out. There might be a cool gay bar somewhere around where we can show off our skin gear and stuff. Shall we do that? Be a bit more active?

            – Alright. We can do that. Maybe Craig can join us. He might even know a couple of places already. You know he came up here a couple of times to look around, don’t you?

            – No, I didn’t know that. Has he said anything about when he’s coming?

            – Nothing definite. As soon as possible.

            – I’ve been wondering – what are we gonna do about housework and cleaning? I don’t want to start scrubbing the floors. I don’t mind doing the laundry every so often.

            – We could have a valet. A gentleman’s assistant. I don’t know where we would put him, though. I’ll look for a cleaning company which can come in once a week. That’ll be enough, won’t it? We’re not all that mucky, are we?

            – Nope. We don’t make muddy footprints on the floor, either.

            – Ha! True enough. Yeah, let’s look for someone who can do stuff like laundry and cooking and who doesn’t mind helping in the shower and shit. They can come in between eight and three, something like that. I’ve just realised – there’s no public transport to the towers yet, is there? I don’t know if the town has any planned.

            – You’d need a zip line to get into town.

            – Or a chair lift. You know what would work? A couple of minibuses which go down to the junction with the main road and then up to the five towers and from there to ours. And then return the same way.

            – It might be a good idea. I know someone who could afford to run it.

            – Yeah. I wonder if it would break even? Maybe a couple of routes which run as far as the nearest shopping centre and back. Shall we look into it? Ask around if there’s any interest?

            – Yeah, let’s do that. We could be bus drivers.

            – Mate, stick to the Unum. I wouldn’t want some legless cunt driving any bus I’m on.

            – I see your point.

They sat smoking and swigging lager looking out at the void. They were at such an altitude that only sky was visible from where they sat. They were about seven hundred metres above the town and about the same distance from the outskirts.

            – Right. Shall we get to work?

            – Make the beds, you mean?

            – That and we could put some of the grub away and sort out our gear.

            – Yeah, let’s get it done. Leave the beds till last.

 

They soon had their MA-1s on hangers and bleachers and T-shirts in neat piles on shelving in their closet. They arranged their artificial limbs into large cubbyholes, and stuffed stump socks into another. They took the empty bin bags to the kitchen and returned to fetch kitchen hardware and the few bags of non-perishables which Morag had packed for them. She had even included a litre of milk, bless her. Ryan found a brochure and some keys in a drawer. Welcome to Attenborough Tower! it proclaimed. A brief glance showed it to be a guide to using the waste disposal and recycling systems, where the parking spaces were, how to use the lifts and where to collect and leave mail for collection. The keys were for their mailbox downstairs somewhere. There were instructions of how to operate the air-conditioning and thermostats, how to open the balcony windows – ah! Easy when you know how! – and other sundry items including specifications for replacement led strips and bathroom fittings. An addendum gave instructions on how residents on the five penthouse floors at the top of the building could override normal lift operations so they had priority over the building’s other residents. They would always be able to ride non-stop from the seventy-second floor to the basement car park. Cool! And the back cover mentioned a private website where residents were encouraged to communicate with each other. The other towers had their own dedicated websites. Ryan would be able to advertise for his Jeeves there. And maybe find someone who would swap parking spots.

 

While Ryan read the brochure, Paul had taken toiletries and towels to the bathroom. A large drying rack served as a radiator to hang towels on. There was a drain in the rough tiled floor. Ryan had specified supports around the wc seat and in the shower. It was a perfect bathroom for amputees.

 

Paul rolled back to the balcony and dimmed the lighting. He picked up his half smoked cigar and relit it. Ryan soon joined him.

            – We should get an infrared heater for out here. It would be good to sit out here in the winter and not freeze our balls off.

            – Global warming and all that.

            – Hey! We make lots of savings in other ways. We don’t own a lot of stuff. We drive tiny electric cars. We don’t eat food which has to be flown in from Borneo twice a day to stay fresh. And we don’t jetset around the world like some film star cunts. I reckon we’re entitled to a heater on the balcony while we sit here.

            – Yeah, I suppose so. Still, remember why we moved up here.

            – Mmm. I see what you mean. With any luck, we’ll be able to avoid any more problems like that.

            – As long as the electric doesn’t go out. I don’t fancy pegging it down to the shopping centre next time I want a six-pack.

            – No. We should have a good supply of electricity at least. The windmills behind this tower are for us.

            – Oh, I never knew that.

            – Yeah, we should be carbon neutral and all that shit. The only thing we have which eats electricity is the freezer. Everything else can be powered by mouse farts.

            – Alright, you’ve persuaded me. What else do we need tomorrow?

            – Stuff for the kitchen like a decent espresso machine and a microwave and we need to stock up on toilet paper and dish washer tablets. That kind of stuff.

            – Do you know where there’s a shopping centre?

            – Nope. Not the foggiest. We’ll just have to ask someone.

Shortly before midnight, they closed the balcony door and wheeled to separate toilets. Ryan’s needed towels and toilet paper. He wiped his hooks on his bleachers. In the bedroom, his short legs allowed him to use his arm stumps to smooth the sheets which Paul threw to him from his wheelchair. Paul finished the job and the pair removed each other’s artificial limbs and remaining clothes. Ryan hugged Paul with his arm stumps and they tried a cock fight, enjoying the eroticism, saving release for later, being mates with each other. 

 

S A T U R D A Y   A N D   B E Y O N D

 

Breakfast was a scant affair. Paul boiled water in a saucepan to make tea. There was a half-eaten packet of cereal and the milk Morag had packed.

            – I’m going to make a list of everything we have to buy. I can’t not have coffee in the morning. What sort of stools shall we get?

            – I’m not bothered about the stools at the moment. It’s ok sitting here in a wheelchair. Oh shit! I forgot. Look at this spigot thingy. It pours boiling water. There’s no need to use the stove to boil water.

            – Oh yeah. That’s handy. Right. I’m going to have a quick wash and brush up. Are you coming? I’ll give you a quick scrub too while I’m at it. We ought to get some plastic chairs or something for the shower as well today. I don’t want to shower sitting on the floor.

            – We should have brought the one from South Quay. Why did we leave it?

            – Just forgot, I suppose. It doesn’t matter. Come on.

 

Paul washed his face and armpits and leg stumps with a flannel and tended to Ryan, who held up his arm stumps and alternate thigh stumps for a quick clean. Paul dried them with a towel and threw it onto the radiator. They wheeled to their bedroom and Ryan collected fresh clean stump socks from the closet.

            – What arms are you wearing? If you’re on stubbies, you should use the short ones.

            – Yeah, I want stubbies today. It would be nice to dress up in a suit and use the long legs but I’m still a bit unsure on ’em. So short arms and my hooks won’t drag along the floor. Are you going to wear your long or short peg?

            – Well, if you’re gonna be short, I think I might join you down there. Want some help with the arm socks?

            – OK. It’s quicker if you do it.

            – Yeah. Hang on and I’ll do your legs as well. Can you do the rest?

            – Yup, thanks.

Ryan arranged the harness holding his shorter arm sockets and hooks in front of him and slid his stumps into the prosthesis. He lifted his arms over his head and ducked his head to get the harness across his shoulders. He tested the hooks and shrugged the equipment into position. He pulled his thigh sockets onto the liners and closed the valve. His pylons were the shortest four inch versions. The six inch ones might have been better. The two of them would have been as tall as each other. Paul soon donned his one prosthesis and had crutched back to the kitchen and sat in his wheelchair. He looked around at their new home. It was a lot like being on a ship. Nothing outside except sky and clouds, with the space curving towards the north, meeting at an angle. He rolled over to the balcony and went out. He could see down into town but none of what he saw meant anything to him. He was completely unfamiliar with his surroundings. It would be interesting to see how the town became more familiar over time and how he would start to recognise places from his vantage point in the sky. Ryan waddled out and joined him.

            – It looks like there’s a shopping centre or mall down there, see it? I can’t make out what the name is. If we go to that junction and turn right we should be able to find it.

            – Have a look at G-maps and check the name.

            – Good thinking. OK, shall we make tracks? We’d better lock the lift doors, too, I reckon. Can you slide the freight door closed?

Paul pulled a sliding steel frame from its recessed position to cover the freight lift doors. Anyone who succeeded somehow in reaching their floor would find exit from the lift impossible. He wheeled back past the kitchen island to join Ryan who had called the passenger lift. He grabbed his short crutches and stood up from the wheelchair.

            – I’m going to try that non-stop secret code. Then we won’t have to keep stopping all the time.

            – Yeah, it’s handy, that. Is this an express lift?

            – Don’t know, mate. Haven’t tried it yet. Time it on your phone.

The freight lift took just over a minute.

            – Have you got everything? Keys, money, ID?

Ryan opened the lift door and they stepped inside. Ryan flashed his key card, poked in a four digit number on the keypad, selected the parking basement and pressed close. The doors whirred and Paul looked at the seconds on his phone. The lift gradually slowed and stopped after fifty-five seconds.

            – I’d call that express, wouldn’t you?

            – At least as good as.

They walked across the car park to their Unums. There were a few more cars down here today including other similar microcars. Ryan opened his and made sure there was room behind his seat for a few boxes. The heavy stuff would be a problem unless they could arrange for same-day delivery.

 

The underground access road spiralled out into the open air after a few minutes of careful driving. Ryan looked back and up at the towers, mostly concealed behind pine trees. They stopped at the ring road to wait for traffic lights. Ryan gestured ‘Left!’ to Paul, who nodded.

 

The large building they had spotted from their balcony was indeed a shopping mall, trading as Loidis. They found a disabled parking space near the entrance and parked both Unums on it. They locked the vehicles and Paul led the way, striding forward on his peg leg and crutches. Ryan swung his truncated artificial arms as he walked on his short stubbies. Both lads wore MA-1s and city camo shorts. They stood in front of a floor plan, looking for consumer electronics, furniture and fittings and a well-stocked supermarket. There did not appear to be an independent tobacconist. No cigars here.

            – Let’s get the microwave and all that kitchen stuff first.

            – I’m with you. Lead the way.

They spent an hour comparing various pieces of equipment, making sure everything could be operated with steel hooks. They arranged for a delivery that afternoon at three to their new address and had to explain to the salesperson the details of the route as well as providing an access code for the lift. They now owned the same machines they had used at South Quay, including an infrared heater. The next stop was two floors up. A large showroom of imported furniture and other domestic items. They bought a transparent acrylic chair for the shower which already featured cutouts as part of its design. Paul saw a handsome dinner service, half a dozen plates, mugs, cups and saucers. Ryan picked out two sets of towels for the toilets and half a dozen beer glasses which fitted into his hooks perfectly. Delivery was arranged for four o’clock to Attenborough Tower, Level Seventy-Two.

 

Their last stop was at the huge ground-floor supermarket. Ryan and Paul toured the aisles, selecting espresso coffee, tea bags, sliced bread, eggs, bacon, beans, cereal and twenty-four cans of lager. That would be enough for breakfast for the next couple of days. It had been months since either of them had done an actual shop and both felt mild panic at what they might still need and what they had surely forgotten. Ryan’s meagre list was only half of what they needed. Ryan paid and asked a member of staff for assistance to carry the items to his car just outside. He ought to get a shopping trolley like the ones old ladies always seemed to have.

 

It was almost lunchtime. They looked around to see if there were any interesting places but there were only American chains. They agreed to visit the town centre and stop if they saw a decent Chinese or Korean restaurant. In the end, lunch was steak and chips because of convenient parking spaces outside the restaurant.

 

They returned home with an extra six-pack. The deliveries would be a while and there was no better place to wait than out on the balcony. Ryan removed his stubbies and sat in his wheelchair the rest of the day.

            – I’ve been thinking about learning to use my long prosthetics properly. My stubbies and pegs are handy for scooting around at home but today in town, I thought it would be better to stand tall and look other people in the eye.

            – I think it’s probably worth the effort. We have lots of room now where you can practise walking. Why don’t you put them on tomorrow morning and try wearing them all day? You can sit in the wheelchair if you get tired but keep the legs on.

            – The other reason is that I’d like to start wearing suits more. I like the idea of looking smart despite having four artificial limbs. I’d get more respect, I reckon.

            – Talking of four artificial limbs, do you mind if I start wearing those pretender arms more often? When Craig arrives, it would be cool if we’re all wearing hooks.

            – Why should I mind? They’re not much use to me, are they? Go ahead. I’d like to see you wearing them too. Maybe start with just one, say the left hook, while you’re learning to use it.

            – Yeah, I could do that. I think there’s only the left arm attached to the harness now. I’ll have a look a bit later on. Do you want a smoke?

            – Yeah, an eighty-five and bring the beers while you’re at it. Thirsty work, this shopping business.

 

The goods arrived. The freight elevator sounded an alarm to notify the approach of the cabin. Paul wheeled over and opened the security door. The lift stopped and he released the lock. Two young guys held two large boxes of electronic kitchen equipment with others containing the new microwave oven and the patio heater at their feet.

            – Hi! Delivery for Anderson.

            – Yup. You’re in the right place. Can you bring the things over to the kitchen? Except for the heater. Is it heavy?

            – No, not really. About three kilos.

            – Right. Would you do us a favour? Open all the packaging and leave us the instruction booklets. You can take all the empty boxes away for recycling, I’ll get you a knife.

The lads did as asked and neatly flattened all the cardboard packaging.

            – That heater goes out on the balcony. Take a look at the view while you’re there.

They carried the heater out onto the balcony and were surprised to find a legless man in a wheelchair with two hooks and a big cigar in his mouth. Ryan carefully extracted his cigar and picked up a can of lager.

            – Hi! Ah, the heater. Great. Thanks. Sorry, I must look a sight.

One of the lads pushed the other as if to say Go! But he stood transfixed, drinking in Ryan’s handsome stubble and the beautiful lips and the gleaming bald head, the arms which seemed too short and the steel hooks and finally the leg stumps not quite reaching the edge of the wheelchair’s seat. Ryan noticed the appraisal, raised his can of lager and held eye contact. He knew he had found an admirer. Decent looking bloke, too.

            – Thanks for bringing that out. I don’t suppose I could ask you to plug it in and get it working, could I? It’s getting a bit nippy.

            – Er, ah, no, I’d be glad to. Chad, go and ask the man to sign the invoice.

The lad moved behind the heater so he could still view Ryan.

            – Has Chad gone?

            – Yeah. He’s with your mate.

            – Alright. I just want a quick word with you. You like what you see, don’t you? I mean me with all my stumps and things.

The lad dropped his head.

            – Yes.

            – Thought so. Don’t worry. I need a strong guy to come in every day to help us out. Washing and dressing, getting breakfast and lunch, making coffee, doing errands. It’s a full-time job from about eight to about three or four, six days a week. You’d have to give up your delivery job. Are you interested?

            – Are you serious?

            – Very serious. We’re waiting for a mate of ours to join us from London. He’s a quad amputee like me. No hands, no feet. More work for you helping us with our artificial limbs. There’ll be three of us. Plus you.

            – Oh god, I don’t know what to say. Yes. When do you want me to start?

            – As soon as you can.

            – Well, this job is only zero hours so I can start on Monday morning.

            –Get your phone out and I’ll give you my number. Call me tomorrow morning after ten. Ready? Oh-seven-seven-nine… What’s your name?

            – Seb.

            – Sebastian?

            – Yeah, but Seb is better.

            – I hope we’ll get along, mate. I think Chad is waiting for you. See ya!

Seb raised a hand but watched as Ryan put his huge cigar back into his handsome mouth. He left and Ryan grinned around his cigar. Gotcha!

 

Paul activated the lift for the departing delivery boys and relocked the security door. He set about assembling the new kitchen equipment and placed them one by one into a convenient spot. Why were microwave ovens always so heavy? He cleared up scraps of plastic packaging and wheeled out to join Ryan.

            – The kitchen looks a bit more practical all of a sudden. We can have some coffee as well, thank god.     

            – Good. I have something to tell you. There’s a guy called Sebastian who’s coming in on Monday morning to be our valet, butler, cook, cleaner and general gopher.

            – How did you find someone so soon?

            – He just appeared in front of me.

            – What are you talking about?

            – That delivery guy who brought the heater out here is a serious devotee. So I gave him a job while his mate was inside with you.

            – Well, that didn’t take you long. You don’t mind if he walks around with an erection all day?

            – No. I think he’s gonna work out alright. We need someone to do the things Morag did. I don’t expect him to sew our shorts but it would be handy to have someone to help out.

            – Yeah, course it would. Well, good. And his name’s Seb, is it? Right.

 

Their six-pack of beer was about to run dry imminently when the lift alarm sounded again. Ryan went to accept the delivery of their food purchases.

            – Do you mind taking it into the kitchen? I’m a bit inconvenienced at the moment.

Ryan emptied the box and put three cold six-packs into the fridge. The fourth one he put on the seat of his wheelchair in front of his stumps and wheeled back out to the balcony.

            – Shall I put the heater on? See if it makes a difference.

He poked at the controls with a hook and the elements began to glow.

            – What shall we have for dinner? I fancy a pizza.

            – Or shall we go out?

            – I don’t want to put my legs on again.

            – You don’t have to. Go just as you are. You just need a jacket.

            – OK. Have a look for a pizza place in town. It needs to have parking and be accessible.

            – I know.

Paul scrolled through his search results and looked at a couple of websites.

            – OK, here’s one. Luigi’s in the town centre. It even mentions that it’s accessible. Shall I book a table? Tell ’em we need space for two wheelchairs?

            – Yeah, that might be a good idea. What time shall we go?

            – Six? Half past?

            – Something like that. Call them and see what they say.

Paul phoned the place and asked for a table with room for their wheelchairs arriving by half past six.

            – All set and ready. The cars have some juice in them, don’t they?

            – Mine was at sixty percent when I parked it. Good for a while yet.

            – Oh shit. We’re drinking! We can’t drive. We’ll have to have a taxi. And all that fucking around with wheelchairs. Aargh! Why didn’t I think before you phoned? You’ll have to call back and cancel. Ask them if they do deliveries.

            – What pizza do you want? Rustica?

            – Yeah, that’ll do.

Paul called back and apologised for cancelling. They could indeed deliver a couple of pizzas. Ryan gave Paul an access code for the lift and delivery was arranged for six thirty.

 

            – I’m going back in. Gonna watch some video.

            – I’ll be there in a minute. Just need to finish this one.

Ryan turned the screen on and linked it to his phone. He found the video he wanted to show Paul, which showed the two-wheeled self-balancing gyrochair he had been thinking about getting. Paul wheeled over to rest beside Ryan. They watched a legless American veteran transferring to the gyrochair and setting it in motion by leaning forward slightly. He turned the chair in the same way and demonstrated how it could move up inclines and shallow steps.

            – That looks amazing. You wouldn’t believe it would stay upright, would you? So are you thinking about getting one?

            – I was thinking we could both have one. Would you like one, too? Or would you prefer to stick to a manual chair? It’s probably a bit easier for you, having hands, but that would definitely make my life a bit easier. I also like the idea of being a bit taller even though I’m sitting.

            – I think I’m gonna stick to this manual chair for the time being. If you order one, maybe I can have a go on it to see what I think of it.

            – OK. I’ll find out where to get one. I think they have to be ordered from abroad. I’ve never seen one in this country.

On-screen, the DAK vaulted out of the chair onto the ground and the camera followed him as he explained something additional while hand-walking on his almost stumpless buttocks.

            – That’s a sexy way of walking. I’m gonna start doing that.

            – Go right ahead. It looks too disabled for my taste. Plus my hooks would slip and slide all over the floor. It’s OK if you can get a bit of leverage with your hands, but I can’t.

            – No, I see what you mean.

Ryan found another of his favourite videos, an hour-long report from a rehab centre for bilateral leg amputees. Paul suspected he was in for a shafting that night. Watching young amputees struggle with new prosthetic limbs always made Ryan horny.

 

Before getting in to bed that night, Ryan placed his full-length prosthetic legs and fresh stump socks beside his bed. The legs were wearing his thirty-holer skinhead boots. He had already intended becoming more reliant on his artificial legs. The stubbies and pegs were a lot of fun but Ryan had recently begun to veer away from informal streetwear and obvious disability to a more mature self image. Maybe he was growing up. He had an idea that by appearing more conventional or even well-dressed, both his obvious and hidden disabilities would earn him the respect which was beyond the reach of even the best-dressed skinhead. His stupendous wealth and unlimited prospects to achieve what he wanted encouraged his deepening self-regard. By the age of twenty-five, he had undergone four voluntary amputations to achieve his stumps. Now he wanted to use them to operate prosthetic limbs as indistinguishable from natural limbs as possible. Body-powered prosthetics, of course. In the back of his mind was the awareness that Craig always wore all of his prosthetics and had never been seen publicly in a wheelchair or displaying a bare stump. The pair of them together would be a handsome duo, especially when Ryan’s promising beard became fuller and more impressive.

 

Next morning, after a long warm shower, Ryan donned first his harness and hooks and then his black carbon legs. Paul removed the stubby legs from the sockets and replaced them with long prostheses. Ryan chose to wear his Oxford bags over his artificial legs. They attracted attention in and of themselves and Ryan’s deviant gait made the movement of the generous material more charismatic. Not being able to use walking sticks was a source of frustration, but Ryan persevered with maintaining balance and momentum. He toured the broad living space and paced up and down the corridor leading to the bedrooms. His stumps felt good for being exercised. Walking on long legs called for much more muscle power than a simple pair of stubbies.

            – Ryan mate, I hope you won’t mind me commenting but I think you should concentrate more on your arm movements. You are swinging them about too much.

            – I know. It’s a problem. My arms aren’t as beefy as they used to be. I don’t have much weight below my elbows and it makes balancing a bit of a bitch.

            – Do you think adding some weight to the arm sockets would help? There are those weights gym fanatics wear around their wrists when they’re jogging. They might help.

            – Could try, I suppose. Shall we go and see if Loidis is open? 

            – A bit later on. We could have lunch out.

            – Instead of ordering in, again. I hope Seb is a better cook than we are. It would be nice to have a cooked lunch at home, you know, pork chop and mash or fish and chips.

            – Shall I make some coffee? Test the espresso machine? Thirsty work, watching you walking around. How do your legs feel?

            – Not bad at all. The knees are brilliant. I hardly need to kick my stumps at all.

            – Great. Come and take a break. You haven’t spoken about Seb yet. What’s his job description?

            – I don’t know yet. I’m going to take him on for a two month trial period, on full pay, of course. Just that either of us can call it a day and end the whole business there and then. After that he’d be permanent and I’d expect some notice if he wants to leave and he’d expect some job security.

            – The old-fashioned way.

            – Yeah. It’s only fair. If the guy’s doing a good job, he deserves a bit of recognition. And I reckon he’ll have his dream job. Better than anything he could ever imagine. I told you he’s a hard-core devotee, didn’t I? You should’ve seen the way he looked at me when I was legless on the balcony. He looked like he was gonna cum in his pants. He’s gonna worship us.

            – How old is he?

            – Dunno. He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. You saw him, didn’t you?

            – I wasn’t paying much attention, to be honest. Good-looking bloke. That’s about all I noticed.

            – Yeah, he is. Looks to be a bit younger than us. Not that we’re all that old. Is that coffee ready yet? He’s supposed to be calling me this morning. He won’t even be able to get in tomorrow unless I give him a lift code.

            – Should we give him a key card?

            – Well, I would but we only have two. I can program a semi-permanent code for him but he’ll have to remember a six digit number every time he uses the lift. Shit! Craig is gonna want one too, isn’t he? I’ll get on to the super and explain why we need two more cards.

            – No, just for Craig. I don’t like the idea of a stranger having our key. Not until I know him a bit better.

            – Well, I could order it and keep it back for a while until you feel comfortable.

            – Yeah, let’s do that. Thanks.

            – So anyway, I thought Seb could help us shit, shave and shower, change the beds, run the laundry, keep the place a bit tidier than we do, do a bit of vacuuming, make the coffee, and cook our lunches. Then if he has any time left over, he can massage our leg stumps and polish my hooks. I want him here from about eight in the morning at the latest until about three in the afternoon. That should give him time to wash the dishes and put them away and do a spot of shopping.

            – Has he got a car?

            – I’ve no idea.

            – So how’s he gonna get up here without a car? There’s no public transport, is there?

            – No. I’ll tell him to come by taxi if he has to. Shall I lend him my Unum? I can sit in with you if we need to go somewhere.

            – If you want. Good idea.

Ryan’s phone started playing Elizabethan Reggae. 

            – Anderson. Oh, hi Seb. Talk of the devil. No, we were just talking about you. Thinking up all the horrible jobs we have lined up for you. Ha! Only joking. Sure, if you like. Great. Alright, use code seven-two-eight-oh-one and you can get in. See ya.

            – What? He’s coming round?

            – Yup. You can ask him how old he is yourself. He has a motorbike, apparently.

            – Bit nippy in this weather but handy all the same.

            – You’d better make yourself presentable if you want to make a good impression instead of slouching around in your underpants. Go and put some shorts on, the long ones. No-one expects to see your stump on first acquaintance. In fact, you could put your long peg leg on and look the bugger in the eye.

            – Alright, you’ve made your point. Won’t be long.

            – No rush.

 

Seb used the passenger lift. Ryan released the lock and welcomed Sebastian back to his home and invited him to take a seat on the curving leather sofa. Ryan sat obliquely facing him and Paul appeared with axillary crutches on his peg leg and sat at the end of the sofa. Seb removed his cycling gloves, the size of boxing gloves, and placed them on the coffee table next to his chrome helmet.

            – It’s good you could come for a chat. It’s easier to talk face to face and Paul can be in on the whole thing as well. And my name is Ryan. Well, Seb, the thing is, we’re both disabled. We’re both happy with the way we are, so you don’t need to feel pity for us. We can do for ourselves everything which we ask you to do, except you do it in a different way. Do you see where I’m coming from?

            – Yes!  I get your point of view. It’s cool.

            – Paul here was asking what your duties are going to be and I said helping us get washed and dressed, making coffee and lunch and keeping the place looking presentable. Do you have any cooking skills?

            – Well, I’ve been cooking for myself for about four years since I left for uni. I can do most basic food and bake bread and cakes, that sort of thing but I don’t go in for stuff with lots of peculiar ingredients which take hours to prepare.

            – So you can rustle up a lasagne or fish and chips?

            – Oh sure, no problem.

            – Great! When I said helping us in the bathroom, I also meant wiping our arses. Are you up to that? You can see that I might have a bit of a problem.

            – It’s alright. It’s not demeaning to do it. It’s demeaning if you don’t do it.

            – Oh, well put! Then I want you to learn all about our prosthetic limbs and their components so we know what we’re talking about. I’ll be explaining how mine work and how they can be altered. Paul uses only very simple prosthetics like that peg leg and can look after himself with his hands but the guy who hasn’t moved in yet has hooks like mine and might appreciate some help taking care of his leg stumps. Mine need washing and massaging with skin care products every morning. Are you up to that?

            – Yes, I’m up to that.

            – Like I said, I can do it myself but if you do it, it’s quicker.

            – Where do you live, Seb? Is it difficult to get here?

            – I have an upstairs flat on the other side of Leeds. Takes about twenty minutes on the bike. And another five minutes in the tunnel.

            – It’s quite a climb, isn’t it? Your bike can take it though, right?

            – Yeah. It’s an electric bike. It has fantastic torque so it can take the incline just fine.

            – Good. Right, let’s get down to business. When are you free to start?

            – Tomorrow morning. Actually, right now, if you want.

            – So you handed in your notice yesterday?

            – Yes, they were a bit down-in-the-mouth about it but there’s nothing they can do about it. My mate was sorry but he’ll get over it.

            – I know. Leaving mates behind is a cunt sometimes. Right, next up – me and Paul are gay and I think Craig is not exactly hetero but I’m not sure. We’ll have to ask him. Is that a problem for you?

            – No, of course not. I’m bi, at least that’s how I am at the moment. I like men more than women though, so say seventy percent gay.

            – And I think you have a few unusual fetishes too, don’t you? I already know you’re a devotee. What else? Are you a wannabe? Would you like a leg or an arm off so you can have a stump of your own?

            – I don’t know. I’ve thought abut it, of course. But I don’t know how I would manage if I had a hook like yours.

            – But you like the look of it, don’t you? You’d have one if you could, is that what you’re saying.

            – Yeah, I’d have one if I could. But I’d rather have a leg off. Above the knee, with a stump long enough for a decent artificial leg.

            – Yeah, I understand. That’s the way I felt. And look at me now. Right. How much pay do you need and how much pay would you like? Seriously.

            – Well, my rent is seventeen thousand a week right now but of course it changes. I’ve been earning forty-five thousand a week when I have the hours, which is most weeks, but I can never rely on it.

            – Look, forget about pounds. Do you understand euros?

            – Yes, of course I do.

            – Of course you do. So, I was thinking of twenty-five hundred a month. Your rent would be about a third of that, a bit under. While you’re here, you can eat what you like, and if you make us our lunch, make enough for yourself too so we all eat together, OK? And if you have any problems like with your bike and it needs an expensive repair, just tell us and we’ll see to it. Understood?

            – Yeah, thanks very much.

            – So we come to the hours. Me and Paul get up at about seven thirty so if you’re here by then, it would be cool. Can you be here at seven twenty every day from Monday to Saturday? You can have Sundays off. And how long can you stay? I’d like you here until about three, when I reckon all the housework and washing up and laundry is done and we’re set for the evening. I mean, don’t forget that we’re not helpless. You won’t be our nurse. We’re not ill or anything.

            – No, I know that. I think I’d be more of what they used to call a gentleman’s valet.

            – That is exactly what I have in mind, Seb. A gentlemen’s helper. I hope I will be worthy of the name.

            – Me too. Seb, how old are you, if I may make so bold?

            – I’m twenty-three. In fact, I’m twenty-three today. It’s my birthday.

            – Oh, congratulations, mate! That decides it. We’re going out for lunch. Seb’s birthday lunch. Unless you had other plans, mate?

            – No, I had nothing else planned. That would be great.

            – That’s settled then. Right. I’ll get this agreement printed out if Paul lends me his fingers and you can start tomorrow morning at seven twenty. Position, gentlemen’s valet and general helper, wages three thousand euros a month, two month’s trial after which permanent employment status. Agreed?

            – Agreed. That’s a generous wage. Thank you.

            – Good show. We’ll have the papers ready tomorrow morning, won’t we, Paul?

            – Yes, m’lud.

            – Right. I’m parched. If we leave at one, I can have a beer now. Help yourselves and let’s go on the balcony. Seb, do you smoke?

            – No, I have never had the opportunity to try it. It’s forbidden everywhere I’ve ever lived and worked.

            – Too bad.

Ryan explained to Seb where the lagers were and he picked out three cans. Ryan and Paul selected a couple of eighty-five gauge Cohibas and opened one of the balcony windows overlooking the city. Seb placed the cans by his new employers and sat facing the city, invisible due to the astonishing height of the viewpoint.

            – I’m pretty sure you could see the coast from here if it were a clear day. Trouble is, we rarely have those.

            – Seb, have you ever used a wheelchair?

            – No. I’ve never even broken my leg or anything.

            – It might be good to feel what it’s like. Why don’t you sit in the one by the sofa and come back out here?

            – Really? Can I try it out?

            – Sure. Go right ahead.

Seb put his can down and went inside. The wheelchair’s brake was engaged but he saw how to release it and wheeled out onto the balcony. Ryan and Paul could plainly see Seb’s erection.

            – You like that, don’t you?

            – Sure. It feels grand.

Seb watched Ryan and Paul smoke their big cigars. He noticed the outline of Ryan’s prosthetic legs as his baggy trouser material drooped over them and watched as he opened a split hook to remove the cigar from his mouth. Paul’s shorts revealed his steel peg leg and its knee mechanism in its entirety. He was excited at the idea of seeing all these stumps tomorrow, touching them and caring for them. He had lied to Ryan. He would do almost anything to have left above elbow and left above knee stumps. He fantasized about them every time he wanked and imagining doing so with a hook drove him to ejaculation.

 

An hour later, they all knew much more about each other. Seb had studied graphic arts at university and expected to land a good job with a prestigious advertising agency but the economic disaster had caused so many advertising agencies to fail as their customers went bankrupt that there was no possible chance to use his excellent skills. He worked as a delivery boy on a zero hours contract for two years, frequently struggling through weeks of no work and no income. And then he met Ryan.

 

The cigars were smoked to the point where they started to taste acrid. Ryan glanced at his phone and suggested they make tracks.

            – Seb, you can go in Paul’s car if you like and come back here later, or you can take your bike into town and go home directly. Up to you.

            – I think I’d like to come back here with you. I like being with you.

            – Great. Shall we make a move, then? Paul, are you going to put long trousers on?

            – OK, I might as well, seeing as we’re dressing up.

            – Now’s your chance, Seb. Go and help Paul get his decent trousers on.

Paul wheeled himself to the bedroom and vaulted onto his bed.

            – Look in the closet, Seb, and you should see two long crutches and a peg leg. Bring them over, will you?

Seb found the equipment and rested the crutches against the wall.

            – Right, first of all, you can pull my shorts off and then I need my liner. It’s in the right-most cubby hole in the closet, third one up. And I want the black trousers which should be on a hanger.

Seb found the items and returned.

            – Give me the liner first.

Paul rolled it carefully onto his stump.

            – Now put the peg leg inside the trouser leg. Good.

Paul pushed his stump into the socket and tightened the air valve.

            – Now when I stand up, give me the crutches and pull my trousers up and do them up for me, OK?

            – Sure.

Paul pushed himself erect and took an axillary crutch under each arm. Seb kneeled in front of him and pulled the trousers up past the knee joint and closed the waist button. He closed the flies and adjusted the waistband slightly.

            – Is that comfortable?

            – Yes, thanks.

            – Don’t you have a conventional leg?

            – No, I only have two peg legs – this one, and a short one. I have a prosthesis for my right side too but it’s too difficult to use. OK, I’m ready. Let’s see what Ryan needs.

Paul crutched back to the balcony where Ryan was standing, looking down at the landscape. His Oxford bags formed a broad expanse of material, barely touching the floor and concealing his artificial legs completely. Seb watched Paul moving on a single peg leg and felt weak-kneed with sexual excitement.

            – All I need is my suit jacket and I’m ready. What jacket are you wearing?

            – Black MA-1.

            – OK. Let’s get going. Seb, you go in Paul’s car and tell him where you’d like to go and I’ll follow behind. Anywhere you like is fine. It’s our treat.

            – Thanks very much.

Ryan and Paul put their jackets on and checked they had everything necessary. Paul called the passenger lift and they used the express code to reach the basement in sixty seconds. They walked across to where the two Unums were parked. Seb was clearly surprised.

            – Can you fit two people into one of those?

            – Sure. It’s a bit of a squeeze but two skinny blokes will fit and you’ll have lots of leg room. Let me get in first. Hold these for me, will you?

Paul handed Seb his crutches and angled himself into the car. He released his knee lock and turned into the driver’s seat. Seb got in and held the crutches between his knees. Paul started the motor and silently backed out of the space. The car turned on almost its own axis and sped along the parking access road to the spiral incline. Ryan followed, one hook controlling the steering, the other controlling his speed. The cars exited into bright winter sunshine and Seb directed Paul towards the town centre. They passed the old high street with its closed department stores and dreary pound stores – Everything £50 or less! – and drove along next to a park. Seb indicated right and Paul stopped outside a Mexican restaurant called Santa Fe.

            – Best Mexican food in town and enormous portions.

            – Good. I’m half starved.

Ryan pulled into the same disabled parking space and climbed out. He circled the car, leaning against it with a hook and watched Seb lend a hand to Paul as he struggled to stand up on his peg. The knee lock dropped into place and Paul took his crutches. There was a step up to the front door. Seb opened it and leant against it to help steady his legless employers. Ryan clearly had trouble mounting steps. His knees may be secure against unexpected collapse but they afforded no power.

            – Thanks, Seb.

A waiter approached and greeted them.

            – Please sit anywhere.

He held a chair for Ryan as he lowered himself into it, flailing his hooks for balance. Seb saw that Paul was safely seated before sitting.

            – May we see the menu, please. What would you like to drink, Seb?

            – Just a lager, please. Corona if you have it.

            – Certainly. And for you, señores?

            – Just mineral water, please.

The waiter left to fetch a menu and the drinks. There was a couple at a corner table, otherwise the restaurant was empty on a Sunday lunchtime. The interior was garish in the Mexican style, the walls decorated with fairly accomplished frescos of Mexican village life. Pale orange leds provided individual lighting above each table. It made pale Caucasian skin look healthier and food more appetising. It was a comfortable environment. The waiter placed drinks on the table and handed out menus, thoughtfully opening one and waiting for Ryan to grasp it between his hooks.

            – Don’t look at the prices, Seb. Choose what you really want to eat.

Seb smiled and nodded. He had eaten here with his flatmates several times and they had always wondered what the enormous entrecôt tasted like with the Mexican flavours and crusty oven chips.

            – I’d like the entrecôt, please, if that’s alright.

            – It is alright and I’ll have one too. What are you having, Paul?

            – Ribs. I’m having the ribs and all the veggies.

            – Good show. Seb, do you live around this area?

            – Well, I live a bit further on, but in this general direction, yeah. My mates and I live in a two up two down terrace which should have been demolished a century ago but it was converted into two flats at some stage. I rent the upstairs and my mates share the downstairs. It’s a bit cold in winter but it’s dry which is better than you can say for some of the places around here.

            – So you’re happy enough there, are you?

            – Yeah, it’s grand being there with mates. We were all at uni together, see?

            – And the same fun and games continue, I suppose?

            – More or less. When we can afford it. We all have jobs but we don’t always have enough work. You know, the zero hours lark.

            – I was thinking. We could have a bit of a birthday party later on this evening. At our place, I mean. We could get some grub in and we’ve got some booze somewhere. Would you like to invite your mates as well?

            – Really? That would be amazing. Yeah, it would be great if Jay and Zac could come. Shall I call them? What time shall I say?

            – Tell them any time after six o’clock. But before eight. I don’t wanna be too pissed before I meet the guests. Give them a call now and ask them. You know the address, don’t you? Attenborough Tower Level Seventy–Two. I’ll give you a code for the lift, just a sec.

Ryan could not remember what number he had used last but selected something viable from his phone.

            – Seven-two-one-five-one.

Seb had reached one of his friends.

            – Surprise birthday party! And we want you to come. I’ll explain later. You’ll never guess where it is.

Seb gave the address and lift code and hung up.

            – They’ll be there.

            – How will they come?

            – Oh, bus to the ring road and then walk up the tunnel.

            – Sod that. Tell them to come by taxi. I’m paying. I’ll come downstairs to meet the taxi and pay, OK?

            – I’ll send them a text.

            – Tell them to message you when they enter the tunnel.

            – OK.

The waiter brought their meals. The steaks were so big they were hanging over the edges of the plates. Two bowls of oven chips and charbroiled veggies were for sharing and the ribs Paul ordered dominated the whole plate, nestling in oven vegetables. He had a separate bowl full of chips and dipping bowls full of spicy sauces.

            – Buen provecho, señores!

Paul sliced Ryan’s food into bite-sized pieces and handed the plate back. Ryan used his right hook to eat without utensils. The hook was utensil enough. It was a very suitable shape for eating with. Not totally different from eating with chopsticks. Seb watched him and admired his nonchalant attitude, imagining his mid-thigh stumps in their shiny black sockets.

            – Would you like another beer, Seb? Don’t hold back.

            – Yes please.

            – And I think we should have some dessert too. They had some tequila apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Shall we have some of that? Fuck knows how I’m gonna eat it but it sounds good.

            – I’ll help, if you like.

            – Yes, I’d like that, Seb. I don’t suppose it will be the last time you feed me.

Ryan ordered the next course when the waiter cleared their plates. The bald-headed invalid in the suit with the hooks seemed to be the chief, he thought.

The meal was thoroughly enjoyable. Seb fed Ryan with adult dignity and Ryan was impressed. Ryan looked at the bill in astonishment but noticed that the euro equivalent was included at the bottom. It was a very reasonable sum for three good meals and Ryan paid the three thousand two hundred pounds with a swipe of his bank card.

            – I was going to ask you – do you have a euro account?

            – No, I don’t. I don’t have any savings and so any money I get goes out again more or less the same month.

            – Well, I can pay you in pounds or euros with no trouble, so just let me know which you prefer. I have two accounts, one in euros and one in pounds, and I convert a few euros every time the current account gets low. If inflation gets any worse, people will be out shopping for groceries twice a day before the price goes up again.

            – Do you think it’ll get that bad?

            – I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to be slowing down, does it? What does a beer cost now? Forty quid? Sixty? I don’t know. It’s still seven euros though, regardless of what it is in pounds.

Right. Is everyone ready? I want to nip in to Loidis to see if they have any wrist weights and we could get a few extra bottles.

            – Sounds good to me. Seb, are you ready?

            – Yes thank you. Thanks for a super birthday meal.

            – I hope you enjoyed it, mate. Come on. Let’s see if I can get down that fucking step.

 

They stopped off at the Loidis mall and sought a sports store. Ryan asked to see a selection of wrist weights. A salesman took him to inspect their selection.

            – These start at half a kilo and go up to five.

            – How much room is there at the bottom of your socket? Do you think you could stuff this into it?

Paul indicated a kilo weight. Probably stuffed with lead pellets.

            – This might go in. Otherwise I’ll just have to wear it on the outside. I reckon I need about three kilos to compensate. Look, I’ll get these and see if they help at all and if they do, we can work out something else if they get in the way.

Ryan chose and paid for a pair of three kilo wrist weights. They might interfere with his hooks but that was a worry for later.

            – Now I want some extra booze. What do you and your mates like, Seb? Shall we get some vodka? How about tequila or rum?

            – One of each might be good. I don’t know, If it’s got alcohol in it, we’ll like it.

            – Wiser words were never spoken. Grab a bottle of what brand you like and we can get stuck in. Should we get some mixers as well?

            – I’m not fussy.

            – Maybe a six-pack of coke for vodka.

            – OK, run over and get one, mate.

            – Shall we have some beer too? I don’t want to be passing out at nine o’clock.

            –Go on then. Seb, can you carry all this?

Ryan paid for two bottles of vodka, one each of gin, tequila, white rum and a quart of bourbon which was on sale and a six-pack of coke and three of lager. Seb carried two carrier bags out to the cars, terrified that the bottoms would give way at any second. He helped Paul back into the Unum and lifted the drinks into the back. He sat back in his seat, the crutches again between his legs and felt he was having the best birthday ever. And it was only just beginning.

 

The bags lasted the journey to the seventy-second floor. Seb put them all in the fridge which was full of drink and a half dozen eggs. Ryan went to the bedroom and called out for Seb.

            – Right. I want to take my long legs off and put my stubby legs on. They’re in the closet. They’re about six inches long and have little square feet on one end.

Seb found them and inspected the connection.

            – Now you need to unscrew my long legs and replace them with the stubbies. You have to take my trousers off too, of course. And I want my city camo shorts.

Seb asked a few questions during the process but Ryan was quickly outfitted with stubbies.

            – Then there’s the other thing. My arms are too long now. I want shorter arms and you’ll find them in the closet, second cubbyhole up. Bring them out and you can help me change my arms.

Seb’s erection was more than obvious. He squirmed to try to force it to one side but it remained where it was, poking his flies outwards. He found a second pair of hooks, tangled up in a load of webbing and brought them out.

            – Fucking hell, they’re in a mess. I must have been pissed when I took them off. Look, let’s just start from the centre and work outwards. That metal ring is the middle. It goes behind my back in the middle. Let me see the hooks. Yeah, this one is the left, so this is the left cuff. Try and straighten the straps from the ring to the cuff.

Seb twisted the socket a couple of times and untangled it from the other straps on the right. They were then easier to straighten.

            – Thanks, mate. Put them in front of me with the ring in the middle. Now watch how I get out of the harness.

Ryan lifted his arms up and forced the harness over his head. He wriggled his arms until the sockets loosened, lifted them to one side and slid his stumps out.

            – I think I’ll change my stump socks. These are a bit sweaty. There are some fresh ones in the closet on the fifth shelf. Top shelf for arm stump socks, bottom shelves for leg stump socks. Thanks. Can you do this for me? Open the end and run it up my stump.

He watched Seb pull the opening wide and straighten the sock before he held out his arm stump and pushed it into the sock. The same with the other sock. He pulled the harness and its sockets a little closer and put his stumps into the short black carbon sockets. He lifted his arms up and ducked his head as he brought the harness over his shoulders and shrugged a few times to make it settle. He tested the hooks, right, left, both together. They opened and closed with a pleasing hollow click.

            – All set and ready. I’m going to slide off the bed so get ready to catch me if I fall forward.

Seb watched Ryan lower himself onto the floor. He shrugged a few more times to make his T-shirt drape properly and then waddled on his six inch stubbies back to the living area. His short arms looked amazing. They matched his short legs perfectly.

            – I thought you said you were going to switch to wearing your long legs all the time. What are you doing like that?

            – Mate, I am going to get quite pissed tonight and I don’t want to be drunk in charge of long legs. That’s why. And I suggest you do the same. A couple of drinks and you’ll go arse over tit.

            – You may be right. I think I’ll just sit in the chair.

            – Yeah, it looks great when you’re in your wheelchair with the one peg leg. Alright, enough of this fun and games. Seb, birthday boy, what do you want to eat for dinner? What do your mates like? We can order in a ton of Chinese or pizzas or whatever.

            – Well, I suppose Chinese would be a safe bet. Everyone likes Chinese, don’t they? We could just order that without asking around first.

            – Yeah. We’ll do that. By the way, I was going to ask you where you left your bike. Did you see it when we went out?

