WHATEVER HAPPENED TO LIMB STEEL?

 

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO

LIMB STEEL?

 

A continuation of the narrative begun in Extension (April 2022) by strzeka (7/24)

 

Limb was probably the first to notice a change in the atmosphere of the house. There was a lack of the old communal solidarity which had been so important to maintain morale and security among the leather torsos. After voluntarily shedding his arms after the Berlin débâcle, Zero had retreated deeper into solitude while his short arm stumps healed and he adapted his mentality to that of a quadruple amputee. He had deliberately crippled himself more severely than was necessary if the goal was merely to use artificial limbs. Limb had himself lusted to become a man with four prostheses who functioned independently and found satisfaction in his skill at producing his own artificial limbs. He used his hooks almost as naturally as his hands and his gait on his above‑knee artificial legs was never less than impressive. Everyone in the house should have been content with their situation, but they were not.

 

Limb was forced to the conclusion that the root cause of the dissatisfaction was a loss of sexual contact. The torso men had their own intimate alliances and frequently relieved themselves inside each other’s limbless bodies but Zero, who had previously always chosen a torso for his nocturnal needs, now remained in his rooms with Limb. Zero’s status had originally derived from being a leather master who persuaded his lovers to undergo a series of voluntary amputations with the guarantee that he, Zero, would care for them and provide a secure home where the wannabes could indulge their darkest and most masochistic desires. Zero made love to each of his cripples at least once a week. And then came Berlin, Zero’s own crippledom and his marriage to Limb. Regular trysts with the torsos stopped immediately. They were left to create their own solutions for erotic relief. Zero and Limb had their own methods of relieving tension. Zero had found it exciting to dominate Limb with his longer, more imposing stumps. Gradually the situation reversed and Limb became the top. Limb found it easy to force Zero’s torso into the position he wanted with his handsome forearm stumps and was not averse to kicking Zero’s torso around with his long thigh stumps. Zero loved being abused by his quadruple amputee husband, the only man he had ever deemed eligible to fuck him.

 

Stub continued in his rôle as chef. Limb was almost always present while Stub rustled up breakfasts for the inmates. Their friendship extended way back to when Limb, then known as Kyle Byrne, first entered the house and Stub had shown so much enthusiasm for inviting the tall young leatherman to join them. With leg stumps only slightly shorter than Limb’s, Stub had been a great source of encouragement while Limb recovered from his bilateral arm amputations and the two men had continued to be fast friends after Limb gained his handsome thigh stumps. Stub often made imaginative suggestions for outrageous protheses and currently stood on metre high stubby legs which Limb had printed. They were slightly conical and the tips were thick pads of black rubber. Stub had worn the same design for three years and was grateful to Limb for allowing him the joy of thigh stumps with the convenience of approximately normal height. Stub tottered on his pegs rather than walked. He learned to navigate steps and other obstacles, often using one of his hooks if necessary to grip something as he swung his pegs. Of all the short‑stumped torsos, Stub was the best equipped and most adventurous.

Limb’s friendship with Stub was all the more remarkable for the fact of Stub’s liaison and later marriage to Nub, with whom Limb had had a long affair spanning his initial amputations. Nub had achieved only one above‑knee stump in the years at the house, reasoning that more severe maiming would make his job as housekeeper more difficult. Nub was the least extrovert of the residents and the most well adapted to prosthetic life. His long black leg prosthesis was perfectly adjusted for use with the heavy engineer’s boots which Nub favoured and the lower leg section appeared muscular and toned. Nub wore his prosthesis from morning until night with the exception of Sundays when he donned his rigid peg leg to maintain his skill at walking on it.

 

Limb and Nub rarely saw each other. They were still friends but Nub suspected that Limb bore a grudge because of the way their relationship had disintegrated. In fact, Limb had been hurt by Nub’s behaviour but had long since put it out of his mind and forgiven Nub, especially after he himself forged an evolving relationship with Zero and became legless. Relearning to function as a man in his mid twenties with a second pair of artificial limbs had effectively detracted Limb’s attention from his emotional worries. By the time he was walking confidently on his prostheses, Limb felt no animosity toward his erstwhile lover.

 

Zero had changed both physically and mentally since meeting Limb in a dank Acton cellar where leather bikers convened every few weeks. He had immediately spotted a potential competitor in the boy, who had dared to arrive on his first visit smoking a huge stogie. Zero seized his chance to mould him to his own desires after learning that the boy had an amputee fetish and intended studying to become a prosthetist. Within a year, Limb became a bilateral amputee wielding a pair of hooks in place of his healthy hands. His fate was sealed. Limb was unlikely ever to find employment as a prosthetist outside. Zero funded Limb’s education and had created a resident private prosthetist who could and did make professional quality prostheses for everyone in the house.

 

In hindsight, Zero doubted that he had acted more rashly than was wise. His legs, wich had been amputated twice, were nothing more than rounded nubs, and although he had several pairs of stubbies, he found ambulating to be tiresome and futile. He sat in an electric wheelchair wearing a pair of prosthetic leg stumps to give the impression of still having most of his thighs. It was mainly a means to reassure himself. He regretted losing his long stumps and the opportunity of walking on his long stubbies, which he had found supremely erotic. Similarly, although he had come to terms with the loss of his arms almost entirely, he wished he could use his prosthetic hooks as elegantly as Limb. He usually wore his shortest artificial arms, mainly for their shock value. They were barely over a foot long, just enough for the hooks to engage across his chest. Zero believed that his short arm stumps represented a self‑imposed full stop to his career as a world‑renowned conductor. Even if his torso were positioned in front of an orchestra, his artificial arms could never express his emotion well enough to coax art from the ensemble. Zero considered it to be the world’s loss, not his.

 

The situation being what it was, it still came as a shock to hear that Stub and Nub had sourced a run‑down public house a kilometre away and intended converting it into some kind of art house café which might attract people like independent AI workers, writers and people in general intelligent enough to entertain themselves without background music and slot machines. It was Sunday morning when the entire household ate together, some seated around the table, others in trolleys close to the floor.

            – I am astounded, Stub. Do you really mean to move? Is your life here with us not enough for you?

            – Well, it’s a little difficult to explain, Zero sir. To cut a very long story short, Nub heard about the empty pub from Mylo who heard about it from his steelpunk friends.

            – Oh yes? Mylo, is this true?

            – Sure. They told me they were sorry to see it go because it was one of the places which would let them in. And one of them said the landlord was desperate to sell up and retire on whatever he had left because no‑one wants to visit a traditional pub anymore. They’re well past their sell‑by date.

            – So Nub and me pegged down there a couple of weeks ago and looked over the place and we reckon we could convert it into an attractive venue for solo workers and we’d live above it, sir.

            – I see. And when might all this be happening? You do realise that the house would lose its chief caretaker and cook, I assume?

            – We were thinking the first of April, sir. That gives you three months to find our replacements and we might be able to convert the pub by then. At least turn the upstairs storeroom into a loft.

            – Upstairs? Will that not be a little inconvenient?

            – Oh, there’s a lift. You see, the pub has no basement so the upstairs floor was used to store barrels of beer instead of a cellar. So there’s an old goods lift with old‑fashioned manual lattice doors that we’re going to modernise.

            – It sounds like you intend going through with this plan. We shall talk again about this. Limb, did you know about this?

            – No. This is the first I’ve heard. I think we’re going to need a new recruit or two. I can do some of the cleaning and laundry but I’m useless in the kitchen. We’re going to need at least a new cook.

 

Zero was silent with his head bowed, thinking. His artificial arms hung motionless by his side for nearly a minute until he revived and manipulated a hook towards his breakfast. The others torsos glanced at each other and continued with their meal.

 

Zero returned to his and Limb’s quarters without further comment. Nub assisted the torsos back to their communal room and ensured everyone’s leather hoods were secure and comfortable. The loudest sound was Edge’s gas mask filter clicking with every breath. Stub and Limb set to clearing the breakfast table.

            – That was quite a shock, Stub. How come you kept it a secret?

            – We weren’t sure how Zero would take it. You know how strict he is about security. I thought he might be angry with us.

            – He’s a lot calmer these days. I think his final leg amputations were a step too far, if you see what I mean. He’s more crippled than he intended to be, see? It took a lot of his energy to come to terms with his body.

            – Is he unhappy? I don’t like to think of him suffering.

            – He doesn’t suffer in the same way as most quad amps might because he has so many helpers. He always has had. I think he’s frustrated sometimes by being unable to play around with prosthetic limbs the way you and me can. We both have decent stumps for hooks and peg legs but Zero’s tiny leg stumps are next to useless and his arm stumps are too short. He has his different set of arms if he wants some variety but apart from his fake thigh stumps, he hasn’t asked for anything new for ages.

            – Lost interest, it sounds like. What about you, Limb? Are you happy?

            – I don’t really think about it. I suppose I am, really. After I got my hooks, I was on top of the world. You know, young and fairly good‑looking, and severely disabled with a great pair of arm stumps. I always wanted to use hooks. I never thought I’d ever get them, let alone at the age of twenty and paid for by Zero. I was genuinely happy then. I still love shoving my stumps into these sockets every morning and seeing steel hooks instead of hands.

            – I do too.

            – And later on, when I got my leg stumps, I was happy because I had become what Zero wanted of me and I felt we were equals.

            – Did he talk you into getting leg stumps? You mean it wasn’t your choice?

            – Well, I suppose I had the final say. I’d seen you and Nub walking on artificial legs and I thought, if they can do it, so can I.

            – And you can. You use artificial legs better than any of us.

            – Yeah. But somehow, I don’t feel the same about my leg stumps as I do about my arms. My legs are just so I can move around more easily than in the wheelchair. I’m not as excited at seeing them every morning and putting them on.

            – You’re lucky to have such long stumps though, Limb. You did the right thing choosing longer ones. I like my shorties, don’t get me wrong. It’s great to be able to use stubbies and these pegs but I’d have trouble trying to operate long legs like yours.

            – Why don’t you try, Stub? If you’re gonna be working in your pub, you might do better with a pair of conventional prossies rather than your peg legs. You never know how the public are gonna react to seeing us and it’s bad enough that our hooks are always on show for everyone to gawp at. That’s one advantage of having artificial legs—people don’t immediately realise I’m a quad.

            – Do you think I could manage a long pair like yours? Would you make them for me?

            – Sure. Why not? Are your pegs still comfortable? I could use your old files to make a new set of legs if they are.

            – Yep. These fit perfect.

            – Alright. That’s what we’ll do. Don’t tell Zero. Let me handle that.

            – Thanks, Limb. Gawd! Imagine me walking on legs!

            – You could be as tall as Nub.

            – Yeah! Let’s do that.

 

Now their secret was out of the bag, Stub and Nub were relieved that Zero had not kicked up a ruckus and took it as a tacit sign of approval. Nub was more at liberty to leave the house and took on the majority of the bureaucracy involved in the sale, the deeds, the conversion, the electricians, lift engineers ad infinitum. No-one asked where the money for all this was coming from, although Zero was keenly interested to know how Nub, his one‑legged housekeeper, could afford to buy an entire pub for renovation. To all intents and purposes, Nub had been disowned by his parents after he paid a rare visit after his amputation. They were disappointed that he had dropped out of art college which had cost them a pretty penny and horrified that their handsome boy turned up on crutches, bearded with a ridiculous moustache and a trouser leg tucked into his belt to conceal a leg stump. Both parents had known of their son’s amputee fetish and the truth was soon dragged out of him. It was a voluntary amputation, something which he had always wanted and he was considering having the other leg off too. He was shown the door and that was the last time he had seen his parents. His grandparents knew nothing of Nub’s transformation and would have reacted with much more sympathy and understanding had they known. Following their demise, Nub had inherited the proceeds of the sale of two large houses in the east Midlands and had more than enough ready cash to buy the pub for conversion into a home suitable for a pair of amputees. Both Nub and Stub were satisfied with their physical configurations and did not anticipate wanting further amputations. They were free to pursue their lives as they wished.

 

Limb was surprised to see how the news of losing Nub and Stub affected Zero. Instead of anger, the man seemed to rediscover some of his old zest for life.

            – I am not going to ask you to take over Nub’s duties, Limb. I intend replacing both Nub and Stub with new recruits. Do you have any potential candidates in mind?

            – Not really. No‑one I know personally but Stub mentioned the steelpunks which Mylo meets with every Thursday, I think. I know they’re fascinated by Mylo’s amputations. I was wondering if one or two of them might be interested in joining us, or maybe living on the outside and coming in every day.

            – I don’t want to employ outsiders, Limb. Any new recruits will have to live here with us. It’s the only way the torsos can function. They need an assistant on hand twenty‑four seven, not nine to five.

            – No, of course not. You’re right. The only other idea is to visit the dungeon again to see if we can persuade a wannabe fetishist to join us.

            – Or two. I was going to suggest you pay a visit next Saturday to scout the place. You could give the Night Rod a run.

            – Don’t you want to come too?

            – Limb, I fear I would act as a deterrent. No, I will not attend. But you—wear your leathers over your prostheses. Wear your officer’s cap and fire up a stogie.

            – You make me sound like a version of yourself when we first met.

            – Indeed. And look at the result. You only need to be present to attract attention. I trust your judgment, Limb.

 

Limb had not ridden his Night Rod for several months. He descended to the garage and pulled the custom cover off the bike. He touched the handlebar and the electromechanical adaptations which allowed a quadruple amputee to ride a low heavy motorcycle. His hooks appeared too delicate for the job. He would exchange them before Saturday for his rubber claws which could be adjusted to a crushing grip. His unique bike was still his prize possession. It was unfortunate that it was so inconvenient to mount and dismount. His artificial legs afforded none of the lower body control which was such an integral part of riding such a machine. Instead, he found it necessary to keep his speed down and to concentrate on his precarious balance. He would take the bike out to test it later in the week and if he was confident in his ability, he would turn up at the leather dungeon riding it, dressed in full leathers artfully concealing his prosthetic limbs.

 

Zero later summoned Nub and instructed him to fetch Mylo. Zero intended interviewing the steelpunk whom Stub had mentioned and wanted the man to attend as soon as possible. He was as impatient as ever and saw no reason why he should wait on other people’s convenience. He heard Mylo and Nub approaching several minutes later, Mylo’s stubbies beating a regular rhythm on the naked wooden floor accompanied by Nub’s steel cleat on the heel of his boot. Mylo rapped on the door with a hook.

            

Zero was wearing his artificial stumps and sat on his trolley, identical to the ones which the torsos used daily for their excursions to the kitchen for breakfast. His stumps were glossy black carbon fibre and they provided a physical advantage in improving the torso’s balance and a psychological advantage in reassuring Zero that he still possessed leg stumps, albeit facsimiles. He wore his longest artificial arms and Limb had fitted his husband’s motorcycle jacket onto the torso and placed his most expensive officer’s cap at exactly the correct angle. Zero heaved his shoulders to force his mechanical elbows to lock at ninety degrees and faced the door.

            – Come!

Nub opened the door and Mylo stumped inside. Nub remained unseen and closed the door. The sound of his cleat diminished before Zero spoke.

 

            – I want to talk to you about the steelpunks you meet. Are you going to see them this evening?

            – Yes sir. I intend meeting them again tonight.

            – You meet them every Thursday evening. Is that right?

            – Yes sir.

            – And you have done so for quite a while.

            – Yes sir, for several years.

            – And you trust them?

            – Of course I do! They’re great guys. They always take good care of me when I’m with them. They’re very considerate and the know what I can and can’t do with my hooks. They always help out if I’m having trouble with something.

            – That is gratifying to learn. Do they have jobs or are they on welfare?

            – Oh, they all work, sir. Two of them have their own little businesses. To tell the truth, they more or less had to because no‑one wanted to employ them, looking the way they do.

            – Why is that?

            – They’re all quite modified, sir, especially around the face.

            – Ha! I assume they know that you are quite modified too. Are they interested in amputation?

            – My best friend is, sir. He wants to walk on stubbies like mine, sir.

            – Does he, indeed? What is his name? I would like to meet him. Tell him I would like him to call in at his earliest convenience. I have a job offer for him if he is interested.

            – To take Stub’s job, sir?

            – Why do you assume Stub?

            – Because Stub’s our cook, sir. And he’s a cook.

The man’s fate was sealed.

 

Limb was working on Stub’s first pair of full-length artificial legs. He retrieved the files he had used to produce the long stubbies which Stub preferred, which he called his peg legs. Stub had learned to walk on them quite well inside the house, where the floors were flat and free of anything he might trip on. He exchanged them for a much shorter and thicker pair when he ventured outside, swinging his stumps around more vigorously. He had been a quadruple amputee for over a decade, and had started much as Limb had, first foregoing his hands for a pair of hooks and then his legs two years later. He was proud of his skill with his prostheses and had suggested several original adaptations which Limb had designed and printed. The long stubbies, his peg legs, were one such example. Limb was satisfied that Stub’s thigh sockets were the correct shape for the addition of a knee mechanism and the lower leg. He had an idea which might save a considerable amount of money if Zero agreed. Limb decided to wait until after Zero’s latest quest to find replacements for Stub and Nub was successful. He would be in a better mood and more likely to concede.

 

Mylo dressed in leather shorts and his leather jacket with shortened sleeves to allow easier use of his hooks. Mylo’s forearms were mostly intact, long enough to allow prosthetic sockets to fit tightly and securely. He used his hooks as unthinkingly as he had used his natural hands with years of practice except when his fellow torsos indulged in one of their regular group sex sessions. On such occasions, Mylo shed his hooks and stubbies and allowed the less well‑endowed torsos to rub their skin against his stumps in an effort to excite both him and themselves. Mylo’s long penis was a challenge for him. It was time‑consuming to position its head so it would enter his chosen torso. Now his tool was encased inside his shorts in a compartment which disguised its girth and length and he stubbed along to the pub where he met his steelpunk friends every week. He pulled himself inside with both hooks and stumped over to the worn velvet‑lined booth where he and his friends sat every week. He was the first to arrive. The bartender raised a hand in greeting and made a G&T which his friends would pay for, as was their tradition. The steelpunks arrived from different directions shortly after to continue their dialogue from where it had stopped the previous week.

 

            – Sy, there’s something I need to ask you. You know how I live in a commune with other amps, right? Well, the thing is, our cook is leaving and we’re looking around for someone to take his place and I was wondering—actually, I was hoping—I might be able to persuade you to take over from him. The only thing is, our boss insists that whoever gets the job moves in with us.

            – And you’re asking if I want the job, right? To come and cook for a load of spazzes?

Sy’s lip rings clicked against each other and twisted his lips making his speech indistinct.

            – Yeah, but don’t say spazzes where anyone can hear you. You can say amps. Short for amputees. It doesn’t sound as bad.

            – Yeah, whatever. So how much is he paying, this boss of yours?

            – That’s the thing, see? I really couldn’t say. The idea is that whoever gets the job moves in with the rest of us amps and lives with us, all expenses paid, on the condition that we get three cooked meals every day and they have to be decent, not some hospital slop. We’re amputees. We’re not sick or stupid.