            – Yeah. It’s in the corner by the lift. It was still there this morning.

            – Good. I don’t suppose there are any tea leaves in Attenborough but you can’t trust anyone these days.

            – What’s tea leaves?

            – Oh, rhyming slang. Tea leaf, thief.

Seb looked bewildered.

            – What’s the time? Couple of hours before your mates arrive but there’s no reason we can’t get a bit of a head start, is there? Shall we sit inside or stand around on the balcony? Bit of each, I suppose. It’s good we got that heater yesterday. It made a difference yesterday evening when we were out there. Right, Seb, help yourself, mate. All the drinks are in the fridge and in honour of your birthday, you can be the bar tender in chief. Make sure your mates have a good time and make sure you enjoy yourself too. I know you start work tomorrow morning but I won’t mind if you turn up with a hangover. Oh, and by the by – you can sleep on the sofa tonight unless you absolutely have to go home tonight for some reason.

            – Oh, thanks. I was worried about that.

            – No need. Just have a good time, mate. I want a smoke.

Ryan took a can of lager from the fridge and waddled across to the humidor. He selected a short one-oh-five and went on the balcony where he stood overlooking the city. He fired up the monster cigar and sat in one of the steel easy chairs. Paul and Seb sat together inside getting to know each other. They placed a large order for a variety of Chinese dishes with lots of rice to soak up the alcohol and extras like veggies and bean sprouts. Paul requested delivery around eight o’clock and told the delivery guy to phone when he was in the car park. Someone would come to collect the food and pay. It was all in order.

            – What else would you like, Seb? A birthday strip-o-gram?

            – Ha! No, nothing like that. This is already much more than I could ever have expected. A new job with you and Ryan and the lads coming. It’s great. Thanks very much.

            – Don’t mention it. It’s a bit of a house-warming party for us too. We never have mates round – well, in the last place we were too far away to be able to just nip round and of course we don’t know anyone here yet. We don’t get out much although we’ve talked about that and decided to go out more. Don’t get me wrong – we both love being amputees but it can make some things difficult. Like for example tackling stairs and steps. You saw how difficult it was for Ryan getting into Santa Fe and that was just one step. He can’t use walking sticks with his hooks, see? Otherwise it wouldn’t be such a nuisance. I’m OK on crutches and a peg.

            – Why do you have a peg leg instead of a normal artificial leg? You don’t mind me asking, do you?

            – No, of course not. The thing is, I’m supposed to be wearing a very complicated and very expensive artificial leg on my right side. We had to go to Sweden to get it made, believe it or not.

            – That must have been interesting.

            – Yeah, it was. Anyway, it’s such a bitch to use that I wanted a very sturdy leg on the left I could rely on and the only thing I could think of was a peg leg. The prosthetist suggested putting a hinge in halfway down to make it a bit more practical and after that, I got used to wearing just the one peg. I’ll show you the other one. Actually, come with me and you can help put the fucker on right now. Ryan will be surprised.

 

Paul struggled upright and crutched to the bedroom. The disart prosthesis was leaning in a corner of their closet. Seb brought it to Paul who had removed his shorts.

            – I’m going to need a pair of trousers with two legs. I think there’s a pair of two-legged jeans in there somewhere. See if you can find them.

Seb lifted out several pairs of jeans and found a pair of bleachers which did not have the right leg removed and sewn closed.

            – Are these OK?

            – Perfect. Now you have to feed the limbs into the trouser legs. It’s easier to do it this way. I’ll need a boot on that foot too in a minute.

Seb struggled with the unwieldy prosthesis until its plastic foot emerged from the trouser leg. Paul scooted back on the bed to make room for it and lay back.

            – Can you place the top socket so my hip goes into it?

He tilted his body and Seb fitted the half bucket on to Paul’s empty hip. Paul adjusted his position to seat the socket properly and fastened the velcro straps.

            – Now, pull the jeans up when I raise my bum.

Paul arched his back and Seb quickly adjusted the jeans. Paul pulled up the zip and closed the waist button. He was ready to stand.

            – Now for the fun bit. As you can see, I have no knees to lever myself up. I have to have enough room to be able to turn onto my tummy and push myself up backwards.

Paul did so and managed to stand on the rigid peg leg by holding on to Seb. The disart leg straightened and locked in position.

            – I think I’ll use the crutches. I have a couple of walking sticks as well but crutches are a bit sturdier. Oh yeah, can you put a boot on the foot? One of the short ones will do.

Seb found a right eight-holer and pushed it onto the prosthetic foot and tied the laces.

            – Come on, then. Let’s go and see what Ryan is up to. Watch his face when he sees me.

Paul made sure his peg was locked rigid and tentatively moved away from the bed. His peg leg was half an inch longer than the booted disart prosthesis, making it easier to swing it forward. The leg emitted muffled squeaks and creaks.

            – Sounds like it needs a drop of oil. I haven’t used it for ages.

Paul soon remembered the twisting motion necessary to force the disart leg forward. The peg provided a firm base and held him securely. He saw Ryan outside with his back to him and crutched out onto the balcony.

            – Well, look at you! What are you all dressed up for?

            – I just thought I’d show Seb my other leg. And then I decided I might as well put it on.

            – Are you going to wear it all evening?

            – Don’t know yet. Probably not. We’ll see how it goes.

            – You look really funny with two legs.

            – Thank you, kind sir. Do you think of me as being one-legged?

            – I suppose I do. The skinhead with a peg leg. That’s you.

Paul was pleased to hear it. It was the identity he had wanted and for the first time, Ryan had admitted that it was how he saw him.

            – Grab yourselves some beers and come and sit down. The guys won’t be here for an hour yet.

            – Seb, would you get a couple of cans? I have trouble carrying stuff like this.

            – You should get a shoulder bag or something for when you’re on crutches, mate.

            – I know. I will.

Seb handed him a can of chilled lager and sat down in the far chair facing the legless skinheads. Paul manoeuvred himself in front of his wheelchair and lowered himself into it. Seb took his crutches and stood them against a window. Ryan raised his can.

            – Happy birthday, Seb. I hope you have a good time tonight and I hope you enjoy working here too. What job title would you like? How would you describe yourself to your friends or on a form?

            – I don’t really know, not yet. I’ll have a better idea in a couple of weeks when we get used to some kind of routine, I suppose.

            – Bilateral stump scrubber. Prosthetic removals man.

            – Haha! Geek cleaner.

            – I wouldn’t dare say anything like that.

            – Well, if someone asks you, where would you say you worked?

Seb thought for a moment and looked at Ryan with a grin.

            – I’d say I work in an artificial limbo.

Paul snorted lager and tried simultaneous coughing and laughing.

            – Fucking hell!  We need to remember that. Have T-shirts printed or something. Yeah, that just about describes this place. Still, it might get a bit more action when Craig gets here. He’s still tying up ends in London. He had a great shop in Stratford which sold cigars and shit and he’s been selling his house. I think he’s just waiting for it to be concluded, you know, deed papers handed over and money in the bank. Then he’ll join us here. I just hope he doesn’t bring a load of shitty furniture with him.

            – What’s he like otherwise?

            – Well, he’s a bit older than we are. Early thirties, I suppose. He has arm stumps like mine and double leg stumps, below the knee. He always uses his artificial limbs all the time. Never seen him in a wheelchair or anything. But he’s a great bloke. He knows lots of filthy jokes and makes jokes about amputees. I suppose he’s entitled to, with four stumps of his own.

            – What happened to him to cause injuries like that?

            – Er, well, I think that’s something you will have to ask him yourself. It’s not for us to talk about his private life.

            – No. I see that.

            – Tell us about some of the amps you’ve seen who you like the look of.

            – You mean in real life or in videos?

            – Anything. In real life. There aren’t all that many who like to flaunt it, are there?

            – No, but you can usually tell by someone’s walk if they’re wearing an artificial leg. I’m not so much interested in below the knee stuff. I like the idea of the whole leg being carbon and steel. It looks much better than having an elastic belt holding half a leg on although a steel pylon between the socket and the shoe looks cool.

            – Yeah, I agree with you there. I think my legs look fantastic, well horny. How about arms? Are you a leg man or an arm man?

            – I love seeing hooks.

            – Well, you’ve come to the right place. Oh, I just had an idea. Would you like to have hooks right now?

            – Er, yeah. How?

            – Paul has a pair of artificial arms meant for pretenders. I dare say they’d fit you well enough. Is it alright if Seb tries them on, Paul?

            – Sure, go ahead. They’re your arms after all, not mine.

            – Oh yeah. Come on mate. Pull me up and we’ll get you a pair of hooks.

Seb stood in front of Ryan, gripped his elbows and pulled him onto his stubby feet. Ryan walked sideways to clear the table and turned his body in stages to face the door. He kicked his right stump and stepped inside.

            – Come on, Seb. Walk this way, as they say. I’ll tell you a joke about that later on if I remember. You need to take your hoody off but keep your T-shirt on.

They went to the bedroom and Ryan found the pretender arms in the cardboard box they had brought from South Quay. Only the left socket was attached to the harness.

            – You’ll have to put this right arm on the harness first. Try it on first to see if it fits.

Seb slid his arm into the black socket and clenched his fist when his fingers touched the end. His fist held the socket firmly.

            – That looked alright. Put some stump socks on and they’ll fit perfect. There are some of my football socks in one of the pigeonholes. They’ll do.

Seb found a pair of blue knee length woollen socks.

            – You’ll have to attach the right socket to the harness first, mate. Compare it with how the left side is connected and you can see how the buckle thing works. Make sure it’s the right way round. That’s it.

Seb’s hands trembled with excitement as he looped the strap onto the harness. It was ready. Ryan told him to put it on the bed with the hooks pointing away from him.

            – Now, make sure the cuffs have room to get your arms through. You have to pull them tight later on. See these rubber loops? They go over your shoulders. They’re a bit awkward to put on. Hold the whole thing up by the loops. That’s the wrong way round. Turn it round. That’s it. Now you need to put your right arm through the loop so the harness goes behind your back.

Seb worked it out and placed his arm through the loop.

            – Now your left arm. Shrug a couple of times. Well, that looks alright. You need to put the socks on your arms, nice and tight. Pull them up as far as they’ll go. Right. Next, you have to fish around to find the cuff and push your arm through the straps and into the socket.

Seb understood the configuration but had trouble feeling the cuff strap with thick socks on his arms. Ryan guided him as best he could. Seb found the sweet spot and pushed his arm deep into the socket. He stared at the steel hook at the end of his arm in amazement. He had been dribbling precum for ten minutes and now had a full-on erection. The right arm was easier to put on.

            – Paul will tighten your biceps cuffs for you. I can’t do it. Push your arms out straight.

Seb raised his arms in front of him and stretched them. The hooks opened.

            – Now try them one by one. If you push the opposite shoulder forward, the hook will open. Open the right hook. Push your left shoulder forward like you’re nudging someone.

The right hook opened.

            – And that’s all there is to it, mate. Congratulations. You’re a double hook wearer like me now. Just as disabled. Let’s go and show Paul. He can fix your cuffs for you.

Ryan waddled across to the balcony door.

            – Wait till you see what Seb’s got!

Seb appeared in the doorway and gestured feebly with his forearms. The hooks described an uncertain trajectory.

            – Fuck me! That looks brilliant, mate.

            – Can you tighten the cuff straps for him, mate? Seb, sit on the table for a minute so Paul can reach.

Paul tightened the cuffs and checked that the cables had free travel.

            – All set and ready. I can tell you one thing though. You won’t be able to get stuff to your face. Doesn’t matter. If you sit next to me, I’ll feed you. Something tells me you’d have trouble using chopsticks with our Chinese.

Seb was mute from the shock of being totally disabled so quickly. He held the hooks in front of his face and looked at them in wonder. Completely alien objects and yet somehow desirable. What would life be like if he had hooks, every day, always, forever? He glanced at Ryan watching him with amusement, saying nothing.  

 

The lift alarm sounded. Guests were on their way. Ryan stumped over to the passenger lift and released the interior door lock. The lift pinged and Ryan heard the door slide open. He poked the door release with a hook and stood back to greet his two guests, Seb’s flatmates.

            – Hi! Welcome to Seb’s birthday bash! I’m Ryan and my mate is called Paul. I should warn you before we go any further that Seb has a new identity for this evening. You will be surprised but let’s go and meet them. If you want a beer, help yourself. They’re in the fridge. Also, if you want a drink of the hard stuff, help yourselves. It’s there to be drunk. And a bit later on we’re getting some Chinese grub delivered so you won’t go hungry.

Ryan had walked as far as the kitchen island.

            

The two flatmates were stunned by Ryan’s appearance. A guy with two hooks on tiny legs. What had Seb got himself into?

            – Come and meet Paul.

Ryan turned towards the balcony door. Seb was peering round half in excitement and half in terror at being outed as a wannabe. He was excruciatingly conscious of his new hooks and had no way of explaining them. His mates came out onto the balcony and Seb automatically raised a hook in welcome.

            – Hi!

            – Christ! What happened to you?

            – Sit down and I’ll explain everything. Seb, why don’t you bring your mates a couple of beers? Well, it’s nice to meet you and I’m glad you could come over at such short notice. It was only today we found out it’s Seb’s birthday. So we wanted to have a bit of a party. And it’s like a flat-warming for us because we’ve only been here a couple of days and don’t know anyone in town yet.

            – Why is Seb wearing hooks?

            – I thought it might be a useful exercise for him to experience the disability which I have. Seb’s hooks are on over his real hands, don’t worry. He’s fine. But these are the real thing. I have lost my hands and so I use these steel hooks for everything. It’s alright. Don’t look so dejected. I don’t mind. In fact, they’re quite nice to have. Paul here looks normal enough until you look at his feet.

Paul’s right foot pointed thirty degrees skywards and his left was a rubber ferrule. He shifted his right prosthesis with his hands and the foot pointed upwards at an even greater degree.

            – Seb has agreed to come in everyday to help us out. Get our breakfast and lunch and do some shopping. That sort of thing.

Seb came back with a can of lager in each hook. He had opened the fridge door without trouble but found out that his hooks were at the wrong angle to pry cans of beer from the shelf. He discovered that he could alter the angle by jamming the hook into a corner and twisting his arm. He used the door of the freezer to do so. He was pleased with his prowess and carried the cans of lager to his friends on the balcony.

            – Here you are. Grab hold or I might drop them.

            – Ah, they’re really cold.

            – Are they? Sorry, I can’t feel anything.

            – Are you going to wear those all evening?

            – I don’t know. Ryan, am I?

            – You can take them off when you want to, Seb. I can’t say better than that. We’re relying on you having hands tomorrow but for tonight it might be a useful experience to find out what using hooks is like. You guys are OK with that, aren’t you? Great. We have some food coming a bit later, Chinese, all sorts of stuff, so I hope that’s alright. So, tell us a bit about yourselves. How did you meet each other?

Zac watched Paul lift a lager to Seb’s lips.

            – We were at uni together. Seb and I were in the graphics line and Jay was doing bioengineering until his sponsor went tits up and left him facing a quarter of a million in student debt.

            – Yeah, I couldn’t face that so I had to drop out. But I managed to get a job in a research lab anyway so it wasn’t all bad.

            – I think Seb said he had his eye on advertising. Is that what you were going to do?

            – Well, I was aiming more for interior design – you know, how to pretty up offices and shops and streets so people feel better about where they live and work. But guess what?

            – No money.

            – Right. Government money for the regions has dried up so it’s back to basics.

            – That’s too bad. So what do you do to get by?

            – I drive a van for a food logistics company. I’m studying to become a lorry driver at evening school.

            – You need to study to be a lorry driver?

            – Oh yeah. It’s much more involved than just driving. You need all sorts of qualifications and planning skills. How about you two? I guess you don’t work full time anywhere at the moment.

            – No, we don’t. We used to work in the building trade. Ryan was the best plasterer in London and I was second best.

            – Ha!

            – Third best, then. And then something amazing happened. Are you gonna tell ’em, Ryan?

            – Why not? I won some money on EuroVinn. I won’t need to work again, even if I could. I mean, who would employ a legless guy who uses hooks?

            – There are lots of things you could do. You could be a journalist. You could work in radio or local tv, for example. You’d be popular for being the plucky guy who doesn’t let his disability beat him. Or you could join a design team which works on prosthetics, testing their creations and suggesting new approaches. Lots of things open up simply because you are an amputee.

            – Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.

            – Well, yeah. Seb and I have something in common. We’re both wannabes.

            – Really? Seb, is that right?

Seb looked at Zac in dismay. The secret was out.

            – Yes. Zac, you and your mouth. It’s true. Zac and I would both like to have stumps. It’s something we fantasize about in private. I guess it’s not so private any longer.

            – How about you, Jay?

            – Oh, I know all about their fantasies but it doesn’t interest me. I mean, it is interesting but I don’t find it erotic.

            – Fair enough. So, come on, Zac. Spill the beans! This sounds very interesting. What fantasies do you think about late at night alone in your bed?

            – Haha! I’m not sure you’d want to hear about them.

            – Listen mate. If it has to do with amputations, stumps and fake limbs, we want to hear about it. I don’t think you can say anything to shock us. Go on, what turns you on?

            – I would very much like it if my left leg was amputated mid-thigh. And my left arm just above the elbow leaving a nice long AE stump. Then after that, maybe a Symes on the right, leaving just the ankle without a foot.

            – Like a meat peg leg.

            – Yeah, like a meat peg leg. I could wear a special cylindrical orthopaedic boot and have something similar made for my left artificial leg. That would look cool.

            – Wow! That would look amazing. You’d have an amazing gait, as well. How about you, Seb? What sort of configuration turns you on most?

            – I’d like exactly the same thing except I’d prefer my right leg to be a BK.

            – So you’d be legless with a full length prosthetic arm?

            – Yeah, but a BK is practically the same as having your own foot when you have a pros. It must just feel fantastic to walk with a rigid ankle and foot, especially when the other leg is completely carbon fibre.

            – I can tell you, it’s also fantastic to walk on a short peg leg when your other leg is gone completely right up to your arse.

            – Is that what you have, Paul? I can’t tell what you’re wearing under your camos.

            – Yup. My left stump is more or less what you want. Mid-thigh, more or less. A bit more, actually. I wanted a decent length to use a prosthetic leg better. But I decided I wanted a peg leg rather than a conventional leg, so that’s what I use.

            – I’d be interested to see your stump, Paul, if you don’t mind.

            – OK. A bit later, maybe.

            – How about you, Ryan? You’re a DAK, aren’t you?

            – That’s right. I had my legs off midway down my thighs. Oops! I’m giving the game away.

            – You had them off? You paid someone to amputate your legs? I’d like to know more about that, if you don’t mind talking about it. How about your arms?

            – Same thing. I had my hands off first and then a while later I got my leg stumps.

            – Wow! I wish I knew how to get that done. It looks like my future is fucked anyway jobwise. I don’t see why I shouldn’t have the stumps I want and get a bit of pleasure out of life with prosthetic limbs.

            – I think the same way. I’ve wanted an artificial leg since I was old enough to know they existed. The arm fixation happened after I watched a guy at the airport with carry a tray and drink his coffee with two hooks. I was fifteen and with my parents before they broke up and the guy was in his early twenties, I suppose. He was smartly dressed, off to a business meeting maybe. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Afterwards, I started to think more and more about having hooks. But I’m too much of a coward to lose both hands. I’d settle for an above elbow amputation with an old-fashioned body-operated artificial arm – you know, with all the cables and all the jerking and twitching to get the hook to work. It looks so erotic. That’s what I think of in bed when I need to cum. It never fails.

Ryan looked at Zac and wondered if he might like to meet the Harvester. Seb too. But if Seb was supposed to be their Man Friday, would he be able to do his stuff with one arm and one leg? No harm in asking.

            – Seb, suppose you really lost your arm and a leg while you’re working for Paul and me.    We’d be in the shit, wouldn’t we?

            – Well, I don’t see why. The fact that you are bilaterals makes your disabilities more inconvenient. I think a guy with one arm and one leg could still function pretty well at helping out.

            – Yeah, I think you’re right. Look, we’ll talk about this later. You too, Zac. I want you in on this. And don’t talk about it with anyone else.

            – No, well it’s not the sort of thing that you would discuss with just anyone, is it? We only brought it up now because this seems like a safe place to mention it.

 

A bottle of vodka was opened shortly after all the revelations and admissions and the group was feeling the benefit by the time their Chinese meal arrived. Seb asked permission to take his pretender arms off. He would prefer to feed himself but admitted he had enjoyed the hooks and would like to wear them again, if he might. Ryan said he had no use for them and Paul said he should feel free to take them home, if he wanted to, on condition he wear them on the journeys to and from his home. No more motorcycling for Seb. Seb nodded sagely. It was a big decision.

 

Paul begged to be dismissed around midnight and went to bed. He was too drunk to remove his peg leg and slept wearing it all night. Seb, Zac, Jay and Ryan finished a second bottle of vodka and slouched around in the living room until about three when the battery in Ryan’s phone died and they could no longer watch amputee videos on the enormous tv screen. They slept where they lost consciousness, in Ryan’s case in his wheelchair after having removed his trousers and sockets to show Zac his stumps. The balcony door remained open and December air permeated the flat. They began to awaken around nine o’clock with a new week before them.

 

T W O   W E E K S   L A T E R

 

Seb was working out a treat. Ryan had acquired two more keycards and Seb was able to slip in to the flat at seven thirty each morning just as Ryan and Paul were waking. He put the coffee on, made toast, cleared the kitchen island of the previous evening’s debris and prepared it for breakfast. As soon as he heard sounds of life from the bedroom, he rolled a wheelchair to their room and took them individually to shower and shaved their heads. Both lads sported beautiful chrome domes. Their beards were growing in well. Ryan’s was a rich chestnut brown and Paul’s was a mixture of various shades of blond. It looked very promising. Paul also had a thicker moustache which had a natural upward curl. He could have a great handlebar if he wanted one.

 

Seb waited outside the bathroom when Ryan shat and then washed his anus. Ryan liked to lay across Seb’s lap, belly down. Having Seb’s flannel-covered finger poke up his arsehole was a minor pleasure he enjoyed each morning. He loved to feel clean. Seb brushed Ryan’s beard. Paul could more or less see to himself but Seb held him over the bowl for his first piss of the morning and tended to Ryan’s stumps while Paul showered. Paul preferred to slather his stumps with skin care product himself and wiped them dry with a fresh towel. Seb handed him a clean stump sock and his peg leg. Paul saw to its fitting himself and asked for his crutches. He crutched out of the bathroom naked and joined Ryan for breakfast.

 

Seb dressed the skinheads soon after. Ryan preferred city camo shorts and a T-shirt and Paul liked his sewn-up bleachers and a hoody. Ryan made a good effort to wear his full-length legs but frequently decided to swap them for his stubbies after lunch, especially if they did not intend going out. Seb envied him and wished he could even try a prosthetic limb for a few days but of course that was impossible.

 

They were about to drink the second espresso of the morning when a message arrived from Craig.

            – major balls up. have to leave today. furniture sold. shall arrive with 1 suitcase limbs & 1 clobber. c u tonight ~6.

            – Jesus. Craig is coming this evening.

            – Oh. That’s short notice, isn’t it? Still, it’s OK, right? I mean, that’s been the plan all the time, hasn’t it?

            – Yes, of course. It sounds like he’s just coming up with what he can carry. No furniture or big stuff. I don’t know. I suppose he can sleep on the sofa.

            – We can have a party and no-one will need to sleep anywhere,

            – Haha! We’ll sleep where we fall. Alright. I don’t mind. I’m not saying it’s a bad idea. It’ll be good to have him here at last.

            – Yeah, it will. I had a bit of a crush on him at one stage.

            – You sly bugger! I never knew that.

            – Well, he has such a fantastic beard and piercing eyes and looks so masculine with his hooks, plus of course he gave us those fantastic smokes.

            – Sold us, mate. Not gave.

            – Yeah, well. I hope he can set up again in Leeds. Wasn't that one of the conditions on him moving in? Free cigars?

            – Yeah, but I liked the idea of him being here with his artificial limbs more. Plus seeing his handsome face every day, of course. He’s a handsome cunt.

 

Seb made an extra effort to tidy the place before the new flatmate arrived. He emptied the ashtrays and asked if the half-smoked cigar stubs were to be ditched or not. He ran the dishwasher and cleared the kitchen.

            – Ryan, would you like me to be here when Craig arrives? It sounds like there might be some arranging to be done.

            – Well mate, you can stay if you want. As far as today is concerned, you’re free to leave right now. But you’re welcome to stay.

            – OK. I’ll wait to meet Craig. Anyone want a coffee?

            – Yes please, mate. Let’s get some caffeine inside us.

Seb made three cups with enough coffee for four and they drank them sitting around the kitchen island. Paul was on his peg leg, as usual, Ryan still determinedly wearing his long prostheses although he spend most of his time sitting around watching YouTube videos of amputees when he was not on the balcony smoking and sinking a beer. Seb kept an eye on Ryan because he could sense the anger Ryan felt attempting what he could no longer do. Seb was always immediately to hand. Bilateral hooks were always going to be restrictive and his artificial legs presented their own problems. Seb held Ryan’s arm as he negotiated steps when they were in town and suspected that Ryan would never be genuinely independent. He was perfectly content to help but realised Ryan’s frustration. He thought about his own fantasies. How would he cope himself with two hooks? He had seen how Ryan managed many things but was hopelessly helpless at minor things from flossing his teeth to cutting a steak. It was quite a compromise. Ryan could afford to have someone close by to help him at all hours. Seb could not. He would rely on his own charms and amiability to find and keep a willing partner. Someone who found two forearm stumps erotic and masculine.

 

            – I was just thinking. If Craig has no bed with him, maybe we could get him an inflatable mattress from Loidis and he could sleep on that for a couple of nights. And it would be handy to have a spare bed in any case. You never know when a guest might prefer to sleep over rather than leave.

            – Very diplomatically put. Alright, do you need some money? I can transfer you some if you want.

            – We can do that after I get back, Ryan.

            – Do you want to take my car? If you get my wallet out my jacket, I’ll give you the key.

            – That would be handy. I couldn’t carry something like that on my bike. What else shall I get? Towels? Sheets?

            – Nah, the mattress is good enough. We can go out again tomorrow and show him around if he wants something.

            – OK. Oh, shall I get a pillow and duvet as well?

            – Yeah, and if you see a smart cotton duvet cover, get that too. Something black and white, geometric, not something with little bunny rabbits on it.

            – Ha! I get the idea. I’ll get your jacket.

Ryan handed over his car key and Seb left.

 

Paul washed the cups and they went into the living room.

            – I’m glad Craig won’t have his own furniture with him. I wonder if he made the decision intentionally. If he would rather see how we live rather than imposing his own taste on us. Imagine if there was suddenly a three piece suite with a flowery pattern in here.

            – There wouldn’t be. I wouldn’t have it in here. I have been looking at furniture I hate the sight of my entire life but those days are over. Whatever furniture we get in the future has to first of all look good, then it has to suit amputees and then it has to be comfortable. Not too much to ask, is it?

            – Well, it is in this fucking country. You can have whatever you want so long as it looks like it was designed in eighteen hundred and has flowers all over it. Ask for something sleek in black leather and it has to be imported.

            – The same goes for everything. Try and find a lampshade which doesn’t make you throw up. Or a set of sheets. And nothing ever matches. The worst of it is, people just don’t care. They don’t pay any attention. They just think, oh this is lovely, let’s have this. Then they have a pink sofa with a green carpet. Which is also lovely.

            – Ha! The public knows what it wants.

            – Fuck ’em. I want a drink. We still have six bottles of booze in the fridge, did you know? I think this is the longest we’ve ever had booze last.

            – Yeah, alright. I wouldn’t mind a vodka. Just neat. Make it a big one. Let’s have a smoke as well. I’ll put the heater on. Bring the bottle, mate, don’t piss about.

Ryan found a carrier bag in the sink cupboard and placed the unopened bottle of vodka and two glasses in it. There was also a tin of peanuts unopened from the party weekend. He threw them in too. He linked a hook through the handles and stumped over to the humidor. He picked out one of his two remaining Monstruos and lifted it to his mouth. He picked the bag up and lurched out onto the balcony. Paul had sat in his wheelchair, his peg leg neatly folded on the foot plate. 

            – You look the business with that fucker in your face, mate. You look really hard.

Ryan smirked around the cigar.

            – Cut the end, will you?

Paul snipped a hole in the end of the cigar. Ryan gripped his lighter and angled it appropriately. Once activated, an inch long flame burned for several seconds. Ryan moved the flame across the tip of his cigar, heating the tobacco until it charred and burned, sucking the sweet smoke into his mouth and concentrating on balancing on prosthetic legs. The cigar was lit to his satisfaction and he collapsed back onto one of the steel chairs. Paul had switched the heater on and he felt a pleasant warmth on his face.

            – I was just thinking how I ought to take a photo of you when you’re smoking. I never remember in time. Didn’t you say once that you’d like to get a decent camera and do photography?

            – Yeah. I still would. That was when I had hands though, wasn’t it? Operating a camera with these is a bit more difficult.

            – Agreed. But not impossible. I reckon if you got a camera, it might be worth the effort. I mean, even with a phone camera, you take much better photos than I do. You might have the talent for it.

            – Well, thanks for reminding me. I might just do that. It would be good to do something creative again. Yeah. I’ll get myself a camera.

            – Are you going to pour me a drink or do we just look at the bag?

            – Fuck off. Two fingers or four?

            – Four.

Ryan took the glasses and bottle out of the bag.

            – You’ll have to open that, mate. You might as well pour it too. Four fingers for me.

            – We should get you a gizmo so you can open bottles yourself.

            – I know. A kind of lever thingy. I’ve not seen one in the shops and I don’t know what to look for online. The only thing my searches turn up are walking sticks with four legs and piss bags.

            – Ha! I know. It’s hopeless. I looked up stump socks once and all I got was a bunch of women in fishnet stockings.

            – Must have turned your stomach. Anyway, cheers. Your very good health and down the hatch.

            – Down the little pink lane it goes.

            – Who said that?

            – I don’t know. Some old queen, I suppose.

            – Are you looking forward to Craig being here?

            – Yes, I think it’ll be a lot of fun with him around. He’s a nice bloke anyway, isn’t he? You like him, don’t you?

            – Yeah, I like him a lot. He’s the sort of bloke I would like as a partner if I didn’t have you.

            – Really? That’s nice of you to say. Well, skål to that.

 

Seb returned and came out to report back.

            – I bought a mattress, a set of sheets in Egyptian cotton, a matching set of towels and a packet of aspirin.

            – Oh, good thinking. Do you want a drink? Go on. Get a glass and come out here.

Seb did as he was told. He expected it might be a boozy kind of evening. He thought about leaving immediately or having a drink and staying. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept on the sofa.

            – You realise that I won’t be able to drive home if I have a drink? Just so you know.

            – You can stay overnight, mate. You’re always welcome here.

            – Thank you, Ryan. That’s good of you to say. Well, goodbye, sober evening. Cheers!

            – Cheers! Oh god, now Craig will have to make his own way here. I was going to meet him.

            – Were you? Well, it doesn’t matter. The taxi will get here. I better give him a lift code before I’m too pissed.

Ryan texted Craig’s phone.

            – sorry no lift from stn. take taxi. attenborough tower. use lift code 72051. c.u.

Five minutes later, a confirmation arrived. The train was on time. Craig would be with them in about forty-five minutes.

            – I’m looking forward to meeting Craig. I mean, you’ve spoken about what a great guy he is and I’m interested to see him using his artificial limbs but he’s much older than we are, isn’t he? Aren’t you worried that he’ll sort of take the place over?

            – I see what you mean, but he knows he’s our guest and not the other way around. We invited him here because he’s a voluntary amputee like we are and there aren’t all that many of us that I can name offhand. Plus he sells, or sold, the best cigars in London.

            – I didn’t realise he was a voluntary amp.

            – Well, I may already have told you more than I should. Don’t say anything to him about it. I’m pretty sure he’ll tell you when he trusts you, especially if you tell him you’d like your left leg and arm off. But leave him alone this evening. He’ll be shagged from the trip and mixed up by being in a new place.

            – But he has a nice new bed. I better go and get it ready for him.

 

Seb took the inflatable mattress to Craig’s bedroom and undid the package. The bed had a built-in motor which inflated and deflated it. In a couple of minutes, there was a good-sized bed, firm and sturdy, in the middle of the room and Seb went to find a sheet. He made up the rest of the bed and threw the pillow onto it. The bed looked like an op-art creation.

 

            – That’s ready for him. You should take a look at his bed. It looks amazing. Makes you go cross-eyed.

            – Great. Thanks Seb. What are we going to have for supper? He’ll be starving by the time he gets here.

            – There’s some pork in the fridge. We could have pork cutlets with fried onion and mash.

            – Sounds nice. We’d better wait until he gets here and ask him if he’s hungry, though. It won’t take long to peel a few potatoes, will it?

            – No, it won’t take long to get ready.

 

They sat outside, smoking, sipping vodka, nibbling peanuts, waiting for Craig to arrive. The lift alarm eventually sounded and Ryan pushed himself to his full height and went to the passenger lift door. He unlocked it in readiness. Moments later the lift stopped and the inner door slid open. Ryan opened the outer door to reveal a grinning Craig with two big suitcases at his side. The men hugged.

            – Great to see you, mate. Welcome. Sorry we couldn’t be at the station to meet you but we’d had a drink and didn’t dare drive.

            – No problem. The taxi was fine. It’s very exotic coming up here, isn’t it? The underground entrance, all glass and chrome and the marble lobby. Very swish.

            – Yeah, I suppose it is. I just think of it as the exit to the car park. Put your cases in your bedroom. Come and have a look.

Craig followed Ryan along the glass-walled corridor with a view of the lights of the city far below them.

            – Oh god, what a design! Hope that’s ok, mate. We got you a bed when you said you weren’t bringing furniture.

            – Wow!  It looks amazing. Thanks very much. I was expecting to sleep on the sofa tonight.

            – No need. Leave your cases here and let’s go and see the others. We’re on the balcony. You haven’t met Seb yet. I think you’ll get on with him really well.

Craig and Ryan walked slowly across the huge living space with its curving walls. Craig looked around, appraising his new home, approving very much of what he saw. It was grand to be in a pristine modern home, far above the grime and mediocre tat of English suburbia. They stepped out onto the balcony where Seb stood at attention.

            – Craig, meet Sebastian. Our very capable valet and gentlemen’s companion.

Craig held out his right hook and they shook.

            – I’m pleased to meet you, Craig.

Craig moved towards Paul and shook his hand too.

            – Hello, mate. Good to see you again. Sit down and have a drink. What would you like?

            – What are you drinking? Vodka? Yeah, a double vodka would just about hit the spot.

            – Would you like ice in it, Craig?

            – No thanks, Seb. No need. Wow!  What a trip! I just heard this morning that all the moves have to be done today otherwise someone would be on the streets and someone else would miss a hospital appointment in another city, hence the panic. It was alright, though. I’ve been selling and giving away my stuff for the past fortnight, the sale was completed last week and the money is in a new euro account in the bank.

            – What about your shop?

            – That closed three weeks ago and I found a buyer for most of my unused stock. But I brought you a few of your favourites.

            – Great!  Thanks very much.

            – I’ll be looking to open a new store up here once I’ve done a bit of market research. It could be that there’s no call for expensive cigars here though, even when times are good.

            – Is that something you’d prefer to do, Craig? Start a smoke shop? I’ve got an idea which needs someone with the nous to run a small business and knows their way around the bureaucracy.

            – Oh? What do you have in mind?

            – Well, I don’t know if you’ve already noticed but we don’t have any public transport connection. The nearest stop is half a mile away as the crow flies and it’s an even longer walk down the tunnel. I was thinking of buying some electric buses and running a service between here and the station with a stop at the big shopping mall down there. But I don’t know how to go about setting something like that up. All the permits and so on.

            – You mean like a shuttle service which serves the towers and runs into town and back? I’m sure it would be possible if the city hasn’t organised a service yet. They might even welcome a private company to take responsibility for it. Have you looked into a route and timetables and frequency and demand?

            – See? That’s exactly the sort of thing we don’t have any experience with. No, we haven’t given any of that any thought.

            – Oh well. First of all we’d have to find out if there is any demand. If people in the towers would actually use the bus to get into town rather than their own cars. People in outlying regions often bitch about not having a bus service and then when they finally get one, no-one uses it. So they lose it. Happens time and time again.

            – The other thing is, it would connect all the towers together. It’s a bitch for anyone who lives in Attenborough to get to the other towers. And even they are far enough apart to make quick visits between them a bit of a slog.

            – Well, this is all very interesting. It would take quite a big investment to get started but after that it might run at a very reasonable cost. Let’s leave it for now and we’ll look into it a bit deeper after we’ve found out what the local council has planned. They might even be about to launch their own service, who knows?

            – Right. Let’s leave business talk for the time being. Are you hungry, mate? Seb has some cutlets he’s dying to cook for us.

            – I’m not hungry right now but it would be good to have some supper before too long.

            – Shall I make a start, then? I could peel the potatoes and get things ready.

            – Yeah, good idea, mate.

            – Would you like some help, Seb? I can lend you a hand, so to speak.

            – Thanks Craig. Yes, it would be good to have a bit of help.

            – Good show. See you in a few minutes. Come on then, Seb. Let’s make a start.

Seb and Craig went to the kitchen and shortly Seb’s laughter was heard. Craig was probably telling some of his filthy jokes.

            – They seem to be getting on well enough.

            – Yeah, it sounds like it. It’s cool. Are you serious about that bus business?

            – Well, yeah. It would be interesting to have a little business to look after. I don’t suppose it would make any money but that’s not a problem. If it breaks even it would be worth the effort. And it’ll be fun getting the publicity and showing up for interviews on telly wearing a T-shirt and shorts. The limbless CEO whose only thought was for his neighbours’ mobility. What a hero.

            – Daft cunt. Still, it might be fun. Would you let me ride for free?

            – Yeah. Amputees travel free. Company policy.

 

            – Right, let’s get started. I need four big spuds, two big onions and there’s a packet of pork cutlets in the fridge. Can you get them out for me, please?

Seb began peeling the potatoes. He sliced them and put them in a pan to boil. Next he diced the onions and put oil into a frying pan. He washed and salted the pork and checked the potatoes. Craig watched him concentrating.

            – All ready bar the cooking.

            – You seem quite professional, Seb. Where did you learn to cook?

            – Just messing about for myself after I left home, actually. You should have seen my first efforts. Terrible! Then I sort of got the hang of it. It’s only physics, after all.

            – Plus good timing and a touch of magic.

Seb looked inquisitively at Craig. It was an odd thing to say.

            – Yeah, I suppose it is a bit magical.

            – So how have you settled in to your new job? You seem to be very much one of the gang.

            – It’s been grand. Ryan and Paul are good mates and that kind of rubs off on people. And they never ask the impossible. I have the main job of tidying up and cleaning and getting the shopping done. Ryan often lets me use his car when I need to go into town. Then I help the lads with their limbs if they ask for it.

            – Do you mind seeing their stumps? Isn’t it shocking to see them?

            – Well, er. Craig. Oh, I might as well tell you. I’m what they call a wannabe. That means I would like to be an amputee. So I knew about stumps and artificial limbs already.

            – So you quite liked seeing Ryan naked.

            – Yes, I did. I do. I help him shower in the mornings and in the bathroom generally. You know what I mean.

            – I know.

            – Paul is more independent although his legs are in even worse condition than Ryan’s. It’s because he still has his hands, of course. But Paul always wears his peg leg with crutches so he’s fairly helpless after that. The crutches prevent him from doing a lot of things for himself.

            – And you don’t mind doing the little things for them?

            – No, not at all. They don’t take advantage of me. They do as much for themselves as they can. I don’t think of them as being disabled. They don’t behave like they’re disabled.

            – No, I’ve noticed that. Would you help me shower as well?

            – Yes, of course I would.

            – Great. I look forward to that. Are the potatoes done yet?

            – Another few minutes. I could start the onions, I suppose.

            – Well, you’ve been very honest with me, so I’ll return the favour. I was a wannabe too until I was twenty. Then I arranged to have my amputations and I’ve been DBE and DBK for twelve and ten years respectively.

            – It’s worked out very well for you, hasn’t it? I get the idea you’re perfectly comfortable with your prostheses.

            – True. Every morning I enjoy feeling them fresh on my stumps and completing my body with carbon and steel. I love using hooks. I think they are the ultimate symbol of masculine beauty and I love to see hooks on other men, especially if they’re young and good-looking like Ryan.

            – I’ve been wearing Ryan’s pretender arms too, now and then.

            – I’d like to see that. I think you’d look pretty good with a hook. You have the stature and promise of a man who would triumph with artificial limbs.

Seb looked at Craig’s earnest face. What an odd thing to say, again.

            – That’s good of you to say so. But it’s so difficult to arrange to lose a hand or leg, unless you try something life-threatening.

            – Yes it is. I’m sure there’d be thousands more young amputees flaunting their hooks and prosthetic legs if voluntary amputations were made legal. But there are ways around that. The route I took is no longer available. But you should have a word with Ryan. He might know of some other way.

            – Yeah, Ryan has promised to discuss it a bit later. I have a friend, one of my old flatmates, who wants the same amputations I do.

            – Really? Two of you in the same apartment? That must have made for some interesting conversations.

            – And lots of bitching about our frustrations. Anyway, Zac and I will have a chat about it with Ryan. I don’t know what he has planned, or why he can’t just tell me anyway.

            – Oh, I think I can guess. Don’t fret about it, Seb. And that pan is hot enough now.

            – Yeah. Let’s get the food ready first and we can talk more later.

Craig sat and watched while Seb fried the onions to a glistening golden brown and then fried the cutlets. He made mashed potatoes with a generous dab of butter, plated the meals and cut Ryan’s cutlet into bite-sized pieces.          

            – Shall I cut your meat for you, Craig?

            – No need. I can do it and I want to show Ryan how to use a knife.

Seb served his food on bamboo place mats at the kitchen island and received thanks and compliments from the amputees.

 

Seb cleared the table top and washed up.

            – Seb, mate, what do you want to do now? We’re going to have a smoke and a drink to welcome Craig and we’d like you to join us unless you have to get back tonight. You can sleep on the sofa.

            – Er, I’m trying to think if there’s anything I need from home for tomorrow. I don’t think so. Can I borrow a clean T-shirt tomorrow morning?

            – Of course you can. Sit down and have a beer, mate. You’ve been on your feet for twelve hours. Craig was just telling us that you were wondering about that chat I promised you. Well, we don’t need to wait for Zac. I can tell you now.

            – Oh, OK.

            – Christ, I feel horny just thinking about it. Wait a minute while I get a smoke.

            – Oh, that reminds me.

Craig got up and pulled Ryan to his stubby feet. He went to his bedroom and returned with a large wooden box which he placed on the coffee table. Ryan went to the humidor and selected a long, fat cigar. He handed it to Paul who snipped the end off and gave it back. Ryan used both hooks to position the monstrous cigar in his mouth and asked Seb to give him a lighter. They were both on the table – the one Craig had sold and the one they bought in Stockholm. Ryan passed it from one hook to the other until it pointed in the right direction and pressed the ignition. An intense jet of flame burned the tip of the cigar as Ryan sucked it. Seb and Paul watched him, fascinated.

            – I managed to salvage these cigars from the shop. They are mainly experimental items which the factories produce as display items for advertising their skills and we in the trade can pick them up occasionally. They’re all premium cigars and I thought you might like to see them.

He opened the box and Paul gasped. Ryan stared. Seb looked on in wonder. The box contained enormous cigars of wondrous girth and length.

            – This is called the Cro-Magnon Femur.

It was the size of a litre bottle of water.

            – And these two are Cro-Magnon Sides.

They were the size of a half litre can of lager. Maybe a bit thicker.

            – These others are a more manageable girth at only a hundred and thirty-five but their length is interesting – eighteen inches. You wouldn’t smoke that in a hurry. And underneath all those are some of the eighty-fives you like, three dozen, if I remember correctly. So that’s my housewarming present and I hope you enjoy them.

            – Mate, they’re fantastic. Thank you very much. We ought to get them in the humidor. Seb, would you like to have a smoke? Try one of the Femurs.

            – Thanks but no thanks. I don’t think I can stay awake long enough to do it justice. They are remarkable cigars. I’ve never seen anything like them. You should keep them for an occasion where you absolutely want to flaunt your total superiority over a situation. No man could look down on someone smoking a cigar like any of those. Fantastic. Would you like me to put them in the – what’s the word?

            – Hew Me Door. Yes please, Seb. Be careful with them, please.

            – Well, I’m glad you like them. None of the other vendors I approached wanted to touch them. They’re too extreme for them to carry, especially as cigars like the Side would retail for nearly five hundred euros. And I didn’t want to throw them away.

            – No, Jesus!  Not at that price.

            – Ah, that’s just the retail price after all the tax and VAT has been added on. The manufacturer gets about forty euros for something like that. The eighty-fives you like net him two euros each. The woman who rolls them gets ten cents each. But she can make about forty an hour and earns four euros an hour, which is a pretty good wage in Cuba. But outside Cuba, there’s a lot of exploitation and poverty among very skilled and valued cigar makers. It’s a shame but there’s not a lot we can do about it while Central America is still USA’s back yard.

            – So there’s a huge mark-up on cigars.

            – There is. On tobacco in general. It’s what let me buy a house before I was twenty-five as a quadruple amputee.

            – Well, I hope you can set up again here.

            – It would be good but I’m not holding out much hope. We’ll see. I intend having a bit of a holiday for a couple of weeks and then I’ll start looking for something to occupy my time. What do you guys do to pass the time?

            – Ryan watches YouTube videos and I watch them with him.

            – Well, you have a pretty good screen to watch them on. Biggest I’ve ever seen.

            – Ha! Paul had it in his bedsit before we moved in together, believe it or not. This is the, what? – fourth flat it’s been in and only here is it a decent size. We can sit over by the windows and watch it perfectly well.

            – It is impressive. I just watch tv on my laptop. News and that sort of stuff. I haven’t watched ordinary broadcast tv for years. Anything worth watching is on YouTube anyway and you can watch when you want.

            – That’s what I do. Would you like to see something now?

            – I don’t mind. What have you got in mind, as if I didn’t know?

            – Look at these guys.

Ryan found the link to his favourite video, a forty minute documentary about rehabilitation at an American hospital in nineteen forty-six. Amputees swarmed everywhere, flailing and jerking their primitive artificial limbs. Seb looked on in amazement. Some of the amputees had exactly the kind of above-elbow artificial arms he wanted for himself. And the old-style artificial legs which tried to mimic the shape of natural legs were really horny. He would ask Ryan for the url and watch it again later. He was fascinated to see a young ex-soldier learning to use a pair of above-elbow prosthetic arms. He twisted his body and shrugged and shook. Eventually his forearm was at ninety degrees and he opened the hook. More twisting and shrugging and the arm dropped to his side. Ah, to have artificial arms like that and a helper to do everything. The soldier went home to his mother. Seb would have to come to some other arrangement.

 

            – So, Seb mate. How would you like an arm like that?

            – I’d love it. And one of those artificial legs with the elastic bands around the knee to hold it straight.

            – Well, I don’t know if they still make ’em with the elastic bands but you can still get fairly basic limbs if you want. Or get a peg leg like mine, or an even more basic one without a knee joint. A long rigid peg leg and cable-operated arm with a hook.

            – That would be fantastic, really grand.

            – Would you really want to go ahead with it if I arranged it? Like, if I told you this week the process is under way for you to become a double amputee, would you turn and run or stay and go through with it?

            – Ryan, you must believe me when I say I have been a wannabe for years. Since I was a kid. I remember walking to primary school imagining I had a wooden leg. That’s how early it started.

            – And are you free to go ahead? What would your family say? How would your friends react?

            – My dad left when I was fifteen and mum died in the epidemic. That’s why I had to work since I was eighteen. Study during the day, work at night.

            – Fuck that. Couldn’t have been easy.

            – Well, there was no alternative so there was no point in worrying about it. I was too busy to grieve for my mother then although I still miss her now. Don’t worry, I’m not going to burst into tears.

            – So there is no-one who would be offended if you suddenly became an amputee.

            – No, there isn’t. I suppose my mates might be surprised but I don’t see why they would care all that much.

            – OK. Tomorrow when we’re both sober, we’ll go over this again and I’ll put you in touch with a bloke called the Gardener. You have to persuade him you’re a genuine wannabe. If he’s satisfied he’ll put you in touch with someone called the Harvester who will arrange your amputations somewhere. It might be abroad, so you might need to get a passport. And then you come back here to recover before you get your artificial limbs. You might be a double amputee by Easter. How would you like that?

            – I can’t imagine. It’s everything I could ever wish for. A leg stump and wearing a hook. Fantastic.  

            – Alright. Calm down. Shall we tell Zac now or make him wait until you’ve been amputated and he’s jealous as fuck?

            – Ha! Let’s make him wait. I can’t wait to see his face.

            – Don’t get ahead of yourself, Seb. You have to convince the Gardener first. But I can put a word in for you if he’s dubious.

            – That would be good. Thanks, Ryan.

            – Alright. Ready for another video? Anyone ready for bed?

            – No, go ahead, Ryan. These are interesting videos.

The next one was of a thirties-something American who was well-known for having frozen his hands off. He used hooks as if they were his natural hands. His videos had disappeared from YouTube but Ryan had downloaded copies. The bloke must be nearly fifty by now. It would be good to know what his life was like and what he had done after he disappeared. They watched a couple of videos of the excitable Mexican Carlos, who waved his hooks around a lot but never actually used them for anything. Craig suspected his wife washed and dressed him and after that, he went to the town square to show off his artificial arms and legs to the tourists who threw him spare pesos in pity.

 

Ryan called Seb into his bedroom next morning. They had all slept late and they all had slight hangovers, nothing serious.

            – I want to wear my built-up boot this morning, Seb. You’ll have to take my right leg off and find the bits of pylon. There’s a black cardboard box by my cubbyholes. Bring it out here and I’ll show you what I mean.

Seb found the box and lifted the lid to see a variety of prosthetic components. He carried it back to Ryan, sitting on his bed legless and handless.

            – OK. What I want you to do is fit the four inch thigh pylon to my knee joint and the eight inch lower leg pylon to the knee.

He watched while Seb assembled the individual components on the bed.    

            – And last of all, we need the foot from the boot I was wearing yesterday. Sorry you have to undo all the lacing, mate.

            – It’s fine. This is easy enough. This is going to be a very short leg.

            – Yeah. That’s the whole point. I have a built-up boot which goes on my little prosthetic leg and it looks like I have a short leg or something. I want to show off to Craig, see? OK, you’ve got all the bits. Screw them together and stick it on my socket. The boot is at the back of the closet in a black bin bag. It’s the bigger one. There’s a short one and a tall one. I want the tall one.

Seb finished assembling the artiicial leg and went to search for the boot. Ryan slid on his liner and socket.

            –Is this what you want?

Seb held up a remarkable built-up boot, intended for a man whose leg length discrepancy was at least eight inches.

            – That’s the one. Can you put it on the foot? And then I need my other leg. It’s under the bed somewhere. I don’t remember how hard I threw it last night.

            – It was quite a night, wasn’t it? We had a good time, especially after Craig took his legs off and walked around on his knees.

            – Yeah, that looked horny. You see why you have to keep the floor clean? Imagine walking around like that and kneeling on a piece of gravel or something.

            – Ouch! Yeah, I see well enough. Here’s your leg. Are you going to put it on without washing?

            – Yeah, I can’t be arsed this morning. I’ll probably take these off this afternoon, so no harm done. I suspect we’ll be going out with Craig to get some stuff this morning and I thought I would be a short-legged man with a big boot for a change.

            – It looks amazing. Do you want underwear or are you going commando?

            – Commando, mate. I want my medium suit trousers. They should just about fit over that boot. Then you can roll the cuff up so it rests on the top of the boot. I want all the leather on display.

            – Got it. Let’s wash your arms first, though, yeah? You’re going to wear them all day, right?

            – Yep, all day, every day from here to eternity. It’s hooks all the way.

            – It sounds fantastic. Hold on and I’ll pull you up.

Ryan hugged Seb with his arm stumps and rose to his feet on his transformed artificial legs. His left was the same steel and carbon as the previous evening but the right was a pitiful withered thing with a huge leather orthopaedic boot with an surreal raise. Ryan hobbled along to the bathroom with Seb holding him around his waist and stood balancing on his artificial feet, one of them much elevated, while Seb washed and dried and rubbed salve into his shapely arm stumps. Seb wiped a warm flannel across his eyes and lips.

            – Ready. I could shave your head now too, if you want.

            – Nah, we’ll do it tomorrow. It doesn’t look too bad.

            – It looks great. I wish I had the guts to do it.

            – Ha! Well, there’s no-one here who would say anything against it if you wanted to be bald. And now’s the best time of year to start while your scalp is the same colour as the rest of your skin. But mate, once you start, you’ll be shaving for the rest of your life. You won’t want hair again.

            – I know. That’s what I’ve been thinking about. How would I shave if I had a couple of steel hooks instead of hands?

            – I see what you mean. I can shave my face with the hooks but they won’t reach around my scalp. Someone else has to do that for me. That’s the main reason I need help in the bathroom. You do a great job of it. But not this morning. Let’s get dressed. I’m gonna wear my suit jacket and these legs. I should look the business if we go into town with Craig.

They walked back to the bedroom. Seb watched the amazing big black boot at the end of Ryan’s short prosthetic leg. Paul was still asleep but showing signs of waking, using his arms to change position. He had no legs to push himself with.

            – Get my trousers on and we can go for breakfast. I’ll put my hooks on later. You’ll have to feed me.

            – That’s fine. Sit there and I’ll get your pants.

Seb fed the trousers over the enormous boot and the eight-holer Ryan had on his left foot. He pulled Ryan to his feet and pulled up the trousers. He closed the flies and fixed a belt around Ryan’s waist.

            – Ready? Hang on, chum.

            – That’s the first time you’ve called me chum.

            – Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.

            – No, I mean you must be settling in. Becoming an equal. It’s cool. I’ll be your chum if you’ll be my mate. Alright?

            – Alright!

Ryan positioned his feet carefully on a kitchen stool and watched Seb getting coffee and breakfast ready. Craig appeared wearing underpants and BK prostheses. He had a very prominent morning erection.

            – Good morning, you two. Is coffee almost ready? I’ll get my hooks on and join you.

He returned moments later wearing a T-shirt and his prosthetic arms. He was still shrugging the harness into place when he sat down.

            – What’s new?

            – Seb wants to be a skinhead but doesn’t know if he dares.

            – Go on, Seb, mate. Shave your head and let your beard grow. I have to say, mate, your beard is beginning to look really handsome. It suits your face. And Paul’s moustache is starting to look impressive.

            – You’ve got a pretty good bush yourself. How long have you had a beard?

            – I’ve had a stache since I was seventeen and a beard since I was about twenty. I started growing it when I was recovering from my arm amputations.

            – That makes a lot of sense. Where did you live at that time?

            – I was in college but living at home. My father lived alone and I moved in with him. My mother died in twenty ten. So dad helped me out at the beginning with this and that.

            – What did he think of your amputations?

            – He thought they were the result of an electrocution – that’s what I told him - but he was a bit absent-minded and didn’t question it. He was an alcoholic and wouldn’t really have noticed if I’d suddenly grown tentacles.

            – You say ‘was’. Has he died?

            – Yeah, he died within a year of my amputations. That’s why I was able to go ahead with my leg amputations so soon. I was already functioning with hooks and I felt I could manage alone for a few weeks in a wheelchair.

            – And you never looked back.

            – No, I never looked back. I love having artificial limbs especially my hooks and I wouldn’t want my meat limbs back. This is the way I like to be.

Seb served the first coffee of the morning and asked what they wanted to eat. Craig wanted toast and peanut butter, of which there was none, and settled for slices of cheese. Ryan wanted müesli. Seb listened to the men talking about how their amputations were decisive turning points, bringing self-satisfaction and increased self-respect. What would it be like to do his job right now if he were standing on an artificial leg up to his arse and an artificial arm with only a bit of play at the shoulder for natural movement? He thought about it as he prepared to make another pot of coffee. Paul appeared in his wheelchair.

            – Good morning. Any coffee?

Seb poured him a cup.

            – What are we doing today?

            – I want to buy a few bits in town and have a look around.

            – I’ll drive you in unless you want to come as well, Paul. In which case, Paul will drive you in. My car’s only got one seat, you see. Paul’s has two. We chop and change when we need to.

            – Yeah, I’ll join you.

            – Seb, we’ll be eating out at lunchtime and we can get something to eat later so you might as well go home after breakfast. Take the day off and we’ll see you tomorrow morning.

            – Oh, OK. Thanks, Ryan. I think everything else is done.

            – Yes, everything else is done. Have some time to yourself.

Paul noticed Ryan’s built-up boot from his low point of view.

            – Woah! You’ve got your boot on. That looks amazing. No-one would think you’re an amputee.

            – I thought I’d show Craig some of my legs. I’ve got a pair of peg legs too, which you might like to see.

            – Oh, great. Yes, I’d love to see them. I have a pair myself but never really use them. I have a few bits and pieces I brought with me which you might like to see, as well. Various hooks and hands. Your hooks have the same half inch fittings as mine, so they’ll all fit. I’ll show you after breakfast.

Paul finished his coffee.

            – I’m going in the bathroom. Shan’t be long.

He twirled his wheelchair around and disappeared around the corner. Craig fed Ryan his müesli. It was much easier to feed someone else using hooks than yourself. Ryan kneaded his stumps against each other in pleasure and opened wide.

            – I should get my arms on.

            – Do you want some help, Ryan?

            – Not yet, thanks.

Ryan hobbled to his bedroom on the grotesque built-up boot. Paul was right. No-one would realise that both his legs were artificial. No amputee would need to wear such an orthopaedic horror. Ryan soon returned wearing a button-up shirt with a black tie around his neck.

            – Now I need some help, mate. I can’t do buttons. Can you do buttons, Craig?

            – Nope. They can fuck right off.

            – Haha! That’s what I think. Can you tie a tie, Seb?

            – Yeah, I used to wear a tie to school. Part of the uniform. I can do it if I stand behind you. Is that alright?

            – Course it is.

Ryan’s hooks looked eye-catching poking out of his white dress shirt. Seb tucked the shirt into Ryan’s trousers, the old-fashioned way. Ryan checked his appearance in the corridor’s full-length mirror and liked what he saw. His short leg had a neatly turned cuff to expose his boot. Paul came out of the bedroom on crutches and his peg leg.

            – You look very smart. What’s the occasion?

            – We’re going into town. Put some decent trousers on.

            – Shit. Seb, can you come and help? I can’t be arsed doing it again. Look, Ryan wants me to change my trousers. I have some black ones with two legs. Can you get these off me and pin the leg up on the others?

            – Sure. Come on. Sit on your bed.

Seb undid Paul’s shorts and pulled them off. He went to the closet to search for the trousers with two legs.

            – Are these the ones?

            – Yep. Just poke the peg down the trouser leg and I’ll pull them up. Wait a minute and you can pin the empty leg up. Thanks very much.

            – Well, I hope you have a good day out. Craig needs to get a few things, I guess.

            – Yeah. He’s more or less starting from scratch. He’ll want some clothes, I reckon.

Ryan and Craig were out on the balcony looking at the town. Paul crutched out to join them.

            – Is this presentable?

            – Now you look the business. I like the pinned up trouser leg. Right, if we’re ready, we might as well make a move and let Seb get home for some well-deserved rest. Come on. Key, money, ID. Don’t forget. Seb! We’re off. Lock the lift door behind you. See you tomorrow.

            – Bye. Have a good day!

The trio walked to the passenger lift and sped non-stop to the car park.

            – You ride with Paul, mate. Don’t let him show off.

            – It would take a genius to show off at twenty miles an hour. Where are we going first?

            – Loidis first.

 

They made their way slowly around the several storeys of the shopping mall. Craig was indeed on the lookout for new clothes. He wanted a complete break with his old style which he felt was too conservative but suitable for an upmarket shopkeeper. He bought carpenter jeans, a couple of hoodies, long shorts and a pair of trainers. He also had his eye out for empty premises, about thirty square metres, which he could adapt to a new version of Castro Cigars. The other businesses were respectable enough, not opulent but solid middle-class vendors of domestic goods, jewellery, watches and the like.

 

They stopped for an espresso in a café which featured tall stools along a narrow tabletop by the window. The men could take the weight off their stumps for a few minutes and watch other customers instead of being the centre of attention. Ryan looked remarkable in his black suit, white shirt and black tie. His shiny bald head and the smart short beard on his manly face caught many people’s admiration until their attention was distracted by a flash of steel from where hands should be. Paul on his single peg looked most like a skinhead in his MA-1 jacket. Craig wore jeans and a black leather blazer which also emphasized his hooks to his advantage. Coffee drunk, they returned to their cars and Craig stashed his purchases behind Paul’s driving seat.

            – I really like your car, mate. I think I’ll get one for myself. I had a car in London for a couple of years but it’s far too expensive to run one these days. But anyone who live in the Towers needs a car or something to get into town, don’t they? If there’s no public transport yet, it’s either a car or leg it. I’m going to find out if the city has any plans to get a bus route up there.

            – They’ll probably say there aren’t enough residents to make it feasible or some other shit.

            – That’s the trouble with public transport. It rarely makes any kind of profit. And money is so tight these days for the regions.

            – I think Ryan has been considering it though. He can afford to buy a couple of electric buses and run them between the Towers and the town centre.

            – Has he done any research yet? You know, asking other residents if they’d be interested?

            – No, I don’t think so.

            – Well, maybe we should have a chat about it and see what he thinks about getting serious about it. We’d need all kinds of permission from the city council and the regional government but I don’t see why anyone would have a serious objection if it’s in private hands.

            – It might be an interesting project.

            – Well, exactly. And I think it would be the sort of thing Ryan needs. He’s too young to just sit back and let life pass him by. He ought to try different things – and so should you.

            – I know. I do feel a bit left out sometimes. It’s Ryan who has the money and I’m just along for the ride.

            – Nonsense. You’re a great pair of guys and you obviously love each other even though I’ve never heard either of you say it to the other one. I don’t think Ryan would’ve done half of what he’s achieved if you weren’t with him.

            – You mean like his amputations?

            – Yeah, I suppose so. And yours. I really like your configuration, Paul. Your one stump is the perfect length for wearing a prosthesis and the disart looks great too.

            – Yeah. I love the peg leg. A skinhead on one peg leg. It looks great and feels fantastic. Did you say you had some peg legs with you?

            – Yeah, they’re in my suitcase.

            – Well, put them on when we get back. I’d love to see you wearing at least one.

            – Alright, I’ll change my feet when I try on my new shorts.

            – Great! Now, where’s Ryan going?

Paul and Craig were following Ryan. He was indicating left. He must have seen something which caught his attention. Paul flipped his indicator on and turned to follow Ryan. They both parked in a car park on the same invalid space and Ryan threw his door open.

            – I just spotted an army surplus shop. I wanna go and have a look.

            – Oh, OK. We’ll come with you.

Craig got out and grabbed Paul’s upper arms with his hooks as Paul adjusted his peg and arranged his crutches. The three of them went back to the street and Ryan waved a hook towards the right. Three shopfronts down was an Army and Navy Surplus Supplies Store, plastered in Union Jacks and Stars and Stripes. Ryan pushed the door open and held on to it as Paul and Craig entered. The shop was much larger than it appeared from the outside. At some stage, it had expanded into the neighbouring properties. A swarthy thirty-something bloke called out a Hello.

            – Just having a look round, mate.

            – Help yourself.

They ignored a wall display of boots and Ryan found some camouflage hoodies he liked the look of. He picked up a well-worn pair of M65 cargo pants and tested the waist size against himself. He walked across to a range of second-hand leather jackets. Many of them had been cut off from longer coats. The arms were spacious, the collars tall and wide, the zips a generous size.

            – I’m going to try this one on.

Ryan picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy. He took his suit jacket off and struggled into the leather jacket. The sleeves were long and his hooks were almost hidden but it suited him. It looked as if it were made for him.

            – I want this. I’m having this.

            – You look great in it.

Ryan took it off and asked Paul to help him back into his suit jacket. He picked the leather jacket up in a hook and went back to pick up the M65 pants and then a couple of camo hoodies. He cuddled his choices with his hooks and dumped them on the counter in front of the salesman.

            – I’d like these, please.

            – Pounds or euros, sir?

            – Either will do.

            – That’s four hundred and twenty-five euros, please sir.

The salesman placed the card reader in front of Ryan who noticed that the salesman’s left hand was a wooden prosthesis with steel fingers. Its thumb could move.

            – That’s a cool pros you have there. Never seen one like that before.

Craig looked to see the hand.

            – That is interesting. I have a couple of wooden hands but the fingers are wooden too and the index and middle fingers can move.

            – I picked this one up when I bought some stock a while ago. There were half a dozen or so artificial left hands going for fifty dollars each so I bought them.

            – Have you got any of the others?

            – Yeah, they’re around here somewhere. Would you like to see them?

            – Yes, please.

The salesman rummaged around under the counter and pulled out an army green wooden box stencilled with ammunition. He slid the lid off to reveal seven prosthetic hands similar to his own. They were part wood, part metal. Ryan picked one out with a hook, put it on the counter and turned it over. The thumb closed against the fingers. It might hold a pen or knife, little else. It fitted into any socket with a half inch thread.

            – Do these work?

            – I really couldn’t say. You’d have to try them.

            – Paul, can you get my left hook off? I want to try that hand out.

Ryan raised his arm and Paul leaned against the counter for support while he removed the cable and unscrewed Ryan’s hook. He took the hand and screwed it in and reattached the control cable. Ryan moved his arm around looking at the hand from every angle and tested the thumb. It closed and remained closed. Another application of tension reopened it.

            – This is cool. A bit of spit and polish and this would look like new. I’ll have this, mate. It looks really cool.

            – Does sixty euros sound reasonable?

            – Fine. I’ll keep it on, if that’s OK.

            – Sure thing. Thank you for calling in. Come again.

            – We will. Keep your eye out for any more prosthetic hands, mate.

 

            – That was a surprise. I didn’t think I’d end up with so much stuff. What shall we do now? Have some lunch?

            – Yeah, let’s get something to eat. What do you want?

            – Let’s have some fish and chips. Hang on, I’ll see if there are any nearby.

Craig held his phone with one hook and tapped in fishn leeds with the other. The search results showed a map dotted with potential venues.

            – Well, I have some suggestions but I’m not sure whereabouts in town we are right now. Look.

            – I think we’re about here.

Ryan pointed carefully at the tiny map.

            – Looks like we need to turn left and go two blocks. Come on, then.

Ryan picked up two carrier bags in his hooks and they returned to their cars. The fish and chip shop was open and doing a good trade. They sat to one side on slightly rickety kitchen chairs around a greasy table with bottles of ketchup and vinegar on it. Other customers looked at them in wonder. Their meals arrived and Craig and Ryan ate theirs with their hooks. It was delicious and very unusual to find real cod on the menu. The meaty flakes of white flesh were a pleasure to eat.

            – That really was fabulous. We should come here again. I wonder if the other chippies are the same standard?

            – I’ve always heard that chip shops in the north are much better than in London. Not so many tourists to fleece, I suppose. They have to serve honest grub to stay in business.

            – I’m all for giving them all a try. I love a decent fish and chips. I’d eat it every day if they hadn’t invented Chinese.

            – Steady on, old chap. It ought to be a special treat once in a blue moon not something you get fed up with. Right, I’m ready for home. I have to say this first trip into town has been thoroughly enjoyable. We got everything we came for and more besides. I’m impressed. I never thought a place like Leeds would be up to it.

            – I think they’ve been making an effort lately to shake off the old industrial town image. Other towns want to hang on to the past but Leeds seems to have the future in mind. The Towers are a good example. The wouldn’t have got planning permission in a lot of other places. And yet when you see them from town, they’re like works of art on the horizon.

            – And it’s easy to see our flat.

            – Yup. Let’s go back and have a drink.

            – We’d better nip into Loidis again and pick up some six-packs, then.

            – Alright with me.

 

Craig kindly fetched four six-packs from the supermarket. They might last a couple of evenings.

 

With Seb being absent, trying on the new clothes was more time-consuming than it would have otherwise been. Craig re-emerged from his bedroom wearing three quarter length shorts which displayed his prosthetic legs and a hoodie with sleeves pushed up to the elbows to show off his arms and hooks. Ryan tried on the M65s and rocked out wearing a camo hoodie. The wooden hand looked incongruous paired with the opposing hook.

            – Oh, I remember. I was going to show you my wooden hands this morning, wasn’t I? Hang on a minute and I’ll get them.

Ryan and Paul went to the humidor to pick out a smoke. The surrealistically enormous cigars Craig had gifted them attracted their attention but neither felt they could tackle such monsters that afternoon. Paul suddenly remembered something else Craig had told him earlier.

            – Craig! Put your pegs on!

            – OK!

Craig found his peg leg attachments and swapped his feet for them. He picked out the right wooden hand prosthesis and carefully stood, spreading his arms to keep his balance on his unfamiliar pegs. They looked great extending from his long shorts. He strode out to the balcony and stood with a hook resting against the door jamb.

            – Wow!  That looks fantastic. I wish you would wear them more often. You look great.

            – They’re a bit strange to walk on. I’m used to having the weight of a pair of shoes on my legs. These are so light. But I have to agree, they look really cool, especially with these shorts. Anyway, here’s the right hand. It works the same way as the one you bought today. One action to close it and another action to open it up again. The thumb and finger joints just fly open. There’s no way to control how quickly they open.

            – I get the idea you don’t often wear these either.

            – No, I don’t really. I bought them because I thought the hooks were a bit off-putting for some of the customers and that the appearance of these hands was a bit gentler, shall we say. But then I realised that some people came into the shop to see me use my hooks. Plus the fact that the hands need twice as much effort to use as hooks. I noticed my shoulders getting strained from the extra effort.

            – It looks beautiful. Can I try it on?

            – Of course you can.

Paul put his lager down and removed the hook from Ryan’s right socket. He twisted the wooden hand into place. Ryan lifted his new hands in front of him. He looked both almost normal and also severely disabled at the same time. He tried closing the thumb and fingers. They moved smoothly. He could close them incrementally to grip any smallish object. He closed them completely and put tension on the cable again. The digits flew open.

            – Fairly unnatural, the movement. They look great together, don’t they? Especially since they’re not quite a matched pair.

            – You could try wearing one with a black leather glove over it. That always looks sinister and the prosthesis never looks a hundred percent natural even with a glove.

            – I’m not going to be able to pick up anything big like a can of lager though, am I? Or a Monstruo.

            – You might get a Monstruo in there, I reckon.

            – Well, thanks for showing me this. I love it but I want my hook back now. Paul, do you mind?

            – I have a few different hooks as well, if you’d like to see them. Have you tried a farmer’s hook?

            – No. I’d like to see one. I’ve heard they’re fairly vicious.

            – Yes, they have a nasty bite. I’ll get one.

Craig stood up and reached out to support himself against the window. He strode inside and the lads craned their necks to see him walking on two peg legs.

            – That looks amazing.

            – Yeah, it does. Shall I wear two pegs more often?

            – I don’t know why you shouldn’t.

            – Well, because I wanted to use my full length legs more. I can use pegs later.

            – Yeah, no pressure.

Craig returned with a right farmer’s hook and handed it to Paul to screw into Ryan’s arm. It was larger, longer, more angular and had serrated teeth instead of smooth rubber fingers. It was also much stiffer to open.

            – Be careful with that, Paul. Don’t let it close on your hand because it’ll draw blood.

Paul carefully pried the hook open in order to attach the control cable and told Ryan to hold the hook open. Ryan opened and closed the hook, feeling its resistance and power.

            – Jesus, you could really do some damage with this thing.

            – Yeah, it’s intended for operating heavy machinery and tools. You wouldn’t want to pick up a glass of beer or the tv remote with it. It’s very tiring to use as well because there’s so much resistance on it. I suppose you could take a couple of the rubber bands off but that would defeat the purpose of wearing it in the first place. You’d certainly destroy any cigar you picked up with it.

            – I wouldn’t dream of it. OK, Paul, sorry mate. Can you get it off me again?

            – Lean over. Jeez, this is stiff to hold open.

A minute later Ryan was wearing his Hosmer Five again.

            – Ah, that feels better.

He picked up his beer and swigged.

            – How did it feel wearing that boot today? It got you a few shocked glances. I don’t know if you noticed.

            – I really like it. I looked at my reflection in shop windows. I thought it looked like I was a polio victim or something.

            – Yeah, you don’t often see built-up boots these days. Fifty years ago, maybe a bit longer, they were still fairly common. I think medicine has progressed so much now that a lot of the causes of uneven growth can be caught in time and cured. Win some, lose some. Fewer young cripples but fewer gorgeous built-ups.

            – It’s too bad. I’m glad I’ve got the body I want. The only thing I’m sorry about is that I can’t use a walking stick. Oh! Maybe I can with the wooden hand!

            – We don’t have any sticks here, do we? No, none of us can use them. Well, it’s something to try next time we go out. You will be able to hold your car’s steering wheel though, so you’ll be able to drive wearing them. I suspect the design is based on being able to drive a car. Talking of which, I was so impressed by your Unums today that I’ve decided to get one for myself. I had a look online for a local dealer and there’s one in Sheffield but I didn’t have time to contact them.

            – How far is Sheffield?

            – About fifty kilometres south of us.

            – A two hour drive. Shall we make it a day out? We can drive down together and come back in our own cars. Are you going to ask for a disabled model?

            – No, I don’t think so. I can drive a standard car, especially if it’s automatic. Don’t forget I still have my knees, unlike you two. It makes a lot of difference behind the wheel. I was impressed by how much luggage it can carry as well as two adults. And all for the price of a motorbike.

            – I think the idea was to create a Deux Cheveux for the twenty-first century. It probably can’t cross a ploughed field like the original but it’s said to carry six crates of beer.

            – Oh, I see now. That’s what attracted you to it in the first place, isn’t it?

            – Fuck off, Craig! We wanted small cars because we are severely disabled young men.

            – Cheers to that. Skål!

 

W I N T E R   T O   S P R I N G

 

Inspired by Craig’s prowess, Ryan fitted his peg leg extensions to his knee joints and spent the rest of the week learning to walk on two pegs as a DAK. Craig kept his peg legs on too. The three men walked around the flat on a total of five peg legs. Paul occasionally wore a pretender hook on his left arm and even Seb tried wearing the right hook for a couple of hours. Ryan filmed them walking around the flat, sitting, getting up and uploaded the video to his YouTube channel. By the end of the week it had been viewed a hundred thousand times and extracts were appearing on other media sites.

 

Paul drove Craig to Sheffield to buy his new Unum. It was white with red trim. Craig asked for one alteration, a concession to his disability. A ring was attached to the steering wheel to make it easier to drive with a hook. The latest model had cruise control, making it even simpler to drive. Craig wore his standard legs with feet for the trip but would manage just as well with two pegs.

 

Craig did a little consumer research into tobacco consumption in the Midlands. It had been dropping all over the country and Leeds had seen a considerable loss of sales over the past decade as the city modernised and young people moved in. Craig began to suspect that there would not be enough business to sustain a viable enterprise. The nature of his merchandise required a fairly rapid turnover. He decided to maintain his import licence for another year and then terminate it if no solution were found. In the mean time, he would continue to purchase gigantic cigars and as many trial items as possible.

 

Ryan sat Seb down one morning when Paul and Craig were out to discuss Seb’s potential amputations.

            – The first step is to persuade the Gardener that you are serious and understand the consequences. What you need to do is write an essay about why you want to be an amputee and how you feel about being disabled for the rest of your life. So write about a page and we’ll go through it together before you send it. You’d better be honest because the Harvester will question you face-to-face and he’ll catch you out if you’re less than dedicated. He arranges for the actual amputations with a surgeon. And I had to go to Zurich to meet him for about twenty minutes, so you’d better apply for a passport of you don’t already have one. But I will vouch for you and support you financially, including getting you some artificial limbs afterwards, so don’t worry about the expense. I don’t have to tell you that this is extremely confidential. Not a word of this to Zac, even after you come back. For anyone who asks, you had a road accident and don’t want to discuss it, OK?

            – Yes.

            – The thing you have to remember is that you must persuade the Gardener that you need amputations for deep psychological reasons. It’s not enough to say you really want them ’cos they’d be cool. You know all about BIID, don’t you? Well, you have double BIID. Why don’t you take some time now to write your application?

            – Shall I write an email?

            – Yeah, that will do but don’t send it anywhere yet. I need to alert the Gardener that I have met one, possibly two, severe BIID sufferers who deserve the Harvester’s services. Then we’ll see what he says and you can send the message then.

An hour later, Seb showed what he had written to Ryan.

            – This is a very good introduction. Is it true you get depressed by not having artificial limbs?

            – Yes, in a way. I sometimes feel I am wasting time by not fulfilling my potential as a double amputee. And that gets me down. Then there’s the self-hatred. I hate being in photographs because the image is not me. It’s not how I think of myself. If I had artificial limbs, I’m sure I’d actively want to be photographed.

            – Are you sure about your above elbow amputation?

            – Yes. I am really looking forward to the day when I have a mechanical elbow to control as well as a hook. The actions needed to control a long artificial arm are intensely erotic to me.

            – As long as you can continue to help us out, I don’t mind. Do you think these two amputations are all you are going to want?

            – I’m not sure. It would be great to be a DAK like you, Ryan, but I think it would be too restrictive while I’m working for you. A pros plus a meat leg is enough for the time being.

            – Alright. I dare say the three of us can get by for a few weeks while you recover and learn to use your new limbs. I’m going to contact the Gardener and if he’s agreeable, I’ll give you the url and you can send him your email.

            – Thanks, Ryan. It means a lot to me.

            – I know.

 

The Gardener was impressed by Seb’s explanation of his need for reduction. Business had quietened as the recession deepened and the prospect of two young new amputees was pleasing news. He sent a recommendation to the Harvester who continued his prosthetic existence somewhere in Switzerland. Three weeks later, the Harvester informed Seb that his surgery would be undertaken three days later in Merthyr Tidfil. His body-operated prosthetic limbs would be manufactured by the prosthetist in Essex at a suitable interval after his stumps had healed sufficiently.

            – Ryan! It’s happening! I have to be in Merthyr in three days time. How on earth do I get there?

            – Two or three trains and a taxi. And the same coming back. We’ll have a look at the route planner in a minute. It’s where Paul went to have his legs off. He could tell you.

            – But that was from London.

            – So it was. Don’t fret it. Well, you need to get some clothes together, lots of T-shirts, that sort of thing. You can borrow my suitcase.

            – Thanks. I’m so excited.

            – Just try and keep calm. I know how much it means to you to be getting your stumps but you’ll have them for a long time so just be patient for a few more days. You’ll be an amputee by the end of the week, I reckon, although they might keep you in a coma for a few days to speed up the healing.

 

Ryan and Seb planned a route from Leeds to central Wales and paid for it. The tickets arrived seconds later. Ryan informed the Harvester that the journey was confirmed and the patient would arrive as arranged.

 

Craig and Ryan discussed a potential start-up bus company. Craig printed several notices asking residents to visit the Towers’ website to fill out a short questionnaire about public transport from the Towers into town. He created a yes/no set of questions to gauge demand. Do you think the Towers need a bus service to the town centre? Would you use it yourself? How many times a week? As a commuter? How frequent a service would you prefer – hourly, half hourly, quarter hourly? Would you like transport between all the towers including Attenborough? What destination in town is important to you – Loidis/railway station/town centre? He collated the answers after a few days and went through the replies with Ryan.

            – I’m surprised at the number of replies we had. Out of four thousand households, over half replied and they are overwhelmingly in favour of a bus service every quarter of an hour which links all the towers and Loidis. Twenty-five percent would like a link to the station and eighty percent of those would use it every day. Assuming that half the people who didn’t reply would be of the same opinion, that works out to a thousand seven hundred people who would commute using it, and about five thousand who would use it often or occasionally. I think we could more than break even with that number of users, Ryan.

            – How much would the fare be, though? That makes a huge difference.

            – I thought two euros fifty per trip and the ticket would be valid for ninety minutes so you could nip into town and come back with the same ticket. Payment would be by contactless credit card in euros or the sterling equivalent.

            – How many buses would we need?

            – I think four would be enough. We could manage with three but a fourth would be good to have in reserve. I was thinking of short nippy electric buses with about twenty seats and room for twenty more standing. Four of those would cost well under a million euros.

            – That sounds reasonable. Where would we keep the buses?

            – I’m not sure yet. We could either rent a garage or two somewhere, but I think there must be extra space in the underground car parks which are closed off to the public. I’ll try to find out for sure and ask if there might be room for four buses. They have to keep all the maintenance vehicles somewhere but you never see them parked downstairs, do you?

 

Craig explained his ideas to Seb and they came up with a viable route which four buses could service easily. Seb sat at his laptop for an hour or so and produced a route diagram.

            – Something like this, Craig? Is that what you have in mind?

            – Wow! This will be very useful to have to show to all the officials. Can you send me a copy?

 

 

 

–Of course, if we go as far as the station, we’ll need a different map but this is brilliant for the Towers end of it. Thanks, Seb. It looks like your education isn’t entirely wasted. Would you like to design a logo for us? You could handle all the other info graphics as well, I reckon.

            – Thanks, Craig. I’d love that.

            – Where did you get the route numbers from?

            – Well, the seven eleven goes only from one tower to one destination, and the seven fifteen goes from one tower via the next five.

            – Oh, I get it. Very clever. I’ll suggest those numbers, unless of course they’re already in use.

            – I haven't seen any buses in town with a number over ninety-four, so I reckon those are safe enough.

 

Seb carried his suitcase to the passenger lift the next morning at five thirty. Ryan was also with him, insisting he eat breakfast and make sandwiches for the trip.

            – Take care, mate. Remember we’ll be here for you.

            – Thanks Ryan. I hope you’ll have me back as a cripple.

            – Sure we will. As long as you don’t start acting disabled.

Ryan put his artificial arms around Seb and hugged him.

 

Seb’s left leg was amputated first, producing a ten inch long stump and his left arm was removed three inches above the elbow. Electrolysis electrodes were placed on and around the sutures to accelerate healing and the patient was placed into a coma. 

 

 

M A R C H

 

Seb arrived on his electric motorbike at seven twenty as usual and struggled out of his jacket. It was difficult to remove the long artificial arm from the sleeve. The easiest way was to twirl the jacket and let it fall to the floor. It would not be an acceptable method anywhere else. He limped into the kitchen on the new artificial leg and shrugged his shoulder several times to get the black carbon forearm into a position where he could use its hook. He pulled the refrigerator door open and took out what he needed to make four breakfasts. He had difficulty opening a new packet of sliced cheese. The plastic was too slick for the hook to hold it and he could not apply enough pressure with it to hold the packet in place. Maybe Paul could open it. He limped to the cupboard where the mugs were kept and placed them one at a time on the counter. His hook knocked one and it fell to the slate floor, breaking into two. Seb was so frustrated already that he burst into tears. His stupid left arm could not even pick up the pieces. The other guys never had this sort of trouble. But of course, they still had their elbows. Seb had thought he knew better and opted for a long arm stump which ended well above where his elbow should be. It was a useless thing. What could he have been thinking? Had he not seen the World War Two veterans enough times struggling to operate their prosthetic arms? Why had he imagined he would struggle any less? The other guys had watched him struggling since he returned. It was something they had all gone through with their new artificial limbs and none of them were about to show any pity. They wanted their breakfasts, regardless of the difficulties Seb encountered during the process of making it. Seb found a fifth mug and continued to make a pot of espresso with one hand, his hook now safely out of the way, knocking against his thigh socket.

 

The noise from the kitchen woke Ryan and Paul, who both had impressive morning wood but who also both needed a pee. Paul reluctantly pulled on his peg leg and Ryan slipped into his stubbies which he had worn for the previous three weeks exclusively. Ryan went to the toilet and Paul crutched to the bathroom. Seb would have previously asked them if either of them needed help. Ryan could manage what he needed to do with his arm stumps but decided that Seb needed a talking–to. All of them were more disabled than Seb yet they seemed to have to make allowances for him. It was understandable in a way but Seb had assured them that normal service would resume as soon as possible. It had not.

 

Craig slept on. He had forgotten to darken the walls when he went to bed and the morning sun was beginning to lighten the room. He pulled the covers further over his head with his arm stumps and lay there, half awake for another few minutes. There was nothing for it. He might as well get up. He had a meeting later with the council transport people who would decide whether or not they would allow a private company to operate a bus service from the Towers although they themselves had no plans to do so. The Towers had been built according to a strict sociopolitical plan. Well-appointed apartments suitable for one or two adults. No children. No pensioners. No-one reliant on public transport. It was a shock to them to discover that the residents would even want to use public transport. They awaited the presentation from the new bus company’s founder, who, by all accounts, was severely disabled. No wonder he wanted a cheap way into town.

 

Ryan and Paul went to the kitchen.

            – Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.

            – Have you been crying? Come on, Seb. It’s not all bad, mate.

            – I knocked a mug off the counter with the hook and then I couldn’t kneel down properly to pick it up and it just seems so much more difficult than I ever expected.

            – Well, yes, it’s difficult. But I thought that’s what you wanted. Artificial limbs. You didn’t expect they’d be like your meat ones, did you?

            – Everyone else can use them just fine.

            – Oh, mate. It took years of practice. Why do you think I have a peg leg? It’s only because a leg like yours was too difficult for me to walk on. And you’ve seen how I open cans of lager and all that shit for Ryan because he can’t do it with hooks. Sorry, mate. No offence.

            – None taken. True enough.

            – So here you are with a fake leg up to your arse and a hook you can only use by waggling your fucking armpits and you’re sad you can’t use them after about three weeks. Mate, you have to learn. It takes time. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and pour us some coffee before it gets cold. Is the milk out? I’d like a bowl of müesli, please, as soon as you like.

He looked at Ryan and winked. It was a rough way to start the day but Paul had more or less hit the nail on the head. Seb might buck his ideas up as he gained experience with his new limbs. Seb presently served Ryan a perfectly decent omelette and received a commendation. It made him feel a bit better.

 

Craig drove to the town hall for his ten thirty meeting. He carried a folder with his proposals and calculations and projections. Seb’s smart map had been printed in colour on thick glossy paper to look as professional as possible. Each committee member would have his or her own copy of it. Craig’s thinking was that the diagram looked too good to be simply discarded. It might be admired and gently persuade the decision-makers towards a positive outcome.

            – So based on these figures, Mr Selton, you are certain that you can maintain a regular service?

            – Indeed I do, sir. I have allowed a wide leeway one way or the other – fifteen percent, actually – and the company can break even with that minimum in mind. I would like to point out that the financial backer is prepared to absorb a minor loss of a similar fifteen percent if the passenger usage remains constant.

            – I wish to question the route numbers you have indicated on this diagram. Why these numbers?

Craig explained what Seb had told him. There were smiles and nods around the table and their simple ingenuity.

            – How soon can you start the service, Mr Selton?

            – As soon as we acquire and test the buses, ma’am. The Towers’ controlling authority has given permission for us to use their utility warehouse next to Wallace Tower car park to store the vehicles overnight, although we intend to start with twenty-four seven service, so the buses will not be garaged together very often.

            – You intend to run the service through the night?

            – Yes sir. The demographics of the Towers’ residents indicates that there would be some call for an all-night service.

            – Extraordinary. Well, Mr Selton. We are satisfied with your proposal. However, we can offer you access to only two bus stops outside the Towers. You say you would like to serve the station. Your route map shows stops at the ring road and at Loidis shopping centre. A third stop at the station is not permitted at this stage. Neither are you allowed to wait at a stop in town for longer than it take to allow passengers to alight.

            – Oh, that is a disappointment. In that case, may I suggest stopping at Loidis and the railway station before immediately returning to the Towers?

            – I believe you will have the approval of the committee for that route. Your vehicles will not be permitted to wait outside the station for longer than necessary to let passengers off and new ones on.

            – I understand. That is acceptable.

            – Please inform us of the date of commencement of service. I wish you good day, Mr Selton.

Craig collected his papers and put them inside his folder. The committee members watched him manipulating his hooks, fascinated by their novelty. Craig rose to his artificial feet, bowed slightly and thanked the committee members and left the room. One or two leant back in their chairs to watch his rigid feet.

 

Ryan took a ride into the town centre to pay a visit to the one-armed owner of the army surplus store. It had been three months since his last visit. The owner greeted him, remembering his distinctive figure.

            – Hello!  Good to see you again. How have you been?

            – Fine, thanks. I was wondering if you’ve found any more ancient wooden hands.

            – I was just about to say that I have. There was an expo in Frankfurt in January and of course someone noticed this.

He raised his artificial hand.

            – And they asked if I would be interested in buying a selection of discarded prostheses, collected mainly from Central and South America, as I understand. So I said I would and he offered me a boxful for a thousand dollars. There are over fifty artificial hands and hooks, some of them rather chewed up but most of them at least seem to be in working order. Would you like to see them?

            – Yes, I would. In fact, that’s exactly what I came here to do.

            – Just a moment while I fetch them.

He brought out a wooden case from the backroom and tilted the lid open. There was an amazing variety of hands and hooks inside. Ryan wanted a wooden hand as a gift for Seb and rather fancied getting a matching pair for himself. He had discovered a simple way to spruce up the hands so the wood gleamed like new and it was easy enough to polish the metal. Ryan explained what he wanted to the owner and they spent a quarter of an hour pairing up various hands in differing states of wear. He was intrigued by a pair with the most basic shape. A wooden thumb clicked against a curved form representing four folded fingers. It was astonishingly primitive but the wood could be burnished to a beautiful finish. He bought the pair, as well as two others for himself and a beautiful left hand for Seb. The owner charged him three hundred and fifty euros, or two thousand and seventy-five pounds. Seb selected euros and swiped his card.

            – Thanks very much. I’ll see you again.

The owner raised his prosthetic hand and welcomed Ryan back any time.

 

Craig and Ryan did some serious research into electric buses. There were several suitable models. They decided on a low-floor, twenty-two seater from DAF. It had room for a further twenty-four standees. Craig and Ryan made a trip to the Netherlands to conclude the purchase and maintenance agreements and the buses were delivered at the end of the month. Craig made several test runs into town and back at different times of day to test the reliability of the projected timetable. He asked Seb to relabel his excellent route diagram to omit the Ring road stop, replacing it with Loidis and adding Leeds Central Station. They also needed a logo and info stickers for inside the buses. Seb set to thinking about a logo design and produced three which he thought were worth showing. Ryan and Craig were unanimous in their choice.

 

 

It was simple, unambiguous and easily recognisable. Craig asked Seb if he would be willing to work on the other graphics which the new company needed and how much he would like to be paid, including for the logo. Seb did not need to think long.

            – How much does a Unum cost?

            –Is that what you’d like? They’re about five thousand euro.

            – I’ve been thinking about getting one. It’s a bit precarious on my bike now.