            – Not like you, then.

            – Fuck off!

            – So what you’re saying is I’d move in, cook a breakfast, lunch and dinner and run the kitchen.

            – Yeah, that’s about it. And the other thing is, you get to look at a load of other guys’ stumps and artificial limbs and all that shit. I know you love it.

            – Yeah, I do. Alright, what do I have to do to meet your boss? Just rock up sometime?

            – Well, if you’re serious, let me know in advance and I’ll warn Zero. That’s his name.

            – Zero. Yeah, that sounds convincing. Alright, I might drop by. Whose round is it?

 

Sy, full name Sylvester Montgomery, had twelve hour shifts every day until the following Tuesday. He worked in a dark kitchen turning out pizzas and feta salads for delivery around south‑west London. He and his fellow chefs had honed their skills to a fine art and could produce as many as eight individual meals in as many minutes. Mylo had no inkling of this but Sy was an ideal candidate to take over from Stub. Sy’s own situation was as precarious as it had been for many years. He was officially homeless and had lived under bridges for a while until he was taken in by both his current employer and one of his colleagues, another heavily tattooed and pierced man who found Sy’s facial piercings fascinating and readily agreed to let him sleep on the sofa. Gradually they added more metal to their faces and emphasised them with tattoos. Sy had hidden most of his original tattoos with blackwork cover‑ups and now sported a solid black rectangle on his forehead and two matching rectangles on both cheeks. They appeared rectangular only from the front. From the side, the blackwork followed the contours of his face. His most prominent alteration was the interlocking row of lip piercings, four along his top lip and five long the bottom. He had regularly stretched them with ever thicker rings until now, they interlocked only with some effort and they interfered with his speech. His mouth and lips were obscured by the chrome rings which prevented his lips from producing labial sounds when he spoke. They clicked against his glass when he drank and he sucked hard to avoid allowing his drink to dribble onto himself. To some degree, Sy was already disabled by his extreme modifications. Eating, drinking and speaking were all challenges for him and he was always ready for more. He loved watching his legless leather friend gesticulating with his hooks, explaining this or that, and fantasised about what it might be like to walk like Mylo, on two rubberised stumps.

 

On Tuesday morning, Zero informed Limb that he had an interview with a prospective cook at ten o’clock and would appreciate it if Limb would allow him some privacy. Limb naturally agreed and sought out Stub, as always in the kitchen preparing vegetables for a stew. The two men collaborated in dicing carrots and potatoes, both of them comfortable with the task although neither had any sensation from their hooks.

            – Mylo’s mate just arrived. He’s quite the picture, honest. Geometric tattoos on his face and a mouth full of piercings.

            – What will Zero make of that?

            – We’ll have to wait and see.

            – I take it you didn’t find any volunteers at the leather club last Saturday?

            – No. No‑one took any notice of me. I stood there with a stogie in one claw and a bottle of beer in the other for about an hour and thought Fuck this. After that, I got back on my bike and rode around the centre of town just for the fun of it. It was deserted, nothing like it used to be. Just rows and rows of shuttered shops with people in sleeping bags outside them.

            – I know. It makes me sick. We’re lucky to have each other and a safe place here.

            – That’s why you moving out is so surprising. What if it doesn’t work out?

            – I reckon it will. Nub’s certain it will and even so, if the tech space doesn’t work out, at least we’ll still have a home upstairs in the loft. Nub reckons we’ll be able to manage on what he’s earning now over IT if all else fails.

            – Well, I hope so. I hope your tech space all works out. It sounds like it might.

 

Zero straightened his back and forced his short fleshy nubs into a new position inside his artificial stumps. He lifted a hook after staring at the steelpunk for several seconds. Sy leaned down and took hold of it carefully and shook it slightly once. Zero was impressed by the man’s consideration.

            – I understand you are interested in the position of cook in our community. Please sit.

Zero swung a hook in the general direction of the table, surrounded by six steel and leather chairs. Sy hesitated for a moment before crossing the room and carrying a chair back to face the limbless leatherman.

            – Thank you, sir.

            – I understand you know of us through one of our members.

            – Yes sir. Mylo meets with me and some friends every Thursday. It’s when most of us usually have time off work, you see.

            – What work do you do?

Sy explained the logistics behind a dark kitchen and how food was couriered around town.

            – Very long hours, though. Twelve hour shifts.

            – That seems excessive. If you were to join us, the hours would be no fewer but you would set your own timetables and work independently. We can also offer you your own living quarters when the present cook moves out.

            – That would be ideal, sir. I’m officially homeless but a good friend lets me share his flat. I’d be very grateful to have my own room.

Zero was fascinated by how the man’s speech was altered by the clicks emitted by his lip rings.

            – Good. Tell me what you know of our community. I’m sure Mylo must have told you something.

            – Well, not really sir. I know there are other amps living here and that they are leather bikers and fans of leather in general. But I’m afraid I don’t know much more than that. We do ask Mylo from time to time but he never expands on more than generalities.

            – Interesting. I can tell you we are a self‑sufficient community of men who have undergone various procedures to attain their ideal bodies. This involves amputation. Some of the men wish to replace arms or legs in favour of artificial limbs, others are content to savour limblessness with bare stumps. We have our own prosthetist who can manufacture basic artificial limbs for us as needed. Do you harbour any desires to reconfigure your body? I see you are no stranger to body modification.

            – If I’m quite honest, I sometimes wonder what it would be like to use the same kind of short legs as Mylo.

            – Ah. Mylo’s stubbies interest you?

Mylo had already told Zero that Sy had mentioned wanting thigh stumps.

            – Yes sir.

            – Perhaps something can be arranged later to turn that into reality.

 

There was further discussion about Sy’s disfunctional family background, his hopes and needs for remuneration and details about changing workplaces. The men agreed on the essentials and Sy would join the house when Stub and Nub moved out. As Sy departed, Zero already knew what his next body modification would be.

 

Limb continued his efforts to recruit a new housekeeper. Although he was capable to some extent of taking over Nub’s duties, he much preferred finding and training someone new, who might bring a breath of fresh air to the community. Someone good‑looking with an amputee fetish. What were the chances? He decided to wear leather shorts on his next visit to the leather dungeon, in order to advertise his amputee status. His sleek black carbon legs were sculpted to mimic those of a muscular male and Limb had no hesitation about riding through London traffic on a Saturday evening with his leg prostheses on display. He would have preferred to wear a short pair of arms with standard hooks but the Night Rod was too heavy and dangerous to operate without a good grip. His rubber claws on full‑length sockets were essential and he did not wish to remove them for a couple of hours with the leather crowd.

 

Limb’s shapely legs were identical to the pair he was crafting for Stub. The sockets were ready and Stub had tested them several times during manufacture. Limb wanted to use the knee mechanisms from Zero’s old pair. The man would never need full‑length legs again. It was logical to reuse existent equipment rather than purchase another pair but Limb was hesitant about discussing cannibalising Zero’s prostheses. Maybe when he was in a better mood. If Limb managed to find a replacement housekeeper to take over Nub’s duties, he could bring the matter up when he reported his success.

 

Nub was absent for most of the afternoons, overseeing conversion work in the pub. Both storeys had been gutted and the brick walls sandblasted. The wooden floors had been inspected and declared safe. Nub wanted both storeys to be left as open and unadorned as possible. The ancient goods lift was due renovation and the new version would be wheelchair accessible and operable with a prosthetic hook.

 

On Saturday afternoon, Limb began dressing for his fortnightly visit to the leather dungeon. His engineer’s boots were on his prosthetic feet and rather than remove them, he doffed his prostheses completely in order to feed his shorts onto the thighs from the top. He changed his T‑shirt, requiring removal of his arms, and put on a clean white T and his short‑sleeved leather shirt. He wanted to wear a white leather tie. Someone with hands could assist. Limb had no patience for ties or shoelaces. With his prostheses lying across his bed, he struggled to remove the control cables from the hooks and replaced the latter with his rubber claws. It was by far the most demanding aspect of using prosthetic arms. Limb had learned to be patient. It was possible to complete the task with his naked stumps, difficult though it may be. He donned his arms again and admired the broad rubber claws which looked even more alien than his steel hooks. He put his motorcycle jacket on and admired himself in a long mirror. His prosthetic legs melded well with the overall appearance. They could be mistaken at first glance for natural legs in skin‑tight jeans but their glossy surfaces soon altered that impression. Limb appraised himself for a couple of minutes, trying to see himself as others might see him. He savoured the sensation of his truncated legs held tightly by his sockets and the complete lack of sensation in his arms any further than his triceps. The cuffs directing his control cables gripped his muscular upper arms, hidden inside leather sleeves. He straightened his jacket with his claws and grunted in satisfaction. He checked his helmet, closed the chin strap and hung it from his arm. He sauntered down to the kitchen hoping to find Nub and Stub together. Nub would add the finishing touch to limb’s outfit by tying the white leather tie.

 

Seven miles distant, twenty‑four year old Peter Coombes was also doing his best to dress in his leathers. He had been an amputee for eighteen months after intentionally disarticulating his left hand. Unfortunately, no health service prosthetist would accept him as a patient and he could afford neither the services nor the equipment from a private clinic. He had been unemployed since he left college but had a meagre income from his video channel which heavily featured his stump. He had been inspired to amputate his hand after watching the good‑looking leather guy at the dungeon. He had two hooks and to Peter, nothing could be finer than to be a disabled stud with two hooks. He hoped he would see his idol again tonight. Quite often, he had not appeared and Peter was left alone with his fantasies. Peter concealed his arm stump with a black sock and left his flat for the twenty minute walk to the leather dungeon.