            – Yes, I’ve been concerned about that but you’ve been managing fine, by the looks. Would you like to take a trip over to Sheffield to get one? We could go on Sunday unless you’ve got something else planned.

            – No, I’m not planning on doing anything. That would be great.

            – OK. I’ll let Ryan know, just to make sure he agrees. I think it’ll be fine. Shall we say the Unum is payment for the logo and the next three months work?

            – Yes, thanks.

            – No, thank you, Seb. This is top class graphics. The first job I want you to do is to layout a recruitment poster. We need four drivers who have extended driving licences. I’ll give you the copy a bit later on and you can get started. Use the same font as you had in the route diagram. That can be our house font.

            – Good choice! It’s free to use. No need for a licence.

            – That’s handy. Oh, while there are just the two of us here. I wanted to ask you about your arm. I think you had a case of buyer’s remorse a while ago, didn’t you?

            – You mean I don’t like it after all?

            – Yeah. Acquisition diminishes perception of value, immediately. Famous old saying.

            – Well, it is a lot more difficult to use than I thought. And it’s more restricted in its range of motion than I expected. But I keep practising with it, like trying to eat with it and I’m getting a bit better.

            – Glad to hear it. I thought you would have problems after losing your elbow too. I’m happy I still have mine. I was going to go for one above-elbow too but I changed my mind. I just like the symmetry of having stumps the same length. Would you like to experiment with some of the other hooks and hands we bought? I’m fairly sure you’ll come back to that Number Five hook but it might be fun to play around with something else too. You might as well get a bit of fun out of it. I have to say, personally I really like seeing your entire arm being black carbon. It looks really cool. Is the harness comfortable?

            – Yes, it’s fine. A bit tight but that’s the way it’s meant to be, isn’t it?

            – It is, but not too tight. Ask Paul to loosen the straps a little for you while you’re wearing it.

            – OK, I’ll ask him.

            – Right. Time to get back to work. Time for coffee, I’m thinking.

            – Yeah, I was going to brew a pot. Tell the others five minutes.

 

Craig collected Seb from his home the following Sunday after breakfast. He was wearing his peg legs but had no difficulty operating the two large floor pedals, one marked with a large plus sign, the other with a minus. He had an eighty-five gauge cigar in his teeth and manoeuvred the car with a hook through the ring on the steering wheel. There was very little traffic yet. They might make good time to Sheffield, about two and a half hours from Leeds. Craig checked the previous evening that the car had enough juice. It was on sixty percent so Craig tanked up overnight and the battery was now fully charged.

 

Seb appeared. He was wearing shorts over a pair of black tights and day-glo orange trainers. He had a light outdoor jacket with a large hood and roomy arms. He shrugged it off and sat beside Craig.

            – Good morning! Before we leave, check you have your ID card with you.

            – I checked just before I left. All set and ready.

            – Good show. Do you want some music?

            – No, not especially. Oh, you have your peg legs on! Cool!

            – Would you like a peg leg?

            – I’ve watched Paul enough to know they can be really useful but I’m satisfied with this leg at the moment. I seem to be getting used to the different balance, if you know what I mean.

            – Yeah, your centre of gravity has changed and your right side has to compensate for the lack of weight on the left. Actually, it’s something you should pay attention to because lots of AK amps have back problems. What knee do you have?

            – The same as what Ryan uses. The Japanese Karahiza one. He recommended it so that’s what I asked for. It’s brilliant. Very reliable and secure.

            – Good. I reckon you could swap out your lower leg and replace it with a peg if you wanted to join our gang of peg leggers. You realise you’re the only one of us without a peg leg, don’t you?  You could ask the guy in Basildon to make you one and send it. He has your measurements on hand so you wouldn’t need to go down there again. Why don’t you?

            – Alright, I will.

            – You might even find that you prefer the peg over a foot. It’s less likely to catch on anything so you’re less likely to trip although I suppose it does look a little odd. Anyway, that’s something else you could play around with. Did you try out any of those wooden hands?

            – Yeah, I borrowed three different ones from Ryan and I was trying them out last evening. They’re not hugely practical but I suppose they look nicer than hooks.

            – You’re right. I like the ones which are part metal with wooden fingers. There’s something about them which just looks so cool.

 

The journey continued in the same vein. Seb heard a good deal of advice from Craig, earned from experience and realised that his own disabilities offered opportunities for experiences not available to able-bodied men. Craig warned him of fanatical devotees who often turned into stalkers but recommended seeking out prospective lovers who found stumps erotic.

            –You have two very handsome specimens. You should show them off more, a handsome young guy like you. You have no reason to hide what you have to offer the right man.

 

They drove directly to the Sheffield Citroën dealership and one of the salesmen recognised Craig from his recent visit.

            – Hello! Good to see you again. How’s the car? No problems, I hope.

            – No, not at all. I have a possible customer for you, also interested in a Unum.

            – That’s wonderful. Come this way and you can see the different versions.

The first model was an adapted version. It gleamed with a silvery metallic finish making the car almost beautiful despite its absurd shape and size. The salesman noted Seb’s hook.

            – This can be easily adapted for use with a hook. In fact, the adapted model comes with three different attachments for the steering wheel.

            – Can I see them?

            – Yes, of course. They’re kept in the storage space at the back of the car. Just a moment. Here’s the standard ring which most hook users prefer.

            – Yes, I’d like that on the steering wheel.

            – Would you like to see the standard model?

            – Well, I just came from Leeds in a standard Unum so I think I know the controls. I’m interested in this adapted model.

            – Well, as you can see, there are no floor pedals. The accelerator and brake are here on this lever to your right. The other controls are along the console, the only difference being that all the buttons are concave rather than flat.

            – I’d really like this one, Craig.

            – Fine. I think we’ll take this.

            – That’s wonderful. Come inside and we can fill out the paperwork.

 

An hour later, the two Unums were circling Sheffield town centre in search of a place to eat. Craig spotted something and signalled to Seb with his brake lights. Seb signalled back with his headlights. They drove a little further to a parking place and walked back to a Georgian restaurant. Craig hoped they served something he could eat with his hooks. They were shortly eating a variety of meats in different sauces, each more delicious than the last. There were unfamiliar vegetables, boiled and cold.

            – This is so good it’s almost worth driving down here just for this. I’ve never had Georgian before.

            – No, neither have I. Leeds has lots of Indian places, but I can’t eat curries. So I stick to Chinese or Thai or Korean if I order take-away.

            – Yeah, curries can be very cloying and after your first bite, you can’t taste anything else. I love Korean. I didn’t know there was a take-away in Leeds.

            – Yeah, they do deliveries too.

            – Oh, I’ll look them up. I wouldn’t mind a Korean tonight.

 

They left the restaurant and found it was snowing. Unusual for early April but recently the weather was odd all the time. Seb followed Craig’s Unum at a safe distance back to Leeds, almost at a snail’s pace. It was brilliant to be in his own car, even at fifteen miles an hour. It took them three hours to get back to the spiral tunnel which led them up to the handsome entrance of Attenborough Tower. Craig looked around for a suitable place for a bus stop. The two circular routes would terminate here. It was a nightmare trying to arrange only one bus to be here waiting for passengers at any one time. The buses all needed to be in traffic as much as possible, earning money. They would come up with something. Attenborough was easy. There and back. Three stops. The lower levels needed service from left to right and in the opposite direction up to Attenborough and then into town, making a waiting bus superfluous. Departures had to coincide with suburban trains which were far from reliable and no-one should wait more than ten minutes at any stop. Craig parked his car next to Seb’s and got out.

            – How did you like that? Fun, isn't it?

            – Yeah, lots of fun. I put it on cruise control and only needed to steer.

            – I hope you enjoy it. Come on, let’s go in.

Seb went to join Ryan and Paul on the balcony where they were tasting three different whiskies. Paul had his teeth out and sucked on a gigantic cigar.

            – Did you get your car? How do you like it? Go and get a glass and come and sit down.

Seb fetched one of the squat straight-sided glasses which Ryan and Craig could handle with their hooks.

            – You can stay overnight if you want, Seb. You mustn’t drive home if you’ve had a drink.

            – OK, I’d like to stay tonight anyway. The roads are a bit icy right now.

            – Oh, really? I haven’t been outside today. I didn’t realise it was so cold. Come on, tell us about your car.

Seb described choosing his car and driving it back from Sheffield enthusiastically. Ryan noticed that he occasionally gestured with his artificial arm. It was a sure sign Seb was becoming accustomed to it and had begun to think of it as part of himself.

 

Craig went to his bedroom which was rapidly turning into the HQ for LeedsLink, as the new company would be known. He might need to rent an office in town soon. He was finalising insurance for the vehicles and for his new employees. Four eager young drivers had been selected from seven applicants, all of whom lived in the various towers. With the depôt temporarily in the garage near Wallace Tower, they had a short, dry walk to work. Craig had created a third route for rush hours, the seven-o-six, which would run only between Attenborough and Backshall towers in a short circular route. Passengers for the town centre would have to change at Backshall. The rush hour service interval was a bus every twelve minutes.

 

Ryan asked Seb how his housemates had reacted when he turned up missing two limbs. They were both shocked. Jay was sympathetic and helped Seb while he recovered at home. Zac asked several times for the details behind Seb’s reconfiguration but Seb replied only with a bare-bones story of being involved in a hit-and-run road accident. Zac did not believe a word of it and stopped asking. He became more friendly again after Seb got his prostheses. Zac wanted to see the carbon fibre leg. It was exactly what he wanted for himself. He became friendlier toward Seb again, hoping to learn more about what it was like to wear an artificial leg.

 

J U N E

 

LeedsLink started operations at six in the morning on June the first. Two buses waited for the first passengers outside Wallace Tower’s main entrance, another two further up inside the hill waiting in front of Attenborough where three residents stood ready to board. There were eight at Wallace. At exactly six, the drivers allowed the first passengers on, who used their phones to pay with contactless credit. The buses accelerated into motion and sped between the towers’ main entrances before entering the tunnels. The first day’s experience showed that there was enough leeway in the timetable to allow a shorter service interval but Craig decided to leave a little slack for the time being. The seven-o-six joined the other three buses for the full run to the station after eight thirty. The route diagram received compliments from one or two passengers and Craig had pocket versions printed which included a basic timetable and the fare information. In small print, beneath the main text was the line Limbless amputees travel free. Seb travelled to Attenborough by bus from the railway station and received a nod from the driver on displaying his hook. He had a ten minute walk from his home to the station on a prosthetic leg but he wanted to see what the bus ride was like. He looked around admiring the on-board information stickers and the route diagram he had designed.

            – This stop is Leeds Central Station. Next stop is Loidis Shopping Mall. This is a seven eleven service to Attenborough Tower.

            The bus slid forward and moved into the central lane. There was no need to follow behind the other municipal buses. Seb sat back and watched the other passengers. They were also enjoying the new, silent ride and pleased with the easy ride to the Towers at last.

 

At the end of the month, Craig announced that LeedsLink had made a profit of two thousand seven hundred euros after deductions. Ryan congratulated him. He was secure in the knowledge that any money he invested and every expense the company incurred would be compensated for by the interest accruing on his enormous capital. It felt like the end of an adventure to Ryan. He had been behind the creation of a popular and commendable new service for his neighbours and townsfolk and had been interviewed alongside Craig on local radio stations a couple of times. Now he felt he was ready for a new challenge and Seb’s encouraging progress gave him the inspiration. He would apply to the Harvester for his arm stumps to be shortened to about four inches below his shoulders.

 

He wanted full-length prosthetic arms like Seb’s left arm which had caused so much initial disappointment and regret. Unlike Seb, for whom it was imperative to learn to use his artificial arm, Ryan could have twenty-four hour assistance if he wished. He had no need to keep any of his limbs. Ha! That would be a lark! Have two disarts and sit in a bucket with little stubbies under it like the Harvester. Keep two little arm stumps for a while before having shoulder disarticulations as well. He watched Seb using his arm prosthesis closely for a few days. Seb used it more often as he became accustomed to it. He had learned what he could do with it and no longer tried actions which would probably fail. Therefore, when he attempted to use it, he succeeded. Ryan began to feel anxious, almost thwarted. He was frustrated that he did not have recalcitrant, complicated arm prostheses of his own. He wouldn’t even appear very different. Two hooks, two arm sockets. He sent a message to the Harvester.

 

Zac had also been tormented by his growing desire to gain a stump. He and Seb often spent time together upstairs in Seb’s quarters playing video games in their underwear. Zac tried to sit on Seb’s left as often as possible so he could touch the warm black carbon socket. Seb soon realised what Zac was doing and allowed it. One evening he confronted Zac and made him spill the beans.

            – I can’t bear not having a stump like yours. I am so envious of you. Your artificial leg is so beautiful, so perfect. It’s all I want in the world. Just to be one-legged and have a simple artificial leg. I am so frustrated with my pair of legs when I know there should be only one. And I don’t know what to do so I could be like you.

Seb was impressed. He had no idea Zac felt so strongly. He would have a word with Ryan and suggest the Zac would be a grateful addition to their group of amputees. He knew it would not be a case of not being able to afford another illicit amputation. Ryan thought about it for a couple of days and told Seb to invited Zac over at the weekend. They could spend the evening on the balcony smoking, drinking beer and discussing Zac’s options. Ryan had decided he would allow Zac his leg stump on one condition – that he also lose his arm above the elbow on the same side of his body. Zac would be a double amputee like Seb. No arm stump, no leg stump. Simple.

 

Ryan had finally placed an order for a GyroChair self-balancing wheelchair. He had to import it as a private citizen and was frequently exasperated at the ineptitude of the customs authorities. Finally, after a five week process, the machine was delivered to Attenborough Tower at the end of the month. Ryan tore the packaging open with Seb’s assistance and they examined the short assembly instructions and the much longer user’s guide over a couple of beers.

            – It looks easy enough to put together. Wheels, seat, battery et voilà. I see the first charge has to be eighteen hours. If we start charging it now, it’ll be ready tomorrow morning.

            – Yeah, would you plug it in, mate?

Seb made sure the charger was set to the correct voltage and put the battery on the bookshelf behind the tv. He set an alarm on his phone for the next morning. He managed to move the heavy machine out of the packaging, and collapsed the cardboard ready for recycling.

 

The Harvester replied to Ryan’s latest enquiry.

            – delighted to hear of your decision. i approve fully. allow me time to arrange work in merthyr. forty-five thousand euro per arm incl pros.

Ryan acknowledged the message and thanked the Harvester. None of the others knew what he was planning. He did not want to hear their admonishments or pleas to change his mind. He had decided to become completely reliant on prosthetic limbs. Every limb would be glossy black carbon in its entirety. In a few months he would be wielding his new hooks as naturally as he did currently.

 

Ryan awoke the following morning and donned his full-length legs. He had been either thinking or dreaming about the new GyroChair most of the night and realised that transferring onto it would be a little more difficult than usual because of its higher seat. The best way might be by wearing his full-length prosthetic legs. Seb was already up, making preparations for breakfast. Ryan wished him a Good morning and asked for help in the bathroom. Seb shaved his head and brushed his handsome beard. Ryan held out his arm stumps as Seb washed and dried them and slipped fresh stump socks on. He held the harness while Ryan poked his stumps into the sockets and helped adjust the apparatus once it was across Ryan’s back. He helped Ryan to his feet and they went straight to see if the battery was fully charged. It was.

            – Good show. I’ll try that right after breakfast. If it works as well as I hope it will, I may never get off it.

 

Paul and Craig appeared before long in various stages of assembly. Craig wore his peg legs but naked arm stumps and Paul sat in his wheelchair in his underwear.

            – Well, look at you all dressed up with nowhere to go. Have you tried it out yet?

            – Not yet. Seb, can you put the battery in, please mate? If you ask very nicely, I’ll let you have a ride on it.

            – I wanna see you on it before I go anywhere near it, mate.

Seb slotted the battery into its compartment. The chair activated automatically and its headlights shone onto the ceiling. The floor glowed red from its rear lights. Seb lifted the back of the chair and after reaching an angle of forty-five degrees, the chair firmly righted itself and stood upright on its two tyres. Its brake lights winked once a second, meaning it was stationary and safe to mount.

            – How do I get on it?

            – I think you just sit on the seat like it was any normal seat. I don’t think you have to do anything special.

            – Alright. Here’s goes.

Ryan turned and fell back onto the seat. The Gyro tilted slightly and righted itself. Ryan’s feet were about five centimetres off the floor. Seb had left the foot plate off.

            – Lean forward slightly mate and it should move forward. And lean left or right to turn. That’s what it said in the manual.

            – Yeah, I know.

Ryan leaned forward a little and the wheelchair inched forward. He leaned back and it stopped. He leaned back again and it slowly reversed back to where it had started from. Ryan leant forward and tilted to the right. The chair turned into the room and Ryan started a slow tour of it, testing the responsiveness and becoming quickly more confident. It felt amazingly safe. Ryan circled in a wide arc back to the kitchen island and stopped.

            – I think I’d like some coffee, please, Seb. This is a good height, isn’t it? Feels fantastic.

            – It looks amazing.

            – I reckon anyone could use this if they could even just angle their head. I’ll have to try. But it’s dead easy to just lean to one side or the other to turn it. Piece of cake. Yeah, I think I might learn to like this.

Seb handed him another espresso and Ryan reached for it with a hook. The chair moved forward a little.

            – Oh, where’s the brake?

            – I think you just have to lean back sharply to set the brake.

            – Oh, OK.

Ryan tried it and lifted his hook again. The chair stayed in place.

            – I shall have to remember that. Might come in handy.

            – What’s the top speed on that thing?

            – Seven miles an hour. Jogging speed.

Ryan snorted.

            – Oh good. I can keep up with you joggers when we’re out.

 

Ryan let Paul and Seb try the chair out. Craig watched them with interest but said he preferred to stay safely on his pegs. Ryan put a pair of camo shorts on and sat in the chair again. He removed his legs and tried again. The chair worked as it had before. Seb put the prosthetic legs back in Ryan’s closet and Ryan spent the morning careening around the huge empty space at ever increasing speeds. He looked vastly impressive on the machine, legless and flailing his hooks as he commanded the chair. He was pleased with it so far. He wanted to test it on steps and on slopes. He knew a very good slope – that leading down to the ring road.

            – I’m going out. Seb, can you throw my jacket over me?

He held his arms out and Seb dropped the jacket over Ryan’s back.

            – I’ll be out about an hour or so, I reckon. I’m going to Loidis.

            – When you come back, use the bus. See if you can get on it OK.

            – Alright, I’ll do that.

 

Ryan summoned the passenger lift. He overrode the other calls and exited in the broad lobby. He approached the automatic sliding doors and rode out toward the tunnel entrance. The pedestrian descent was separated from the road way by a waist high railing which served as a convenient reference as he maintained a leaning position. Eventually Ryan saw daylight and the road descended further to join the city ring road. Ryan crossed at the lights and directed his chair at top speed along to the junction leading into town. He noticed the white and blue buses bearing his company’s logo carrying passengers silently to and from the Towers. He rolled on towards the mall at a good clip. He turned into the Loidis car park and negotiated his way to the entrance. Customers stopped to watch as he approached, unfamiliar with a two-wheeled chair which balanced like magic. Ryan slowed and did some window shopping at almost normal standing height. He was as tall as a short adult. It was a similar height as on his full-length prostheses with their shortest pylons. If he were behind a counter, the salesperson might not realise he was sitting. Ryan was satisfied. He should test the chair’s ability to mount kerbs. But it was enough for now. The next test would be going up the incline in the tunnel. Ryan leant to the right, made a U-turn and maintained normal walking speed until he left the mall. He leaned forward and increased speed across the car park. He remembered he was supposed to try the bus but that could wait. He crossed the ring road and approached the Attenborough tunnel. There was no appreciable slowing. The chair managed the climb perfectly and remained upright. Ryan slowed a couple of times to allow others to pass on their journey down. Finally, he entered the tower and rose to the seventy-second floor and home.

            – You weren’t out long. Where did you go?

            – Loidis and back.

            – Really? That was quick.

            – Well, I was jogging most of the way. This is brilliant. You should see how people gawp. I didn’t get the bus back, sorry. Plenty of time for that. Right, I want some coffee.

He spun around and went out onto the balcony. He sat surveying the town from his pedestal in the sky, feeling very accomplished. Seb called him in for his espresso. He turned away from the view and crossed to the kitchen island. Ryan and Seb looked each other in the eye, almost at the same level, and grinned.

 

Ryan had a request for the other three the next morning. Seb was filling the dish washer with breakfast things.

            – I don’t know whether I’ve mentioned it, but Seb’s mate Zac is coming round tonight for beers and jollies and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind wearing clobber that shows off your prosthetics. You know, shorts, T-shirt.

            – Why’s that?

            – Well, he’s a bit of a dev, isn’t he, Seb?

            – Just a bit.

            – So if you wouldn’t mind.

            – Yeah, alright.

            – No skin off my nose.

            – Thank you kindly.

Ryan leant in his chair and scooted out to the balcony. There was still a lot of mist below covering the town but at the top of Attenborough, the sun was shining fit to bust. Ryan turned and wheeled back inside.

            – Paul mate, do you fancy a ride into town?

            – What, on the bus?

            – Yeah. I want to see if this chair can get onto one and I might need a push.

            – Well, I’m your man if you need a push.

            – I was joking. I want to have another look around and maybe have brunch and I don’t want to be all on my own.

            – Yeah, I’ll come. What are you wearing?

            – Camos and T-shirt.

            – OK. I’ll put mine on too.

            – Seb! I’m going into town. I want my stubbies. Can you change the legs on ’em, please mate?

They went to Ryan’s and Paul’s bedroom and Ryan slid the door shut. He spoke in a low voice.

            – Zac’s visit tonight is going to change his life, quite probably. Have you spoken with him about what work he wants done?

Seb detached Ryan’s long legs from the sockets.

            – He’s very jealous of my leg stump. He wants one exactly like it. That’s what he said. He was almost crying with frustration because he didn’t know what he could do to have his leg off.

            – Has he mentioned any other amputations?

            – No but he does look at my arm a lot. I don’t know whether he’s considering losing an arm as well.

He screwed the stubbies firmly into the thigh sockets and handed them to Ryan.

            – Are these OK lengthwise?

            – Yeah, they’re fine. See, I was wondering if Zac might still be miserable even after he gets a leg stump because he wants an arm off too so he can use an artificial arm like yours.

            – I don’t really know. Zac doesn’t open up very often.

            – Yeah, that’s why we’re having drinks tonight.

Ryan pulled on his stubbies and vaulted back into the GyroChair.

            – Thanks, Seb.

Ryan pushed the button to open the door and wheeled out to the balcony to wait for Paul. The mist was clearing, burned off by the sun. Parts of the town were becoming visible. Paul stood in the doorway on his peg leg.

            – I’m ready when you are, matey. What time’s the next bus?

            – What time is it now? They’re every twelve minutes from downstairs, starting at the top of the hour. Easy to work out. Come on, then.

Ryan scooted across to summon the passenger lift. They had to wait a couple of minutes before it arrived. Ryan activated the override and they were in the lobby a minute later. There was quite a crowd of people waiting for the driver to open the doors to the bus. Ryan saw him check his watch and press a button on the console. The doors opened and passengers boarded flashing their phones at the fare machine. Paul boarded easily enough but there was too much of a step up for Ryan to be able to drive straight on.

            – Can you lower the ramp, mate?

Ryan rolled back a few inches to let the ramp extend its full length. The front of the bus lowered another few inches and Ryan rolled forward up into the bus. He twisted his body to turn his chair in the tight space and rolled along to where Paul sat, holding his crutches.

            – That was easy enough.

The driver shut the doors and the bus glided silently away from the stop.

            – Next stop is Backshall. This is a seven fifteen service to Leeds Central Station.

            – Oh shit, I thought this was direct. Oh well, it doesn’t matter.

The bus spiralled down the tunnel until it exited into daylight. The driver made a U-turn and started the ascent in the second tunnel towards the other five towers. Ryan would at least see what the demand was on a Saturday morning and how well the bus coped with a full complement of passengers. Ryan noticed how his chair compensated for the slight tilt as the bus climbed. He was still sitting perfectly upright. The bus pulled in to Backshall and two passengers got off. About a dozen got on.

            – Next stop is Carroll. This is a seven fifteen service to Leeds Central Station.

            – Don’t people get fed up with hearing the same thing all the time?

            – We have to have it. It helps blind people and sort of wakes people up if they’re reading or something. I mean, the DLR has the same sort of thing, don’t you remember?

            – Oh yeah. I never paid any attention to it, though.

            – Because you never needed to.

At Carroll, five passengers got off and seven got on. One woman murmured to the driver and limped to a seat. The driver checked she was sitting and drove off.

            – I think we have another leg amputee. Wrong sex, but anyway.

            – That was a crafty thing to do. You can sit here and check everyone out looking for amps. Very sneaky.

            – Yeah, I know. It’s also a way for other amputees to recognise each other. I’m sure there are far more of us than we realise. I wouldn’t have known that woman was an amp, would you? Now everyone who was paying attention knows.

            – Is that a good thing, do you think?

            – Well, if she didn’t want people to know, she could have just paid and no-one would be any the wiser, would they?

            – I see what you mean. You are a very sly bugger.

            – Well, you should have known that by now. So, how are you enjoying the ride so far?

            – I don’t like the view but it’s very smooth, isn’t it? And quiet. I like the way it accelerates, too. From nought to sixty in three seconds.

            – Ha! It’s not that snappy, although it might be if he put his foot down.

A few passengers got off at each tower but more boarded. After Wallace, all the seats were occupied and it looked like there might be more than the maximum legally permitted number of standing passengers. Ryan would have a word with Craig about rush hour capacity. Saturday morning shopping trips looked to be popular.

            – Next stop is Loidis Shopping Mall. This is a seven fifteen service to Leeds Central Station.

Almost everyone got off. Ryan waved a hook at the driver and felt the bus tilt to the left. The ramp appeared and Ryan descended a few inches to the pavement. Paul stepped down behind him and the bus pulled away with five passengers remaining.

            – That took longer than we expected but it was very educational. We should get out more. It wasn’t a bad ride, though, was it? I mean, the driver didn’t hang about and the technology worked like it should and no-one seemed to mind standing for a few minutes. I know I was sitting down the whole time but I thought it was a pretty smooth ride.

            – And no-one knew who you are. I mean, people might recognise you, especially now in that chair. But even the driver didn’t know you’re his boss.

            – Well, I think Craig is his boss, really, but I suppose I still have some influence.

            – Ha! The modesty of the man. So why did we come here?

            – I just wanted to get out and look at people. I like seeing new people. Have you noticed how there are lot less old people up here?

            – Maybe they don’t come to the mall.

            – Could be, but there aren’t many in the town centre, either.

            – So where did they go?

            – I don’t suppose they went anywhere. But Leeds has been actively encouraging young people to move here for about twenty years. The Towers are a good example. We’re all young middle-class without kids. We have an enormous flat but most of the others are about five hundred square feet which is a nice size for one or two but you wouldn’t want to raise kids in a place like that. And when you think of all the apartments which fit into six enormous towers, it’s not surprising that there seems to be a lot of young people in town.

            – Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I haven’t really thought about it.

            – Ah! That’s what I’ve been looking for. A camera shop. Come on. We’re getting me a camera at last.

 

Two young shop assistants watched Ryan and Paul enter the shop. One looked horrified and made a quick exit to the storeroom. The other smiled as Ryan rolled up to the counter.

            – Hi! I want to buy a camera with good video. And I want to be able to hold it.

He lifted his hooks up.

            – Anything that’s sleek and glossy with shiny little buttons is out of the question.

            – Yes, I can see why it might be difficult. There are a few rubberized models which are usually intended for underwater use. I wonder if they might be more suitable.

            – I want something I can use around town and for taking close-ups shots. And video. It would be cool if it had good video.

The salesman thought for  moment and looked at Ryan’s hooks again.

            – I think I have an idea. Just a moment, please.

He went to the backroom and shortly returned with a chunky yellow and black camera. It was covered with a rubberized layer and the controls were almost all electronic, operated with two levers whose operations were controlled by large push buttons.

            – This is an underwater model which we were going to return because, quite frankly, we’ve had it for a year and no-one seems to want it. But it might be exactly what you need. It takes special objectives, you know, different lenses but it already has a zoom from twenty-four to a hundred and fifty so you really oughtn’t need another objective. And it’s intended specifically for video shooting underwater. Which is why it’s covered in rubber.

            – Well, I’m not going to be doing much diving with it but it sounds like what I need. I’d like to try it out but I’m scared of dropping it.

            – No worry. Let me put the lanyard on. You can hang it round your neck and it won’t matter if it falls.

            – Thanks.

Ryan took the camera in his left hook and sensed how firmly he held it. The shutter release was a big flat yellow button on the top right which he could easily press with the other hook. The salesman showed how the zoom switched from manual to electronic and how the levers worked. A camera designed for a deep sea diver wearing thick pressurized gloves was perfect for a quadruple amputee using hooks above sea level.

            – This is brilliant. I’ll take it. I also want a tripod and what else do you suggest?

            – Difficult to say. We have a good tripod here which operates by flipping these levers, instead of having to twist them.

            – You seem to know a lot about my restrictions.

            – Really?

            – Yes. Is there any reason why you know so much about what a hook user needs?

The sales assistant blushed.

            – I’m sorry. Yes, I like to watch videos of a guy calling himself James of Texas. I subscribe to his channel. He has two hooks and everyone says he did it to himself.

            – I know the guy. Really? So you know all about hooks?

            – I guess so.

            – That’s interesting. And also very useful knowledge. I’ll take this lot, please. If there’s anything else you need to know about hooks and so on, you can get in touch. You can get the number off the sales agreement. I mean it.

            – Thank you. I will. Let me wrap your purchases.

Ryan watched him.

            – How would you like to do that with hooks?

The salesman’s knees buckled and he caught himself. He spluttered.

            – Ah, I’m… Er, I can’t…

He held onto the counter as his engorged penis pumped sperm into his trousers for a good five seconds. He looked up at Ryan with an apologetic look of helplessness and wordlessly finalized the contract.

            – Listen, mate. I know about people like you.

The salesman looked alarmed.

            – And I’m meeting another one tonight at my apartment. If you want to come and join us around seven, you’re welcome. There will be four amputees and two guests who want to be amputees, if you come. It’s easy to find. Would you like to join us for drinks tonight?

            – Yes. I’m sorry. Yes, I’d like to meet you again. My name is Stephen, by the way. Steve Burge. I’d love to come for drinks.

            – Well, Steve, take the seven eleven to Attenborough Tower and call me when you’re downstairs. Someone will come and collect you, alright? You can show me how to use my camera. We’ll take close-up photos of the men’s stumps together, alright?

Stephen sagged again. His thin trousers already boasted an enormous wet patch in the middle of his crotch. Ryan placed his new equipment on his lap and turned. Paul caught Stephen’s eye and winked at him. Paul turned and followed behind Ryan.

            – We’re going to have a full house tonight.

            – Did you see how the poor bloke came in his pants? It seemed cruel not to invite him over. He might get on nicely with Zac.

            – And I suppose you’ll be paying for his amputations and prosthetics as well?

            – Well, why not, mate? It’s good to spread a little happiness. I’ve never seen anyone who was more fascinated by my hooks. Now, do you want coffee or shall we have a couple of beers?

            – Are my guts any different from yours?

            – I saw a pub around the back yesterday. Follow me.

Ryan sped ahead and Paul laughed at him as he crutched along on his peg leg. What a show-off.

 

Seb had ordered sushi to be delivered and the kitchen island was covered with delicacies. It was a quarter to seven and the guests would probably be arriving on the next bus. If so, they might be surprised to discover they were on their way to the same venue. Ryan cruised back and forth waiting for some action, sneaking a mouthful of sushi now and then. He glanced at the row of saké and vodka bottles lined up behind the counter. It should be enough to produce the results Ryan anticipated. His phone rang. It was Stephen.

            – I’m going downstairs. Shan’t be long.

He wheeled to the lift and waited again for a couple of minutes. He shouldn’t complain. His non-stop override was concession enough. He rolled into the lift, turned around to face the front and descended. Stephen stood in the lobby looking at the ceramic frieze on the wall. He turned around and smiled at Ryan.

            – Hello. Thank you so much for inviting me. I’ve never been here before. It’s amazing. These tiles are fantastic.

            – You’re most welcome, Stephen. I’m glad you could come. There are so few of us. It’s good to be together.

Stephen looked alarmed again. Could Ryan read his mind? God, how embarrassing.

            – Do you mind waiting a couple of minutes? Our other guest hasn’t arrived yet and I’m sure he’ll be on the next bus. He certainly won’t want to be late.

            – No, it’s fine. Do you mind me asking? How does your chair stay upright?

            – It has a shedload of gyroscopes inside it. More than that, I can’t say.

            – It looks amazing.

            – I know. I only got it last week. I may never use my prostheses again.

            – Oh! You have artificial legs too?

            – Mate, I have fuck tons of artificial legs. I’ll show you if you want. But I thought you’re only interested in hooks.

            – Mmm, well, yeah.

            – Steve, don’t be shy. Everyone you meet tonight has either done what you want to do or is planning it. Ah, here’s Zac, I hope. Zac wants a leg off. Don’t tell him I told you.

Zac strolled into the lobby and saw Ryan sitting in his GyroChair.

            – Hello, Ryan. Thank you so much for inviting me.

            – Not at all. This is Stephen, by the way. He works in the camera shop in Loidis. He’s going to teach me how to use my new camera. Come on, let’s go upstairs.

Ryan made a U-turn and called the lift. The door opened immediately and they entered. Ryan held his key card in his right hook and flashed it. They rose to the forty-sixth floor before the lift stopped and a young woman stepped in. She wished them a Good evening and rode to the fifty-eighth where she left them. The lift continued without interruption to the seventy-second floor and the trio exited into the flat.

            – Give Seb your coats.

            – Hi Seb! Good to see you.

            – Good you could come, Zac. Hello, I’m Seb.

            – I’m Steve Burge. I met Mr Anderson this morning in our camera shop.

            – You can call me Ryan, mate. We’re all on first name terms. Let’s go and meet the others.

Paul and Craig were seated on the sofa watching some new YouTube videos. A handsome mid-twenties Austrian had been struck by meningitis and lost all his limbs. He was new to prosthetic limbs and had been flown to Miami to meet Pedro, who had suffered the same fate twenty years earlier. It was fascinating to see them walking together, two handsome men with glossy black artificial limbs. Paul shook hands with Steve and Zac and wished them welcome. Craig offered his right hook and said he was pleased they could join them. Ryan turned towards the balcony and offered them a seat outside. He went to the humidor and selected an especially fat cigar. One of the boys could cut it for him. Looking at it between the fingers of a hook, Ryan realised for the first time how much like an arm stump it seemed. The same size, the same shape.

            – Well, I want to say welcome to our humble abode. It’s good you could join us. Saturday nights are so boring if you don’t have company. What would you like to drink? We have some sushi, you can help yourselves and we have some saké to go with that. Or how about a beer to start with?

            – Yes, please. A beer would be good.

Zac nodded his agreement. Ryan moved across to the doorway and called out for three lagers. Moments later, Seb served three straight glasses and three tins. Paul came out and settled in the third empty seat. He put his crutches to one side and released his knee lock. The large rubber ferrule on the end of his peg leg rested on the floor near Steve’s feet.

            – I hope Seb can join us soon. He has a few things to do yet but he should be able to join us within the hour. Zac, I understand you share a flat with Seb. What’s that like these days, living with an invalid like Seb?

            – Well, actually it’s a house. Seb lives on the top floor and I share the downstairs with Jay.

            – Oh dear. So I suppose you hear Seb clumping around on his wooden leg every morning.

            – Ah, sort of. It’s not that it wakes us up or anything, but it is sort of obvious that he has an artificial leg.

            – And does that annoy you?

            – No. It’s sort of interesting.

            – Really? I don’t mean to pry, but have you talked with Seb about losing his leg? What do you think about it?

            – Well, he hasn’t really said anything about it. It was a road accident. Someone hit him and left him to die at the side of the road and by the time someone found him and he was taken to hospital, he had to have his arm and leg amputated.

            – Yeah, it must have been awful. But he gets on OK now, doesn’t he? He can do his work here but does he complain to you at home?

            – He was miserable for a bit but he got over that. I don’t know how he feels now.

            – Zac, you can speak openly here. And you Steve. I want you to be completely honest. We know all about wanting to lose a limb. Look at us. Every stump you see, every hook and peg leg is because we wanted it. If you want to share with us and get your own stumps and artificial limbs, you have to be honest.

Zac and Steve looked at each other, confused.

            – Let me help you. Zac, I know you want the same kind of stump as Seb’s. And Steve, I think you want hooks like mine. In fact, I know you do. Over to you.

Paul called out to Seb to bring him a beer. This was going to be a long evening.

Steve looked at Zac in desperation.

            – I noticed you sort of came in your pants, Steve. Well, we’ve all done that. But I think you’d like a pair of hooks like mine, wouldn’t you? That’s what turns you on at night. That’s the way you cum, isn’t it?

            – Yes.

            – Guessed it! I already know about you, Zac, so I’m not going to muck about. I will lend you the money to have your leg off on one condition.

Zac looked alarmed.

            – Steve, you understand this, don’t you?

            – Er, well, yeah, I guess I do.

            – So come on, Zac, mate. Spit it out. What do you want to look like, how do you want to be this time next year? If you could.

Zac was almost in tears. So many conflicting emotions, so many tempting forbidden stumps and gorgeous prosthetic limbs. He began to ejaculate again and groaned in relief and resignation.

            – I want to look like Seb. I want to be like Seb. I want a stump on my leg and a stump near my shoulder. I want my left side to be black carbon plastic, artificial and I want to see it and feel it.

            – Wow. Steady on, old chap. I get the idea. Steve, you want hooks, don’t you?

            – Yes, I would love to have hooks if I could use them as well as you do. It’s my oldest dream. Since I was a toddler, I always wanted hooks. I used to pretend with lengths of wood in my hands, poking about in the garden, imagining I had artificial arms. My mother thought it was all a bit of fun, rather charming. Of course, she had no idea what I was really doing. I still pretend. I have some artificial hands I made on my printer. I put my hands in them and wank. I always come.

            – Mate, you should try it with hooks. You’ll wank yourself dry. Hey! Go and get yourself some sushi. There’s nothing else to eat tonight.

Ryan picked up his cigar and handed it to Paul. Seconds later, he was fitting it into his mouth with two hooks, closely watched by his two young guests. He asked Paul for his lighter, wary that leaning forward might dislodge his chair. He lit his enormous cigar and rested his hooks on the GyroChair’s armrests. He sucked his cigar into life, then removed it from his mouth with his left hook.

            – Zac, tell me about your stump. What’s it going to be like?

            – I want it to look the same as Seb’s.

            – How do you know what Seb’s stump looks like?

            – Well, we play video games together.

            – Yeah, so what? That doesn’t mean you know what his stump look like.

            – Well, no. I asked him to show me.

            – More than once, I guess.

            – Well, yeah.

            – And what did you think when Seb came home with one leg and one arm?

            – I was excited. I tried not to think about it but I kept thinking what he looked like all night.

            – And did you cum? You wanked to the idea of what he looked like, didn’t you?

            – Yes.

            – Steve, have you ever wanked to the idea of a guy with hooks?

            – Yes. It’s the only way I can come. I can't understand it.

            – There’s nothing to understand. We are turned on by what turns us on. Lots of men think they are turned on by a woman’s tits until they see another guy’s leg stump. Then suddenly tits aren’t worth a shit. It’s a guy’s stump or nothing. Or arm stumps are even more of a turn on, especially if there’s no hook. I suppose it’s because an arm stump looks more like a fat dick, I don’t know. Have some more beer. Would you like a whisky chaser?

            – No thanks.

            – Oh, go on, Steve. Let yourself go for a change. You can stay over if you want. You don’t have to go home as far as we’re concerned. Let yourself go. Have a drink.

            – Alright then. I’d love a glass of whisky. Lots of ice.

            –Seb! We need drinks, mate. Bring the bottles out and some ice. Come and join us. You’ll have to bring your own chair. I don’t know what Craig’s doing, the old bugger.

            – He’s in his room. He said he’d join us later on.

            – Good show. So Steve, you’d like to have hooks instead of hands just like me, is that right?

            – Er, well…yes, I would. Two hooks looks so good on a man.

            – So what would you do after you’re disabled?

            – God, I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.

            – Well, don’t you think you should? Have you got any qualifications?

            – Sort of. I studied graphics at Leeds Uni and was supposed to join an ad agency in twenty twenty-seven but of course that went out the window.

            – I think Seb and Zac are in the same position. You should get together and start your own ad agency. So how about you, Zac? You want a leg stump, is that right?

            – Yes. Just like Seb has.

            – Well, look Zac. I am prepared to pay for your leg stump on one condition.

            – Really? I’d have half a thigh? Like Seb? A proper stump? And you would pay for it?

            – Yes. The condition being you have the arm on the same side amputated above the elbow. You would be exactly like Seb.

Zac’s mouth hung open. He looked at his left hand.

            – I can’t imagine anything I could want more. I never dared even mention it. I think I want an artificial arm right up to my shoulder even more than I want my leg stump.

Ryan was silenced by the surprising admission. Stephen looked at him in amazement. What an incredible evening. Would he dare to have his legs off? It seemed to be the ideal opportunity. He noticed his glass was almost empty.

            – May I have a top-up, please?

            – Seb! We’re running dry out here, mate. Can you bring us the whisky bottle?

Stephen spoke up.

            – I get the idea that these amputations can be ordered and performed somewhere. I was wondering if it was possible to change your mind.

            – How do you mean, Steve?

            – Well, you’ve more or less put me down for bilateral arms but I think I’d like bilateral lower legs as well.

            – Mate, we’re just talking right now. I’m not reserving beds in some amputation hospital. Come on, tell us what you’re thinking.

            – Well, I would really like to have two hooks and two artificial legs, below the knee and below the elbows, if you see what I mean.

            – I do. Just a minute.

Ryan went inside and knocked on the wall beside Craig’s bedroom door,

            – Everything alright? Don’t sit in here all night, mate. Come and join us. There’s someone who wants to see you.

            – Alright. Give me a minute. I just worked out how to improve our intervals.

            – Never mind about that. We want to see your prosthetics.

            – Thanks for warning me.

            – Yeah, don't act surprised. You’re gonna be the star of the show for the next five minutes.

            – Are you drunk?

            – Only the tiniest teensiest bit.

            – Oh well, goodbye sobriety. I know what your tiny drunken evenings are like.

            – Come on, mate. Follow me.

Ryan twisted himself around and sped back to the balcony.

            – Someone is going to have to stand. Seb, can you get a stool from the kitchen?

Craig arrived and held onto the window until he worked his way to Seb’s empty chair.

            – So anyway, Zac. Is this man the way you want to be?

Zac and Craig, a man ten years older, locked eyes. Craig smiled as Zac noted the peg legs and hooks and thought of how smoothly Craig had joined them. If no-one had pointed out his disabilities, no-one would have noticed. He walked on his peg legs perfectly. Zac wanted peg legs.

He gasped.

            – I would kill to be like him.

Seb and Ryan stared at Zac. He was overwhelmed by Craig’s hooks and peg legs. Zac bowed his head and dropped his arms to his sides and burst into tears.

            – He’s perfect. I just want shorter leg stumps. Aah!

Seb wondered about Zac. He was much deeper into the need than he had ever revealed before. His friend really wanted to lose his legs and his hands and Ryan could enable it. Ryan seemed to have the power. After all, his own amputations would have been impossible without him.

            – Zac! Chin up, mate. Have you thought about what you would do for a living after you lose your limbs? I mean, most prospective employers would take one look at you and call Next!

            – I was hoping to work in graphics eventually. It’s all done on the computer these days anyway. Even rough sketches. It doesn’t make a lot of difference whether I move the mouse with my hand or with a hook.

            – Mate, you should try using a fucking mouse with a hook. It makes a difference, let me tell you. You’ll be using a stylus. But I see your point. Alright. You can be legless and a graphic artist, no problem there. Well, you’ll just have to start your own ad agency with Seb. Stump International, Incorporated.

Zac and Seb smirked at each other.

            – I told you we’d be together.

            – Yeah, but not quite like this.

            – Seb, we’re running low again. Give us all a top up and I need a beer opened. So, Zac. You came in wanting a stump like Seb’s and now you want two like Craig’s. Which is it?

            – I’m sorry. Seeing Craig made me lose my concentration. I would really like one thigh stump like Seb’s.

            – And two hooks.

            – And two hooks, yes. Forearms cut off in the middle. Nicely rounded stumps.

            – I get it. Well, listen. I think there is a genuine case here. You are clearly miserable that you don’t have your own stump, especially after your mate got one in a road accident, I believe, Seb?

            – Yes, a hit and run.

            – That’s right. A hit and run. Zac, first step in the long process to your own hit and run is an essay. Seb, you know the ropes. Tell Zac all about it. Show me what you write before you forward it. It will be evaluated on merit. Someone will read your application and make a decision whether you are a genuine sufferer or just someone trying it on. If he approves, he’ll send it to another guy with a recommendation. The second guy has the final say. If he agrees that you require a stump or two, he’ll arrange for them to happen. It will all appear correct and above-board, all the paperwork will be official and legal. But you’ll continue to be in contact with him to acquire your prothetic limbs in order to stay off the national health radar. That way, you can have successive amputations without other doctors becoming suspicious.

            – It sounds marvellous. So, first of all, I need to write you an essay.

            – Yup. Explain to me why you need amputations. That’s it. Nothing more.

Zac looked at Seb.

            – Is that what you did?

            – Yeah. It was about a pageful, wasn’t it?

            – Yes, if I remember correctly. You were very persuasive, Seb. The higher-ups must have felt pity on you. Help Zac out if he gets stuck. The thing is, Zac, you’ll probably have to meet the man who makes the final decision face-to-face and that will probably be somewhere in Switzerland so you might use the time in between to apply for a passport.

            – That’s alright. I’ve got one already.

            – Good show. Well, I don’t have much more to tell you. As far as the rest of the evening goes, have a drink, look at the other blokes using their artificial limbs to see if it’s what you want for yourself and you can stay the night if you like. Although you can get to the station all night long, right, Craig?

            – Departures every twenty minutes.

            – Right. Excuse me for a minute.

Ryan wheeled away to the toilet to pee and then ran his hooks under boiling water from the kitchen island tap. He adjusted a hook to hold a plate and picked out several pieces of sushi. He leaned forward and went back out to the balcony. Craig was explaining his prosthetic arms to Zac. He saw Ryan’s plate.

            – Can I nab one of those, mate?

            – Help yourself.

Craig reached across making sure his hook remained closed and took a piece from Ryan’s plate. He put it in his mouth. Zac watched him, thinking how much the hook resembled chopsticks. What would life be like using two pairs of metal chopsticks? His body trembled in anticipation. He was going to find out.

 

T H R E E   M O N T H S   L A T E R

 

Ryan made another attempt to put his arm prostheses on unassisted. The chief problem was donning his legs so he could get to the dressing frame and wriggle into his arms. It was useless getting angry or frustrated. It was possible, it would be possible. He only needed patience which he had always had in short supply. As a man with arm stumps only four inches long, even sitting up was a chore. His leg stumps were too short for him to get enough leverage. Ryan looked at his reflection in the mirror facing the bed and spread his arm stumps. They looked fantastic. He clasped them across his chest, hiding them under his luxuriant beard. He looked truly impressive. He called for Seb as soon as Paul showed signs of waking. It was almost seven, after all.

            – Good morning, you two. Arms, Ryan?

            – Yeah, if you don’t mind. Is coffee ready?

            – On its way. Lift your stumps. That’s it.

Seb dropped Ryan’s harness over his shoulders. The short arm stumps disappeared into the black sockets and Ryan shrugged a few times. His left arm was already at ninety degrees so he tried the hook. It opened silently and closed with a hollow click.

            – Put me on my seat, will you? It’s still got the charger attached so get that first, mate. Thanks.

Ryan wheeled slowly around the bed and went to the bathroom with Seb. They went through the morning ritual, ending with Seb brushing Ryan’s long beard. It was thick and dark and curved naturally into a perfect shape. Before he lost his hands, Ryan had the habit of touching his whiskers and twisting them until they fell out. Now, his follicles could grow out naturally and his beard was much fuller. He was a very handsome bearded man. He wheeled away from the mirror and parked his chair by the kitchen island. He manipulated his right shoulder until his right forearm rose and he locked it at ninety degrees. Now he could lean on the counter. He watched Seb preparing coffee.

            – How is Zac getting on these days?

            – He’s OK. Still in the wheelchair most of the time but he does practise on his legs during the day. Or so he tells me. He does wear them at weekends, so who knows?

 

Zac had been denied his arm amputations by the Harvester until he had learned to walk on his artificial legs. At the very last minute before going under, Zac had asked the Welsh surgeon if it was possible to amputate his legs mid-thigh instead of four inches below the knee. The Surgeon replied that it was quite possible but it would need approval. The Surgeon placed a priority call to the Harvester.

            – Amputate as much as he wants. Give him what he wants but make sure he signs the release form beforehand. This is the boy who also wants his arms off, is it not? Wait until he walks before performing the arm amputations. Thank you for informing me.

The Surgeon returned to the theatre and ninety minutes later, a newly legless man was placed in artificial coma and taken to a recovery room. His stumps were eight inches long. Choosing such high amputations was to be Zac’s greatest regret. He had imagined that shorter would mean a better experience with prostheses. It was not the case. He had decided to forego his forearm amputations. He now held Ryan as his ideal and wanted short above elbow stumps.

 

Steve was making good progress with his new below elbow prostheses. He had quit his job and was living off residual payments from a soap opera he had acted in as a teenager. They were adequate for the time being. One of his friends had generously spent as much time with him immediately after his amputations as possible until he could travel down to Sevenoaks to be fitted for his new arms.

 

He was fascinated by his hooks’ potential and pushed himself to succeed in using them for as much as possible. He had made a priority of relearning to write with the right hook, practising drawing lines and circles and loops much as a toddler does in infant school. He would never be a calligrapher but his handwriting was already quite legible, if a little uneven.

 

He had kept in touch with Ryan and the others. He had visited Attenborough again and showed Ryan how the new camera operated and they took several shots of prosthetic devices and stumps which Ryan uploaded to his gallery. To return the favour, Ryan and Craig taught him a few tricks with his hooks. He had become friendly with Zac and visited frequently. Zac was in a wheelchair and had still not been fitted with artificial legs. He suspected that he could wait until his arms had also been removed before making the long trip south to be fitted with both leg and arm prostheses. Steve had promised to accompany him.

 

Ryan received a more than usually enigmatic message from the Harvester. It was the first time the Harvester had contacted him unsolicited.

            – request your presence at your earliest convenience for a life-changing proposal. hotel zurich 10:00, nov 3?

            – What the hell does the old bugger mean? Life-changing? Like quadruple amputations weren’t enough?

            – Sounds like you won’t get any more out of him at this stage. But you might as well go and see him. You haven’t been out anywhere for months. Go and meet him. When was it? November third? That’s only the end of next week.

            – Bloody hell! Where did October go? Alright. I’ll pay him a visit. Do you want to come?

            – I’d like to but I have my hands full with the bus company.

            – You ought to get someone to help you out with all that.

            – Well, the thing is, Ryan, it’s this which gives me purpose. If I had someone to do it all for me, I’d be sitting around again trying to find something to do, wouldn’t I? You know how I hate just lolling about.

            – Yeah, you’re right. Well, I suppose I can manage by myself. It’s getting to be a regular run, isn’t it? OK, I’ll check the timetables and let the bloke know if November the third is possible.

            – Why don’t you ask Steve to come with you? He’s getting pretty nifty with his hooks. I worry about you with your new arms. You’re not experienced with them enough yet to manage everything.

            – Well, thanks for the compliment! No, you’re right. Even handling a keycard is awkward.

            – That’s what I was thinking. Call Steve and treat him to a trip abroad.

 

Steve was delighted to be asked. He had nothing else planned and would be pleased to accompany Ryan and perhaps get to meet the man who had arranged his amputations. Ryan arranged the bookings and ordered the tickets. They would arrive in Zurich in the early evening on November the second.

 

On November the first, Ryan asked Paul to remove the extension segments from his long leg prostheses. He wanted to walk for a change and the shorter legs were more secure. He stood only five foot six but was satisfied with that. He had Paul exchange his hooks for his favourite pair of wooden hands and admired himself in the mirror. He wore his black suit jacket, black shorts, black eight holers on his plastic feet and looked extremely smart. He threw a couple of T-shirts, his Hosmer Fives and toiletries into his case and asked Seb to drive him in Paul’s car to the station where he would meet Steve. They spotted him leaning against the railings by the taxi rank, hooks glinting in the morning sun. He was a snappy dresser – smart skin-tight jeans, a white T-shirt and a well-cut tweed jacket. Ryan got out and said Goodbye to Seb and rocked over to greet Steve. They clashed hooks and walked into the station for coffee.

            – Thanks very much for joining me, Steve. I need someone to help me on occasion. The more I get used to these arms, the more I realise that there are things that I just can’t do yet. So I appreciate having someone along who can lend a hand when needs be. If you see what I mean.

            – Ha! Well, thanks for inviting me when there are so many others you could have asked. I love Switzerland so this is quite a treat for me.

            – You’ve been before?

            – Oh yes. My family used to go every winter when I was young, skiing and that. And I learned my meagre French and a smattering of German there, although I doubt they could understand me in Germany.

            – Oh? Why’s that?

            – Different accent. It’s like a Scotsman talking to a Jamaican. They don’t even realise they’re speaking the same language.

            – Ha! I’d like to see that. The train’s pulling in. Let’s get on now and we can nab the best seats.

 

The train rattled towards London and Ryan spent an awkward half hour on the underground transferring to St Pancras International. So many steps. Three hours later, they were crossing a platform in Paris for the Geneva express. They arrived in a snowy Zurich a few minutes late and registered in the station hotel. Ryan immediately suggested they sink a few beers in the bar. The bar tender remembered Ryan from his previous visits and complimented him on his superbly handsome beard. He brought them their lagers in hook-friendly glasses and departed with a bow.

            – Why do I always feel like royalty when I go abroad?

            – I don’t know. Anyway, here’s to us.

Ryan shrugged his right arm to ninety degrees and shrugged again. He made sure the elbow was locked before guiding his open hook around the glass of beer and allowing it to close. He lifted his arm and shrugged again. He tensed his left shoulder and slowly brought the glass towards his mouth. He leant forward a little and his lips touched the glass. He leant back slowly and quaffed a couple of mouthfuls of the tasty light beer. He held his arm in the same position and leaned forward.

            – I needed that. This brew they do here is top notch. Better than the German stuff. German beer always tastes so mild. Beer should have a bit of a tang, a bit of a bite to it.

            – Yes, I agree. The best beer I ever had was in the Czech Republic. I went with some friends two years ago. We toured around, you know, Prague, Olomouc, Pilsen and had far too much beer every might. Every town has at least one decent brewery. Have you been there?

            – Mate, I haven’t really been anywhere. Or actually, that’s not true. I’ve been here several times and we went to Sweden to get Paul’s leg, which he doesn't use, the bugger. That was a nice trip.

            – Why don’t you travel more?

            – Old habits die hard, I suppose. I wasn’t into travelling when I was young. I used to sit around with my skinhead mates outside the shopping centre bumming cigarettes off people. That was about as exciting as my life was.

            – What happened then? I mean, I know you’re still a skinhead at heart but you seem to be fairly well off.

            – Well, I won some money. And after that, everything has been plain sailing. I could afford to lose my limbs and become how I wanted to be, I have a nice place to live and I started the Towers bus company.

            – Really? Was that you? Everyone is wondering who’s behind it.

            – Well, don’t you let on. You’re good at keeping secrets otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting in Zurich wearing a pair of hooks. I can tell you that, mate.

            – No, I won’t ever say anything. I want more amputations. It’s in my own interest to keep schtum.

            – What? More amputations? What do you want done?

            – I want my legs off. I can’t decide whether to go for above knees or below knees. I have you and Craig as my ideals. Craig with his peg legs and you with your huge variety of different legs. What do you recommend?

            – I had no idea you were only halfway through, Steve. I mean, you’ve taken to your hooks like a duck to water but I didn’t realise you wanted your legs off too. When did you decide that?

            – After I met you and Craig – and Paul, of course – on that evening when you bought your camera, remember? You invited me over to show you how to use it and instead we spoke only about how we could get rid of our limbs. It was the most exciting night of my life, I can tell you. I can’t thank you enough for making this possible.

He held his hooks up to show Ryan what he was grateful for. Ryan smiled and leaned forward again to drink another couple of mouthfuls. Steve could ask the Harvester tomorrow about his leg amputations. There ought not be a problem. If only he could make his mind up.

            – Steve, why don’t you go for below the knee amputations first and then, if you think they’re not enough, you can get thigh stumps later? I’m sure you’d love to walk around on peg legs like Craig does.

            – I would, it’s true. He looks amazing. He’s so handsome anyway. His hooks and peg legs just add to it.

            – Yes, he’s a handsome bugger. He had to pay to have his limbs off himself. Imagine that.

            – So he’s not one of your group? I don’t know how to express it. You’ve sponsored so many new amputees.

            – No, he’s not one of my group, as you say. I quite like that. My group. I shall have to remember that. No, he was a successful importer of cigars and used the profits to lose his limbs. And now he runs our bus company in Leeds.

            – I hope I can do something as signifiant when I have four stumps.

            – I’m sure you will. What would you most like to do if you could?

            – I’d love to be a photographer. I’m most interested in architectural photography but I’d love to photograph old buildings, you know, real ramshackle old stuff before it’s torn down.

            – And you’d like to do that wearing artificial legs and using hooks?

            – Well, why not?

            – Ha! Why not indeed.

 

Ryan and Steve shared a room. Steve assisted Ryan with his prosthetic limbs, enjoying the sound of his steel hooks against the sockets which replaced Ryan’s arms and legs. They breakfasted and returned to their room. At ten o’clock, there was a knock at the door.

            – Fuck me, he’s punctual. Steve, this might be private so get ready to leave us alone. Just saying.

Ryan opened the door and the Harvester rolled in on a GyroChair, sporting two artificial arms terminating in hooks. He also had two cosmetic legs resting on a foot plate. Ryan knew the man was completely limbless below his arse.

            – Welcome! It’s wonderful to see you again. How long has it been?

            – It has been too long, dear boy. Who is this?

            – This is Stephen Burge, one of your recent cases.

            – Yes, I remember the name. How do you do, young man. I remember your application. It was one of the most eloquent I have read in recent years. I see you have your artificial arms already. Are you enjoying them?

            – Yes, sir. I feel complete now with my hooks.

            – I am glad to hear it. Unfortunately, Mister Burge, I must ask for complete privacy while I speak with Mr Anderson.

            – I understand, of course. I’ll wait downstairs.

Steve grabbed a keycard in a hook and left the room.

            – It is always so satisfying to meet a young man who enjoys his fresh stumps. A very handsome young man. I believe you paid for his reduction?

            – I did.

            – I suspected as much. Well, my friend, you may be asking yourself why I requested you to meet me, at no small inconvenience to yourself, I do realise, and I thank you for your forbearance. The matter is simple. I am dying. A new Harvester must be found.

            – That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.

            – I have a blood disease which I hear will kill me within two years. I had hoped to live another two decades but I fear I have only two years. Well, it cannot be helped. I have decided that I wish to spent the rest of my time in my Swiss chalet far from the problems of the world. And I must find a new Harvester, as has been the custom for almost ninety years.

            – Really? As long as that?

            – Oh yes. Men have desired to wear artificial limbs for a long time. Ever since they were invented, able-bodied men have looked at split hooks and envied them. Men with perfect legs have seen invalids with primitive artificial legs and lusted for their own stumps. It is an old desire. Always secretive, always decried and deplored. The psychologists have invented their ludicrous theories about the desire, understanding nothing, fools that they are. I was appointed Harvester thirty years ago by my limbless predecessor. Now this limbless Harvester has the responsibility of appointing the next one.

            – What had that got to do with me? I don't understand.

            – Ah, dear boy. I believe I said the same thing to the old Harvester. He sat before me, legless, wearing one hook on his above elbow stump and explained to me how I had provided the most suitable candidates for reduction and therefore I deserved to continue his work in assisting young men to gain the bodies they required. I was initially taken aback, although I had indeed inspired many of my close circle of intimates to acquire their stumps. To cut to the chase, Ryan dear boy, you have done more for the cause than any other in recent years. You have the intuition to send us only the most enthusiastic and successful candidates and therefore I wish to bestow upon you the great responsibility of Harvester for as long as you are able to continue. One of our main criteria is that the candidate be a voluntary quadruple amputee. You fulfil that requirement admirably and I am delighted to see you wearing your current arm prostheses. Perhaps in the future you will shed your stumps completely and become a stumpless torso. It is your decision.

            – So what you’re saying is that I would be the Harvester?

            – Yes, exactly that. There are other Harvesters around the world, of course, but you would be responsible for deciding who can avail themselves of our services within Europe. There are currently two other Harvesters, one in the United States of America and one in Australia. You will be in touch with them. And now I must ask if you are willing to accept this responsibility. Will you decide wisely on young men’s amputations for the next forty or fifty years?

Ryan fell back in his seat and stared at his sculpted wooden hands. He thought about what he had done to enable Steve and Zac and Seb to achieve their stumps and Paul had become legless because of his influence. How was that different from what the Harvester did? Except in future, he wouldn’t be paying.

            – This is where I am supposed to say Let me think about it. But I trust you and I trust your judgment despite my own doubts. I would be honoured to accept the duties of the Harvester. I’m sorry it couldn’t happen under happier circumstances.

            – Oh, don’t worry about that. I have led the life I wanted. There is nothing left of me to amputate to experience the delightful thrill of a new stump. I am ready to leave. I shall experience the last months of my life on my beautiful mountainside and when I rip these electrodes from my head, I shall do so in blissful silence. I know you will make wise decisions. You have done so until now.

            – Well, when will this transfer of duties happen?

            – Immediately. That is to say, before you leave. As you accept the responsibility of Harvester, I shall return tomorrow with bank account details, secret internet codes and other things which you will need to understand. Quite simply, I will hand all responsibilities over to you tomorrow and retire. Do you accept?

            – Yes sir. I accept.

            – Excellent. We shall meet here tomorrow at the same time. I need hardly warn you to keep your new status utterly secret. If you were ever publicly revealed to be the Harvester, you would be in quite a pickle. Tell no-one, not even your husband or lover.

He leant to the right and his chair turned. Ryan stumped across to the door and opened it for him. The Harvester left without saying another word and Ryan stood watching him enter the elevator. He waited a few minutes and went downstairs to find Steve.

 

He was standing by the entrance watching passers-by and the traffic.

            – See anything interesting?

            – Oh, there you are. Do you know what I’d like to do? Have a ride on a tram. Doesn’t matter where it goes to, it has to come back again the same way.

            – Alright, we can do that.

            – I saw the Harvester leave. I don’t think he saw me, though. He had a car outside waiting for him. The chauffeur picked him up and put him inside the car and then put his GyroChair in the boot. It looked funny with just the legs still sitting in the seat.

            – Yes, I bet it did. He has two hip disarts, no leg stumps whatsoever. The legs are just for show. Last time I saw him he was in a bucket with short metal pylons attached. Anyone else might have looked ridiculous or pathetic but he has a powerful presence, doesn’t he?

            – He does. Did you get your business seen to?

            – No, as a matter of fact. We’ll continue tomorrow at the same time. But we should be finished tomorrow and then we can leave, unless you’d like to stay a little longer. I’m in no hurry to get back.

            – Oh. No, I think tomorrow would be fine. Shall we stop halfway and spend the night in Paris?

            – Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Let’s do that. Right, let’s get our jackets and we can catch your tram.

They spent the rest of the morning riding around the town centre sightseeing on several trams and jumped off when they saw an inviting restaurant. Steve helped Ryan with his meal because Ryan’s wooden hands were useless at holding a fork close to his face.

            – I think your hands need some adjustment, Ryan. The cable is just a tiny bit too tight so it opens the thumb when you angle your arm.

            – Yeah, I think you’re right. I didn’t test these enough before we left. Never mind. You’re doing a great job. Don’t let your own food get cold. Apart from being useless, how do you like the look of these hands?

            – They are like works of art. The natural wooden colour and the grain is beautiful.

            – We bought quite a lot of them a few months ago. You ought to come round one day and see if there are any you’d like to try on. They all fit your socket.

            – That would be fun. Thanks. I’ll take you up on that. At the moment I only have these Fives and two farmer’s hooks. It would be nice to start a collection of different hooks and devices.

            – Don’t worry about that. I’m pretty sure you’ll have a drawer full of them before long. You can pick up some lovely old hooks from eBarter. They used to make some really odd stuff last century. I was going to ask you – have you given any more thought to having your legs reduced?

            – That’s a strange way of putting it. I’d like to be able to wear peg legs like Craig’s. He has below knee amputations, doesn’t he? That’s what I’d like.

            – Maybe it’s time for you to write another little letter to the Gardener. That’s the first stage. You can explain how well you’ve learned to use your hooks and how you’d like your leg stumps to match your arm stumps.

            – Do you think the time is right?

            – I don’t see why not. Give it a try. If the Harvester gives the go-ahead, I don’t mind lending you the money.

            – Really? That’s very kind of you, Ryan. Thank you very much. I’d be eternally grateful.

They left and spent a couple of hours touring a shopping mall, stopping for a couple of beers. Steve noticed that one of the tram routes running outside also passed their hotel and they returned after dusk to the hotel and relaxed in the lobby, watching other patrons and being watched in return.

 

The Harvester was as punctual as ever. Ryan waited to greet him outside the lift. He rolled out in his GyroChair.

            – Good morning, Ryan. I hope you slept well. We have a good deal of business to get through this morning. And I hope you will accept my invitation to luncheon with me later.

            – I’d be pleased to, sir.

            – Has your companion left? Do we have privacy?

            – Yes. Steve has gone to a bookshop he noticed yesterday. He’ll be out for a few hours, I expect.

            – Excellent. I have here everything you will need to know.

He rapped with a hook on the attaché case he held on his prosthetic lap.

            – I’m intrigued.

Ryan closed the door to his room and they went to the room’s writing table. The Harvester opened the case and withdrew a slim black folder, one of many.

            – Put this case on the bed, would you? This first folder contains contact details of surgeons who are amenable to performing our amputations. Most of them wish to remain anonymous but of course, it would not be difficult to trace them. I have never felt the need to do so. This listing is updated regularly as the situation changes. These details are only two weeks old. You can see that some surgeons prefer to amputate the upper extremities, some the lower. Here is a short list of more unusual specialities. Hemicorporectomies here, Krukenbergs here. Several have also listed things like fingers or Symes amputations but I have never been impressed by such minor reductions and have always refused to bother our surgeons with such frivolity. Refer to this listing when you select a surgeon. There are several prominent centres in Europe. Mainly your own country, Germany, Romania and Latvia. The Lettish centre is frequented mostly by Russians and Scandinavians. Do you follow so far?

            – Yes, of course. This is quite clear.

            – Good. Put this folder back and hand me the next one. I say ‘hand’ advisedly. I am very impressed with your wooden prostheses. It gives me such joy to see men experimenting and enjoying their various prostheses. Those are particularly beautiful hands. I congratulate you.

            – Thank you. They are rather old but we managed to clean and refurbish them. I like them too.

            – Excellent. Here is a current listing of sources for prosthetic limbs. As well as professional prosthetists, we also use amateurs who can produce artificial limbs to professional standards. Like for example your hands. You would be very unlikely to find such equipment in a modern clinic but a few enthusiastic aficionados are able to design and manufacture such items. If someone requests an old-style peg leg, for example, you will find several makers here. As you see, there are a few prosthetists in your country but most are to be found again in central Europe, with one artisan in Spain who makes exquisitely beautiful wooden legs. He deserves more custom, I feel. And now, please give me the third folder.

Ryan rocked around in his chair and leaned across to pick out the third and heaviest folder.

            – Now we come to the money. After lunch, we will visit the Zürchner Zentralbank and I will arrange for the right of access to be transferred to your name. Please wear something which you are able to hold a pen with. You will have to sign many papers.

            – This hand holds a pen. Better than a hook, actually.

            – Good. This ledger must be maintained in almost real time. Do you have any knowledge of bookkeeping?

            – No, sorry.

            – No matter. It is not difficult to learn. I suggest you avail yourself of a double-entry bookkeeping course on your return. The incoming and outgoing money must be scrupulously accounted for, without error. The bank will guide you if you request their assistance.

            – Where does the outgoing money go?

            – Surgeons’ fees, prosthetists’ fees, the prosthetic equipment itself and the welfare and assistance fund.

            – I haven’t heard of that.

            – No, there is no reason you should have. Occasionally it happens that one of our new amputees finds his circumstances suddenly changed. He may no longer be able to continue in his work or faces economic ruin by being rejected by his family after returning from a trip abroad legless. You can imagine the various scenarios for yourself. We have a welfare fund through which we are able to provide financial security for a few months at our discretion to amputees who face greater than expected problems. These days, there are very few cases in Europe. Attitudes have changed in recent decades. Amputees are no longer regarded as worthless burdens. Other good causes are stipends to students who wish to become prosthetists where their only route is to study abroad in a more expensive country.

            – And do these students end up working for us?

            – Occasionally it happens but it is not a requirement.

            – I had no idea.

            – Of course not, dear boy. Have I not emphasized the need for total secrecy? I should be most alarmed if you had known anything of our philanthropic dealings. We hear through the grapevine. The Gardeners are in constant contact with us. We have leads through social media sites and photo forums and YouTube. I’m sure you realise that your own channel has been of interest to us for several years.

            – You know about that? Good grief!  I see now why the amputations are so expensive.

            – Yes. I have tried to maintain a sensible price level. I want our service to be expensive enough to deter all but the most determined candidates but within a sensible limit. A year’s average national income has been a successful limit. The statistics are easily available. Men from poorer nations pay less than those from richer countries although the effort in raising the money is the same.

            – Yes, I see that. I’ll continue that policy.

            – Good. It has worked well for the past thirty years. There is one imminent problem facing you.

            – What’s that?

            – You must pass through customs when you return to your country. If you are stopped for an inspection and asked, you will explain that you are returning from Switzerland with updates on your disability charity. All the information in the folders will support such an explanation as well as your own physical presence. You may know that severely disabled men often intimidate the able-bodied.

            – Ha! Yes, I’ve noticed that.

            – So I wish you bon voyage. Now, let us have luncheon. I have a car waiting.

The previous Harvester pressed a button on his right prothetic arm and turned towards the door. Ryan walked over on his foot long pylons and opened the door. They descended to the lobby where the chauffeur was again waiting to place his master into the limousine and his chair into the rear. He opened the door for Ryan to climb in, who managed to do so by hooking his stubby feet over the door sill and pulling himself up with a wooden hand resting on the seat. His stubbies projected ahead of him and the chauffeur fit seat belts around his passengers. Ryan’s prosthetic forearms pointed forward at ninety degrees and the former Harvester’s hooks lay motionless in front of his torso stump. It was an appropriate metaphor of the transition.

 

The two men spoke sotto voce throughout the meal. The chauffeur sat between them, silent. He ate nothing but assisted both men with their three course meal which the former Harvester insisted on buying. Ryan thought it was ironic that his capital, already well into nine figures, was an even greater secret than that of the Harvester and very few others. He might be able to use it to finance a few more wannabe amputees who seemed to find their way regularly to his door. Steve would be the first to receive approval to get his new stumps. If only he could make his mind up whether he wanted peg legs like Craig or the full complement of carbon and steel from crotch to toe like he himself occasionally wore. He was getting lazy after buying the GyroChair. He ought to use his legs more. Or just get rid of the fuckers once and for all like the old Harvester. He was currently balancing in a bucket which the chauffeur had taken from the boot of the car.

            – We would like to pay.

The old Harvester spoke to his chauffeur. The man rose and indicated to the maître d’.

            – He is the only man I have ever met who requested to have his tongue removed. He is utterly mute. He can hear but his speech is just a single vowel.

The chauffeur sat down and nodded to his master. Moments later, the meal was paid for and the trio departed, the old Harvester cradled in his chauffeur’s arms. Their next destination was the head office of the Zürchner Bank. A member of staff met the Harvesters with a wheelchair and after the formalities of identity and authorisation were complete, control of the account passed to Ryan. He received a series of bank cards and a folder containing copies of the contract. They returned to the hotel.

            – Well, my dear boy. You are our Harvester and I hope you enjoy the wonderful opportunities to bring new joy, new stumps, new artificial limbs into the world. Now I shall leave you. We shall not speak again.

Ryan looked at him, deeply moved. He was choking up. The man was dying but not yet really old. He appeared suddenly frail. Ryan turned in his seat and carefully placed his wooden hands around the older man’s face and kissed him. He bowed his head to hide his tears, dropped from the car onto the street and waddled into the hotel, swiping his tears with an artificial arm.

 

Steve had returned and noticed Ryan’s distress.

            – What’s wrong, Ryan? Are you in pain?

            – No. Nothing like that. I’m just a bit choked up. I had to say goodbye to a friend.

Steve had no idea what he was talking about and was too discrete to ask. Ryan perked up after half an hour and was back to his normal self.

            – Are we leaving this evening? Are you sure you don’t want to stay a bit longer?

            – No, I’m fine. Let’s start back now.

            – Alright. I’ll get the tickets. What hotel do you want to stay in?

            – I don’t know Paris hotels. Something near the station I suppose. I hate long treks around town the next morning, don’t you?

            – Yeah, pain in the butt. OK, here we go. Zurich to Geneva and then express to Paris. Arrive ten thirty. How does that sound? Double room in Hôtel de la Gare. Breakfast included. I can’t be bothered to get the rest of the tickets now. We’ll do that tomorrow.

 

They were in Leeds by dusk the following day. Ryan’s phone had been announcing alerts for several hours. Text messages. The re-route he had programmed with the old Harvester was operational. Messages from several Gardeners proposed fresh amputations for Swedes, Finns, Poles, Germans and Englishmen. Others requested prosthetic limbs for newly limbless men across Europe. It was going to be interesting deciding who was most eligible for treatment. The prosthetic limbs were easy enough to order but which of the amputee candidates were worthy? And how could he be sure? Perhaps he should hold interviews somewhere anonymous like the old Harvester had. Another message arrived. A Norwegian wanted hooks. Steve and Ryan parted ways in front of the station. Steve thanked him for a thoroughly enjoyable journey. Ryan wheeled his suitcase onto the next seven eleven and rode through the winter evening to Attenborough Tower. The Harvester was home.

 

T H E   F I R S T   W E E K

 

Paul and Craig were on the balcony smoking. Paul could fit an Xcellente into his toothless mouth and was making good progress with the foot long cigar. They both craned their necks to see Ryan appear. He dropped the suitcase and went out to greet his friends.

            – The wanderer returns. Have a good time?

            – Yes, thanks. We left yesterday and spent the night in Paris.

            – Did you meet the Harvester?

            – Yeah. We had two meetings, in fact.

            – What was all that about, then?

            – He wanted to meet me. He wanted to say goodbye.

Something in Ryan’s tone caught their attention. He sounded drained. They glanced at each other and withheld any more questions.

            – Come and sit down, mate. Have a beer and take the weight off your stumps. How was Steve?

            – He was brilliant. He’s really good with his hooks. I think he’s even more skilful now than I was before I had my stumps shortened. He wants his legs off now. BK jobbies. I told him to start with BKs because he can always have more off later if he wants a bigger challenge.

            – That’s a surprise. I thought Steve’d be happy with just hooks.

            – You know what it’s like, Craig. You should understand better than anyone.

Craig reached for his beer and took a swig.

            – I haven’t mentioned it before, but I’ve been thinking about going under the knife again.

            – Really? What do you want done?

            – I’d like to have short thigh stumps. Maybe just long enough to be able to use prostheses without a belt. You know, real short stumps. Could knock around on stubbies. I’d also have a good reason get myself a GyroChair.

            – I didn’t think you would want more, Craig. I thought you were happy on your peg legs.

            – I am, very happy with them. But I’m pretty sure I’d like having nubs even more.

            – In that case, you’d better drop a line to the Gardener to see what he suggests. I mean, it’s obvious enough that you’re a genuine and dedicated case, so there shouldn’t be a problem.

            – I think I might just do that.

            – Where’s Seb, by the way?

            – Got the evening off. I think he went round to see Zac and Jay.

            – Oh, OK. I just thought I’d hit the shower and I could do with a hand.

            – We don’t mind if you sit there stinking. Shower in the morning.

            – Looks like I’ll have to. I’m going to hang this jacket up and get rid of these pylons. Back in a bit.

Ryan crossed the room and dragged his case to the bedroom. He hung up his jacket and removed his black shorts. He mounted the GyroChair and eased his pylons off. He rolled to the fridge, picked up a fresh six pack and went to the humidor. He thought a nine inch long Eighty-Five might hit the spot. With the beer in one hook and a cigar in the other, he rolled onto the balcony and parked facing the other two.

            – Can someone take this beer, please? It’s pulling my arm off.

            – How did your arms behave on the trip?

            – I hardly used them. I was feeling a bit lazy so I let Steve help as much as he wanted to. He always waited a few seconds for me to start doing something before offering to help. A real professional touch. Anyway, for most of the time, I was wearing the blond wooden hands. I asked Steve to change them for the Hosmers on the last day, though. He’d like his own pair, by the way. I’m going to sort out a decent pair and clean them up for him. Sort of a Christmas present. I hope he didn’t feel like I was swinging it. I mean, he could see how limited the hands are with one movable wooden thumb.

            – But they look fantastic.

            – Yeah, that’s why I like them. People who notice them are intrigued more than shocked the way they are when they see a pair of hooks. Apart from that, I didn’t have as much trouble with the arms as I expected. I could hold a glass and a fork when we went out for dinner but I still need help in the bog but only with my zip. I can hold my own dick, thank god.

            – You could get a catheter.

            – I could, but that’s only useful if I’m wearing long legs. I’ll be dipped in shit before I go around with a pissbag on display like some people do. And I don’t think I could manage to shove a catheter up my peehole with these arms so that’s that.

            – Ha! You should write the instruction manual for the catheter company. Hold the pissbag firmly and shove it up your pee-hole.

            – Haha! I always had a way with words – not. So, what did you get up to when I was enjoying myself?

            – I took Seb shopping. I shopped, he carried everything. Apart from that, a bit of footer, a bit of YouTube, one or two beers and a fine cigar.

Paul put his monstrous cigar between his lips and sucked it back into life. Ryan leant forward slightly without engaging his chair but could not reach the cigar lighter. Craig handed it to him, waiting until he had definitely gripped it before releasing it.

            – I heard from my Cuban contact last weekend. There’s a big exposition in Miami in a couple of months and Cuban producers are competing with each other again to produce the most extreme cigars. How does a two foot long One-O-Five sound? Another place has proposed a set of six cigars ten inches long and wide enough to choke a horse.

            – Well, try to get hold of them. You still have a buyer there, don’t you? I mean, any experimental stuff that doesn’t get sold, get it over here. We’ll have all of it.

            – Actually, very few of the far-out cigars ever get sold. They’re manufactured only as advertisements to show off the skills of the various Cuban factories. They’re made with the best possible Havana leaf just in case someone buys one, but otherwise they’d be destroyed after the show is over.

            – We mustn’t let it happen! We want gigantic cigars and we want them now.

            – I say, steady on, old man. How much does a cigar like this one cost, Craig? Wholesale, I mean.

            – I suppose that would be about three to four hundred euros. You’ve got a fair old chunk of Havana leaf in something that size.

            – And it doesn’t grow on trees, yeah, I know. So it would retail for, what, five hundred? Five fifty?   

            – Something like that. You can probably guess why retailers don’t want to carry them.

            – What are we going to do when your licence runs out? It doesn’t seem likely that you’ll be starting up a cigar shop in Leeds, does it? You have your hands full already.

            – Have you ever tried smoking a pipe? I’m guessing you haven’t. A pipe-smoking skinhead is a rare sight. But you’ve changed over the past couple of years. I mean, both of you have formidable beards. You might like to try a pipe and see how you look with one. I think you’d look quite manly. I know a guy in the US who makes enormous pipes. Smoking one of those is a lot like smoking a big cigar.

            – Sounds like an idea. Show us his website some time.

            – Yeah, I will when we go inside. The other thing about a big pipe is that they’re really easy to handle with hooks, once you’ve shredded the tobacco of course, but that’s not difficult.

            – I’m gonna give it a try.

            – Good show. I’m sure you’ll enjoy a pipe as much as a cigar. Of course, I’m only saying that because I’m winding down my business.

            – I suspected as much..

 

The lift alarm sounded. Seb returned and came out to greet his employers.

            – You’re back!  Good to see you. How did it go?

            – Fine, thanks. Seb, is there anything to eat? I’m starving.

            – Yeah. There’s risotto or Bolognese sauce in the freezer or if you’d settle for a bacon and mushroom omelette, that won’t take long.

            – Heat up the risotto, would you, mate? What’s in it?

            – Ham and tons of veggies.

            – Yeah, I’ll have that. How were Zac and Jay?

            – Zac’s looking forward to getting a pair of legs before long and Jay is satisfied to stay as he is for the time being. But he is showing more interest in amputations and prosthetics. We may yet turn him. But as far as Zac is concerned, he’s in good spirits and loves his leg stumps. He was wearing a short pair of shorts which exposed his stumps and he wouldn’t do that unless he was proud of them, would he?

Ryan’s phone sounded an alert. Another text message from a Gardener.

            – Leather master wishes arm disarticulations in order to compel slave to administer to his every need. Experience with pretender hooks. Please advise.

            – Who was that?

            – Steve. He’s arrived home.

Ryan decided he should silence his alerts and review them in private once a day. The old Harvester had often taken three weeks to reply to an enquiry. There was no reason for Ryan to suddenly change the routine. He decided to reply when the others were not present. And he should start locking his phone. It would be a nuisance with hooks but privacy was essential now. Seb called Ryan inside to eat and stood by in case he needed help. Ryan managed to eat his risotto with a craftily angled spoon.

 

Craig and Paul went to bed before midnight. Ryan stayed up, sitting on his wheelchair a few feet in front of the screen. He was watching a video of an armless man doing everything with his toes. Ryan was thinking about the leatherman. He doubted he intended to learn how to use his toes to replace his hands. He would have to interview the prospective DAE and hear what he had to say for himself. It sounded like a horny scenario, though. He ought to think of a place where he could meet the applicants. Not in Leeds. Somewhere a bit more central, but anonymous. Maybe Manchester. One of the big hotels, perhaps. He could motor there in his Unum in a couple of hours and meet the future amputees in a room. Manchester was better than Zurich for that purpose,

 

Seb gave Ryan a good scrub in the shower next morning. He had recently noticed problems with the prosthetic knee and mentioned it to Ryan.

            – I guess the reason is that it’s not supposed to be waterproof. Why don’t you get yourself a peg leg and you can wear it around here until you want to go out somewhere?

            – Like Paul’s, you mean? Yeah, that would be handy first thing in the morning.

            – Let’s do that, then. We can get in touch with your prosthetist and get him to make you a peg. I don’t suppose you’ll have to go there in person. Do you need a new socket with it?

            – Yes, I’d prefer to have the peg on another socket.

            – And does that one still fit OK?

            – Yeah. I can get by with a three-ply stump sock.

            – Alright. Let’s get in touch with him and order a peg for you.

            – Thanks, Ryan.

            – I want to wear my stubbies again today but with shorter pylons. I think I’ll just have the rubber feet attached to the sockets. Can you get them for me, please, mate?

 

Seb saw to Ryan’s prosthetics and helped him carefully onto the floor. Ryan rocked his body and thrust his stumps into action. The hard rubber feet clicked on the slate floor. Ryan picked up his phone and a stylus, went out to the balcony and climbed up onto one of the steel chairs. He looked through the impressive list of messages from Gardeners submitting vetted candidates for amputations. Ryan would have to find the nearest or most convenient surgeon who specialised in the relevant work. He decided it might be least confusing to handle the cases by country. He already knew of the surgeon in Mertyr Tydfil and the prosthetists in Basildon and Sevenoaks but now he would have to use the Harvester’s super-encrypted messaging system when contacting them. He needed to keep his identity secret. He had a look for local cases. A teenager had been refused permission by the health service to have his deformed club foot and ankle amputated. A medical student wished for a leg stump with regard to training as a prosthetist. An accountant in Sheffield had won several million euros on the football and wanted his hands replaced with steel hooks now he could afford it. That rang a bell with Ryan. He might like to meet this man. And there was the most radical case, that of the leather master who trusted his Boy enough that he wanted his arms disarticulated. It sounded like another case where a little chat beforehand might be in order. He contacted Merthyr with a request for amputations for the teenager and med student. Ryan lowered the price for both of them. He would wait for a reply before notifying the Gardener of his decisions. But the other two were more problematic. What would be a good venue to meet prospective customers? It ought not be inconvenient for himself. Those days were behind him, he hoped. He looked at some requests from the continent. A young Frenchman wished to lose both legs below the knee so he could use his bilateral amputee great grandfather’s collection of peg legs and wooden legs. A German author had read about Spitfire-pilot Douglas Bader and wished for similar AK/BK amputations and a similar peg leg and old-fashioned aluminium tin legs. He had already undergone amputation of his left forearm but it was not clear if it was voluntary or accidental. He sounded interesting. It might be good to meet him too. Ryan could ask him where he intended getting such obsolete prostheses. He might like a pair of tin legs himself. And a Swiss skiing instructor for the disabled wished to revise his bilateral BK stumps for AK jobs. His greatest fetish was apparently the stump-hugging shells which legless sit-skiers availed themselves of. He intended to eventually undergo bilateral disarticulations and spend the rest of his career encased in a carbon fibre shell.

 

Ryan thought about his meetings with the Harvester. He had travelled halfway across Europe to meet a man for twenty minutes at most. It seemed more like selfishness on the Harvester’s part. He had wanted to meet the candidate for no special reason. Ryan understood well enough that the Harvester’s own travel was necessarily limited by his severe limblessness but decided not to impose such inconvenience on his own amputees. What were they? His creations? He might meet his creations halfway. Travel to meet them in their own country. It was a good reason to travel around a bit while it was still possible. But he would never make it too easy. If he had to travel from Leeds to Berlin, it was not too much to expect someone from Munich to do the same.

 

He was worried about his identity. In particular, he felt like an imposter making life-changing decisions on behalf of men who were usually older than himself, better educated, more sophisticated. He did not feel up to looking them in the eye and demanding answers to intimate questions. He thought of the leatherman’s case. That was the answer! He would wear a leather mask. Whoever he was travelling with could lace it over his head before a meeting in the customer’s hotel room somewhere. He would wear his long legs, the smart black suit and only his hooks would give away his disabled status. Not an inch of skin would be visible. He would step into the customer’s room incognito, ask his questions and leave. Brilliant! He picked up the stylus and began to search leather fetish sites for leather hoods. Half an hour later, he had purchased four and selected express delivery.

 

Ryan sent approval to the European Gardeners concerning their applicants. He approved of all the new amputations and would shortly provide details of the dates and surgeons. He slipped off his chair and waddled back inside for coffee.

 

Zac called him before he had drunk it.

            – Hello Ryan, this is Zac here. Er, I was thinking about my stumps and I think they’re strong enough now for a pair of legs and I was wondering if you had any ideas who I should turn to to get a pair.

            – Strange you should say that. I was just about to call a bloke who can make you some. You’ll have to go to Kent but you can manage that, can’t you?

            – Well, it’s a long way to go but it shouldn’t be a problem.

            – Yeah, train to London, Underground to Victoria and a bus to Sevenoaks.

What a hideous journey for a legless kid in a wheelchair, he thought.

            – Oh, right. Well, how do I go about this?

            – Don’t worry, Zac. Your legs are already paid for, aren’t they? So I’ll let the bloke know and he’ll let me know when he can fit you in. And then I’ll call you to let you know. It might be at short notice so have a bag packed ready. Do you have anyone who can come with you?

            – Well, Jay might if I ask him nicely. Or Seb might.

            – Seb is out of the question, Zac. I need him here. What sort of legs do you want, mate?

            – Just the standard black carbon. Japanese knees.

            – Good show. Let me get back to you a bit later. It’ll be in the new year, alright?

            – That’s fine. Thanks, Ryan.

 

That was one case when he would be contacting the prosthetist as Ryan not the Harvester. He would have to remember to use his own message url as far as Zac was concerned. It was beginning to get a bit involved. Ryan went back to the balcony to continue looking through his recent messages. Another Swiss guy wanted to have a leg off above the knee so he could play disabled soccer with his two best mates who happened to be amputees. Ryan turned him down and let his Gardener know. The guy might apply again but would need a better explanation next time. Still, amputee soccer might be a lark. He might watch some matches on YouTube. Funny how he hadn’t thought of it before. Craig poked his head around the door.

            – Are you doing anything? Can you come and have a look at my service intervals?

            – Hi Craig. Let’s have a look.

He wriggled off the chair until his square rubber feet hit the floor. He shook his shoulders to straighten the artificial arms and strutted behind Craig, striding ahead on his peg legs.

            – I found this artificial intelligence app on a German site. It takes a network of routes, asks for the intervals required and calculates the optimum possible times with the minimum number of buses. I was playing around with it before you went to Switzerland but I didn’t want to fuss you with it then.

            – Nice of you to say so. If I remember correctly, I said I wasn’t interested. Sorry about that. I am interested but I’d had a drink.

            – Yeah, well. According to this, we can get intervals down to eight minutes by repurposing the four buses we have – that just means changing their route numbers – or we could hit six minutes with just one extra bus.

            – That would be a fantastic improvement. From ten minutes to six. How about at night? Three buses, what’s the interval?

            – Eleven minutes, taking into account the reduction in other road traffic at that time of night.

            – That’s almost as good as daytime traffic now. What was our patronage last month?

            – Up four percent.

            – So people are still trying us out and liking it. That’s great. OK, mate, stick an order in for bus number five and we’ll redo the timetables. Craig, I haven’t asked before but are you OK with all this? It seems a lot to keep track of.

            – I’m fine. We only have three routes – or two and a half – and twelve drivers so it’s not too much to keep track of. It’s fun and it’s great to get emails from passengers. They’re over the moon at being able to get into town for shopping or getting home at night without a taxi. And profits are up seven percent since we started.

            – Not a lot but better than a punch in the face.

            – Ha! Exactly. By the way, I had a message from North Central TV yesterday. They want to interview us. Apparently we’re the most popular new enterprise in the region in the past year, as voted for by their viewers.

            – Shit! I haven't heard anything about that.

            – Well, we don’t watch mainstream TV, do we? To tell you the truth, I’d never heard of North Central. I thought it was a railway company before I read the message.

            – And they want us to go on for an interview? Mate, are you thinking what I’m thinking? The viewers are going to get one fucking eyeful of stump.

            – I was hoping you’d say that. Shall I accept?