 

Nub was alone in the kitchen, idly scrolling through photos on his phone. He heard Limb’s distinctive footfall before he arrived and perked up.

            – Hi. I thought it was you. Are you going out?

            – Yup. Acton. Looking for your replacement, to be brutally honest. How’s the refurb going?

            – Not too bad. They’re still on schedule and the lift people are coming next week so that should be sorted soon and then we can slap some paint on the walls and get some furniture in.

            – Another few weeks, then.

            – If all goes well. How did things go with the steelpunk interview?

            – Zero’s going to try him out, see if he fits in. Did you see him?

            – Yeah, caught a glance. Distinctive, wouldn’t you say?

            – He is. I’m not sure I like his tattoos but his lip rings look fantastic.

            – So now you only need to find a new housekeeper. You want someone into amps, right? Is that why you’re showing off your legs?

            – More or less. I want some attention. Last time I was there, everyone just stood around eyeing each other.

            – They’ll have an eyeful when they see you. Right. I need to see about the laundry. Have a nice evening.

Nub pegged out and Limb gulped cold water direct from the tap. He put his helmet on, pushed the visor up and rocked along to the lift. He lifted his right prosthesis over the low seat of his Night Rod with both claws and walked the bike out onto the short driveway. He checked the garage door closed behind him and powered his matt black monster into early evening weekend traffic. The setting sun blinded him and he scrabbled at his visor with his left claw until it dropped, shielding his eyes. Seated on his customised motorbike, he felt free and powerful again. Effortless motion was a luxury compared to ordinary life with four artificial limbs. The raucous roar of his bike attracted attention and the sight of one of his prosthetic legs held it as he thundered towards west London.

 

There were few leathermen present as yet. Most of the clientele arrived after ten. Groups of three or four leathermen, all close friends, arrived for their fortnightly stint of standing around aimlessly, on display, daring others to interact. There were a couple of loners at the far end, where they could watch and be left alone. Limb walked past the familiar groups, receiving a couple of nods in scant recognition and stood looking towards the loners lining the back wall. His silhouette in the dark space was all they could see. Peter Coombs was certain that the figure was the man he had idolised ever since he first saw him and since they were both alone this time, he fought with his emotions. He wanted his idol to talk to him and to ask him stuff about his artificial hooks. He cleared his throat in readiness and pushed himself away from the wall.

 

            – Hello. I was hoping I might see you here tonight. My name’s Peter Coombs.

He lifted his right hand, knowing that his idol had a hook. Instead, Limb offered a rubber claw, causing Coombs to look down in shock.

            – Oh!

            – Sorry about that. I don’t have hands, see?

Limb also doubted that Peter Coombs had yet noticed his legs. In the gloom, they could be mistaken for tight skinny jeans.

            – I know. I thought you had hooks.

            – I do but I don’t use them when I’m on my bike. How do you know I have hooks, anyway? Have you been watching me?

Coombs gulped, knowing he owed an explanation and afraid of offending his hero.

            – Yes. I’ve seen you here before. Lots of times. Sir—I don’t know how to say this but you have been my ideal man ever since I saw you for the first time and you were smoking a big cigar with a hook.

            – Really? And you never thought to say hello?

            – No sir. I was afraid you would be offended somehow and I’d never see you again. I always try to see you every time I come here but quite often you’re not here.

            – No. I haven’t been coming as often as I used to before I lost my legs.

Coombs’ eyes widened in surprise. He looked down at Limb’s legs, taking in the engineer’s boots which were the de facto uniform and was astonished to distinguish the two naked prostheses.

            – Ah! I never realised! I didn’t know you were…

            – A quadruple amputee? Well, now you know.

 

Limb watched a variety of expressions flit across Coombs’ face. He leaned forward carefully and used his claws to indicate his thigh sockets.

            – My stumps end about here. Quite long, see?

            – That’s incredible. Honest, I had no idea.

            – Well, there’s no reason you should know. But I don’t keep it a secret. I mean, you can tell by the way I walk that I have artificial legs, surely. Someone like you, a bit of a connoisseur if I’m guessing correct. You like seeing amputees, right? That’s why you like seeing my hooks.

            – Yeah. I’m sorry. You must think I’m some kind of monster but I’m not. Can I tell you something a bit personal?

            – Sure. Go ahead.

Coombs looked around to see if they were being overheard and lifted his empty left sleeve.

            – I sliced my hand off after I saw your hooks because I wanted a hook of my own.

            – Christ! You did it yourself? Because you liked the look of mine? Jeez!

It was Coombs turn to be flippant.

            – Sure. It didn’t take long and it didn’t really hurt all that much. Don’t tell me you never noticed before?

            – No, I didn’t. I don’t come here to look for amputees, do I?

            – Well, now you’ve found one.

            – Why don’t you use a hook?

            – Ah well, that’s my problem, see? I haven’t got one. The health service don’t want anything to do with me ’cos this is self‑inflicted. So I have to use my stump for everything.

 

Limbo stared as intensely as his eyes could in the murk at the guy who had cut his own hand off because he admired Limb’s hooks. Coombs looked calm enough, honest and a little wary after the astonishing revelations of the past few minutes. It would take about a week to fit him with a working hook on a healed stump. Limb thought about the situation. Coombs idolised him enough to maim himself. He was obviously a devotee and successful wannabe.

            – Changing the subject—what do you do for a living?

            – Nothing at the moment. I have a video channel where I flash my stump for devotees but that doesn’t bring much in. Enough to get by, I suppose.

            – The reason I ask is because I’m looking for a housekeeper. Someone who can run a vacuum cleaner, work a washing machine and change sheets. That sort of thing. Also help invalids dress themselves. Where I live, there are several people who need help dressing. Would you be interested in helping out?

            – Well, yeah, I guess so. What are the hours like?

            – It’s a live‑in job. You’d live in the house with us and be on call at all hours but don’t worry. You won’t be called on in the middle of the night. You’d be responsible with the cook to make sure everyone is clean and healthy and fed and taken care of and the house is clean and runs the way it ought to.

            – Sure! I could do that.

            – Of course you could. If you’re really interested, you’ll have to have an interview with the owner first. He’s a very strict man and I’m not sure what he’s going to say about your stump but don’t worry. It shouldn’t be too much of a problem. The guy you’ll be replacing has only one leg.

 

Coomb’s eyes shone with hope. He looked at his idol with renewed admiration and gratitude. If only he could get the cleaner’s job, he could see him every single day. The main introductions being complete, they stood together quietly for a few minutes until Limb had enough of the leather tedium.

            – Do you want a hamburger? There’s no point staying here, I don’t think. Let’s go down the High Street and find somewhere.

 

Limb’s glistening prosthetic legs were far more obvious in the lights of Acton Vale. The two leathermen attracted concerned attention as soon as they stepped inside the burger joint and even more so as everyone gawped at one of them walking on two artificial legs. The confused girl behind the counter took their order and they sat at a nearby table, Limb exposing his rubber claws to steady himself and causing yet more astonishment and horror among the mostly teenage clientele.

            – Can I see one of your hands, sir? I’ve never seen a hook like that before.

Limb allowed Coombs to explore the mechanisms in his claw and explained how the tension lever worked to alter the claw’s grip.

            – Do you like these more than your ordinary hooks? Why don’t you use them instead?

            – I came on my bike tonight and I need these claws because my hooks can’t grip the handlebars well enough, see? Otherwise I only wear my hooks. That’s what I wanted and that’s what I got.

 

It was another admission from Limb that not everything was as Coombs assumed. He immediately caught the drift and his mouth fell open. He closed it.

            – What? I don’t understand. You wanted hooks?

            – Yup. For as long as I can remember. And when I moved into the house as their housekeeper, I had the chance to have my hands off. So I did and I’ve used hooks ever since. I wish I had them on now. It would make eating this hamburger a bit easier.

            – I’ll help if you want, sir.

            – It’s OK. I can manage.

They ate quietly and finally Coombs wiped mayonnaise from Limb’s claws. He wondered about Limb’s leg stumps and wanted to ask but held back. Above and beyond his infatuation, if such it was, Coombs was demonstrating exactly the kind of thoughtfulness and consideration essential to coping psychologically with the variety of amputees in the house.

            – Thank you, Coombs. You are very helpful. Why don’t you call in tomorrow afternoon some time and have a talk with our leather master? I’m sure he’d be interested to hear what you have to say for yourself. And he might even offer you a job.

            – Alright, I’d love to.

 

Coombs was horrified by the Dulwich address. It would take him a couple of hours at least to reach by bus but there was nothing for it. He had sold his six‑fifty motorbike after his self‑amputation and had been reliant on public transport ever since. It was difficult to think of an area more poorly served by underground trains than Dulwich. Sated and more relaxed in each other’s presence, Coombs remained at a bus stop and watched the incredibly sexy gait of his idol returning to collect his motorbike from in front of the cellar. His attention was so distracted that he almost missed his bus.

 

Zero had received a comprehensive description of the young man he was about to receive from Limb and was both dubious and intrigued by the prospect of a housekeeper missing a hand, amputated by himself if Limb was to be believed. Zero had never heard of such a thing. He had known men who had caused various trauma to their limbs but had never met anyone who had performed an amputation and sewn the stump without outside assistance. And the boy was only in his mid‑twenties. A siren announced the approach of someone towards the house and Zero prepared himself to meet their new housekeeper. He was wearing his artificial leg stumps and longest artificial arms and his eyes were concealed by his tallest officer’s cap which Limb had spent some effort adjusting to exactly the precise angle. He looked like a limbless prison guard.