            – Yeah, tell them we’ll be there. In shorts and T-shirts. And wheelchairs.

            – Promise you’ll wear your stubbies.

            – Yeah, I intend to.

            – Good show.

 

Ryan continued to think about a venue where he could meet candidates anonymously. The previous Harvester had visited a hotel room in the hotel he had himself suggested. He could book himself a room for a couple of days in a Manchester hotel – the skyscraper one would be cool – and suggest that his visitors do the same. They would not need to know he was staying in the same building. He thought the leatherman might be a good specimen to start with. He had a suggestion for him which he wanted to propose before giving the go ahead for two shoulder disarts.

 

He booked a room in Manchester’s Beetham Tower Hotel for the fifteenth and sixteenth of January. He would make this first trip in the Unum. Ryan asked the Gardener to inform the leatherman of a ten o’clock audience with the Harvester in the Tower Hotel on January sixteenth. He needed confirmation of a successful booking and the room number.

 

Christmas came and went. With the sole exception of a huge meal, there was little sign of the festival at the top of Attenborough. Ryan and Paul invited Zac, Jay and Steve for Boxing Day drinks starting early afternoon and presented Steve with a beautifully restored pair of wooden hands. The steel was burnished and the wooden components glowed with a deep shine. Steve was naturally delighted and asked Paul to swap his left hook for the left hand. He wore it the rest of the evening. The thumb was voluntary closing and Steve practised gripping and holding various small objects. It was not as practical as his hook but its appearance was far less intimidating.

 

Messages from the Gardeners continued to arrive sporadically. Perhaps Christmas was not the best time to apply for an amputation or two. A Czech professional cyclist requested to have his right limbs truncated to short stumps. A Mancunian needed to become AK/BK. He had always desired to walk on one prosthetic leg with crutches. Interesting. Perhaps he might enjoy spending six months as a one-legged man first before gaining his below the knee stump. A Scot had a burning desire to become a DAK with two narrow steel pylons visible below his kilt, his plastic feet in dress shoes. Ryan would like to see the results of that.

 

J A N U A R Y

 

A delivery boy brought Ryan’s leather hoods. Ryan accepted the package at the freight lift door and signed with a hook. He opened it on the kitchen island and shook the hoods out. He immediately realised that his beard was too long to fit under three of the hoods. The fourth was a hangman’s hood, open at the base. Its other advantage was that Ryan could put it on without assistance. It was a little awkward to lift the hood over his head with the prosthetic arms but with some effort the hood dropped over his head and hid his identity. It had eyeholes but no other openings. It was quite a sinister look. Seb came out of the utility room to fetch something and was surprised to see Ryan.

            – Wow! That looks amazing. Where are you going to wear that?

            – I just wanted to try them out for shits and giggles.

Seb saw the other hoods and asked if he could inspect them.

            – The leather is so soft.

            – Try this one on. You’ll have to lace it first.

It was a full-face mask with slits at the eyes and mouth. Seb held the mask with his hook and fed the lace along the back of the mask.

            – Can I put it on?

            – Sure. Go ahead.

Seb was immediately unrecognizable. The hood was sinister and his transformation was unsettling.

            – It’s a bit difficult to see out.

            – If you tighten it, the eye slits will stay put. Turn around and I’ll tighten it.

Ryan reached up and tugged gently on the lacing. The hood tightened around Seb’s head and looked neater.

            – Can’t tie it for you, but that looks pretty good.

Seb went to admire himself in the mirror. Ryan wheeled up to him.

            – I like this. I’ve never imagined wearing a hood before. This would be cool to wear under a motorcycle helmet.

            – I forgot all about my beard. I’d have to trim it quite a lot to fit it into a hood like that.

            – Yeah. Don’t do that, though. Can you loosen it now? I’m halfway through some laundry.

            – Lean down.

Seb held onto the counter-top and Ryan hooked the lacing loose. Seb pulled the hood off and looked at it with admiration.

            – I might get myself one like this. I like the mystery of it. Being anonymous. Cool!

            – If I don’t use it, you can have that one. We’ll see.

 

More requests arrived. A bar tender wished to have his remaining right hand removed to match his left. He worked in a bar somewhere down south where the entire staff were arm amputees. Ryan thought it might be an interesting visit if he was ever in that part of the world. He sent an approval and set about arranging a suitable surgeon. A sixteen year old French lad needed to become legless and his Gardener requested permission to amputate in twenty months time on the boy’s eighteenth birthday. He wanted a pair of extremely short stumps, too short for prostheses, just long enough to balance on sitting in a wheelchair. Ryan sent a tentative agreement and asked to be reminded nearer the time. The English Gardener confirmed that the leatherman and his boy had booked into room nine eleven at the Manchester Tower Hotel for January the sixteenth. Ryan thought about what kind of impression he wanted to make. The black suit with long legs would look the business, plus the hood. Maybe he could wear his army surplus leather jacket instead. That had been worn only twice since he bought it and it looked good on him. He decided to take it although the thick leather sleeves restricted his arm prostheses. It would be OK for half an hour. He wondered if he could manage the journey alone or if he should have Paul or maybe Steve with him. But that might lead to some awkward questions. It was probably wiser to make the extra effort alone.

 

The fifteenth rolled around. Ryan announced at breakfast that he had some private business to attend to and would be away overnight.

            – Where are you off to, then?

            – Well, like I said, mate, it’s private. Sorry if that sounds a bit brusque.

            – Oh, alright.

            – And this probably won’t be the only time. I may have to spend the night away every now and then. Don’t worry. It’s nothing bad. I’m not undergoing chemotherapy in secret or anything like that. And I don’t have a secret lover so don’t get your knickers in a twist.

Paul stared at Ryan and dropped the matter. Seb glanced at Craig, who shrugged. None of their business. Funny, though.

Ryan asked for Seb’s help to don his limbs and dress him. He tried on his heavy jacket and tried lifting his arms. It was a bit of a strain and the sleeves won the battle. His arms dropped to his side. Ryan liked the additional disability.

            – I’ll take this with me but wear the suit jacket, please Seb.

He threw it onto his suitcase. Seb packed it and closed the case and extended the handle. Ryan checked he had everything he might need. Phone charger, ID card, credit card, hood. He was set. He called out a farewell to the others and descended non-stop to the car park and his Unum. His full-length prostheses felt very officious and proper. He was rarely as tall as he used to be. The car glided around the tunnel to the sunlight and Ryan started the two and a half hour drive to Manchester. It was a new situation to venture out for an extended period and something he should have done long before.

 

He parked his tiny car and dragged his case to the hotel reception. He paid for his overnight stay and received his key. He went up to his room, left the case behind the door and returned downstairs for a meal and a beer. He asked the waiter to tell the chef that he needed his food diced into bite-sized pieces and held up his hooks as explanation. The waiter nodded and brought his lager in a non-standard straight glass.

 

Ryan caught a tram into Manchester town centre. It was a chilly afternoon with a light drizzle almost like fog. Ryan rocked into a shopping mall and made a slow tour of the ground floor. There were pubs and restaurants upstairs demanding his attention. He found a lift, not trusting his legs on an escalator and was soon settled in a warm pub decorated like a saloon in the Old Wild West. He sat nursing a beer and glanced through new messages from the Gardeners. So many men wished to lose their left legs above the knee. It was overwhelmingly the most popular amputation. Ryan was more interested in cases involving multiple amputations. He had time to arrange a few procedures with various specialist surgeons but he thought better of it. Better to be stone cold sober with matters like this. He needed to pee. There was a disabled wc at the back of the pub and he made his way towards it. His biggest problem was getting his fly open. He should have asked Paul to put a small loop of shoelace on the zip to make it easier to grab. He was becoming agitated by the pressure in his bladder and his inability to make the hook grasp the zipper firmly enough. It slipped every time. Finally he was able to slip a hook into the opening and forced the zip down. He let his stream flow and began the task of pulling the zip up. He had to bend over at an uncomfortable angle to reach it. Three minutes later it was closed far enough to appear decent. Ryan shrugged his shoulders to settle his arms and harness comfortably and rocked back to his table. He raised a hook to the bar tender and caught his eye. One more beer and then he would make tracks.

 

Ryan detoured via the ground floor supermarket and picked up a six pack. He hid it in a carrier bag and found the tram stop for the return journey. He spent the rest of the evening in his room, watching tv and YouTube videos. He had a couple more beers but it was difficult drinking from the tins because his hook crushed it as soon as it was opened. Next time he would bring a glass with him.

 

Time for bed. Ryan brushed his teeth and peed. He loosened his trousers and sat on the bed. He released the vacuum from the sockets and pushed his legs off, followed by the liners. They leaned against an easy chair, still dressed in his trousers. His arms would need to stay neat ready for the morning. If they were tangled somehow, he would never get them ready to don again. He rolled over to one side of the bed and shook the arms free. He wriggled back to the other side of the bed and worked his way between the sheets. The fucking light was still on. He rubbed his eyes with his arm stumps, kicked out with his leg stumps to turn onto his side and slept until six.

 

He woke with a handsome erection and a full bladder. He would have enjoyed a wank but he could get Paul on that later, if he was still in the mood. He very infrequently tried moving about on his naked arse but he was bursting and waddled the few yards to the bathroom on his stumps. The floor was cold and felt unpleasant. There was a drain in the shower stall. He pushed his erection higher between his stumps and peed. He looked at the shower fittings. He would not be able to shower alone this morning. Instead, he would use a wet bath towel when he had his arms on. He waddled to his suitcase and took out a clean white T-shirt. He returned to the bed and made sure he rubbed his arse well on the blanket. He found a position where he could lay back and don his arm prostheses. He worked the harness over his head and exercised his shoulders to get the apparatus into place. Legs next. It might be easier to sit on the floor to pull them on. He picked the liners up and smelled them. Not too bad. They would have to do. It took him twelve minutes, but the liners were on his leg stumps. He pulled the legs onto the floor and positioned them so he could butt-walk into the sockets and finish the job with the hooks. They were on. He hit the vacuum valves to close them and used the chair for support as he twisted himself around and pushed himself onto his knees. He straightened one leg with a hook, made sure the knee was locked and half pulled, half pushed himself upright. He straightened his trousers and started the process of pulling the zip up. It would have to do. He stepped across to the bathroom again and ran hot water into the basin. He took a bath towel and dropped it into the water. He could hold it between his hooks and rub his face and neck on it. He flicked it up and let it fall over his shaven head and pulled it off. It was good enough. He needed to brush his beard but that could come last. He shrugged into his suit jacket and picked the leather motorcycle jacket out of his case. He put it on the bed and dropped the hangman’s hood onto it. He glanced at the time and decided to go downstairs to wait for the remaining few minutes before the breakfast room opened. He brushed his beard and admired his appearance in the mirror on the wardrobe door. Handsome fucker. His steel hooks looked good against the dark suit. He turned toward the door and kicked his stumps into action.

 

The lift door opened into the lobby where a small crowd of hungry guests waited for their breakfasts. To avoid the tedious ritual of wishing tepid Good mornings to complete strangers, Ryan crossed to the reception desk. A wide-eyed girl wished him Good morning.

            – I just wondered if you have rooms here designed for disabled clients. I have trouble using conventional showers, you see, and I really need something with a seat and levers on the taps.

            – Yes sir, we do have adapted rooms. You need only to mention it when booking.

            – I booked online.

            – Yes, there’s a small box you can tick if you would like an adapted room.

            – Oh, I see. I must have missed that. I’ll remember for next time. Thanks very much.

He turned and approached the breakfast room. The crowd was now a queue as a greeter ticked off guests’ room numbers.

            – Good morning, sir. Your room number please.

            – Six eleven. Er, would it be possible to have some help getting breakfast? I have trouble carrying a tray, you see.

            – Yes, sir. Wait just a moment and I’ll alert one of the kitchen staff.

Ryan stood aside while the greeter spoke into a small microphone. Presently a young man wearing the traditional kitchen uniform of striped trousers and crisp white jacket appeared and looked quizzically at the greeter who indicated Ryan.

            – Good morning, sir. Do you need some assistance?

            – Good morning. Yes please. Shall I tell you what I’d like and you can load a tray for me?

            – Let’s do that. What would you like?

            – Do you have the Full English?

            – Oh yes, sir. Would you like a fried egg with it?

            – No thanks, let’s leave the egg but I’ll have some of all the rest. And a glass of orange juice and a cup of black coffee with one sugar. Shall I sit down over there and you can bring it over to me?

            – Yes, please do. I shan’t be long.

Ryan found a seat, rested his hooks on the table and watched the lad. Nice kid. He waited for a guest to pour coffee and then filled a mug with a good half pint. Good. The mug was easy to hold with a hook. The lad picked the tray up and brought it over. He placed the food in front of Ryan who moved his hooks to make room for the plate, and set the juice and coffee down.

            – Is there anything else you’d like, sir?

            – No thanks, but I’d like to know your name.

            – Ryan, sir. Ryan Reith.

            – Well, that makes two of us. My name’s Ryan too. Thanks, mate. I appreciate it.

            – Enjoy your breakfast, sir.

Ryan angled his fork so he could shovel food into his mouth. It was not an elegant way to eat but there were few other options and needs must. He picked the sausage up with a hook and gulped it down. He noticed one or two guests furtively watching him. He was used to it. He was satisfied to be a good-looking disabled man. He rested his hooks and consciously sensed the extent of his body. Two short stumps below his shoulders, two muscular thigh stumps. He moved them in turn and felt the satisfying familiarity of his perfect body.

 

He pushed his chair back from the table, gripped the back of the chair with his left hook and leaned forward to adjust his artificial legs so he could stand. He kicked the right prosthesis to straighten it and jerked himself upright. The thick carpet was not a good surface to stand or walk on. He rocked carefully away from the dining area to some uncarpeted flooring and left the breakfast room. He went back upstairs to tidy his room a little and pack his things. He was entitled to occupy the room until eleven. That should be time enough. He would meet the leatherman at ten. Their business should not take long. There were just over two hours until ten. He switched the tv on to watch Midlands news. London news was finishing, predicting intense rainfall for the third day running for the Thames Basin. That meant floods. There was filler material of the Stratford shopping centre. There seems to be a good eighteen inches of water lapping at the doors. Good thing they moved when they did. The towers had their own problems but flooding could never be one of them.

 

None of the local news was immediately worrying. Inflation had hit another record in December and the European Central Bank was in discussion with the Bank of England about an initially experimental phase to accept the euro as an official currency. Unofficially the euro had been the de facto currency for business and banking for years, as Ryan very well knew. If the talks succeeded, euro banknotes would also begin to circulate. It was easy enough to predict that the stronger currency would soon replace the weaker. It would be the end of the pound, now worth a few pence. It was still only ten past nine. Ryan wondered if there was a decent cigar store in Manchester. He searched on his phone and found an shop in the mall he had visited the previous evening. He would drive back to it before he left to see what kind of a selection they carried. He was dying for a smoke. A decent cigar in the car going back would hit the spot. He looked at his messages. Over a dozen from three different Gardeners. Business was hotting up again! With Christmas and the New Year out of the way, people could concentrate on the important things in life like achieving the stumps and prosthetics they lusted for in desperate silence. Three more LAKs, a DBE wannabe in Bristol, another in Cologne. This guy had a nerve disease and had already lost both lower legs. German doctors were reluctant to amputate and the man had suffered with painful useless hands for over three years. Ryan would get back to his Gardener after he had returned to Leeds. That was a priority case. A Frenchman was infatuated with a short video he had seen years ago of young Second World War invalids walking on peg legs. Ryan knew the clip well. It was one of his favourites too. The guy could have his peg legs and Ryan would invite him for a weekend in Manchester after six months or so to see how well he had succeeded in emulating his idols. Here was an extraordinary request from Austria. Someone wanted both thighs to be shortened by twenty centimetres and both shins to be shortened by a similar amount. In other words, he wanted to become a dwarf. If it was unsuccessful, the man would settle for disarticulations and use a bucket with attached stubbies for mobility. Plus crutches, of course. That might be an interesting case. He would have to look at the old Harvester’s listing of specialist surgeons for that one. It was going to be expensive and probably painful. What was wrong with having two short AK amputations and using stubbies? He might have a word with the bloke. It would be a lot easier for almost the same end result. The stubbies could be moulded to look like very short legs. Quite a horny idea, actually. Maybe he could get himself a pair. Ten to ten. Ryan had a pee and ran his hooks under the hot tap. He put the heavy leather jacket on and dropped the hood over his head. He could hardly lift his arms but it was not important. He stepped out of his room and called a lift to the ninth floor.

 

He stood outside the door. How should he introduce himself? He rapped on the door. It opened and the leatherman stood before him. He was dressed entirely in black leather with black leather boots extending past his knees almost to his crotch which was covered with a large rigid codpiece. His jacket was not dissimilar from Ryan’s own. His right eye was covered by a black leather patch and his scalp was freshly shaven. He stood at least two metres tall.

            – I am the Harvester.

            – You are very welcome. We have been expecting you. Please come in and be seated.

            – I prefer to stand, thank you.

            – Of course. This is my boy.

A slight figure shorter than Ryan appeared from behind the leatherman. He was covered in glossy latex rubber and wore a hood without a mouth opening. He also wore a large codpiece and thirty-holer boots. He bowed his head but said nothing.

            – You requested a severe transformation. Would you describe it and your need for it?

            – May I sit?

            – Please do.

It was easier to converse when they were at the same eye level. The boy stood by.

            – I have wished to lose my arms in their entirety for ten years. I have such a relationship with my boy that he desires to service my every need. He obeys me utterly. I have no need to do anything for myself. We live in a house in independent grounds and I live on capital gains from investments initiated by my father and which I continue. We are financially independent. One may even say wealthy.

            – Why do you think your desire for amputation developed so late in life?

            – I have always been fascinated by limblessness and occasionally pretended to have arm amputations with a pair of pretender artificial arms. Perhaps you know the kind of device I mean.

Ryan nodded.

            – For several years, I wore the hooks all day, every day after the boy entered my life. My hands lost their strength and their dexterity. They are now strong enough to allow me to open the door lock. Anything more strenuous is beyond my ability.

            – You’ve damaged the tendons. Why aren’t you wearing the hooks now?

            – I am waiting for spare cables to arrive from America. The arms are currently out of commission. Inoperable. I feel quite disabled without them.

            – And yet you wish to become completely armless. You would not be able to use prosthetics at all then. Why the change?

            – It is the next step for me. When I was young, I built my body. Later I became a leather man, then a de facto hook user. Now I wish to rid myself of my arms and I hope I live long enough to see my legs disarticulated too. My boy will tend to my limbless torso and do my bidding. Won’t you boy?

He nodded.

            – I have not yet given him permission to speak today.

            – I understand your desire. I am able to approve and instigate your amputations. Do I understand that you will not wish to use prosthetic arms after your recovery?

            – That is correct, but I would like to acquire a pair of prosthetic arm stumps which might fit across my shoulders like a yoke. They would look like short above-elbow stumps and their sole purpose would be to hold my jackets to their full width. Sleeve fillers, if you will.

            – I know the kind of thing you mean. It leads me to the proposal I have for you. Instead of the disarticulations with prosthetic stumps, why not initially experiment with natural stumps?

            – You mean my own upper arms would be stumped?

            – Yes, exactly that. I speak from experience when I tell you that you will have so little sensation in the stumps that they may as well be absent. But you will be able to wear your jackets to full effect and there remains the possibility of using full-length prosthetic arms with hooks again. There may be occasions when you are grateful to still have some degree of stump.

            – I haven’t thought about keeping my own stumps.

            – I can initiate your amputations this week on condition that you first undergo bilateral upper humeral amputations. That means through the upper arm. You might have from four to six inches of stump which would have little remaining sensation.

            – I understand but I am having difficulty in imagining how that might look.

            – May I use your boy’s services for a moment?

            – Yes, of course. Boy! Obey the Harvester.

            – Please lift my jacket off. Be careful the sleeve lining doesn’t catch on my prostheses.

The boy stood on a chair and gently lifted the jacket by its collar. Ryan held his arms vertical and the boy delicately guided the semi-rigid sleeves off of Ryan’s arms. He put the jacket on the bed behind him.

            – Now stand behind me and lift the steel ring up you see in the middle of my back. It needs to go just above my head.

The boy obeyed and Ryan shrugged out of his sockets.

            – Thank you, boy. Put the arms with my jacket, please. Now, this is how your stumps will look after your amputations.

Ryan lifted his stumps up and moved them in circles. The leatherman was fascinated and nodded his approval.

            – They look very masculine. They look very good on you, sir, if I may say so. Yes, I would like to undergo amputations like yours and use hooks like yours. The complete blackness of your equipment is very exciting.

            – I imagine you could request to have your sockets covered in black leather.

            – That would be wonderful.

            – Very well. Would you help me don my arms yourself? You will see how they differ from your own pretender arms, I’m sure.

The leatherman rose to his feet and picked Ryan’s arms up. Ryan lifted his stumps and the leatherman fitted the sockets to them. He held Ryan’s head gently and pushed it down as he brought the harness across Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan twisted his upper back and shrugged.

            – And now my jacket, please.

The leatherman asked Ryan to lift his arms. He obviously understood the mechanics of artificial arms. It was far from easy to put a jacket on. He inspected the Harvester and adjusted the lapels slightly.

            – Do you know how much the amputations will cost?

            – Yes, I can tell you exactly. The amputations and your first pair of prosthetic arms will cost seventy thousand euro. The amount must be paid before the amputations are done. You will be informed some time during the next few days when and where the surgery will take place. With luck, you will be a bilateral amputee by the end of this month. Do you have any questions?

            – Will I be in touch with you or with the Gardener?

            – All communication must be through the Gardener. He will give specific instructions on how to transfer the funds. Oh, the announcement to arrive for surgery may come at short notice. I suggest you have a bag packed and arrange for transport home beforehand. You will be rather disabled until your stumps heal.

            – Thank you for all this, Harvester, and for your good advice. I appreciate your wisdom.

            – Please don’t mention it. I hope to meet you again after your transformation. Goodbye.

The leatherman opened the door again with his ruined hands and Ryan took his leave.

            – You may speak now, boy. What is your opinion?

            – I look forward to serving your handsome new body, master.

            – Of course. Let me hold you close while I still can.

 

Ryan took his hood off in the lift and avoided some strange looks from the guests waiting to enter the lift as he stepped from it. He collected his suitcase, threw the hood inside it and went down to reception to check out. It was twenty to eleven. Time for coffee. He would get some in the mall.

 

He stopped outside the main entrance on half a disabled parking spot. He entered the mall and walked over to the floor plan – Your Guide to Easier Shopping. He was looking for something like an Italian bistro and for a tobacconist. There was one such on the third floor right at the other end of the mall. And a bistro on the first floor just past the pub where he had been the previous day. He went upstairs in the lift and turned left. There was an odd assortment of stores here. Something which sold plastic anime models. Another specialised in IT components. One for tropical fish. They looked quite nice. The tobacconist was a hundred metres away. Ryan pulled the door open and stepped inside. He noticed a large rack of pipes first. He remembered what Craig had said. He might buy a couple and some tobacco and whatever else the salesman suggested.

            – May I help you sir?

            – Yes, hi. I’d like some cigars, please. Do you carry Cohibas?

            – Yes sir.

            – Good. I’d like eighty-five gauge, nine inches long. And I need a lighter I can use with hooks.

He ought to remember to bring one of the lighters with him next time.

            – How many, sir? They come in boxes of ten.

            – I’ll take a box.

The salesman opened the door to an enormous temperature controlled cupboard and placed the cigars on the counter.

            – What sort of lighter did you mean, sir?

            – There’s a type which burns with a flame for about seven seconds before it goes out. It has a button on the side to press. Electronic thing with butane gas.

            – I know. I’m afraid we have only this one model at the moment, sir.

He showed Ryan a copy of the other two he had at home.

            – Yes, that’s the one. Can you test it, please?

            – I’ll fill it for you, sir.

It worked.

            – Is there anything else you’d like?

            – I’d like to buy a pipe or two and all the paraphernalia which goes with pipe smoking.

He looked at the huge variety on offer. He wanted a straight one he could hold easily with a hook. There were two which caught his eye. One had a thick stem. The other one had a tall bowl. That looked good.

            – I’d like these two, if you don’t mind. What else does a pipe novice need?

            – Well, a lighter and the one you chose will be perfect for lighting a pipe. Then you need a pipe tool to tamp the tobacco as it burns.

            – Oh, I don’t think I can use something as fiddly as that. I can just use my hook.

            – Indeed you could. And some pipe cleaners. Put one in the pipe after you have smoked it for a day or two. What sort of tobacco would you like?

            – I’ve no idea. Something mild to start with. I don’t want any of those very strong-smelling tobaccos, not yet at least.

            – No, I understand, sir, although the taste of the tobacco is often quite different from how the smoke smells to an outsider.

            – Really? Well, in that case, I might try one of the stronger ones too.

The salesman placed a fifty gram pouch of Cavendish and a two ounce tin of Navy Cut next to the pipes and cigars.

            – That’s all. Can I ask you to open the box of cigars for me, please? I want one straight away as soon as I get in the car. And I’d like a small carrier bag for them, please.

            – How will you be paying, sir? It’s one thousand three hundred and fifty euros. I’m afraid I haven’t heard the exchange rate today.

            – Euros are fine. I’m sorry. This is embarrassing. I can’t quite reach my credit card. Can you reach into my inside pocket and fish the cards out? It’s in there somewhere.

Ryan leaned on the counter and the salesman reached inside his jacket. He produced three cards, one being the credit card, the others his ID and the hotel room’s keycard which he had forgotten to return.

            – Thank you very much.

Ryan swiped his card and the transaction was done. The salesman thanked him and wished him welcome again.

            – I’ll see you again, I expect. I often have business in Manchester. Have to drive from Leeds, you see.

            – Oh. That’s quite a distance. Are there no cigar stores in Leeds, sir?

            – If there are, they are very well hidden.

            – We do courier deliveries all over the country, sir. The details are on the receipt in the bag.

            – Good show. Can you direct me to the nearest lift?

            – Just down the passage to the left, sir.

 

Ryan descended two floors and walked back towards the main entrance. Lots of food joints up here from all over. He might have ordered something to eat but he wanted coffee and then to make a move while there was still daylight.  He bought an espresso and drank it with a straw. A small, fat, curved espresso cup with its impractical handle was completely impossible to grasp with a hook. Ryan slid off the stool and rode the lift down to the entrance. The drizzle had coated the Unum in beads of water. Ryan put his purchases on the floor, arranged himself on the driver’s seat and pulled the door closed. He turned on the juice and operated the windscreen wiper. Then he took a Cohiba from the new box of cigars, found the lighter and fired the cigar into sweet smoke and flame. He checked it was burning evenly, lifted his left hook into the steering ring and slowly moved the tiny car into traffic. There were no unexpected delays and Ryan entered his home at four o’clock. Seb had gone home, Paul was out and Craig was taking a nap in his room. Ryan looked in the fridge for a beer and took one out onto the balcony. He switched the heater on and settled in a chair to review the day’s messages.

 

The Gardener had received message from his French counterpart that a new surgeon was available in or near Lille. He had been proposed by one of his peers who had done work for the Harvester. The Gardener included the surgeon’s details. Ryan would add them to his ledger later. There was an application from a bilateral DBK who wished to reduce his legs to short stumps. The man was also an DBE and was an entrepreneur in the Midlands. It could only be Craig. Ryan thought it would be a pity not to see Craig on his peg legs after his procedure but the man wanted short stubbies. That might look just as horny. And Seb’s peg leg would be on its way shortly. Something new for him to try and for the others to admire. Ryan had been orthodox and specified that the peg should be rigid from crotch to ferrule. If Seb wanted to sit, the peg leg would either stick out in front of him or he would have to wear a cut-off trouser leg and remove the peg manually each time. Either way, it would be fun to watch, not to mention when he walked on it.

 

Ryan set the process in motion for Craig to lose what remained of his lower limbs. He contacted the Merthyr surgeon and requested time for a high DAK at his earliest convenience. He also required DAE procedures for the leatherman. He sent the message over the encrypted channel and looked forward to hearing the dates. He hoped there would be time before the end of the month.

 

He tapped out a query to the German Gardener who had made the application on behalf of the Austrian who wanted to reshape his normal legs into those of a dwarf. He mentioned a ballpark cost estimate, the extensive recovery time and suggested that a DAK procedure with prostheses emulating a dwarf’s natural legs might be a less expensive, less painful and quicker solution. That was enough typing for one day. Ryan dropped his stylus on the table and picked up his lager. Craig came out to say Hello.

            – Good to see you back safely. Everything OK?

            – Yeah, fine, thanks. Where’s Paul?

            – He said he wanted to go into town. More than that, I can’t say. By the way, DAF wants me to collect the new bus in person. They can’t be arsed with all the export and customs papers.

            – Can’t say I blame them. When are you going?

            – Should be next week. They’ll let me know. Do you want to come with me and have a bit of a break?

            – Where are we staying?

            – Groningen again, like last time.

            – Oh, OK. Yeah. I’ll come with you. Have you done the visa thingy yet?

            – No, I was going to do it tonight. We can both apply when I’m on the site.

            – Right. I bought a couple of pipes yesterday, by the way. I might try one in a minute.

            – Oh good. I’m looking forward to seeing that. I always enjoy seeing a pipe in a bearded man’s face. It looks so very reassuring, somehow. You’re in the presence of a stylish, mature man. That sort of thing.

            – In that case, I’d better get started. I found another good tobacconist who can get decent cigars for us.

            – Oh good. Where were you, if you don’t mind me asking?

            – Manchester.

            – Yeah, you’d expect a place the size of Manchester to have a decent cigar shop. Right, well, I’ll give you a call when I apply for the visas and you can add your info. Oh, another thing. I’m going to buy a GyroChair, so can you give me a hand with that?

 

Craig strutted back to his room on his peg legs. His new GyroChair would shortly be put to good use. Ryan got up and collected his day’s purchases. He picked out the pipes and the pouch of tobacco. He watched a seven minutes long YouTube video on How To Fill A Pipe so he had some idea what he was doing and pulled the pouch open. The tobacco was tightly packed and he ran a hook across its surface until it loosened into suitable strands. The video recommended that the first strands be tamped lightly, the middle layer be pressed with a lady’s finger and the top with a man’s thumb. Having neither of those items, Ryan poked the tobacco into the bowl as well as he could and hoped for the best. He picked the pipe up off the table and angled a hook so the stem could reach his mouth. The lighter was nearby and Ryan lit a pipe for the first time. The mouthpiece seemed very small compared with a cigar, a lot like a vape. Ryan held the pipe and puffed a few times. The tobacco tasted alright. It was a lot different from cigar smoke. Ryan quite liked it. He took the pipe from his mouth and looked at the burning tobacco. He tamped it with the other hook and sucked it again. Not bad at all. He could get used to this.

 

F E B R U A R Y

 

Craig drove the new bus back from the DAF delivery centre with Ryan as his sole passenger. It had been registered, tested, customised with the company logo and equipped with a fare reader, safety notices and route maps. Craig announced the revised and improved timetables on the Towers’ own website. The drivers were pleased to have the extra work.

 

The Gardener reported back to Ryan that the leatherman’s amputations had been successful. He had bilateral humeral stumps four inches long. He was recovering at home and wished to know when he might expect to be fitted for an artificial arm. He wanted only one. Ryan sent a message to his preferred prosthetist in Sevenoaks and explained the situation. The surgeon in Merthyr Tydfil suggested February the eighth for the severe femoral amputations requested. Ryan casually asked Craig what he was planning the following week.

            – Nothing special, really. Just waiting for the GyroChair to be delivered. Otherwise everything’s running smoothly.

            – Glad to hear it. Maybe you can spare some time to go through some more bookkeeping stuff with me.

            – Yeah, we can do that. Just let me know when you’re ready.

            – Thanks, mate.

Ryan had realised the importance of keeping the accounts in order after creating a confused mess with the first set of figures he returned to Zürchner Bank. They patiently guided him until they had the necessary information but Ryan felt embarrassed and decided to learn how to do it properly. Double-entry bookkeeping was not difficult but it was unfamiliar and a little daunting. Craig found him a decent app he could practise with.

Ryan informed the Gardener that the eighth would be suitable for the DAK amputation. The Gardener in turn informed Craig of the date. When Craig replied, he would confirm the date to the surgeon. And Craig would shortly after be walking on his rump and hooks for the rest of his life. Ryan kept an eye on Craig and noticed he seemed more upbeat than usual in late afternoon. Unusually, he joined Ryan and Paul on the balcony that evening for smokes and beers. Ryan was wearing his shortest possible stubbies and Craig suggested they watch the video of young DAKs at a rehab camp. Two dozen or so young studs scrambling about on stubbies. The video was twenty years old but had kept its appeal. It put Ryan in the mood for a good shag. Paul would feel the effect until the early hours and insisted Ryan wear his leg sockets for the session. The legless sockets turned him on.

 

Ryan spent many hours working on behalf of the Austrian applicant who wanted a dwarf’s legs. He researched prosthetic skins and found a couple of outfits which could reproduce a patient’s skin tones and add hair and even tattoos. He asked the Gardener to make enquiries about whether they would give the same treatment to a pair of short, rigid leg prostheses. By mid-February, Ryan had found a prospective manufacturer and a surgeon in Bavaria who was willing to amputate. There was a pause of several days while the Gardener explained the Harvester’s proposal to the Austrian. Finally, the man understood the logic and requested mid-thigh amputations with cosmetic stubbies fitted with thick ugly orthopaedic boots. Ryan sent confirmation to the surgeon and the Austrian’s legs were reduced to medium-sized stumps. He would need to travel to Cologne to be fitted for his extraordinary prostheses but was assured that no-one would realise he was an amputee unless he removed the legs.

 

Craig announced one morning that he had some private affairs to attend to and would be away for a couple of weeks or so. Ryan promised to keep an eye on the bus company and deal with any queries and told Craig not to worry. Paul drove Craig to the station and waited with him until his southbound train arrived. Craig hugged Paul for longer than normal which seemed unusual and stepped aboard the train. Paul drove to Loidis and crutched around in search of a smart pair of shorts. He was tired of his old cut-off and camos. Ryan had a decent black pair which looked good on him. Paul thought he would look cool in decent shorts with his peg leg on display. An hour later, he was the owner of a fashionable black double-breasted suit with one pair of trousers being altered to shorten the right leg almost to nothing and a matching pair of mid-length shorts on order. He would collect the suit when the alterations were ready.

 

A text message arrived from Craig. North Central had just been in touch and enquired if it would be convenient for them to interview him and Ryan in the near future. Craig gave the tv station’s PR contact number and told him to call and explain what their situation was. Maybe he could go on alone instead of with Craig. Ryan replied simply OK and called the number.

            – North Central, Mireille Urbana speaking.

            – Hi, I’m Ryan Anderson, owner of the LeedsLink bus company. My CEO informs me that you’ve been in contact.

            – Oh, hello Mr Anderson. I’m so glad you called. We had rather hoped to invite you both onto our North Shot morning talk show next week on Tuesday at, um, seven twenty-three. But I understand that your colleague will be unavailable for an interview.

Ryan reckoned that next Tuesday at seven twenty-three, Craig would be carefully nursing his extremely short leg stumps and eating breakfast somewhere in Wales.

            – Unfortunately, I suspect he’ll be unavailable for several days, Ms Urbana. He’s undergoing a medical procedure and will be unable to travel far from home even after his return. He’ll be here recovering. However, you could visit us with a camera crew and interview us here. Would a video segment not serve as well as a studio interview?

            – Oh, it would be even better. I hadn’t even dared to ask.

            – Well, it would be much better for us. At the same time, you could interview passengers waiting outside the Tower entrance and a bus arriving, talk to the driver and what not.

            – That would all be lovely but we only have time for six minutes and we would rather like to feature the brains behind LeedsLink rather more. Wonderful suggestions, though.

            – The thing is, at the moment, I can’t promise when Craig will be back. Your segment is not urgent, is it? It could be done a little later, right?

            – Let me think. Yes, I’m sure we could postpone it a little. Yours is a human interest story rather than topical news, but we would like to feature you as soon as possible.

            – I understand. I promise to call as soon as Craig returns and feels up to chatting. You are welcome to visit our home with your crew any time after that.

            – Mr Anderson, I want to thank you for your wonderful co-operation and I look forward to meeting you. Please express my best wishes to Mr Selton for a speedy recovery.

            – Good of you to say so. I will. Good bye, Ms Urbana.

Ryan could imagine it now. Ryan, the owner, Craig, the CEO and Seb, the graphic designer, sitting on their black leather semi-circular sofa with one leg and one arm between the three of them. Both Seb’s. They would dress in their Sunday best and gesture enthusiastically with steel hooks. Confronted with such an astonishing group of severely disabled amputees, the North Central tv crew were to ask questions about bus routes. Good luck to them.

 

The alarm for the freight lift sounded. Seb was halfway through preparing lunch.

            – I’ll get it, stay there.

Seb opened the door a metre or so and hit the door release button. The freight lift door slid open and a courier handed him a package with his name on it.

            – What the?

He signed while the courier took in an eyeful of the lad’s steel hook. Seb dragged the package into the kitchen and set about it with a knife. He pulled the gyroid paper aside to reveal a shiny black peg leg.

            – Wahey! It’s here! Ryan! My peg leg has arrived. What? It hasn’t got a knee joint.

Ryan dropped to his stubbie feet and waddled inside.

            – Sorry, Seb, but this was the best I could do. I know it doesn’t have a knee joint but you really don’t need one if you’re just giving us a scrub in the shower, are you? And a peg without a knee is better than one with a knee. Ask Paul. He should know. But try it on, see if it fits.

            – Alright. I’ll try it in a bit. Can’t stop now. Making lunch.

 

Ryan looked forward to seeing Seb using the peg. He swiped through another batch of messages. There was one from a Gardener in Spain. He had not known that there was a Gardener there. It must be in the ledger somewhere. A bloke in Portugal wanted his arms amputated just above the elbow. He was a farmer, grew grapes. He wanted to be able to use prostheses which covered his remaining arms and had bionic hooks attached to their ends. No elbows, no lower arms. Just upper arm sockets terminating in hooks. Ryan knew of a Swiss guy with the same set-up, although he used only one hook on his left stump. Picked fruit with it. Great guy. Ryan sent a message of approval to the Spanish Gardener. He retrieved the relevant folder from the hidey-hole in his closet and looked up the Gardeners. There was one in Spain after all. He checked the address code. It matched. Thank god for that. He ought to be more cautious. Who was the closest surgeon? It might be the new bloke in Lille. Ryan sent a message to the French Gardener asking if he could fit a DAE in some time soon. Ryan sat back with his half-smoked cigar and glass of lager and tried to imagine working on a Portuguese vineyard, picking grapes with two upper arm stumps. He hooked his erect cock into a more comfortable position and continued inspecting the messages.

 

The guy in Scotland who wanted his legs off so he could have steel pylons below his kilt had contacted the Gardener again. Ryan considered why the bloke should not have what he wanted. He looked in the ledger for a surgeon in Scotland but there were none. He was running the Welsh guy off his tits but sent another request for another bilateral above knee jobbie as soon as convenient. Surely there must be another surgeon in England who could use a few euros now and then. He looked through the whole list until he spotted the next to last entry. It was the prosthetist in Sevenoaks. The previous Harvester had approved him to perform humeral and femoral amputations, That meant the guy could do DAKs and DAEs. That was good to know. The guy could not only remove natural limbs, he could also replace them with prosthetic versions. Having used his services himself, Ryan thought he might concentrate his English cases in the south-east. Merthyr Tydfil was such a sod to get to.

 

Craig arrived at his destination without problems. The connections had worked and he carefully stepped down from the bus in Merthyr. He walked through the tiny nineteenth century station building and signalled for a taxi to the former cottage hospital on the outskirts of town. The owner of the building, the surgeon himself, welcomed him and they dined together, talking about the odd weather, their plans for the future regarding the economy, Craig’s experiences with his prosthetic limbs and his hopes for his future configuration. Craig hoped that with half a body, he would be able to rock himself forward on his hooks across the floor. The surgeon warned him that his arm stumps would not support him for more than a few steps. He left Craig to ponder for the last possible time how he would manoeuvre his body after the complete loss of his legs. The surgeon had promised to leave two inches of femur, the utter bare minimum on which a legless man could learn to balance without needing a prothetic bucket. Craig imagined himself with wooden prosthetic hands swinging himself along a beach, keeping up with his limbless comrades as they made their way to a spot of sun on a Greek or Spanish beach.

            – Go ahead with it, please. I want the most extreme of stumps. Just nubs. I want to look down and see nothing of my legs.

            – I understand. My only concern is for your ability to pull yourself around with your hooks. You will be placing an awful strain on your arm stumps.

            – I fully intend using a wheelchair. In fact, I have a GyroChair on order which should be waiting for me when I return home.

            – That is a good solution. They are wonderful machines. Very well. Tomorrow I will sever your stumps leaving you with the bare minimum to allow you to sit upright. Is that really what you want?

            – I want it more than anything else.

 

Twelve hours later his amputated legs were turning to ash and dust in an incinerator. Craig was in a coma and would remain so for five days. His sutures were closed with electrolysis and his muscles stimulated electronically. It was proven to save weeks of physiotherapy. With any luck, Craig would be leaving the hospital in fifteen days in a wheelchair.

 

M A R C H

 

Seb came to collect him. A taxi was waiting. The surgeon admired his work as Craig wheeled himself out and felt immense pride that such a remnant of a man intended returning to work. Seb lifted Craig into the taxi and stated their destination. Craig had sent a message to Ryan the previous day asking for a lift and Ryan had sent Seb. Seb suggested bringing a wheelchair.

 

Craig was surprisingly chirpy. He rested his hooks on his meagre stumps and chatted to Seb about the services which the surgeon could provide. Some of them were a little gruesome like the removal of eyeballs on demand or the severance of fingers to the first joint. It was an increasingly popular operation, rather like tribal tattoos many years before. It had started off as something done by trendsetters and then spread like wildfire. Scarless with short finger stumps. Seb inspected his own hand and imagined having short nubs instead of digits. It might look cool on a two-handed person but Seb felt a hook provided enough visual interest for the time being.

 

They caught a seven eleven home from Leeds station. The driver recognised Craig and they exchanged a few words. According to company policy, neither man needed to pay a fare. A few shoppers boarded at Loidis but ignored the figure in the wheelchair. The bus spiralled up to Attenborough and Seb called the freight lift. Craig pushed his hooks against the chair’s tyres and wheeled into the lift.

            – There’s a surprise waiting for you in your bedroom.

            – Really? I think I might know what it is.

            – I guess you do.

Ryan and Paul had been alerted by the freight lift alarm and stood by the door to welcome Craig home. The door slid open and Seb pushed the convalescent into the flat.

            – Welcome back, mate. You look great. How do you feel?

            – Thanks. I’m alright. A bit tired, I suppose. And I’m really starving.

            – Seb made a lasagne yesterday. How does that sound?

            – That would go down a treat. I hear there’s a surprise in my bedroom.

            – Yeah. Let’s go and check it out.

Craig rolled down the passageway to his room. Standing by his bed was his new GyroChair.

            – Do you want to try it out? It does work. We’ve all made test runs in it.

            – Good show. The seat’s a bit higher than on this chair. Can someone give me a bit of a hand? Seb?

            – OK. Can you wheel closer and I can grab your arms from behind.

Craig warily pushed himself up slightly and Seb moved him into the new chair. Craig activated it. The supports retracted and the chair balanced itself.

            – Mate, I think you’d better use the seat belt until you get the hang of it.

            – I think you’re right.

Craig clicked the belt closed and pulled it tight. He leaned forward slightly and the chair began to move across the room. Craig slowly guided it out to the passage and stopped by the kitchen island.

            – The lasagne’s in the fridge, I take it.

            – Yup.

Craig rolled next to it and set the brake. He pulled the door open and took out the tray of lasagne. Seb found him a plate and cut him a good chunk of pasta which he put in the microwave oven.

Fifteen minutes later, Craig was tucking in. It was unconventional to eat lasagne with a spoon but Craig had unconventional hands.

 

Ryan also climbed into his GyroChair and removed his stubbies. He rarely used the safety belt. He closed it when he went into town because of uneven surfaces. The chair would stay upright at all times but Ryan might not. Young men often asked him where they could get a cool set of wheels like that, thinking it was some kind of new fad. They realised their error when they noticed Ryan’s naked stumps or his glossy black sockets.

            – It’s a wheelchair, mate. Just search for GyroChair and pay two month’s wages and they’ll send you one.

 

Seb cleared Craig’s plate and got ready to leave. It had been a long day. He had caught the first train of the morning at six ten.

            – Are you off, Seb? Listen, you’ve had a long day. Take tomorrow off and we’ll see you Thursday morning.

            – Oh. Thanks very much. Alright, see you Thursday. Bye.

Paul looked up from the video he was watching on his phone.

            – Are you going outside? Shall we have a few beers? I want to hear about your op, Craig.

            – Put the heater on, mate, and let it warm up for ten minutes. I hope we’ve got some beer.

Ryan looked in the fridge and found three six packs. It might be enough if they had a long evening. He rolled across to the humidor and selected one of the experimental cigars. It would mean holding the fucker in a hook for two hours. It would never be possible to open his mouth far enough to clench it. Paul slit open the first pack of beers and dropped them into the bag on Ryan’s chair along with a couple of straight glasses. Ryan pulled his left hook to an angle where the cigar would meet his lips and rolled along to Craig’s room, where he was about to start checking LeedsLink’s reports.

            – Leave all that, mate. Come and have some beers. Paul wants to interrogate you and you won’t have a minute’s peace until he knows all the nitty gritty. You know what he’s like.

            – OK, I’ll be there in a minute. Are you smoking? I’ll get one as well.

            – Come on, then.

The two men turned around to face the door and followed each other out across the living space. Craig selected a normal Eighty-Five and bounced over the balcony door’s tracks. Clouds scudded past a few hundred metres above them and blasts of rain hit the balcony’s windows. It was going to be another heavy night.

            – So what were you feeling before the op, Craig?

            – It’s difficult to say, really. I mean, I’ve had my BK stumps for fifteen years or so and I’m well used to them. And I liked the way I’d switched to walking on peg legs. But it was just normal. I didn’t feel any challenge. I wanted to be challenged. That was what I had enjoyed most about losing my feet in the first place. Having to rely on prosthetic limbs to get about. And to handle anything, of course. Don’t forget I’d had my hands off the previous year. The hooks were a fabulous experience, putting them on every morning, being helpless when I took them off. I could choose. And for months afterwards, I noticed how I could do more and more of the old things with them. Never learned to do buttons up, but hey ho. I’ve thought about getting above elbow prosthetics like Ryan’s but there doesn’t seem to be much point. But making it more difficult to move around, that’s what fascinated me. This chair is great but I don’t intend to sit in it all the time. I want to know the feeling of being legless with my arse on the ground, swinging myself along with my arm stumps. I may have to get a new pair of arms meant for wheelchair propulsion. You know, the blocky bits which attach. We’ll see. I expect to be completely legless here at home though, so don’t be surprised by my appearance. I suppose I’ll have to sit in a chair for meals or when we go into town but otherwise I’m looking forward to the life of a legless man.

            – That all sounds fascinating. I’m only halfway there. It would be interesting to compare our stumps a bit later on. I reckon my right one is even shorter than yours. But I enjoy using a peg leg too much to want to change. The one peg is so much part of me now.

            – You look really good on it. I hope you don’t have your stump off. As for me, I think I’m ready. My stumps are too handy to want to lose them altogether. Maybe if I had a slave who served my every need twenty-four seven I might settle for being a torso. The thing is, if you’re already a torso when you’re thirty, what do you do next when you want another challenge? I like being able to have different legs and hooks.

            – It’ll be interesting to see how Seb and Zac change over the years. I have a feeling Zac will have hooks within five years. He’s pretty good on his legs already. Have you noticed how he stares at our hooks when he’s over? And Seb says he’s always asking questions about Seb’s hook. I think we caught a live one there.

 

Craig was right. Zac was miserable because he did not feel himself to be disabled despite losing his legs. The prostheses were fun to use and looked great but he still had the urge to push himself further. His hands would have to go next. He would have the same configuration as Ryan. Four decent stumps. He would have to have a word with Ryan next time he visited. He wanted to know of any disadvantages to using hooks. If they did not outweigh the pleasure of wielding steel hooks everywhere always, he would ask the Gardener for more amputations. Seb, on his part, had had an exciting idea implanted in his imagination by Craig. He tried to imagine what it would be like to lose his fingers and thumb so that only nubs remained. Maybe only down to the first joint. He would have to use his hook a lot more but that was alright. He was perfectly comfortable with it. He had seen photos and videos of men who had stubby fingers and thought the hands looked pretty cool. He would have to think it over before he made any drastic decisions. But what the hey. Craig and Ryan got by fine with two hooks. One hook and stubby fingers should be easy.

 

Ryan decided to use either his full length prosthetic legs or the GyroChair in future. He wanted to be at least shoulder height to the other men. He was tired of waddling around at arse height on stubbies. He rolled out to the balcony with a cigar and scrolled though his new messages. More pleas to become one-legged. Ryan always read the applicants’ reasoning with great interest. Most of them had suffered from BIID all their lives and wished for relief. Some men wanted to emulate an amputee friend or lover. Ryan asked for deeper information from the Gardener. And some wanted such radical transformation that Ryan was actually shocked. So many wanted to transform from healthy-limbed men into completely limbless torsos. What was going on? Why was there such a demand for total limblessness? Maybe it was something on tv which was sparking the interest. Paul watched a lot of tv, maybe he would know.

 

            – Mate, I was just wondering. Is there an amputee character on telly just lately? I keep reading about torsos.

            – Torsoforce, you mean. Yeah, he’s the latest incarnation of the Doctor.

            – You mean Doctor Who?

            – Yeah. He’s regenerated as a cyborg for this series. Wears a sensor helmet and has prosthetic arms and legs. It’s the only way he can defeat the Robomen.

            – Well, fuck me. I had no idea.

            – Come on, mate, you must have seen something about it. The actor is a genuine quad. Lost his arms and legs to meningitis a couple of years ago and was called up to play the Doctor. Good looking bastard, too.

            – Alright. Thanks for the info. Do you always watch Doctor Who?

            – Not usually but I’m going to watch this series. At least until the Doctor is reincarnated.

It explained a lot. Ryan was fairly disgusted that he might have been approving amputations based on infatuation with a good-looking Doctor Who. There would be no more UK amputations for anyone under thirty-five until the Doctor had reincarnated. That would hardly help the situation either.

 

Seb turned up for work on Thursday morning and asked Ryan if he might have a word when he had a moment.

            – Well, I need a wash in a minute. Will that do?

            – Yeah, I think so. Thanks, Ryan.

Craig rolled up to the counter for breakfast wearing a T-shirt and a jockstrap. Ryan turned his chair to inspect Craig’s fresh stumps.

            – How do you like them?

            – They seem so very short. Are you balancing on them OK?

            – I think so. I don’t have as much leverage as I’d really like – I mean, if I started to fall forward, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. But the feeling is incredible. So light and effortless.

He lifted his stumps and spread them to demonstrate their range of motion.

            – See, there’s hardly any real movement any longer.

            – You’ll have a lot of trouble wearing stubbies, not to mention full-length legs.

            – That’s OK. I’m satisfied with a chair and I’m going to have a prosthetic bucket made to scoot around in. That’ll prevent my shorts wearing out.

            – If you’re going for a bucket, you could get an extended version. Be a foot taller. That sort of thing.

            – Yeah, that might be an idea. I’ll have a chat with Trevor Llewellyn. He might have a few ideas too.

            – Ask him about those adaptors for wheeling your chair, you know, the blocks you mentioned yesterday.

            – Yeah. I was thinking about getting peg arms too, like a cross between an arm prosthesis and a crutch. But of course, if I’m wearing those, I can’t use my arm stumps for anything else.

            – Well, get a pair anyway just to try them out. They might come in handy, you never know.

Seb placed two cooked breakfasts in front of them and held two forks towards the pair until they grasped them firmly in their hooks.

Seb walked across to the coffee table to collect a couple of glasses. Craig glanced at him and noticed that he was wearing a peg leg. Completely rigid, too. He had sliced the leg off his jeans to expose the peg for anyone to admire.

            – Woah! Seb! Great looking peg leg! When did you get that?

            – Just after you left a few weeks back. How do you like it?

            – You look fantastic on it.

Paul came out for his breakfast and grinned at the scenario.

            – How do I look?

            – You look fantastic too, mate. Come and have some brekkers.

Paul crutched over and sat on a stool. He released the drop locks and his peg leg bent at the knee.

            – Just müesli, please Seb. Is coffee ready?

            – On its way.

            – How are the stumps. Craig?

Craig had finished eating and rolled around the counter to face Paul.

            – Coming along nicely. They’re quite numb, of course, but that’s the price you pay, I suppose.

            – You will get some sensation back in a few months, I reckon. It feels good to give your stumps a good scratch now and then. They look really neat. The scar’s around the back, I suppose.

            – Yeah, he made a good job of them. I really like their appearance. Proper stumps instead of nearly complete legs.

            – What are you going to do with your pegs and other legs?

            – Haven’t thought about it, Paul. Maybe one of the prosthetists could take them for recycling. Use the bits again for someone else. There’s nothing wrong with them.

            – Ask him if he’ll do a swap in return for your bucket.

            – Ha!  Yeah, I could do. No harm in asking.

 

Ryan decided he wanted to meet the Scot who wanted to be legless. It sounded well horny – wearing two artificial legs, mere pylons an inch in diameter, with a kilt. He thought another trip to Manchester might be in order. He went through the list of applications searching for other men he might interview on the same visit. There was the AK/BK Mancunian. He might be interesting, too, wanting to use only one lower leg prosthesis with crutches. Maybe he would like a peg leg instead of a standard prosthesis. Ryan looked at his calendar and decided that Easter Saturday would be a good enough date. He sent a message to the Gardener requesting an audience with the two men in the Tower Hotel. He also wanted to clarify something with Llewellyn. Was it true that he had been approved only for humeral and femoral amputations? Why could he not undertake other less radical reductions? And who had given him approval? The Harvester certainly had not. He typed out another message and provisionally requested surgery for his two interviewees in early April. Ninety-five percent certainty. Getting frustrated with the slowness of typing with a stylus and the endless corrections, Ryan decided to call it a day after he had made a reservation for Good Friday at the Tower Hotel in Manchester in an accessible, adapted room. He found the little box, ticked it and sent the reservation. Moments later, confirmation arrived and he was invited to pay immediately by credit. Four hundred and seventy euros or six thousand three hundred pounds. Ryan stared at the figures. He had not realised a pound was already under ten cents – well under. People without access to euros must be panicking already. Wages useless, savings destroyed. Nothing was ever reported on the news, though. Hardly surprising, really. It might show the government in a bad light. He checked his own Euro account and found it had accrued two million euros in interest since he last logged in back in January. It was an awful lot of money. Ryan decided to do more philanthropic work and approve amputations for men from deprived backgrounds who would never be able to afford them otherwise. He would pay for their stumps and prosthetic limbs. He collected a six pack from the fridge and scrolled through the previous three months of messages looking for deserving, interesting causes. One from February was interesting. A skinhead from a sink estate in Silvertown wanted hooks. The guy was only nineteen. It would be fantastic to go through adult life wielding hooks. Ryan favourited the message. Who else? Some other young guy in Milton Keynes wanted two hip disarts in order to be in a wheelchair. Craig might have something to say about that but Ryan marked him too. He wanted to meet the guy first. You could be in a wheelchair without having both legs completely removed. Ryan was tired of using his phone. He dropped it gently onto the table and opened another beer.

 

A message arrived from Mireille Urbana. Would it be convenient in the next weeks to interview Ryan and Craig at home? Ryan rolled along to Craig’s room where he was reading about an electric double-decker bus model.

            – That looks very smart. You’re not thinking about getting double-deckers, are you?

            – Well, I thought one might be handy on Saturday mornings when everyone wants to get to Loidis at the same time and we could lease it out for the rest of the week.

            – Oh, alright. I don’t mind if it gets some use. I don’t want it sitting around gathering dust. Now, why did I come in here? Oh yeah. The tv interview people are asking can they come in the next few days. Is it alright with you? Are you comfortable with that?

            – Why are they coming here?

            – Because I said they could. We don’t need to go on their show live. When shall I say? Tomorrow? Thursday?

            – Tell them Thursday. I want a drink tonight and might be a little under the weather tomorrow.

            – You old devil. Alright, Thursday it is. Hey, I just thought. Let’s put the logo stickers everywhere!

            – No, don’t do that. It looks cheap. It’s bad enough that there’s one on the back of my chair.

            – Oh yeah. Paul thought it might be funny.

            – Well, as long as it comes off again cleanly, I don’t mind.

Paul had stuck one of the large logos intended for the front and back of the buses onto the seat back of Craig’s chair. It looked alright really. Craig thought it was a good joke.

            – Oh, before you go. My buyer says he has bought seventeen thousand euro’s worth of experimental cigars for us and will be shipping them from Florida after the exposition closes next week. Seventeen thousand! God knows what’s in that lot.

            – Fucking hell, that’s a massive amount for a few smokes. I can’t wait.

            – I reckon we’ll just have to. Now, tell Urbana we’ll see ’em after nine on Thursday and they can stay as long as they like.

            – Will do. I assume you’ll be in that chair.

            – No, I’ll be on the sofa with my tiny stumps showing.

            – Guessed it.

Ryan returned to the balcony and tapped out thu am ok and sent it to Urbana. She acknowledged with a lipsticked smiley. Tasteless woman.

 

The Gardener confirmed that the applicants wishing for leg amputations would be present on Easter Saturday in Manchester. Ryan left the reply until he found the will to use the stylus again. It would be so much easier to use voice recognition if only he could speak clearly enough for the algorithm to understand. It never seemed to write his speech properly. The last time he used it to ask one of his mates out for a beer it wrote dew one a comma art framboise turn eye. Ryan could not face correcting it and called him instead.

 

Thursday morning. The guys had breakfast, showered with Seb’s help and dressed in their smart clothes with Seb’s help. He retired to the kitchen to prepare copious amounts of coffee and  started making open sandwiches. Cheese and ham, shrimp and boiled egg, crabmeat and horseradish. A lettuce leaf, some mayonnaise and stick the filling to it. Soon there were twenty four canapés ready. Seb slid them into the fridge just as the lift alarm sounded. He strutted around to the lift to greet the visitors. Ryan and Craig sat on the sofa, stumps demurely hidden under smart black suit shorts and wearing their best jackets. Their hooks shone. Paul was on the balcony, straining his neck trying to see what was going on inside.

 

The lift door slid open and Mireille Urbana stepped out, followed by a cameraman and the sound man.

            – Welcome! At long last! I am Sebastian. Your interviewees are waiting. If you’d like to follow me.

The crew looked at the astonishing sight of a young guy with a peg leg escorting them. They entered a wide living room with a remarkable view of the sky outside. Seb spun around on his peg and introduced Ryan Anderson and Craig Selton, of LeedsLink.

            – Thank you, Seb. Hello, Mireille. How lovely to see you at last. Excuse us for not getting up.

Ryan held out his right hook, as did Craig. Mireille touched them tentatively and mentally appealed to her crew to save her.

            – Oh, good heavens, well, I mean it’s good to meet you at last. I’m Mireille Urbana and this is my cameraman Mac Manning and the sound engineer is Jason Wight. Will we be filming here?

            – Well, we thought this might be a suitable place. If you interviewed us in the studio, we’d be on a couch, I assume. So we thought our own might serve just as well.

            – It is a beautiful couch, and you are quite correct. But the light from the windows will pose a problem. If I could ask you to move to your right so the kitchen is behind you.

Ryan looked at Craig and pressed his hooks deep into the seating. He shifted to his right and estimated how far he would need to move before there was a suitable background. Craig followed suit, feeling how much lighter he was. His shorts folded under themselves. His tiny stumps were both visible. Mireille looked on in dismay.

            – If you could concentrate on quarter shots and profiles, Mac, that would be perfect.

            – Understood.

            – Gentlemen, Jay needs to attach a couple of microphones to your shirts.

Jason approached them and began straightening the leads. How he wished for a set of radio mikes but North Central still insisted on using these old ones. Ryan and Craig held their hooks in the air while Jason fed his wires under their clothes and clipped tiny mikes to their T-shirts. He had an insistent erection in his crotch and was weak-kneed from the need to ejaculate. The amputees were in place. Mireille suggested she sit on the footrest and looked at Mac for confirmation that he could capture them all.

            – I want to do a walk-in. If I stand over there, Mac, is the light too strong?

            – No, it’s fine. You can walk from there to the seat and I can follow you, no problem.

            – Jay, how about the sound? Is there an echo?

            – Only if you shout loud enough.

Mireille smirked at him. She walked across to the prow and primped herself into her standard position.

            – Is this alright? Can you see my eyes? Good. Take one. A year has passed since our Towers brought new life into our town. Thousands of young, energetic and enthusiastic young people… oh darn. I said young twice. Can we go again? Take two. A year has passed since our Towers brought new life into our town.

Mireille fluffed her lines five times before the intro was ready. The fourth time was because Craig’s stumps were visible.

            – Sir, I’m sorry but could you possibly rearrange your shorts to cover, er, your, er…

            – Oh, sorry! Are my stumps showing? Sorry.

Mireille rolled her eyes. That could have been corrected in post. Now she had to start again. She smiled at the camera. Ryan and Craig were enjoying the show. They had both heard about the difficulty in producing a decent video and now they were seeing it for themselves.

            – Hello gentlemen and welcome to North Shot. For our viewers who don’t yet know, our guests this morning, Craig Selton and his colleague Ryan Anderson, created the new bus service between the station and our new Towers. I understand you are both newcomers to Leeds. Would you tell us a little about how you chose to live here?

            – We both lived in London. I had an apartment in a tower in the financial district but the river was flooding too often for comfort so we decided to find a home further north where flooding would not be a problem.

            – I can assure the viewers that flooding would not endanger this lovely apartment. How high are we?

            – This is the seventy-second floor. We’re seven hundred odd metres above the town centre.

            – Extraordinary. So having moved, you decided to start LeedsLink.

            – Yeah. We both had cars, you know, those little Unum electric cars. We can get anywhere in those, luckily, because we’re both legless, as you can see. But we thought that a bus service between the Towers themselves and down to the town centre would be handy – excuse the pun…

Ryan waved his hooks in the air.

            – … so we made the investment. First of all we surveyed the residents of the Towers and found that it might be a worthy addition. There are no shops up here, so everyone needs to get into Leeds proper and a lot of households don’t have two cars. So we realised there might be a need and asked the residents here and in the other towers if they would use a bus if there was a service into town. And enough people answered yes that we thought it might be a good idea. And voilà! Here we are a year later with three routes and lots more passengers than we expected. We even bought an extra bus a few weeks ago. I ought to mention that all the graphic and corporate identity was created in-house. It’s the handiwork of Seb over there, who appears to have made us coffee.

            – That’s wonderful. If I might stop you there. I suggest we have a little break for coffee. You are very kind to offer.

            – Not at all.

Jason detached their mikes. Ryan found his stubbies under the sofa and pushed them onto his stumps. Craig tipped himself forward and rested his forearms on the coffee table. He lowered himself onto the floor and scooted on his backside to his bedroom. He vaulted onto his bed and into his GyroChair. He wheeled back to the kitchen.

            – What have you made for us, Seb?

Seb described the contents. Mac and Jason tried all three varieties. It was probably the best snack they had ever been served on location. The espresso was spot on too. Jason could contain himself no longer.

            – May I ask how you lost your limbs? I hope that’s not too impertinent.

            – Not at all. We were both victims of the same illness which required the removal of our extremities. As time went by, recurrences made it necessary to remove more. But we are both fully accustomed to using our chairs and prosthetics so please don’t feel sorry for us. Seb, on the other hand, had a confrontation with a lorry while riding his motorbike.

            – I see. Thank you for explaining. I have to say, I admire your hooks.

Both Ryan and Craig had noticed Jason’s erection when he adjusted their mikes. Could he be a wannabe? Ryan would have a quick word before they left.

            – Well, gentlemen. Shall we continue? Mr Selton, would you repeat the part about Sebastian’s graphics, and Sebastian, if you could sit to Mr Selton’s right. Mac, pan across.

            – Will do.

Craig restated how the company image had been created in-house by their close associate Sebastian. Just before the planned pan, Seb lifted his hook and rested his chin on it. Urbana seemed not to notice. With any luck, Seb’s hook would make the final edit.

 

There were a few more questions, some retakes, separate profile shots and listening shots. Urbana asked for copies of the logo and other graphics for inserts and was finally satisfied she had enough material for a six minute segment.

            – We’d love to get some incidental shots too from downstairs and it would be lovely to shoot quickly inside one of the buses.

            – Fine. Ryan, do you want come down with us?

            – Sure. Let me get something from the bedroom. Jason, would you mind lending me a hand for a minute?

Ryan stumped along the passageway and went into his bedroom. Jason followed.

            – Would you do me a favour and lift me up into my wheelchair, mate?

Ryan indicated his GyroChair and Jason thought about the best way to lift the legless and hooked amputee into the seat.

            – Shall I lift you up by your armpits?

            – Yeah, that’ll be best. Listen, I get the idea you’re more than impressed with our hooks and stuff. If you want to discuss amputations and see more of us, get in touch. Use LeedsLink’s email address to get in touch. Just put ‘Ryan’ in the title and I’ll see it. OK, let’s go.

Jason opened the door to let Ryan pass, sitting tall in his chair. Craig and the others were waiting by the freight lift.

            – When will our interview be on the show?

            – I should think Wednesday, immediately before the eight o’clock weatherwatch, unless of course there’s some breaking news. But this is our main piece and that’s when we have the largest audience. I’ll let you know the previous day when we know for sure.

The lift announced its arrival and Seb hit the release button to slide the entrance open. They stepped and rolled inside, Ryan and Craig rotating themselves in place to face the front. The door opened onto the tower’s car park. Urbana looked around, planning a nice panorama to open the segment.

            – Mac, stand about here and shoot the lobby, three seconds and then pan right slowly to capture a bus arriving at the stop. Hold the shot for five.

            – Understood.

            – Then I’d like it if we were inside the bus and we got a shot of passengers boarding.

            – How about us getting on in our chairs? That would show viewers that we’re an accessible company.

Urbana hated the idea of showing disability. It was always a negative and might affect the ratings but she could hardly refuse in this instance.

            – That would be super. Board the bus and come towards the camera and park your wheels just here, just out of camera. It will make a lovely intro. Then we cut to your living room sofa. Yes, that will work perfectly.

The group waited two or three minutes for a seven fifteen. It would wait for three minutes before it departed again, assuming it was on time. There was enough time for Mac to video what Urbana wanted. Mac practised his shot a few times, swinging his hips to capture a smooth pan.

            – Here it comes. Start shooting!

The driver noticed the group standing a little beyond his official stopping zone and recognised his bosses in their chairs. He pulled up so the front entrance was next to them and opened the middle doors to let his passengers off. The woman jumped on as soon as he opened the front doors.

            – Hello. Please wait until we get off before you pull away. We’re just making a quick video. Mac, you know what to do. Gentlemen, please board the bus when I give you the signal.

            – Can you let the ramp down, Pete? Thanks mate.

Urbana had Mac make another pan inside the bus in the opposite direction, stopping as the owners boarded.

            – OK, doing it for real. Start!

She watched Mac panning and beckoned Ryan to board. He leaned forward and climbed the slight incline into the bus and turned to face Mac. Mac made sure he caught the GyroChair and the handsome invalid in their entirety. Ryan rolled past the camera followed closely by Craig.

            – Show me that, Mac.

She looked at the camera playback and declared it perfect.

            – Gentlemen, thank you so much for agreeing to meet with us. That’s all the material we need. We must get back now to start editing.

She shook the owners’ hooks with a little less trepidation than a couple of hours previously. Ryan caught Jason’s eye and nodded. Jason nodded back. The crew left the bus and returned to their NorthCentral van. Ryan and Craig rolled up to the front of the bus and explained to Pete what was going on.

            – I guessed as much. It’s amazing how little LeedsLink has been in the news. Wednesday morning, you say? I’ll have to record it. Ta ra!

Ryan and Craig rode back up to their home.

            – I need a drink. Want one?

            – Make mine a double.

 

They sat by the kitchen island with a bottle of whiskey and had more than one. Craig sauntered back to his bedroom office and Ryan went to the utility room to see what Seb was up to.

            – You’re gonna be a star.

            – We’re already stars, mate. What a woman! Can you imagine having her as your boss?

            – She seemed alright to me. Media people are always in a rush. She wasn’t actually rude to the guys, was she?

            – No, I guess you’re right. What’s for lunch?

            – Well, there’s all those open sandwiches left over. They need eating. If you can wait until supper, there’s chops and fried onions.

            – Oh great. My favourite. Don’t bother ironing those shirts, mate. We’re not going anywhere.

 

Ryan took a beer out onto the balcony. He looked at the morning’s messages. A couple of LAKs, an RBE who wanted a matching LBE job, and two requests for new artificial legs. Ryan approved the whole lot and contacted Merthyr about the hand amputation. Sevenoaks could do the leg amputations since both of the blokes were Londoners. He heard Craig calling him. He put his phone down and rolled to Craig’s room.

            – What’s up?

            – You’ve got an email on the company account, mate. Do you want to see to it here or shall I forward it?

            – Oh, just forward it, thanks. I know who it’s from. He didn’t waste much time.

            – Who?

            – The sound man, Jason.

            – Really? What’s that all about, then?

            – He’s a devotee. I think he might be a wannabe, too. I told him to get in touch. I didn’t say within the hour.

            – Well, if he’s enthusiastic, that’s a good sign, isn’t it? He was very gentle with his microphones, did you notice?

            – I think he was just taking his time so he could get an eyeful of our hooks, mate. Shall I invite him round for a little chat?

            – Do what you like. No skin off my nose, is it?

            – Ha! You do have a way with words. Alright. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s here this evening.

            – After we’ve eaten, alright?

            – Yup. Send me that email.

            – Sent already.

            – Right. See ya.

 

            – thanks for understanding. sorry if i offended u. cant help it. i ve always loved 2 c men w hooks. i have never seen 3 together before. i want 2 apologise if i offended u. u know wt i mean. [crying face] jason.

            – we understand. come talk 2 us. 2night? after 7. 711 from loidis.

            – !!! c u.

 

Seb’s chops and mash was superb. He had the knack of frying the onions to perfection. They took a six pack out onto the balcony and Seb filled the dish washer.

            – Right. Let the washer run and I’ll empty it tomorrow. See you. Have a nice evening.

            – Thanks Seb. See you.

            – We might have some more company soon.

            – Oh? Who’s that?

            – Jason the sound man. He might drop in after seven for a little chat. I think we’ve hooked a new one.

            – Don’t tell me he wants his hands off?

            – I don’t know for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised. It takes one to know one, as they say.

            – Yeah. I don’t suppose a sound engineer actually needs meat hands. Let’s see what’s he’s got to say for himself.

            – Shall I lend him the money?

            – Mate, you can do whatever you want. If you’re asking my opinion, I say go right ahead. From what I saw, the guy would be better off with a pair of his own hooks.

            – Yeah, that’s pretty much what I was thinking. But let’s see what he thinks. We’re getting a bit low on cigars, have you noticed? I’m going into Manchester again next week so I can get a couple of boxes then. Anything special you’d like?

            – No, I’m fine with whatever we have in the box. Don’t forget we’ll be getting some real monsters in a couple of weeks.

            – Yeah. The thing is, it’s one thing to have a decent cigar and another thing to smoke something the size of a drainpipe which lasts for six hours.

            – Yeah, I know, but the drainpipes are great too. My bloke says he has two cigars called El Baseball. Can’t wait to see them.

            – God, just imagine. There’s no way I could hold anything shaped like a baseball.

The lift alarm sounded. Ryan looked at Craig and raised his eyebrows. He slowly turned his chair and rolled around to the passenger lift. It was stopping every few floors. It was tedious to rise to the topmost floor without an override. Three minutes later, the doors opened and Jason stepped out to greet Ryan.

            – Hi Jason. I’m glad you could come. We have a lot to talk about. Drink? We have beer, vodka, whiskey. Have what you like.

            – Well, I’ve got the day off tomorrow, so if I could have a whiskey, please?

            – Sure. Help yourself. And for the rest of the evening. We won’t run out, so just help yourself, OK?

            – Thanks. It’s very good of you to invite me back.

            – No problem. Let’s go out on the balcony. Do you smoke? Would you like a cigar?

            – No thanks. I don’t smoke. But I like to see men smoking cigars.

            – Well, you may be in for a treat in that case. Come on, Craig’s outside and it’s nice and warm.

            – Hello Jason. Good to see you again.

Craig was in one of the steel chairs wearing a dark blue jockstrap and a white hoodie. His new stumps shone like twin moons. Jason smiled at him and stared at the scarless nubs. He felt the stirrings in his crotch and looked around for a seat.

            – Sit there, mate. Cheers! Welcome back. Is Mireille satisfied with the material?

            – Yeah, she was really bubbly in the van back. She said it was a real pleasure to work with professionals and I think she meant you rather than us.

            – Don’t knock yourself, Jason. We were impressed with you too. You were very gentle with us and didn’t fuss about seeing our stumps. And Mac was perfect. I don’t think he said a dozen words all the time he was here.

            – I know! It’s funny. Cameramen are often quiet. If you go out for a beer with them, they sit there listening and nodding. It’s like they are cameras themselves, seeing everything but giving nothing back. But he’s a nice guy. I like working with him. We’re both the same age and we both joined NCTV around the same time. Mireille was poached from some other station in Newcastle or somewhere. She’s pretty good at what she does.

            – It’ll be interesting to see the end result next Wednesday. But Jason, my friend, that is not what we are here to talk about. Is it?

            – No. I want to talk to you, or ask you, about your hooks. I can’t get the idea of hooks out of my mind. It’s been going on for years.

            – Is this a sexual thing? Do you masturbate thinking about hooks?

            – Yes! It’s the only way I can cum. Thinking about having my own hooks or thinking about men I’ve seen.

            – Ohoh! Did you hear that, Craig? We’re gonna be wank material.

            – I’m sorry. It sounds terrible.

            – Listen mate, don’t worry about it. There are three of us with the same problem, so don’t feel bad. I told you this morning about a disease which caused us to lose our limbs, remember?

            – Yes, of course.

            – If I said the disease is called BIID, do you understand?

Jason’s mouth dropped open and he stared at Ryan.

            – I don’t believe it. Both of you?

            – Sure, why not? Both of us. Craig had his hands off first, then his legs. He’s just come back from having his below knee stumps removed. As for me, I had my legs off first and then my hands. And after a couple of years, I had my arm stumps re-amputated so now I have short biceps stumps. So tell us, Jason, how would you like to be?

Jason could hardly breathe. He looked Ryan and Craig in the eyes and then took in the steel hooks extending from their smart hoodies and their leglessness. Craig’s extreme leglessness. Ryan’s stumps were cool. But leg stumps were not for Jason.

            – I want a pair of hooks. I want my hands gone and to use hooks for the rest of my life. I want to wake up every morning and put my stumps into arm sockets and admire my hooks.

            – And how long have you felt this way?

            – Since I was about ten. I’d seen hooks on men in old films. Then I searched for hooks on YouTube and found tons of videos of men with hooks. I just wanked myself dry, honestly. It was something I wanted so badly. And it was so frustrating to switch the screen off and go to sleep with two fleshy hands. Oh, I really hate them! I’d do anything to have a beautiful pair of hooks, I really would.

            – Woah! Don’t get ahead of yourself. Have you thought about the rest of your life as an amputee? Who would employ you? How would you manage everyday life? It’s not easy, I can tell you.

            – I know that but if you hate your body, it doesn’t matter. I could carry on as a sound engineer just fine with a pair of hooks. Actually, I’ve even tried doing all the motions I need to operate a mixing console with just one finger. And instead of a finger, it could be a hook. There are even DJs who have hooks.

            – Yeah, I know. Some Australian guy who was burned or something. Hookie, that’s it.

            – So that’s what I thought. Just carry on as normal.

            – Jason mate, we’ve only just met today and I don’t really know you enough to trust you a hundred percent but there is a way for you to get hooks. You need to introduce yourself to a man on the net who can put you in contact with another guy who can arrange an amputation or two. But he has to approve and you have to convince him you need it. Have you heard of the Gardener?

            – No. I know there was a site called the Secret Garden years and years ago. Is that where it comes from?

            – Probably. I don’t know. Anyway, write to the Gardener and explain all your troubles and tell him why you need your hands off. Then you sit back and wait for the reply. It’s not cheap, though. About a year’s wages for an arm off.

            – Really? I mean, you can really just order an amputation and pay for it?

            – I think that’s how it works, yeah.

            – That’s amazing. How do I get the Gardener’s address?

            – I might have it somewhere. But if you had your hands off, it would be weeks before you could get a new pair of arms. How would you survive in between times?

            – I could go home to my parents. They’re always reassuring me that there’ll always be a home there for me.

            – I see. I don’t suppose they’d like having your back in those circumstances but it can’t be helped.

            – No. Did you say that you started out with below elbow hooks and then had another amputation?

            – Yup.

            – And which do you prefer? Sorry if that’s an awkward question. It’s not like you can still choose between them.

            – I’d have to say the above elbow stumps, wouldn’t I, otherwise I’d look a bit of a sad case. It was really difficult in the beginning when I’d just had my hands off. It was easy enough learning how to operate the hooks but it took a lot longer to make it… what’s the word? Intuitive. You know, getting the hooks into the proper position to pick something up with a quick glance instead of having to think about it. Then there were the things that you can no longer do at all which you might not have thought about. Personal things like digging in your ear or trying to get a hair out your mouth. And of course the toilet is always a bit of a challenge. But you learn how to do things and after a few months, something suddenly clicks and using hooks is as easy as using your old meat hands.

            – So what changed when you got your present arms?

            – The main thing is not having elbows. I already knew how to use the hooks just fine but the new problem was getting them into a position where I could use the fucking things. No elbows any more, see? You know how the hooks work with a cable, don’t you? Well, I have two cables now. One controls a hook and the other one controls an elbow. The only way I can operate either one is just by tensioning them in exactly the same way, so I had to learn how to switch between the two and how to make sure that I was in the right mode to do what I wanted. It was very common for me in the beginning to have something in a hook and try to lift it and instead, I opened the hook and dropped it rather than move the elbow like I wanted. That pissed me off at first until I got the hang of it. Plus the fact that it’s far more restricted than having your own elbow but I love the mechanical nature of how they move and I love the feeling of being disabled. There are quite a lot more things which I can’t do with these arms which I could do with the old hooks. But I’m used to it. I still try every so often, I don’t want to give up trying things, but if something is too difficult, I just accept it and ask for help.

            – So you wouldn’t really want to go back?

            – Not really. See, I wanted to feel disabled and now I really do feel disabled. I still have hooks and I still love the way they look. Getting them in to position is the challenge now and I don’t think it will ever get any better. It’s fine by me.

            – How about you, sir? Can I ask about your experience with hooks?

            – I’m Craig, mate. And this is Ryan. Well, from what you’ve told me, I was pretty much the same as you and from much the same age as well. I simply knew that I needed to have hooks. I went through school and uni wishing that I was sitting there in class with a pair of hooks. It never left my mind. Then I started my own company and the first thing I did with the first year’s profits was to have my hands amputated. It didn’t take long before I could start wearing hooks and I was overjoyed seeing them as I went about my business. After a couple of years, I had my legs off too, below the knee and for the past couple of years, I used peg legs. Two steel peg legs. We’ll have to show you a video. Anyway, like Ryan, I wanted to feel disabled. I was using my prosthetic limbs as effortlessly as natural ones and I wanted more of a challenge. So I had my leg stumps amputated and now I have a more or less smooth frontage. It feels fantastic to be able to scoot around on my arse using hooks. I guess that’s what you might call disabled..

            – It’s great you’ve been able to get what you needed. I hope I’ll be able to say the same in a few years.

            – Do you think you’ll want to have your legs off?

            – I’m not sure. It isn’t something I’ve thought about very much. Certainly it’s not something I fantasise about.

            – Hmm. Interesting. You see, quite often, the first amputation is not enough. Both Ryan and I lost two limbs right from the outset but that was the exception. I always knew I wanted to lose my legs but I think Ryan sort of grew into the idea of losing his hands after meeting me.

            – Well, that was part of it. I did love seeing you using your hooks like normal hands. That was what helped nudge the idea into my head.

The lift alarm sounded.

            – That must be Paul. I hope he’s eaten.

Paul soon appeared in the doorway, leaning on his crutches.

            – Good evening, everybody. We have a guest, I see. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Paul.

            – This is Jason, mate. He was here this morning doing the interview.

            – Oh, you got that done, did you? How’d it go?

            – Smooth as silk. It’ll be on telly next Wednesday morning before the weather horrors.

            – Good show. I’ll have to watch that. Are you out here or are you coming in?

            – We’re out here for the time being. Get a beer and come and sit down. Have you had anything to eat?

            – We had a pizza in Loidis. Hang on a minute.

            – Who’s ‘we’?

Paul came back with a tin in his hoodie pocket.

            – What have you been up to today?

            – I went window shopping. Which means I went and sat in a bistro with a big window and watched all the people go by. Then I went to the Army and Navy Surplus place and got chatting to the bloke in there and he suggested we go for a pizza after he shut up shop.

            – Buy anything?

            – No. He had some really ancient wooden crutches, probably made in Cambodia or somewhere. Big thick things. Had a try of a couple but I didn’t really trust them. I meant to ask if he had any more wooden hands but I forgot.

            – Well, thanks for that. Seriously, I think we’ve got enough of those to be getting on with. Jason here, by the way, is here to ask about a reduction.

            – Oh? What turns you on, Jason?

            – Hooks. I’d like to have forearm stumps.

            – Everyone wants their hands off! No-one wants a peg leg. So, have you asked these two about the pros and cons?

            – Yes. I’ve learned more this evening than in the past ten years of watching YouTube videos.

            – And are you going to write to the Gardener?

            – I’m going to have to save some money before I dare apply. It’s awfully expensive, apparently. I suppose I could take out a bank loan but that’s a bit risky if NCTV gives me the sack.

            – They’re not allowed to do that, Jason. It would be discrimination against the disabled, which is one of the rights they haven’t terminated yet. You’ll keep your job, no problem.

            – Ryan, can’t you…?

            – Shut up, Paul. Jason, what Paul is suggesting is that the Gardener and his controller, the Harvester, sometimes make an exception for worthy causes. Of course, no-one understands what they deem a worthy cause but there’s nothing stopping you from sending an email to the Gardener right now. I don’t suppose it’ll be more than a couple of weeks before you get a reply. They must mull it over between themselves and try to find a surgeon who’ll do it cheap.

            – It’s a scary feeling to think I might be getting hooks if a couple of strangers agree to it.

            – But exciting too, right?

            – Yeah. It would be so fantastic. I’d just hold the hooks in front of me and cum in my pants.

            – You were pretty near to that this morning, mate. We noticed. We thought it was a compliment, so don’t be embarrassed.

            – Oh god, sorry.

            – Don’t be. It just proves that when you say it’s a turn on to see hooks, you were telling the truth.

            – Anyone for more beer?

            – Bring out a six pack, Craig. Handy how you have some extra space on that seat all of a sudden.

            – Ha! Paul, mate, swing your crutches around so I can get out.

            – Sorry.

Craig brought two six packs back.

            – This is all the beer. When this has gone, we’ll have to hit the hard stuff.

            – What day is it tomorrow?

            – Thursday.

            – Oh, that’s alright then. I don’t mind wasting a Thursday due to a hangover but it’s a shame to mess up the weekend. Don’t know why. All the days are the same anyway, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

            – Don’t you go out to work?

            – Well, no, Jason, we don’t. First of all, who would employ us? Craig recently drove a bus home from Holland but that was before he had his legs off. But no bus company would give him a job, would they?

            – No. You have to have your own bus company to drive a bus in this sort of state.

            – Actually, mate, you could have one of the buses adapted so a legless cunt like you could drive it. Poke the controls with your shiny hooks.

            – I could, but the passengers might not like it.

            – Or they’d sit there with erections like Jason.

            – Haha! Shall we try it? No, let’s not bother. As for me, I was self-employed. I imported cigars from central America and had a shop in Stratford, if you’ve heard of that. It’s where the Olympics were. It was supposed to have a brilliant future but of course all that turned to shit and lately the place keeps flooding because of the storms so I closed the shop and came up here to Leeds with Ryan and Paul.

            – That reminds me. I need a smoke.

Paul hauled himself erect and checked his peg was rigid. He worked his way into the living space and fetched an eleven inch One-Twenty-Five from the humidor. He tried to get it in his mouth without succeeding. He held it carefully and crutched back to his seat on the balcony. Jason’s eyes followed the enormous cigar. Surely it was impossible to smoke something the size of that. Paul said Excuse me, removed his dentures and put them in his hoodie pocket. He plugged the monstrous cigar into his mouth and lit it. Jason watched in astonishment. It was the most erotic cigar smoking he had ever seen. Paul was unable to move the cigar to a phallic position. It hung from his toothless mouth, which in itself was an interesting look.

            – Paul had his teeth pulled so he could smoke big cigars, didn’t you, mate?

            – Yup. Didn’ thee the poin’ of ’em. Thith is mu’ be’er.

            – Takes all sorts, I suppose.

Jason began to feel the effects of the alcohol and enjoyed the banter between these extraordinary men. They were all extremely disabled in their own way yet none of them showed the slightest annoyance at any inconveniences they encountered. He would love to join them on their own terms, gesticulating with his hooks and behaving like they did.

            – Shall we go inside? I want to show Jason a couple of videos.

            – Alright. Suits me. Paul, you coming?

            –Thit here fra bi’.

            – OK.

Ryan activated the screen and linked it to his phone. He found his favourite video of the post-war amputee rehab hospital where newly armless men struggled to control their basic artificial arms. It was new to Jason. He watched it, captivated. Ryan looped a section showing a particularly difficult case where the patient struggled many times to raise his forearms. He adjusted his erection. Jason’s crotch was tenting. Ryan scrolled to one of his other favourites. A good-looking bloke had lost all four limbs to meningitis and was learning to don his artificial legs with unfamiliar hooks. Jason watched for a couple of minutes and groaned. Semen seeped through his trousers.

            – You like that, mate? Ha! Let’s see what else I can find.

He found the American ex-wannabe’s demonstration of how his prosthetics worked. Another good-looking man, honest and friendly, using his stumps to point to the parts of his prostheses. Finally, a muscular lad with huge biceps but nothing below his elbows except black carbon and steel hooks. He sat relaxing on a leather armchair and wanked to orgasm with the hooks.

            – Been there, done that.

            – Those are fantastic, Ryan. Ah, it’s so frustrating. I really need to be like them but it’ll be years and years before I can afford the amputations. It would be cool to still be young and with hooks.

            – Yeah, it would. Hooks on a young guy are just about the ultimate. And by the time you’re thirty, you can use them like meat hands.

            – I think about having an accident sometimes. You know, accidentally on purpose. But it’s too dangerous. And I don’t want to drag anyone else into it.

            – Jason, listen. What would you do if you got the money for the amputations now? Would it make any difference to you? Or would you use the money to travel or buy a flat?

            – Oh, no question. I’d have the amputations and travel afterwards.

            – Good. OK. I’ll lend you the money.

            – What? Really? It’s such a lot. How long would I have to pay you back? It might take years.

            – Don’t worry about that for the moment. Let’s do it like this. Write to the Gardener first to see if he approves. If he does, he’ll let the Harvester know and he’ll arrange your amputations and prosthetics somewhere. And he’ll also let you know the price which you have to pay beforehand.

            – OK, that’s clear enough.

            – So all you need to do is you tell me the price and the Harvester’s account number and I’ll pay for you. Then you disappear somewhere for a few weeks and return with your prosthetic arms and hooks.

            – That would be fantastic. I can’t think of anything I could ever want more than to have my own hooks.

            – It’s a challenge at first, mate, but it’s a lot of fun and it looks well horny.

            – You are serious, aren’t you, Ryan? You’re not joking with me?

            – Mate, I don’t joke about things like that.

 

A P R I L

 

Mireille Urbana messaged Ryan and Craig on the following Tuesday afternoon. Their interview would air the next morning at seven fifty-three. Ryan thanked her and sent best wishes. He programmed his equipment to record from a quarter to. They would watch it when it suited them. They would probably be in the shower at eight.

 

It was a well–edited piece. The conversations flowed logically and Mac had been busy shooting B-roll, unnoticed by Ryan and Craig. There were several nice inserts between takes covering up the joins and Mireille managed to keep herself out of the shot for most of the time. Their amputations were kept to an absolute minimum. Ryan suspected the frames had been enlarged slightly to hide their hooks but Seb’s was obvious enough. The graphic artist looking like Rodin’s Thinker with his chin on his hook. The shot where they came into the bus on their GyroChairs was not used, but LeedsLink got a bit of extra publicity and the logo featured a couple of times. They were both pleased with it.

            – Not bad. You looked very distinguished in your suit. You should wear it more often.

            – There’s not much point, is there? The jacket rumples when I’m sitting and I have no need of trousers.

            – That’s what you think. But I see what you mean. Have you thought more about getting a bucket or two? You could have one that just protects your arse and another one with legs under it.

            – You mean reciprocal legs, or whatever they call them? Yeah, I thought about that. Oh, let’s just go for it. Do you know who specialises in buckets?

            – No, but I could probably find out. Leave it to me. I’ll let you know if I find anything.

            – Alright. That can be your little project for today. Buckets for Craig.

 

Ryan did do a little research on his friend’s behalf but he had no need to search online. Seb was busy with housework, Paul had gone out again and Craig was checking LeedsLink stuff. Ryan found his folder listing co-operative European prosthetists and ran a hook down the listings looking for someone who specialised in prosthetics after hemicorporectomy or bilateral disarticulations. Several of the entries were in German but Ryan guessed their meaning. There was a prosthetist in Debrecen, Hungary, who was recommended for body torso stumps. The Harvester sent a message describing his patient and asking for a price for two buckets, one passive, one with reciprocating legs.

 

The leatherman who had had his arms amputated a few inches below his shoulder sent a series of studio photographs. They had been taken in a bondage cellar but were professionally posed and lit. A couple of his black leather jackets had been altered so that only a few inches remained of the sleeves and the tips of the man’s stumps were visible. Another jacket featured one cut-off sleeve and one, the left, of normal length. His hook protruded slightly holding a chain to which his boy was linked. In another scene, the leatherman wore his black prosthesis without a top. His glossy leather trousers displayed his prominent erection. The boy licked the steel hook. Ryan sent thanks and suggested a meeting at some time.

 

Morag also sent a beautiful email. She had found a handsome fellow Scot in west London and married him after an eighteen month long courtship. She enclosed a couple of photos of her wedding. She looked radiant in her wedding dress and the groom was equally handsome with a fine beard, his left hook holding up the marriage certificate and his kilt almost entirely hiding the steel stubbies he was standing on. Ryan sent his heartiest congratulations and said it was good that Morag had found him before Ryan did. She replied with a laughing smilie.