 

Nub escorted Coombs to Zero’s quarters. Coombs wanted to look at Nub’s peg leg but held himself in check. He had no idea about Zero’s physical configuration and expected to see someone sitting behind a desk. Instead, Nub opened the door to reveal a leather daddy with a huge officer’s cap sitting on a glorified skateboard with his stumps on show for anyone to see. The man used his artificial arms and hooks to turn himself around to face the newcomer. Zero had been practising the move for fifteen minutes.

            – Welcome. You are Coombs, I assume?

            – Yes sir.

Coombs swallowed hard. The cripple on the floor was not what he had expected.

            – My name is Peter Coombs, sir.

            – But not for long. I have heard good things about you from my associate, whom you met yesterday evening. You wish to join us as a housekeeper, is that correct?

            – Yes sir.

            – You are an amputee, as I understand it.

            – Yes sir.

Coombs pulled back his left sleeve to reveal the stump of his wrist.

            – And you amputated your hand yourself?

            – Yes sir. I have always wanted to have hooks, sir, and… It’s difficult to explain, sir. I saw someone I admired who had a hook. In fact, he had two. Both arms had hooks sir. And I was so much in love with the idea of having my own hook, sir, that I learned how to cut off my hand, sir.

            – Has it healed well? Does it cause you pain?

            – No sir. It’s healed properly and I can use the stump OK.

            – Good. Tell me about your situation. You are unemployed, is that correct?

Coombs explained his lifestyle, what he had studied at college, how he had become interested in leather and why he thought dual hooks were his future. Zero listened to his correct grammar, his concise descriptions and his respectful tone. He alerted Limb, who arrived sitting legless in his lever‑operated wheelchair.

            – I congratulate you, Limb, on discovering our next housekeeper. There is only one problem.

            – What’s that, sir? His missing hand?

            – No, no. You can remedy that, I am sure. The man will have no room of his own. I have already promised the man with the lip rings that he can have Stub and Nub’s room. Where are we going to house Mr Coombs?

Limb understood well enough what Zero was suggesting. It had been a while since Limb had relinquished his room after marrying Zero but he still used it occasionally when one or the other wanted solitude.

            – Perhaps Mr Coombs could have my room, sir.

            – Indeed he could. Mr Coombs, Limb will show you your room, subject to your approval.

Coombs was excited at the idea of living almost next to his limbless idol. He trembled and took a deep breath.

            – Thank you, sir.

Zero lowered his head, concealing his grin and Limb raised his right hook to shake Coombs’ hand.

            – There is one other thing. All our inmates have their own pseudonyms. No-one is going to call you Mr Coombs. Your friend Mr Steel is known to us as Limb. Limb Steel. Who are you?

            – You mean I can choose a name for myself? Oh, I don’t know. How about Stump?

 

None of the amputees had ever chosen such an obvious name as Stump for themselves. Zero was amused by its unimaginative suitability and Limb wondered how long it would remain relevant. He was already certain that Stump would shortly be working his shifts with two hooks.

            – Stump it is. How soon can you join us?

            – I can join you at any time, sir. With just a few hours notice, I can come to start work, sir.

            – Excellent. I will be in touch.

Zero lowered his head again and Limb indicated that the interview was over. Without being prompted, Stump placed his stumped arm into Limb’s shoulder and accompanied him along the long wooden‑floored corridor towards the lift. They were going to be housemates and Stump was overjoyed. Limb was pleased to have a new admirer. He had expected Zero to bring up the matter of equipping Stump with a hook but there was time enough for that.

 

Work at the pub progressed to the point where the future spaces began to reveal themselves. A large curved tabletop of white melamine was constructed to match working surfaces of a similar material in front of the front windows. A second‑hand coffee machine glinted in one corner beside a new microwave oven. A small tabletop refrigerator would hold cream and milk. On the first floor, a two‑level kitchen island separated the work area from the living space. All but one red brick wall were painted white. The old wooden floor was sanded and varnished. Stub and Nub paid an evening visit to a flat‑pack supplier for the basics and Nub spent several of the following evenings assembling a double bed and cupboards.

 

Zero expressed an interest to see the pub on the eve of the amputees’ departure. He slid his legless torso into his artificial stumps and Nub lifted him onto his wheelchair which Zero chose to operate himself with his mid‑length prosthetic arms. Stub wore his long stubbies and Nub relied on his peg leg, as always. The trio made their way at Stub’s slow but steady pace through the twilight. Stub was anxious to know when his new artificial legs might be ready but neither Zero nor Limb had spoken about their progress. Zero had a habit of withholding information until the last moment. Stub assumed everything was in order and that Limb had more pressing matters than to spend time assembling the prostheses.

 

Entry to the pub was through the wide front door which could easily accommodate a wheelchair, as Zero discovered with some assistance from Nub. The interior was technically ready to accept customers. It seemed stark being pristine and unused but they had plans to add decorations and timepieces for a little visual interest. Nub pressed the call button for the lift and the transparent curved perspex doors opened. The lift illuminated with subdued led lights and with three passengers, rose slowly to the upper floor. Zero reversed out and turned around to take in the view of the whole loft.

 

            – This is very impressive. You have succeeded in making a comfortable home for yourselves. I congratulate you.

            – Have a look around. The kitchen is over there, the bathroom is next to it and over there behind that wall is our little bedroom and dressing room.

            – By ‘dressing room’ Nub means space to store prosthetic limbs and other gear.

            – Indeed. I have something similar. It still holds several pairs of artificial legs which I fear I shall not use again.

Stub pointed out several features which made life easier for a man with two hooks. He had designed the kitchen himself and was pleased to have a space personally tailored to his own requirements.

            – I’m afraid we haven’t bought crockery yet or been grocery shopping so we can’t offer you coffee but I promise that when you next visit us, we’ll have something a little stronger on hand.

            – I look forward to it.

The brief inspection was complete. Zero had felt a sense of betrayal when he first heard of Stub and Nub’s intention to leave the house but seeing their future home and learning more about their business idea, he could see why two intelligent young men might want more from life than the static routines on offer in the house.

 

Nub informed Zero on Monday afternoon that the final permissions had been finalised and that they wished to move out on the last day of the month, six days hence. Zero thanked him and instructed Limb to arrange for the arrival of Cy and Stump on the same day. The house was about to undergo its greatest upheaval in several years.

 

Nub was busy on the days leading up to the move, packing the few private possessions he and Stub had accumulated into cardboard boxes and making two excursions to shopping centres on the look‑out for bedlinen and kitchen accessories. Stub similarly assembled his collection of prosthetic equipment and by Thursday evening, they were both tired and excited by the prospect of beginning new lives the next day. They were leaving the familiar security of the house where their disabilities were fully catered for and entering the ordinary world where Stub would be seen as a limbless freak and Nub’s peg leg would attract stares and comments.

 

Limb contacted Sy and Stump, both of whom assured him that they would be present early on Friday morning. Limb knew he would have his work cut out for a few days showing Stump the daily routine. Sy could be trusted to explore the kitchen himself. There was also the job of fitting Stump with a hook and Zero still had to be persuaded to relinquish a pair of legs so Limb could recycle the knee mechanisms in Stub’s first pair of artificial legs.

 

Zero himself marked the day by being present with the torso men at breakfast. Conscientious to the very last, Nub assisted the armless men with their food and coffee and ensured everyone had undertaken whatever necessary in the bathroom before returning them singly to their basement room. Each farewell was heartfelt and moving. Nub was struck by the gratitude each of the torsos expressed. Their lives as leather torsos would not have been possible without the care and attention from someone like Nub, who himself contended with the inconveniences of an above‑knee amputation. The siren sounded twice during the farewells with the approach of first Sy, carrying two black bin bags followed shortly by Stump, struggling with a large cardboard box taped shut with duct tape. Nub took them to the kitchen to join Stub, Limb and Zero, waiting patiently for the newcomers over coffee and returned to the torso room.

 

            – Sy, your first job is to choose a suitable name for yourself. We all use pseudonyms here. You will shortly meet Edge, Mylo and Zeal. I am Zero, this is Stub who you will be replacing and this is Limb. You were met at the door by Nub. Stump is also joining us today and already has a first name but not a surname to match. What do you suggest?

 

Sy was a little lost for words. He was the only man present with four limbs and the only one with his face enchanced by tattoos. His mouth was a horizontal gash of chrome. He opened his mouth to release the closely fitting rings and spoke.

            – I want to be Chrome Black.

            – Ha! An excellent choice. Chrome. Yes, I can see why that might be an apt name for you, my boy. And you, Stump. What are you going to be known as?

            – I hope I’m going to have a hook soon, sir, to be able to do my duties better. How about Stump Hook?

Zero was both surprised and defensive.

            – That is simply not possible. The name Hook is not available. I am Hook and I am not going to share the name with anyone.

Hook was Zero’s original birth name. It was a rare surname, although it was officially unprotected.

            – You will have to come up with something else.

            – How about Claw, sir? Stump Claw. That’s who I want to be.

Zero remembered what Limb had told him about Stump’s desire to brandish a pair of hooks and smirked. He could imagine the newcomer sitting opposite him with a naked stump and a claw.

            – Stump Claw it is. Excellent. Now, for the rest of the morning, Chrome, you will attend to what Stub will teach you about our routine, our suppliers, our equipment and our expectations. What time are you expecting to leave, Stub?

            – Around four o’clock when Nub is ready, sir.