 

Ryan received replies from Debrecen and from the Gardener. The Hungarian reply was in that language and Ryan had it translated. Reading between the errors, the prosthetist could tend to Craig either at the end of April or in the first week of June. It would cost seven thousand for the passive bucket and twenty thousand for the one with the moving legs. Ryan accepted the prices and informed the Gardener of his decision. He in turn replied to Craig with the price and dates. Craig wasted no time in telling Ryan that he had approval to get a pair of buckets but he would have to go to Hungary to be fitted.

            – Hungary? As far as that? But the bloke can do the work, can he?

            – It looks like it. I was just thinking, instead of coming back as soon as I’m measured up, it might be nice to spend a week or two there while they make the things and then wear one back. How do you fancy a trip to Hungary with me at the end of April?

            – To get you a new pair of legs? Yeah, I’ll come with you. How to you want to get there?

            – Train, as usual. Book us on the Orient Express from Paris to Budapest. And the same back again.

            – Wow! You are travelling in style. Alright. How about the last bit?

            – Well, since Debrecen is Hungary’s second city, there must be a direct train. So yeah, another train. Big university in Debrecen

            – Is that how you say it? Deb-rets-en? Why’s it got a c in it? Oh, anyway. Off we go on another adventure. I guess you’ll have to take an ordinary wheelchair.

            – Yeah, it would probably be best. I’ll let you push it, if you like.

            – Can’t wait. See you in a bit.

Ryan took a beer from the fridge and went onto the balcony. It was raining heavily and the town was invisible. He switched the heater on and sat back, stubbies pointing skywards, scrolling though his phone for the travel app. The service between Paris and Budapest ran on only two days a week and was phenomenally expensive. How could anyone afford prices like that? Ryan booked two seats and two beds in their own compartment and paid for their gourmet meals for two and a half days. It was what travel was meant to be. Slow, delicious and luxuriously expensive.

 

A disturbing message arrived from the German Gardener. A Dutch teenager was threatening to commit suicide unless he had bilateral thigh stumps by his sixteenth birthday. There was no way to alert the authorities without eventually revealing the network but it went against the foundation’s moral code set up decades ago that no minors were ever to be reduced. Ryan replied that the boy should be promised amputations on his eighteenth birthday. It would not be for the first time. A reply arrived several days later stating that the boy knew his own mind and that the suicide would still take place. Ryan understood only too well that he was being blackmailed. He thought about the boy’s circumstances. He was probably still living with his parents. How would they react to his disappearance for several weeks? How would they feel getting a legless son back? He wrote to the Gardener expressing his worries. Several days later, a reply arrived stating that the boy had died after laying on the railway track between Amsterdam and Utrecht. A high speed train severed his legs in an instant and spun his body in such a way that it was split from crotch to neck. Ryan deleted the relevant messages and opened another beer. The network was safe.

 

At last, the message Ryan was anticipating arrived. A twenty-five year old professional wished to rid himself of his hands. He wanted long forearm stumps, his hands severed an inch or two above his wrists. He assured the Gardener that his career could continue after the amputations. It had to be Jason. He contacted Merthyr Tydfil and asked about times available. The surgeon replied that only Easter weekend was free but there was a bed for a patient to recover for a few days. Ryan insisted on electrolysis to speed healing and was quoted a sum of forty-five thousand euros. That did not include prosthetics. Ryan thought Merthyr was trying it on and knocked the sum down to thirty-three thousand. He would have to keep an eye on the bloke if he thought he could start charging inflated prices. Sevenoaks announced they would be delighted to provide a pair of BE hooks for fifteen thousand. Ryan thanked him and replied to the Gardener. Jason would lose his hands the following week.

 

Easter approached. Ryan made sure his car was charged. After breakfast on Good Friday, Ryan dragged his smaller suitcase to the lift and disappeared again for a couple of days. Craig and Paul knew he was going to Manchester because he had said he intended to stock up on cigars again but they had no idea what his other business was. Ryan took his time, partly due to the weather conditions and partly because he had time to kill. He arrived at the Tower Hotel just after one, checked in, left his case in the room went back downstairs for some lunch. He asked one of the waiters if Ryan was still working in the kitchen. He was but he had the day off. He would be working on Saturday, though. Ryan paid for his meal and caught a tram to the shopping centre. Most of the shops and restaurants were open as usual. He walked into the far reaches of the complex and went up to the cigar shop in the lift. It was open. The owner recognised Ryan and welcomed him. Ryan bought three boxes of nine inch Eighty-Fives. He glanced around at the back wall with its pipe selection artfully lit. He had not smoked the pipes he bought on his last visit more than two or three times. Maybe he could take a pipe with him to Budapest. Ryan wished the man a happy Easter and rocked back along the mall to the other lift which would take him to the Old Wild West pub he liked. A couple of beers would go down very well.

 

Five beers went down very well. Ryan sat poking at his phone for much of the time. He had not checked his messages for several days and there were about fifty unread applications from four Gardeners. Ryan was always fascinated by the transformations and configurations men wanted for themselves and their reasoning behind the desire to become crippled. Many of them were obviously wealthy men whose lives had become tedious, too regular and predictable to hold any kind of challenge. They were often the men who requested bilateral amputations. Those in white collar jobs wished to lose their hands. They could continue perfectly well with hooks. Engineers often preferred the idea of leglessness. They wanted stumps for elaborate prosthetic devices which they intended designing and making themselves. Then there were the no-hopers like the lad in Silvertown who simply wanted another reality. He would be one of Ryan’s charity cases. The boy would have no money and would never be able to afford his amputations. Ryan decided that if he was a good-looking guy who would look cool with hooks, he would get his amputations. If he was a fat nerd, he could go without. Knowing Silvertown, Ryan thought that amputations were probably on the cards. Two Belgians wanted identical disarticulations. Left leg, right arm. Ryan imagined a gay couple shagging each other, turned on by the other’s lack of limbs. Ryan wanted to know more and typed a short message to the Gardener. do these men know each other? The French Gardener wrote that the legless Swiss ski instructor who had gone from DBK to high DAK was back on the slopes in his monocoque, teaching. He used a bucket to ambulate otherwise. Another happy customer.

 

Ryan waved goodbye to the bar staff and caught a tram back to the hotel. He would go through the list again when he was stone cold sober. He imagine what it would feel like to make love to Paul if he were missing his arms. He would never dare suggest such a thing but it would be well horny. Ryan was really horny himself when he got back to the hotel. He went straight to his room, dropped his trousers and lay back on the bed. He needed a pillow behind his head to see where his hooks were and after a couple of minutes wanked himself to orgasm. Even the pathetic movements of his arm stumps felt fantastic, trying to get the fucking hooks to move the way he needed. He had very little sensation in his arm stumps – or his leg stumps, for that matter. It was the natural outcome of the electrolysis healing method which eliminated a lot of pain but also destroyed most of the surrounding nerves. The huge advantage was the impossibility of ever suffering from phantom limb pain. With four stumps, the pros outweighed the cons. The end result was a stump which was not sensitive and which had to be carefully inspected for abrasions and other skin defects which normal amputees knew about instantly. There was also the inability to feel the erotic sensations associated with short leg stumps which other amputees were reported to have. Ryan was not sure there was much truth behind the claims. Fortunately there were other ways to get the horn. He wiped his cock with his hooks and avoided the wet jizz as he eased himself off the bed.

 

He threw the counterpane onto a chair and pulled his trousers up. A couple more beers in the bar downstairs and then time for bed. The first meeting was at ten the next morning with the Scot who wanted pylons. Ryan checked himself in the mirror. Smart. Sharp. He pulled the door open and rocked along the passage to the lift.

 

The bar was full of thirsty patrons. Obviously there must be people in who were not actually staying at the hotel. There were no stools free at the bar where he would have preferred to sit. He looked around and saw a couple of chairs free. Dare he ask if he could sit? Someone sitting at one of the tables noticed his plight and beckoned him over.

            – Hi! Looking for a seat? Care to join us?

The speaker was a bald-headed guy, about thirty-five, sitting with a woman and another man. They looked like business people, out to escape the drabness of a traditional Good Friday evening. Maybe they had been fooled by Ryan’s own snappy suit.

            – Thanks! Hello, I’m Ryan. I just came down for a beer.

            – Are you staying here? We just nipped in for a quick one. But that was two hours ago. What will you have?

            – Just a lager, please. You really don’t have to.

            – No, no, don’t worry.

The guy got up and worked his way to the bar. He seemed to know a lot of the people crowding it. They let him through and he returned with two lagers.

            – Here you go. Your very good health!

Ryan angled his right arm so its forearm would approach the glass. He shrugged and opened the hook.

            – Cheers. Thanks very much.

He pulled his prosthetic arm to the left and leant forward. His lips just about touched the rim of the glass and he slurped half a mouthful. He put the glass slowly onto the table and readjusted his arm. The others looked on, completely fascinated. Ryan knew they were all watching and was determined to make a good job of it. His second attempt succeeded perfectly. He took two mouthfuls of beer and let his arm holding the glass rest against the table’s edge.

            – If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been using hooks?

            – Er, I’ve had these about eighteen months and before that I had below elbow prostheses for three years or so.

            – Brilliant. Well, skål. Down the hatch and all that.

No-one else made any comment about his hooks. They asked about his work and Ryan replied he was officially unemployed but not completely without a job. He explained that he worked in medical research.

            – I’m involved with designing prosthetics. I work with other amputees. We have a lot of fun trying different stuff out.

            – Very admirable. Joe and I work in flood prevention and Julie works at the local met office. Which in Manchester means she mainly forecasts rain.

            – Ha! The thing is, you see, Ryan, while Manchester has always been a very rainy town, we’re getting rain in amounts that the city isn’t prepared for. We had two rain bombs last year and several suburbs were flooded to some degree. We try to predict the megastorms and warn people beforehand. There’s not a lot they can do except take their valuables upstairs and hope for the best. It’s getting pretty bad just lately like we knew it would.

            – I know what you mean. I moved to the Midlands from London. We had a great place right next to the river but there were so many flood warnings that we decided to move out. We bought a place in a new development in Leeds.

            – Leeds has been busy, from what I hear. They built a lot of really gigantic tower blocks on the outskirts of town and filled them with climate refugees from the south.

Ryan was intrigued.

            – Really? Are you sure? Refugees?

            – Well, I don’t know what else you would call them. The North has been trying to attract people of working age for years but Leeds took the lead and build these skyscrapers and invited young people from all over the country, you now, university types, young people who want to concentrate on their careers rather than starting a family and having two point four. Can’t say I blame them. And from what I hear, it’s worked out brilliantly. Manchester should get in on the act as well, if you ask me. Build some skyscrapers on stilts so the floods don’t get to them, that sort of thing.

            – That’s very interesting.

            – Would you like another drink, by the way? My treat.

            – That’s very good of you. Yes, I’d like another. I’d like to buy a round but I can’t bring drinks from the bar.

            – No no, put your money away.

 

Ryan did succeed in buying a round an hour or so later. He was thoroughly enjoying himself talking with intelligent people about interesting things. He really should get out more. He and Paul had agreed to try but they had stuck to the old ways and stayed home. With free transport to and from the town centre, they really had no excuse to stay home every single night.

 

Ryan dressed in his black suit for breakfast. He wore only a T-shirt under it but his beard filled the space where a collar and tie might be. He went downstairs and asked for assistance, requesting that Ryan help him, if possible. Ryan soon appeared and immediately recognised his namesake.

            – Hello sir! Good to see you again. What would you like?

            – Hello Ryan. It’s good to see you again, too. How have you been?

            – Very well, thank you sir. It was the Full English, wasn’t it, but without something…

            – Without the fried egg.

            – And black coffee, if I remember.

            – That’s it. Can I have a glass of orange juice too, please?

            – Of course. Take a seat and I’ll bring it over.

Ryan senior was wary on the thick carpet and sat as near to the entrance as possible. His assistant brought his meal and placed it neatly in front of him. The sausages had been cut into small chunks and the large fried mushroom was in quarters. Ryan said nothing but beamed with pleasure.

            – Enjoy your breakfast, sir. I’ll come back to see if you need more coffee.

            – Thanks, Ryan.

It was an excellent Full English. Ryan managed it all with one fork which required some dexterity but was easy enough. His young friend returned to bring him more coffee and removed his plate.

Ryan drank his second cup and got up to leave. He mentioned Ryan’s friendly efficient service to the maître d’ who stood by the entrance.

            – I’m very pleased to hear it, sir. I’ll make note of it and let him know.

            – Thanks.

 

Back in his room, Ryan had an hour or so to get ready to meet the DAK wannabe Scot. It was quite a coincidence considering that Morag had just married a similar figure. Her husband had worn stubbies in their wedding photos. Ryan had the impression that his candidate wanted full-length prostheses, mere tubular pylons with mechanical knees. He might like the idea of being able to convert them into peg legs. Ryan would suggest it.

 

Ten o’clock approached. Ryan slipped his black leather hangman’s hood over his head and went up to the Scot’s room. He knocked on the door and a balding, red-bearded thirty-something wearing a kilt opened it.

            – I am the Harvester.

            – Yes, I am pleased to meet you. Come in. My name is James McPherson. Please take a seat.

            – I prefer to stand, thank you. I must be brief. You have requested bilateral amputations. Please convince me of their necessity.

            – You see before you the figure of a man. And that is how I feel. How I have always felt. Just a figure. An image. The real James McPherson is inside this imposter. The real man is sporting two stumps instead of two legs.

            Ryan looked at the offending legs. The knees were covered in ginger hair, a sure sign that the man never wore trousers.

            – I want to stand tall on steel legs. I have felt this need since I was a wee boy. As a young man, I used to bind my legs and sit in an old wheelchair with my kilt hiding the pretend stumps. It was also a sexual thing for me. I have never been able to maintain an erection without thinking of my future stumps. I’m sorry if that sounds crude to you.

            – No, not at all. Do continue.

            – And now I am thirty-seven years old and becoming desperate to achieve my stumps before I am too old to enjoy them. I would have loved to have stumps in my twenties. I hope that I can become the real James McPherson before another decade wastes away.

            – I understand. You make a powerful argument. What is your profession? How would you support yourself as a double amputee?

            – I make whisky. I own a distillery, small but successful. It’s been the family business for a hundred and fifty years. There is no especial need for me to own flesh legs. There is nothing I do which requires me to be the way I am now. With two artificial legs, I would have more enthusiasm for life and for my business.

            – Your artificial legs will be fitted and manufactured in the very south of England. Will you be able to travel several times for the fittings and to collect them?

            – I am prepared to travel to the ends of the world if need be.

            – Fortunately Kent is closer than that. Very well, I approve your request for bilateral stumps. The Gardener will inform you of the cost and how to pay and let you know the date for your amputations. It may be at short notice, so have a bag ready.

            – I shall. I am very grateful to you.

            – I hope we’ll meet after your reduction. Good bye.

 

Ryan rocked along to the lift and plucked the hood off. His next meeting was at ten thirty with the AK/BK wannabe. It should be quick. He needed to vacate the room by eleven. One minute before the agreed time, Ryan tapped on another hotel door. It was opened by a man of around Ryan’s age wearing a shirt and waistcoat, shorts and bilateral steel and leather leg braces which almost entirely covered his skin. He held two walking sticks.

            – I am the Harvester.

            – Come in, please sir. Thank you for meeting me.

            – Let us get down to business. I see you are already disabled. Why do you need to become a double amputee?

            – I am not genuinely disabled, sir. I wear these leg braces to simulate the sensation of having prostheses. I cannot move my legs in any way and I walk by swinging the braces from my hip.

            – How long have you worn braces?

            – Since I was nineteen, sir, and moved away from home. I found a job and started a new life as a disabled man. At first, I walked with crutches but I prefer these walking sticks for the time being. Over the ten years since I transitioned to wearing leg braces, my leg joints have deteriorated to such a degree that the braces are now essential for me to walk any distance.

            – And how would the amputations help?

            – I began to wear the braces because they were a substitute for the way I have always felt myself to be. My legs are dead weight to me, no part of me. I can’t really explain it. I need them gone and one replaced with a prosthesis.

            – Only one?

            – Yes. My left leg needs to be a short stump, five inches long. The right should have a short two inch stump below the knee. I would wear an artificial leg with a thigh corset and a simple knee joint and walk with crutches again, sir.

            – And how would that affect the rest of your life? Your work?

            – It would be a huge relief to see my body genuinely match the way I have always felt it should be, sir. Lacing a prosthesis instead of a leg brace to my right stump would give me the greatest satisfaction. I work in insurance, a desk job in the town centre. I already have a legless colleague who uses a wheelchair. Life would go on.

            – You will be happy to learn that I approve of your reduction. The amputations will be undertaken in Kent. Your leg will probably also be manufactured there. If the prosthetist there is unable to do so, will you settle for a temporary peg leg until your final leg is ready?

            – A peg leg? I hadn’t considered that, sir. Yes, I think that would be a good temporary solution.

            – Good. The Gardener will inform you of the date for the amputations and I will arrange the manufacturer of the type of prosthesis you need. You will also be informed of the final cost and how to pay. I hope we can meet again after your transformation. Goodbye.

Ryan turned and crossed the room. The candidate heaved his nearly useless legs into motion and saw him out.              

            – Thank you, sir. Goodbye.

He stood in the doorway and watched Ryan’s gait as he walked away. Surely the guy must be wearing prosthetic legs as well as his hooks. Who was he?

 

Ryan changed his jacket before leaving. He checked he had everything from the room and checked out. This time he remembered to return his key card. He found his car and started the long drive to Leeds in brilliant sunshine. He linked his phone to the car’s loudspeaker and listened to some good old-fashioned reggae.

 

The Gardener contacted Ryan two weeks later with alarming news. The Merthyr surgeon had confused Jason with another imminent patient called Jayson. Jason’s arms were amputated three inches below his shoulders. They were still as broad as before but there was almost no chance of the boy manipulating artificial arms in the manner he had expected. Jason was distraught, having lost the possibility of long handless forearms. Ryan removed the surgeon from his list and demanded an explanation on how such mishaps could be avoided in future. The surgeon was beside himself with grief and offered to pay for the welfare of the man he had inadvertently maimed far beyond what was intended. Ryan felt sorry for him and replied that termination of contract would be punishment enough. The matter would be covered over unless the patient was dissatisfied with his financial reparations. Jason would just have to learn to use the same kind of artificial arms as Ryan’s. It was not the end of the world. But his career was at an end. He had seen the last of Mireille Urbana, that was certain. Ryan considered three million euro to be a large enough compensation. Jason would be able to lead the life he wanted with such a sum. He would be living it vicariously for the next few months until he learned how to wield his hooks to his best advantage. He could never be as dexterous as Ryan, not with such meagre stumps.

 

His parents had been horrified to hear of their son’s accident. A hit-and-run. The police were searching for the culprit. Traces of paint from a red Mazda had been found on Jason’s jeans. Communication with the Japanese manufacturer on the forensic details proved too time consuming and expensive and the lad was left with a judgment of ‘unresolved’. He was beginning to get the hang of his new steel and carbon arms and was satisfied with the financial compensation he had been granted. The cost of his amputations was also waived.. Life would go on. When he could control his artificial arms well enough, he might call Ryan and tell him what had taken place. Maybe they’d invite him up for a beer. Actually, truth be told, he rather liked his long black carbon arms. He liked the way they hung motionless as he walked. He attracted attention by appearing slightly robotic and he enjoyed the newly-found attention.

 

Ryan and Craig took one of the morning’s first seven elevens to the station.  Ryan was wearing his full-length legs but had his stubbies packed in a suitcase which he was using almost as a walking stick. Craig had his stuff smashed into his backpack. A dozen or so T-shirts, pants and his suit jacket and shirt. They would have to dress for dinner on the Orient or they would not be served. The traveller’s guide mentioned nothing about etiquette for passengers with artificial limbs. Craig transferred from his wheelchair onto a normal seat for the first leg of their journey on the slow train into St Pancras. The Eurostar to Paris was half full. They used the time to snooze. They spent the night in a handsome old hotel near the Gare de L’Est. Craig arranged in advance for assistance to board the traditional Pullman the next morning. The old, refurbished carriages were anything but accessible but easy enough to navigate once aboard. They were uniquely spacious.

 

Seb was surprised to be granted a two week holiday so early in the year. Paul had said he could manage perfectly well for a few days. Ryan asked Seb to drop in once or twice on him to make sure the place had not burned down and to collect the post. Seb was a little annoyed at missing out on an opportunity to have his fingers and thumb amputated. He wrote an application to the Gardener right away. His housemate Zac had landed himself a job as an art director in a small ad agency which specialised in producing catalogues and brochures for print. It was solitary work which suited Zac well. He had his own tiny office in a room lined with graphics yearbooks and albums. It was a great place to read and relax as well as concentrate on work. Zac frequently removed his legs after arriving and sat with splayed stumps in his shorts. The other staff knew to warn him in advance if a customer was on the way unless he wanted to shock them with his leglessness. So Seb was on his own at home until the evening when Zac and Jay arrived back and Paul was alone in Attenborough. It felt very odd.

 

M A Y

 

Apart from needing to travel to a completely different station in Budapest to change trains, the journey to Debrecen was perfect in every way. It was scenic, charming – even Ryan began to feel like a dignified and respectable gentleman rather than a limbless skinhead from Peckham – the food was delicious and plentiful and the couchettes were supremely comfortable. Their compartment was kept spotlessly clean and the beds made up for them. Not once did they catch sight of a cleaner or maid.

 

The Hungarian prosthetist was a jovial man, late fifties, Van Dyke beard, and multilingual in a variety of central and eastern European languages. But he knew no English except for Hello, yes, no. Craig had visited Hungary before and could remember a few words. The professor broke the language barrier by excusing one of his students from classes and brought him in to act as interpreter. First of all, Craig was stripped naked and his short stumps were explained to the lad. This was obviously going to be an education for the professor’s students too. The student’s name was Balint and he was a second year student. He had spent a semester in Richmond, studying at Roehampton. He now spoke English with a west London accent. Craig had compiled a gallery of photographs showing exactly the kinds of bucket he wanted. Something up to his belly, hole at the front with removable covering for toilet purposes, flat base to allow comfortable sitting. Small protrusions at front for his negligible stumps. The other apparatus was similar but had reciprocating legs under them, about twenty-five centimetres tall and with a similar travel with each step. The feet were broad and slightly curved from front to back. By simply rocking his body, the short steel legs would move forward and slow progress was possible without engaging the patient’s hands, of which Craig had none. The professor casted Craig’s lower body, placed an order for legs from the manufacturer in Germany and through his interpreter, assured Craig that everything was Very good and now you must wait ten days. Craig was expected to return several times for various trials and test fittings.

 

Ryan was bored. Craig had explained to him that Debrecen was a university town, one of Europe’s oldest just like Uppsala. But there was almost nothing for a tourist to do or see other than visit museums and Ryan simply was not interested. He would not understand what he was looking at. The centre of town was paved with cobblestones which had been recently installed after ripping out fifty year old asphalt laid after the bomb damage suffered during the war and subsequent uprising. Ryan found a Bierkeller and learned the Hungarian word s ő r. It was blisteringly hot so Ryan spent much of the day either inside or in the garden under a large sunshade. His stumps were sweaty all the time and he was forced to wash his stumps and change his stump socks several times a day. Craig asked room service to launder their stump socks by hand and so they struggled through the wait for Craig’s buckets. He visited the professor’s workshop three times for checks and on day nine, he was presented with two almost identical buckets. He lay on his back as the version with reciprocating legs was fitted to his torso and helped to stand. Craig had seen enough YouTube videos to know how to operate the prosthesis. He took a few minutes to accustom himself to the new sensation of enclosure and was able to rock himself forward across the room. It was impossible to turn. Balint picked him up by his armpits and turned him around. Craig’s hooks were slightly too short to allow him to do it for himself. But Craig was otherwise delighted. He would be able to adjust to using the bucket with a change of hooks – even farmer’s hooks might be long enough to make a difference. Or he could finally order himself some peg arms. The other bucket was comfortable too and Craig was easily able to propel himself across the room with his hooks. Thank god he still had his elbows. It felt so secure to be in a completely inert bucket. It would make such a difference to everyday life. Being able to move around without the fear of damaging or knocking his stumps and not needing to wear clothing other than a T-shirt. The black carbon shell was perfectly decent, if not perhaps entirely suitable as evening wear.

 

Ryan accompanied Craig on his last visit to collect his new equipment. He noticed a poster on the wall showing a bilateral AE amputee like himself using a pair of unusual prostheses. They looked extremely light, the forearm part comprising only a narrow tube terminating in a hook. Through Balint, Ryan asked where he might get a pair like that. The professor said he could have them made on the premises. Ryan asked the price and timetable and the deal was done. While Craig sat in his legless bucket in his wheelchair, the professor scanned Ryan’s upper arm stumps with a laser and later sent the edited data to a printer. The tube’s length was decided at twenty centimetres. Ryan chose a size slightly shorter than usual. The professor spoke to Balint who told Ryan to return the following afternoon. His new prostheses would be ready on a standard issue adjustable harness. There was the final question of colour. The guy in the poster had orange tubes. Ryan thought for a moment and asked if they could be metallic. They could indeed and Ryan’s tube arms would resemble aluminium.

 

Ryan looked at train timetables. Assuming his arms would be ready the next day, they would catch the return Orient Express calling at Budapest on the following afternoon. Craig was quite prepared to wait an extra day. He had fallen in love with Hungarian pastries and the coffee culture all over again. Ryan made reservations from Debrecen to Leeds and would confirm them all and pay the instant he had well-fitting ultra-thin arms. They looked well horny. Paul would go crazy.

 

The professor delegated the job of manufacturing Ryan’s new arms to three of his students. One adjusted the scanned data to produce virtual models for three dimensional printing and sent it forward for printing. Ryan’s small above elbow sockets took a total of six hours to print. Another student finished the edges and drilled holes for screw rivets to hold the sockets to the harness. The third student adjusted the four cables to approximately the correct length and fed them along the arms. Left and right aluminium hooks were screwed into the forearm tubes. The professor checked their handiwork in the morning and sent a message to Ryan to come and test the arms. He left the hotel in a taxi and made his way to the lab. One of the students alerted his professor, who soon arrived. Balint interpreted.

            – My young friend, you have a fine new pair of prosthetic arms. Please take your time to test them. My student – that’s me – will make the adjustments. I am pleased to say your payment has arrived so you may take the arms with you today. It has been a pleasure working with you. A viszontlátásra!

            – Let’s go in the lab and you can try the arms.

The professor returned to other matters. Balint helped Ryan remove his old prostheses and held up the new ones for inspection. They looked extremely alien.

            – I think it is not tight enough. I will make the harness OK first.

Ryan donned his new arms.

            – God!  These are so light! I hardly know I’m wearing anything.

Balint adjusted the straps, keeping the tension symmetrical. Ryan tested the harness by trying to reach across his chest. Balint checked the range of motion and was satisfied and asked Ryan if he was comfortable. Next they tested the elbows which seemed to be correct and finally the hooks. Balint asked Ryan to open and close them at various angles and marked the cables with a grease pencil.

            – The cables must be tighter. I will take the arms off.

Balint lifted the apparatus from Ryan’s shoulders and took it to a workbench. Ryan stood with bare stumps watching Balint remove the arms from the harness in order to access the cable lock. He twisted the cable until it shortened sufficiently and shortened the straps on the harness by the same amount.

            – Try again.

Ryan donned the arms and tried the hooks. They immediately felt more responsive. He picked up a screwdriver from the bench and moved it from one hook to the other. He lifted the arms above his head and tried opening the hooks. He tried bringing each hook to his mouth. The forearms were five centimetres shorter than his other arms, as he had requested. The unnatural length added to their shock effect.

            – I like these very much. I think they are perfect like this.

            – Good. You know you can adjust them more if you want. Shall I cut the straps shorter?

            – Yes, good idea. Leave about five centimetres.

Balint tidied the harness, removing extra length from the straps. It looked a lot better.

            – I think that is all, Ryan. I wish you good luck with your new arms.

            – Thank you very much. See you again sometime.

Ryan hooked up his old arms by the steel harness ring and carried them out to the forecourt. He tried using his phone to order a taxi and discovered that the new lightweight aluminium hooks would not work on his touch screen. There should be a stylus in his trouser pocket. It was easier to get the shorter arm into it. He found it and used it to operate his phone. He returned to the hotel gripping his phone in one hook and his old artificial arms in the other. He asked the driver to get his credit card out of his pocket and swipe it for him and went up to his room, attracting more than the usual amount of attention. Craig opened the door when he rapped on it and appraised the new-look Ryan.

            – I didn’t think you could look any more surprising but you’ve managed it. Come on in. Are you happy with them?

            – You wouldn’t believe how light they are.

            – They’re shorter too, aren’t they?

            – Yeah, a bit. I don’t think it makes much difference.

            – Are you going to wear them from now on?

            – Dunno. I might. The only trouble is the hooks are aluminium and they won’t work the phone screen.

            – You can swap one of the steel hooks over, can’t you? We’ll have to ask someone to do it for you.

            – Yeah. Poor disabled us.

            – Right. Are we set for departure? Have you booked the tickets yet?

            – They’re booked but not paid for. From here to Budapest tomorrow afternoon, Orient Express from Budapest and Eurostar to London. I’ll get the other tickets later. Are we staying overnight in Paris?

            – Probably be best, I reckon. You do that and then we can go and get some lunch. What do you want to eat?

            – Anything that isn’t covered in paprika.

            – Well, good luck with that.

 

They found a Greek restaurant and had salads and meatballs without a trace of red pepper. Ryan ate his whole meal with his ‘fingers’, amused by both the negligible weight of his arms and their odd appearance. They spent the rest of the afternoon in a beer garden, the former back yard of an elegant nineteenth century building now re-purposed as a shopping mall. Progress. It was convenient for Craig, temporarily in a wheelchair, since it was on street level and had easy access to an invalid WC. He was not wearing either of his new buckets because he needed larger shorts to cover them and it would be easier to shop for them in Loidis than in Debrecen.

 

They took their time over breakfast and dressing the next morning. There was plenty of time before the fast train to Budapest left. They would have lunch on the train before their sumptuous evening meal en route to Vienna. Both Craig and Ryan had problems with their new prosthetics. Ryan decided to wear his old arms because the new ones took up less room in his suitcase. Craig split the seam at the back of a pair of black shorts and forced them on over his legless bucket. They had a couple of large carrier bags acquired during the visit. The bucket with reciprocating legs just fitted into one although the feet poked out the top. It could not be helped. They spent a couple of frustrating hours with nothing to do and too full of anticipation to concentrate on anything. They checked out of the hotel and thanked the staff for their attention and help and made their way to the station. Craig’s second bucket hung from the wheelchair’s handles at the back and Ryan dragged both their suitcases. It was awkward, inconvenient and slow. Fortunately their train was a single, low-floor walk-through unit and easily accessible. Craig stayed in his wheelchair for the journey to Keleti station.

 

Transferring to the other station in Budapest was the major obstacle on the entire route. They found a people-carrier taxi outside Keleti with a patient and helpful driver who lifted Craig into a seat and folded his wheelchair. Ryan managed to pull himself inside while the driver stashed the suitcases. The ride itself took less than ten minutes in midday city centre traffic and the same rigmarole was repeated in reverse. Craig handed over a five thousand forint banknote as a tip.

            – Köszönöm a segítséget. Viszontlátásra.

            – Kössz! Bon voyage.

            – Where did you learn that?

            – I just sort of picked it up. I’ve been here before, remember.

            – What did you say?

            – I said Thankyou for helping us.

            – Oh. Jolly good. Shall we find someone who can get us onto the train?

            – Yeah, let’s ask at the desk and then we could get some coffee. Still got half an hour.

 

The Orient Express pulled in twenty-five minutes late. It would make up the lost time over the next two days. It was unheard of for it to arrive late in Paris. Two young stationmasters assisted the limbless travellers onto the train, to their private couchette and stashed their suitcases under a berth. Craig handed over his last big note.

            – A kett ő  re. Jó az?

            – Igen! Köszönöm. Szía!

They saluted and left the train.

            – How much was that you gave them?

            – Five thousand. It’s about twenty-five euros.

            – OK. A nice tip.

            – Yeah, I hope so. The taxi driver got the same, too.

            – Good show. What do you want to do? I’m going to take a nap before dinner.

            – I think I’ll join you. You go up one end of the bed and I can have the other.

Ryan took his legs and trousers combo off and Craig shrugged off his arms. Ryan’s arms were so light he simply gripped one hook with the other so he could not crush them if he turned. They barely felt the train pull out of the station before they were both asleep.

 

Craig felt slightly ridiculous wearing the black shorts with a black jacket at dinner. It was the first time they had the chance to see some of the other passengers and vice versa. He pulled himself onto a chair and Ryan moved his wheelchair away from the table. He positioned himself above his own seat and collapsed onto it.

            – You’re too far from the table, mate.

            – Yeah, I realised that. The waiter can help. I can’t even wriggle forward with the bucket on.

            – Oh Craig. You are so disabled. What is to become of us?

            – Hah! It would be good if we had a crystal ball and could see ourselves in ten years time. I bet neither of us would recognise ourselves. But I’ll tell you one thing – I’m going to be walking tall on two legs in ten years.

            – Oh really? Is that what you want? How are you going to do that?

            – Not sure yet. Two legs for disart amputations and a pair of crutches and I’ll be scooting around like I always used to.

            – You’d better start off scooting in that other bucket first, I reckon.

            – Well, exactly. That’s half the reason I wanted it. Start small and work up.

            – You are a funny bugger. Here comes the waiter. I want schnitzel and chips and a big slice of gâteau for afters.

            – We have to look at the menu first. Behave yourself or I won’t bring you here again.

            – Bon soir, messieurs.

            – Good evening.

            – Good evening, gentlemen. Would you care to see the menu?

He held out the leatherbound folders in the usual manner but watched carefully to be sure the amputees had firm grips before relinquishing his own.

            – Would you like something to drink?

            – What do you want, Ryan?

            – Shall we have a bottle of house plonk? It was alright last time. Quite nice.

            – May we have a bottle of vin de la maison?

            – Certainly, sir.

He noticed Craig’s chair was abnormally far from the edge of the table. He gestured with a white-gloved finger.

            – Would you like me to…?

            – Oh, yes please. Very kind of you.

Craig used the menu to push against the table for support as the waiter adjusted his chair. It was next to impossible to sense anything with his backside and he was slightly apprehensive about toppling from the chair.

            – Thank you. I would like the Vienna schnitzel with frites and my friend will have the same.

            – Very good, messieurs.

He took the menus back gently and gave the slightest of bows. Just the extra touch of elegance. Ryan smiled in spite of himself.

 

The meal was delicious, elegantly presented. Ryan ate an enormous slice of gâteau after and washed it down with half a bottle of plonk, as he called it. It was a decent French réservé.

            – What do you want to do? Shall we go and sit in the bar before it gets too crowded?

            – Yeah. Good idea.

Ryan got to his feet and pulled Craig’s chair away from the table. He fetched the wheelchair and steadied Craig as he transferred. Craig pushed against the tyres with his hooks and slowly moved along the carriage and into the next one. The heavy carpeting did him no favours, neither did Ryan like walking on it. But the bar was almost empty and they found a comfortable corner from which to observe the other patrons and the sunset over the northern Hungarian plains.

 

The next two days passed peacefully. Other passengers acknowledged them politely at mealtimes and the only outside company they had was a sixteen year old German lad with a sly sense of humour who wanted to practise his English. Ryan did his best to teach him colloquial South London with its glottal stops and lazy vowels. Jürgen watched the men using their hooks but never asked about them.

 

They overnighted in Paris before leaving the Age of Elegance behind and catching a Eurostar back to the present. There was a massive demonstration taking place in London, a protest against spiralling inflation, and traffic was at a standstill. They walked and wheeled the quarter mile between St Pancras and Euston, tired and feeling disillusioned. It would be good to get home and shut the rest of the world out.

 

They spent a couple of days relaxing. Paul had been keeping an eye on LeedsLink and confirmed that everything was running well. Wages and invoices had been paid, and a few emails had arrived from tv viewers who had seen their interview. Craig was active on his automatic stubbie legs. The only trouble with them was that he could not wear that bucket and sit in a chair. The legs prevented it. Craig began to regard the bucket with legs as a strictly temporary learning device. He might chat with Ryan about getting himself a pair of disart prostheses and a pair of peg arms. The legs need not be full-length, at least, not his first pair. With longer reciprocating legs, he would be able to take longer steps and walk a little faster.

 

Ryan asked Paul to swap the aluminium hooks for the spare steel ones from his old prostheses. It was easier to operate his phone with a hook’s fingers than with a stylus. He sat on the balcony with a beer and a smoke and flicked through the long list of messages which he had ignored completely for nearly three weeks. Llewellyn had apparently succeeded with his first bilateral trans-femoral amputations for the Harvester. Ryan would have to ask him about below knee and below elbow reductions. There was an application which caught his eye. An existing amputee wished to have all digits on his right hand shortened to the first joint. Ryan had a strong suspicion that it was Seb. He had mentioned wanting a stubbed set of fingers. The disadvantage was that he would be out of commission for at least four weeks. Ryan would casually bring up the subject of finger amputation over lunch and find out if Seb had written to the Gardener. Ryan approved left above knee amputations for three applicants and requested more information from three more. Strange how that was such an overwhelmingly popular amputation. Ryan wished he had more information and more feedback from his successful creations. It would be interesting to know how they were tackling daily life with a new pair of hooks or balancing on a single artificial leg. Even more interesting to actually see them in action. He should make it a requirement to submit a five minute post-amputation video. Perhaps that was a little too voyeuristic, though. He could always send a request for post-op info via the relevant Gardener.

 

Ryan was feeling antsy. He had just had a superb visit to Mitteleuropa, been treated like a king on the way back, had a new pair of arms and was comfortably settled in a stunningly beautiful flat with a big cigar and the first of several lagers. Something was missing. And he simply could not pinpoint what it was. What could he possibly want that he did not already have? And then it dawned on him. He had no mates. No-one ever dropped in or called him. Apart from his good mates Paul and Craig and the essential Seb, he was alone. Lonely. It really was time to start getting out again like when they lived in Peckham. Back then they were hardly ever at home. Always up to some shitty thing, spreading tags everywhere, catcalling after girls, insulting anyone who looked like they might have a brain and a job. It was as if the immense amount of money he won had automatically lifted him above all that, although he had no head for heights and would have rather stayed where he was. He doubted whether he could ever go back. A gang of local skinheads were not likely to accept a quadruple amputee into their clique, regardless of how snazzy he looked in bleachers and thirty-holers. With two steel hooks instead of hands. He shrugged and lifted his forearms to stare at his hooks. Why had he wanted such things? What was the attraction? He could remember lusting after hooks every time he watched a video of a hook-user. But they were useless things. He could not even wipe his own arse. His stumps were numb, remnants of himself which held his artificial limbs on and nothing else. His sense of touch was completely gone. It would mean so much to wank with his own warm hand again or feel the promising chill of a can of lager.

 

            – I’m going into town for a while. Might be back late.

He called Seb to help him dress in bleachers and to fit his old thirty-hole skinhead boots onto his long prosthetic legs. He exchanged his arms for the shorter new set which hid his hooks and put a khaki MA-1 jacket on. The sleeves ballooned enough to hide his non-existent forearms. He looked at his old self-image in the mirror and saw the mismatch between the full beard, the adult face and the teenager’s clothes he was wearing. He could no longer pretend to be young. He had changed. The world had changed. He took a bottle of whisky onto the balcony and shouted at Seb to pour him a tall drink into a decent glass.

 

The Harvester drank himself into oblivion while his confused flatmates watched with concern.

 

Ryan spent the next day in or on his bed. Seb brought a bucket for him to vomit into. Ryan lay naked, his arm stumps twitching, his leg stumps splayed in resignation. There was clearly something wrong but none of the guys knew why or how to help. Maybe Ryan was just pissed off at something or other. Craig seemed to understand best.

            – It’s coming back to this rotten country after being abroad. That’s why. Seeing ordinary people laughing and enjoying their lives for three weeks and then coming back here to the suspicious, frightened feeling everyone has these days. It’s enough to turn anyone’s stomach.

            – Well, I hope he soon snaps out of it. It’s like walking on eggshells at the moment.

 

Ryan rallied the next day. He apologised for having been a bit of a shit and appeared to be his old normal self again. But he had changed in a way which his friends could not have imagined. He ordered Seb to collect all his skinhead clothes, the boots, the jackets, the bleachers and the rest of his past life and to dispose of it all. Seb could take it for recycling if he could be bothered but Ryan just wanted it out of his sight. Paul was not too surprised. He himself had little use for his old uniform and a T-shirt was a T-shirt. On the rare occasions they went out together, they both had smart black suits, the shorts sewn closed to hide their stumps. Ryan spent more time than before on the balcony, poking at his phone for hours on end and the others left him to it. Paul watched videos and Craig had his business to look after.

 

The Harvester became sadistic. A young man, barely twenty, described his life-long need to be one-handed and to replace it with a prosthetic hook. The Harvester approved and arranged with the surgeon for bilateral BE amputations. The lad would learn to live with his hooks, never daring to reveal how he had lost his hands, although he had intended to lose only one. Another bloke had always needed to lose his feet and to enjoy the sleek beauty of two long legs which ended in rounded stumps. Ryan arranged for two knee disarticulations. Other men who requested the usual left above knee went home with a right above knee stump. It took several months before word began to spread around the notoriously secretive network that not all the amputations requested were being undertaken. Complaints to the Gardeners were acknowledged but explained away with excuses ranging from human error to the Harvester knows best. But the Gardeners themselves were disturbed by some of the limbless men who had wished for one configuration and ended up with something more severe or different. The Harvester received enquiries about how such mishaps were occurring and usually ignored them. Ryan was especially keen on turning arm amputee applicants into bilateral arm amputees. There were several young men around western Europe facing a struggle to learn how to use bilateral hooks to dress, work, eat and love. They had no-one to complain to, no recourse for compensation. They had asked for amputation and got more than they had expected. Most of them knuckled under and faced their new reality. But there were suicides. The Harvester never learned of them.

 

T W O   Y E A R S   L A T E R

 

The Gardeners gradually realised the growing discrepancy between what their applicants had asked for and what they returned home without. None of them knew each other’s identities before the German Gardener began a BIID-related site on the Dark Web and cautiously drew other Gardeners into his growing clique. All of them had stories of young applicants in particular who had returned after several weeks with more severe disabilities than they had expected. Before long, they concluded that it was the Harvester who was causing additional amputations. The participating surgeons were unofficially known to several of the Gardeners and they corroborated suspicions that they were receiving specific instructions from the Harvester on what procedures were due. Once or twice, a surgeon discussed the planned work beforehand with the applicant and a mishap was avoided. Otherwise, the new bilateral amputees had no choice but to grin and bear it. Many young men who wanted an artificial left leg ended up waddling on stubbies and others who wished to use a hook found themselves almost completely devoid of arms, condemned to use poorly responsive full-length prostheses for the rest of their lives. The chief difficulty for the Gardeners was to discover who the Harvester was in order to put a stop to his mischief. He controlled the amputations and more importantly, the flow of money. Some of the older Gardeners were aghast at the way a system which had been working perfectly for many decades had suddenly turned into a horror show.

 

Ryan learned of his alterations with pleasure. He reasoned that if someone had lusted after a hook since boyhood, he would be enchanted with two of them. Someone who wanted a foot off would surely enjoy awaking to find the foot missing, along with the entire opposing leg, disarticulated with no sign of a stump. Ryan did not think of himself as a wicked man. He kept the severe treatments down to about one in twenty. He felt sexual pleasure at the idea of his mutilated men. He hoped they were good-looking and muscular. Their stumps and artificial limbs could only enhance them. He masturbated with his hooks, imagining his surprised creations.

 

The Dark Web underwent regular revisions for security reasons. One or two leaks resulting in imprisonment alerted its controllers to update the base code and the algorithms which patrolled for intruders. For the first time, artificial intelligence was incorporated into the network. It became stronger, stealthier and ever more secretive as the AI learned. Ryan knew nothing of this. The network of Gardeners and surgeons was suddenly left open to scrutiny. Anyone with the technical know-how could now virtually locate the computer from which a message had been sent. It took three months until a gardener in Denmark announced that he had broken the code and found that the Harvester lived in Leeds, England. He passed the data to an English friend who worked in intelligence technology and who pinpointed the transmitting machine as being located in one of the city’s new towers. He would be able to locate the precise address with more recent data. Ryan was taking a break from his Harvester role. His mood had improved recently and the trio were back to sitting out on the balcony each evening with a drink and one of their massive cigars. Due to the change in the previous version of dark web security, Ryan was suddenly able to read communications between the various Gardeners and the IT specialist who had surely put two and two together and realised that the quadruple amputee on the top floor must be the Harvester.

 

The following evening, Ryan was scrolling through new applications when the lift alarm sounded. No-one was expected. Paul crutched over to the lift, ready to push the door release button. Moments later, voices called out.

            – SAS! Open the door or we blow it open!

Ryan, on the balcony as usual, twisted around in alarm and saw three armed soldiers running across the living space. He knew what was going on. He hit the button to close the balcony door and pulled one of the windows open. Wind and drizzle rushed in. He pulled himself from his GyroChair onto the window frame and watched the militia kick at the balcony door. As it buckled and the first soldier burst through, raising his gun, Ryan dropped into the drizzle.

 

–  T H E   R E D U C T I O N   O F   S K I N S  –