            – Good. Teach him well, Stub. And Stump Claw. Your job today is simpler. I want you to accompany Limb to his workshop, where Limb will begin preparations to fit you with an artificial arm and hook. Limb, do you have everything to hand for an arm prosthesis?

            – Everything except the harness and  cable, sir. I can get those from Mr Ford.

            – Do so and do not tarry. I want to see Stump with a functioning hook as soon as possible.

Limb decided to take the plunge while Stub was conveniently present.

            – There is one other matter, sir. You remember that Stub was promised a pair of leg prostheses. They are otherwise complete except for the knee mechanisms.

            – Are you telling me you have not ordered a pair?

            – No sir. I wondered if we could recycle the knees from your artificial legs, sir.

Zero stared at Limb, annoyed that he had presumed to know Zero’s mind. Stub knew of Zero’s useless artificial legs. The man had even mentioned them himself. As if to emphasise a point, Stub adjusted his stance and his peg legs tapped against the stone floor.

            – Very well. Take both pairs. I see no sense in storing them any longer. These are not going to grow back, after all.

Zero knocked his empty stump prostheses with his arm sockets. Limb reacted quickly before he could change his mind.

            – Thank you, sir. I’m sure they will both come in useful.

 

Stub was relieved to know that he would soon be standing tall, if not walking, on a new pair of artificial legs. If he could only learn to use them, he might appear less monstrous in the converted pub’s work space, where the fewer distractions there were, the better. Their business plan was to allow subscription holders free rein to use the technical equipment and to enjoy coffee and other drinks with pastries and croissants and the like. So many people worked from home. Their idea was to provide a pleasant social atmosphere where they could work uninterrupted but in the the company of others. It would be a way to rekindle social contact between peers and Stub saw himself as their generous host. He knew he could cope perfectly with his hooks and hoped the new pair of legs Limb was about to complete would allow him to appear otherwise normal to the clientele.

 

Limb hooked his coffee mug towards Stub for washing and pointed at Stump.

            – You and me have a job to do downstairs. Come with me.

Stump rose and followed the guy who seemed to have some kind of authority. He walked oddly, kicking his legs forward as if he had artificial legs. The guy’s hooks hung by his side. They went into a lift which crept downwards at a snail’s pace until the doors opened. Limb turned left and the corridor’s lights came on automatically. Half the household were too short to reach conventional light switches and the rest used hooks. Automation was the answer.

 

            – I’m going to scan your stump and then the rest of your arm, so take your clothes off.

            – And my vest?

            – Yes, and your vest. I’ll have a copy of what your arm looks like and the AI can work out the proper shapes for your socket and the upper arm cuff. While I’m thinking of it, let me place an order for the bits I need. You need.

Limb pulled his phone out and tapped it several times. He sent his greetings to his old teacher and a request for components for a left arm prosthesis. Harness for left arm and steel cable. Twenty minutes later, a promise of delivery the next day arrived, by which time Limb had already scanned Stump’s empty wrist, his arm in its entirety and his shoulders.

 

            – I have the idea that your prosthesis is going to be a bit longer than normal because you still have your wrist. You’ll be able to work around the house with it but it might be too long to let you get to it your mouth to eat with, for example. But there’s nothing I can do about that.

            – Don’t worry about it. I’m just grateful to be getting a hook. It’s all I really ever wanted.

            – Are you sure about that, Stump? Don’t you mean that all you ever wanted is two hooks?

Limb and Stump grinned conspiratorially at each other. Limb could read Stump like a book and Stump himself guessed that Limb had not become a quadruple amputee by accident.

            – Sorry if it’s rude to ask, Limb, but how come you have artificial legs too?

            – Peer pressure, mainly. First I had my hands off and got the hooks I’d wanted since I was about old enough to know what hooks were. And afterwards, after I moved in with Zero, he talked me into getting leg stumps. We both had our amputations at the same time and taught each other to walk again. That was a lot of fun, I can tell you. Nothing like the braindead coaching which goes on in most rehab units.

            – Wow! How do you go about getting an amputation around here?

            – It’s usually enough to have a quiet word with Zero. If he’s convinced that you deserve a new stump, you’re taken to a private clinic where the deed is done. Don’t ask too many questions about that, Stump. You don’t need to know and Zero and his organisation prefer it not to be common knowledge. I’m sure you can understand. Our future amputations depend on it, see?

            – Yeah, that’s obvious. What I really want is two stumps, like halfway up my arms, see? Slicing my hand off was easy enough ’cos there’s no bones to saw through but I’d really like a proper arm stump.

            – I’ll show you my stumps later on and you can decide if they’re what you want. I’m pretty sure if Zero’s happy with your work, he’ll invite you to stay and then you can ask him about having all the stumps you want. Zero wants all of us to have stumps and to use artificial limbs. Some of the earlier members took it too far, if you ask me. A couple of them don’t even have stumps. But they’re just as important as everyone else and Zero still appreciates them for the sacrifices they made.

            – I hope I can make it.

            – Sure you will. If you’re ready, we could take a look at the house and I can show you what needs to be done. If I can remember. I used to be the housekeeper, see? Then Nub took over and now it’s gonna be your job.

            – Nub’s the one with the peg leg, right?

            – Yeah. He’s leaving today with our cook.

 

Saying something so simple, so matter‑of‑fact, suddenly brought Limb to a stop. Limb had discovered Nub and loved him. They loved each other and supported each other through several amputations. Limb pressed his hooks into his temples and tried to hide his distress.

            – Nub’s leaving. The only man I ever loved. Ah well.

Limb snorted snot and tried to hide his face, wet from tears. Stump, already overwhelmed by the novelty of everything, wrapped his arms around Limb and held him tight, using his stump with its rounded tip to wipe Limb’s eye sockets. Limb’s shoulders shook, overcome with his loss. He rocked his body back and forth, trying to find balance on his prosthetic legs independent of Stump’s support and wished he had hands to swipe at his tears. Without a word, Stump gently used his thumb to wipe them and Limb lowered his head until it touched Stump’s forehead. He recovered his composure and took a deep breath.

            – As you can guess, Stump, we’re a pretty close gang.

            –That’s good to know. You feel OK? Come on, show me the ropes.

 

Nub packed the very last of their belongings into the same box Stump had brought. Late in the afternoon, Stub and Nub toured the house to say farewell and promised everyone they would soon meet again. Last of all, they said goodbye to Zero, who thanked them both for their trustworthy service to the community and accepted their keys. He made no attempt to shake hooks but stared at the men in his signature fashion, indicating the conversation was over. They made their way downstairs, out onto the forecourt and walked slowly to their new home without looking back.

 

Chrome Black spent the afternoon making flatbread and filling for tacos. Stub had briefed him on the kind of weekday food he regularly made but Chrome wanted to experiment with other things. His experience at the dark kitchen, where a huge amount of the same ingredients were repurposed with various spices and sauces, led to his idea of producing a kind of buffet where each individual could assemble his own meal. The economy of scale also meant there could be a greater variety on offer. Stub assured Chrome that the hook users would have little trouble handling a well‑wrapped taco. The aroma of unfamiliar food spread throughout the ground floor from the kitchen and Chrome ransacked the cupboards to find suitable bowls from which to serve the meal.

 

All but one were pleased to be served something new, something a bit exotic. Zero did not enjoy the extra effort required to assemble and eat his meal. Unusually for a man as well‑travelled as Zero, he had a surprisingly unadventurous diet and preferred one pan meals which could be eaten with a fork or bare hooks. He and Chrome reviewed the customary diet at the house and Chrome agreed to submit his planned meals for the next few weeks for Zero’s approval.

 

Limb checked on the progress of Stump’s arm socket. The print was a third ready, smooth and glowing ultraviolet in its bath of liquid plastic. It would be ready by morning and Limb could start the triceps cuff. He had developed his own signature design after trialling several versions himself. Traditional cuffs were basically square pieces of leather which curved around the upper arm to protect the skin from control cables. Limb’s versions were longer and covered more of the upper arm. They were rigid and he had designed an auxiliary piece which included slots for straps and studs and guides for the cables. By allowing AI to combine the two elements, a cuff could be ready for printing in a fraction of the time it usually took to produce a custom item. Limb personally preferred the longer cuffs. They closely resembled above‑elbow prostheses, specifically those worn by Zero. So far in his young career as a prosthetist, Limb had not manufactured prostheses equipped with steel bracing at the elbows and was uncertain how to approach such a challenge. Stub’s artificial arms had elbow braces due to his short stumps but his arms had been made by John Ford, Limb’s teacher and Zero’s close associate. Limb was reminded to confirm that Stump’s harness and cable were on the way and turned his attention to deconstructing Zero’s pair of artificial legs, the first prostheses Limb had made. The timing was unfortunate. It would have been better if Stub had received his new legs before moving out. Fitting his limbs would have been easier. Stub had assured Limb that the sockets on his stubbies still fit perfectly but there were several differences between standing on long peg legs compared with balancing on artificial legs with mechanical knees. In their new loft home, both Stub and Nub were amused by the more audible sound which Stub’s pegs caused on the wooden floor and Stub hoped his new legs would be less distracting.

 

Stump spent more time with the torso men than Nub. He was interested to hear about the old leather scene and how each man had been recruited by Zero to share the community of leathermen. Gradually each of the torsos had succumbed to Zero’s assurances that ever increasing disability was no deterrent to living a wholesome life. Stump was especially intrigued by Edge’s one‑eyed leather gas mask and wondered if he might be allowed to wear something similar. He found Edge’s belaboured breathing and the valve’s associated clicking erotic. Viewing the world through a single brass porthole was well horny. Stump left the group of torsos and continued on his rounds, trying to commit the layout of the seven storey house to memory. Conversation among the torsos revolved around the new assistant who, everyone agreed, showed every sign of acceptance and a willing aptitude to assist. How long would it be before Stump began his transformation? He was missing a hand already but that was as nothing.

 

The missing hand was significant enough to alter the routine of transferring the torsos to the kitchen for breakfast. Stump was unable to ferry more than one trolley at a time and made four trips from the third basement floor to the ground floor at the opposite end of the house. He began to appreciate the difficulty that his mentor Limb might have as a legless man. Perhaps it was inaccurate to think of Limb as legless. He walked on artificial legs which he had made for himself and his gait looked horny as he kicked his stumps forward to operate the knee mechanisms. But Limb had little extra energy for pulling or guiding the torsos’ trolleys. Stump had seen Stub pushing Edge with his hooks soon after his arrival, Stub’s pegs generating enough force for the task.

 

Stump and Chrome had not known each other before their arrival and both were a little wary of the other. Stump was a budding leatherman, a youngster still learning the scene and hoping to earn enough to outfit himself from head to toe in black leather. Chrome was a steelpunk, happy to wear recycled ex‑military garb which exposed his tattoos. Stump was as fascinated by Chrome’s lip rings as everyone else. Chrome was quite capable of closing his mouth in such a way that the nine rings interlocked but usually one or two of the rings settled in such a position that his lips were open in a snarl. Chrome’s speech was a series of labial clicks. He was inconvenienced by the breadth of his newest rings and the way they wanted to jam together but he loved the sensations around his mouth and was reluctant to return to wearing his previous rings which left his lips partially visible.

 

Stump returned to the kitchen an hour before lunchtime to find Chrome busy peeling potatoes. He would have gladly helped but could not.

            – Hallo. How are you getting on?

            – Not bad, I don’t think. I was chatting with the guys downstairs about what it used to be like here and how they came to meet Zero.

            – How did you come to be here?

            – One of the legless guys used to hang out with me and my mates. We met up for drinks every Thursday when he had the evening off and I got to know him that way. How about you?

            – I met Limb at the leather club. He was my idol as soon as I saw him. That was ages ago. I couldn’t tear my eyes off his hooks, see? I’ve always loved the look of a stud like Limb wearing a coupla hooks. And one night he asked if I was interested in helping out here. So here I am.

            – What happened to your hand, if you don’t mind me asking?

            – I sliced it off myself. I wanted a hook, see? But I can’t get one off the state health.

            – You did it yourself? Man, that must have taken some guts.

            – I suppose so. I was a bit high when I did it, so… Anyway, Limb is making me a hook and I should have it in a couple of days.

            – That should be interesting. Learning to use a hook, I mean. Man, rather you than me!

 

The missing components were delivered by courier later in the day. Stump read the sender’s address and guessed what the packet contained. He took it to Limb’s laboratory on the second basement floor and, finding it empty, left it prominently on the workbench.

 

A new routine slowly emerged from the upheaval. The torsos felt more attuned with affairs elsewhere in the house. Stump spent more time in their company than either Limb or Nub had. They had different food and more varied meals as Chrome introduced new ingredients, always bearing in mind Zero’s admonition about the unsuitability of self‑service.

 

Limb was most affected by the new regime. He had lost his friend and one‑time lover—not for the first time—and found it stifling to be confined to Zero’s apartment. Naturally enough, they shared but Limb could never shake the impression that he was a guest in someone else’s rooms. He spent more time alone in the lab, tinkering aimlessly with his virtual modelling app. He found the packet which Stump had delivered and set to attaching the socket and cable to the new harness. The socket narrowed toward the wrist, where it flared into a circular steel fitting into which a variety of hooks could be screwed. Stump’s first was a standard left hook. Its steel fingers extended further than on most other prostheses due to the length of Stump’s residual forearm. Limb assembled the prosthesis as far as he was able. He was conscious of doing so using his own pair and felt pride in his accomplishment, not only for overcoming his physical challenge but also because he had learned a useful trade which might serve him well in the future. Even without establishments such as that created by Zero, the demand for prosthetic limbs was unending and a semi‑professional amputee prosthetist such as Limb would always find employment. He sent Stump a text message inviting him to join him in the lab.

 

Stump was overjoyed at the appearance of the sleek black prosthesis. It seemed to extend to his shoulder, thanks to Limb’s redesign of the cuff.

            – Put this stump sock on first. Make sure you get all the wrinkles out.

Stump struggled to get his arm into the never‑used sock. It came up to his shoulder and he folded it down over his triceps. The socket was still missing its hook and the loose control cable swung about when he picked it up. He pushed his stump into the socket and used his other hand to ensure it was as far as it could go. Limb held the harness and asked Stump to put his healthy arm through the harness loop.

            – You know how these things work, I assume?

            – Yeah. I know all the theory. In theory, of course.

            – Ha! I left the best for last. You get to attach your hook for the very first time. Go ahead. It just screws in. When you feel resistance, give it another turn. The thumb should end up pointing upwards. That’s it. Now you need to clip the end of the cable onto the thumb. You’ll have to hold the hook open somehow. Use your hand and open it enough so it grabs onto the edge of the bench. Now the cable will reach.

 

Stump performed the necessary actions and stood staring at his long stump concealed almost totally by an artificial arm. There was no way of knowing how long his stump was. He considered his wrist stump to be an intermediate stage before having his forearm amputated properly by a surgeon and had been mainly satisfied with his stump until he arrived at the house and saw the variety of prostheses available which other house members already used. Now he wanted his forearm bisected halfway along and if he could have his right arm done at the same time, things would be perfect. His idol made a few cosmetic adjustments to the harness and invited him to test the hook.

            – You know what to do, Stump. Is it loose? Is the cable OK?

Limb could see for himself that the cable was taut even when not in use.

            – My arm feels really funny, like it’s being held immobile. I can’t twist it at all. Is it supposed to feel like that?

            – What would be the point of your arm moving? It can’t possibly affect the socket. That’s why the socket is so tight. So you don’t feel tempted to try using your arm muscles to do anything. You just have to rely on your elbow and the hook for everything. It’s also why I left the hook for you to attach. I hate trying to screw anything in, like your hook into the socket because my hooks just can’t do it.

 

Stump walked around the lab, flexing his arm and discovering his new range of movement. The hook opened and closed but he had not yet tried using it for anything specific. He found the full‑length mirror and admired his new appearance. His naked upper body now had a completely new feature, one that he had hankered after for at least fifteen years and now, at the age of twenty‑five, he was wearing his first artificial limb. It seemed to good to be true.

            – OK. That’s enough preening. Take it off and put your T‑shirt back on. Don’t wear the arm without a shirt or you’ll rip the skin off your back.

            – You’re joking.

            – Try it and find out. Another thing—try not to let the loop in your armpit slip and slide around. It has that silicon sleeve on it to prevent the strap from biting into your arm but you still have to be careful.

            – You make it sound like it’s more trouble than it’s worth.

            – Wait ’til you start using it. We can compare notes in a fortnight and see what you think of it then. OK, I’m done with you. You can have it. Make sure you use the hook instead of trying to use your hand all the time.

            – I know. Thanks, Limb. I really appreciate this.

            – I know. Let me know if there’s a problem with it. Me and Stub can help.

 

He remembered again that Stub had gone. Only he and Zero wore artificial arms permanently and Zero was unlikely to start coaching a new amputee. On the positive side, it gave Limb an excuse to spend a little more time with Stump. He knew how Stump felt about him. Edge had mentioned that Stump regarded him as an idol. It pleased Limb to have an admirer. He was fond of Stump too. He was younger than Limb but was wise beyond his years. He was handsome kitted out in his leather clothes. He turned heads. With a hook extending from his left sleeve, he might turn a few more.

Zero was also aware of Limb’s altered mood. He understood well enough that Limb and Nub had continued some kind of relationship even after both married other partners. Nub was Limb’s first genuine partner and lover and his absence was bound to have some affect. Then there was the question of physical love. Zero was no longer so eager to indulge in lovemaking, not with Limb nor any of the torsomen who had regularly shared Zero’s bed when the maestro still had his arms and original leg stumps. Zero’s greatest disappointment was the discovery that his extreme limblessness precluded the ability to satisfy a partner. He had become severely dependant on others for sexual release and had begun to suppress his urges as a result. Perhaps it was only natural that Limb spent so much time elsewhere, leaving Zero to listen to his symphonies in solitude.

 

Limb spent an unnecessary amount of time finessing Stub’s new legs. As agreed, the lower legs resembled those of a well‑muscled athlete. The calves were shapely and narrowed elegantly towards the ankles from which the rigid reinforced feet extended. No ankle movement was possible. This simple characteristic was common to all the prosthetic legs Limb made, including his own pair. Walking on rigid ankles forced a distinctive gait and required extra upper body movement to operate the prostheses. No-one who noticed the belaboured motion could doubt that the individual had two artificial legs. Limb could not waste any more time. He invited Stub to the house at his own convenience for his first fitting. 

 

Stub and Nub arrived together within the hour. Stump, wearing his hook, greeted them at the door and was complimented on his new acquisition. He escorted them down to Limb’s lab and approached Limb unheard. Limb was listening to music through earphones and was peering intently at the representation of a long stubby on his laptop screen, very similar to those his guest was currently wearing. Stump tapped him on the shoulder and Limb jerked to attention.

            – Oh! I didn’t hear you coming. Sorry! Hi you two. How’s life?

            – Great. The big news is we’re opening for business at nine on Sunday morning and there’s free coffee and cake. Why don’t you and Stump call in around eleven and check it out?

            – Sounds interesting. Shall we do that, Stump?

            – I’d love to.

            – Then it’s settled. We’ll be there. But for the time being, you are here. Stub, crawl up onto the couch and strip to your undies and take your pegs off.

            – Do you mind if I go downstairs to say hello to the others?

            – No, of course not. Stump will have to come with you, though, ’cos you won’t be able to operate the lift without a key.

            – Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Security above everything, eh?

            – Well, you know what Zero’s policy is. He probably already knows you’re here. Watching us on his monitor. Not much gets past him, that’s for sure.

            – We should go up and say hello to him before we leave. Offer him the same invitation for Sunday. He’d be pissed if he found out he didn’t get one.

            – He’d be worse than pissed. He’d be livid. And I’d have to suffer the consequences until he recovers. Alright! Clear off, you two. Stub and I have some work to do.

Nub spun on his peg leg and followed Stump back to the lift. They went down a floor and entered the torso’s dungeon. Edge was the first to react.

            – Hello stranger! Good… [audible breath] …to see you again. Did you… come with Stub? Is he… getting his legs?

            – Yup. Limb threw us out. I was looking forward to seeing what they get up to but I’ll just have to make do with you lot. Hi Mylo. Hello Zeal mate.

One of Zeal’s short arm stumps waved a welcome. Nub lowered himself to the floor, his peg leg stretching off to one side, and helped the torsos arrange themselves into a ring. Nub wanted to ask if Zeal would prefer to see but the man seemed perfectly content to remain sightless in his tight leather hood.

            – How are you getting on outside, Nub? Is it everything you’d expected?

Nub gave a brief explanation of how the pair of them had been adding the finishing touches to the downstairs customer area and to their loft. Now they had enough equipment to rustle up their own meals instead of relying on takeaways and the broadband had been connected so they could watch video streams again. The torsos agreed that their progress was admirable.

            – I hope that when Stub is standing on his own two legs again, he’ll be able to work downstairs with the customers and I can concentrate on running the business behind the scenes. In fact, that’s why we’re back. Stub is upstairs with Limb right now getting a new pair of legs.

 

Stub had already donned his first ever pair of artificial legs. First a new pair of liners over his mid‑thigh stumps, then cotton stump socks. He took advantage of slots on the sockets which Limb had added, making it easy for him to pull the tight sockets onto his stumps with hooks.

            – Twist around and put your legs over the side. See, the feet drop down slowly. You can alter how fast they go if you want with this adjustment screw.

            – I get it.

            – Work your way forward until your feet touch the ground and try and keep yourself upright. Those knees will stay rigid for as long as there’s any weight on them. When you’re walking, they bend when you put pressure on your toes. That’s the angle when they release and you can swing it forward with your stump for your next step. I know it sounds complicated but you’ll soon get the idea. They’re the same knees I use. They’re pretty reliable.

            – I’ve seen the way you sort of rock yourself forward, Limb. Is that the sort of motion I should be aiming for?

            – Well, it works for me, so you could try it. But you have shorter stumps and the lower legs are a different weight. It all depends on how you feel most comfortable. The main idea, coming from stubbies, is that if you want, it’s perfectly possible to use those legs as longer peg legs. Like I said, the knees won’t give out when you don’t expect it. Why don’t you try taking a step or two?

 

Stub released his grip from the edge of the couch and stood up on artificial legs for the first time in his life. He was immediately struck by how tall he was—it had been over a decade since he last viewed the world from such a height. He lifted his hooks for balance, leaned slightly to the left and raised his right stump. The right prosthesis moved forward, the heel of his boot sturdily placed on the floor in front of him.

            – Lean forward some more. I won’t let you fall. You need to get your weight over the leg, Stub. When you feel the change of pressure in your other stump, you can swing that in the same way and take a step.

Stub was perfectly accustomed to swinging his stumps out to the side, forcing his stubbies to take his weight as he propelled himself forward. The legs needed a different technique. Standing a metre from the couch, he no longer had anything to lean against. He looked at Limb in semi‑desperation and pinwheeled his hooks trying to maintain balance.

            – This is more difficult than it looks. How on earth can you actually walk on these things?

Limb laughed.

            – That’s what I thought at first. You should have heard Zero when he was learning. You wouldn’t expect a man as cultured as Zero to even know the sort of language he came out with. But we both learned. I’ll never know why he had his stumps amputated. He walked so well on them but it wasn’t enough for him.

            – Right now, I’d say this is enough for me.

            – Just keep at it, Stub. Just remember that every DAK you see strutting around on two falsies felt exactly the same way as you do now. It’s a question of rhythm and balance.

            – You make it sound like dancing.

            – Ha! Actually, that’s not a bad description. I’ll have to remember that.

 

Stub continued acquainting himself with his new legs, fascinated by their muscular shape but missing his toes. He rocked his body from side to side to compensate and after ninety minutes, he was operating his prostheses slowly but reliably. For a man without hands, whose prothetic arms provided little weight to help balance, he was doing extraordinarily well. He was surprised and Limb was more than satisfied to see his friend standing at the same height as himself. The sockets were a superb fit, the second‑hand knee mechanisms seemed as reliable as advertised and when Stub dressed in a long pair of trousers, there would be none of the telltale emptiness around his calves to suggest artificial legs.

 

Nub glanced at his watch and estimated that Stump would shortly be on his way to collect the torsos for lunch. He made his excuses after alerting Stump to collect him, after which the two men returned to the lab to find Limb helping Stub dress. He was wearing his peg legs again.

            – Ah! Did you try out the legs? They look smart, don’t they?

            – Yup. All set and ready. I’ll give you a demo when we get back.

            – Good. Listen, I think I ought to invite Zero to the opening but I need a key.

            – You can borrow mine.

            – Thanks, Limb.

 

Nub was gone for ten minutes during which time Stump demonstrated his prowess with his hook. Limb had dropped him in at the deep end, not bothering even to explain the mechanisms or allowing Stump to practise before accepting the prosthesis. Stump already knew the theory in advance, just as Limb had before his first amputations. Both men still had their elbows and healthy truncated forearms, unlike Stub whose minimal below‑elbow stumps required additional support and bracing, not to mention the shoulder high prostheses which Zero and Zeal wore. Of all the hook users, Limb was the most adept and skilful. He had faced the initial difficulties and inconveniences patiently and took pleasure in every small victory as he overcame them. He still loved donning his hooks every morning, stumps spread out on his futon with his artificial legs beside him, quickly becoming able‑bodied again, as he saw himself. He took no such pleasure from his artificial legs, regarding them as mere tools necessary before he could start the day. He had been thinking about Stub’s long stubbies while working on the new set of legs and, never having worn stubbies himself, was curious to know what it might be like to extend his leg stumps a few centimetres with cylindrical stubbies and walk without knee mechanisms. His current design was still visible on his laptop screen.

 

Nub collected Stub and accepted a long package wrapped in brown paper containing the new prosthetic legs. They were surprisingly light. Zero had accepted the invitation to the opening and Nub privately hoped that his presence would not deter prospective customers. Despite his severe disabilities, Zero’s demeanour with his fake leg stumps and insectile short arm prostheses was never less than arresting.

 

Stub was kept busy during the next days experimenting with cake recipes. He settled on three different types which might yield a total of ninety‑six pieces if Nub would be so kind as to slice them. His prosthetic legs stood forlorn by their futon, unused since the first day. Stub had demonstrated them for Nub soon after they arrived back from the house but felt insecure. He was unused to standing so tall and he could feel in his stumps the extra effort required to operate the knees. It was far different from stumping around on his peg legs.

            – I think I need a bit more practice on these before I start wearing them. You don’t mind, do you, Nub?

            – No, of course not.

            – It’s just that it would have been cool to be tall on opening day.

            – Don’t worry about it. You could wear them for a couple of hours maybe.

 

Limb finalised the design for his first stubbies. Their width decreased below his stumps to form slightly convex bases narrower than a normal shoe. Limb hoped they would allow him to walk with less effort than Stub, whose broad cylindrical stubbies demanded more power. He would stand thirty centimetres shorter which he regarded as acceptable. With both stubbies melded virtually to the latest scans of his leg stumps, he prompted his modelling app for a sturdy slice and sent the first part for printing. He wanted his stubbies to be assembled and cured in time for Stub and Nub’s opening where he could show them off for the first time.

 

Stump was gradually becoming accustomed to having something to replace his missing hand. He had grown used to doing everything one‑handed and it seemed natural to continue to do so. There were several tasks in the house where it was advantageous to have two hands or hooks or any combination thereof. He was as enamoured of the prosthetic arm as Limb was of his own set. It covered his flesh and bone version almost entirely. It attracted attention, looked imposing and the hook looked real macho. He stopped aimlessly opening and closing the hook and started actually using it for its intended purpose. It was gratifying to accomplish some small task with it and for the first time since slicing his hand off, he felt justified in disabling himself. He felt that the arm prosthesis defined him and he wondered, not for the first time, how life would change if he could be like Limb.

 

Limb mentioned his new stubbies to Zero.

            – Did we not agree that you would gain your leg stumps on condition that you always wear full‑length prostheses? Why do you wish to alter your body image?

            – You also suggested that I use our printer to produce as many prostheses as I liked. I am doing just that.

            – You are impertinent. Do not take that tone with me, Limb.

            – The main reason is curiosity to experience the sensations of walking on stubbies. I used a wheelchair for months after my amputations when I might have been learning to walk, if I remember.

            – You were keen to use the wheelchair. You still use it. You find pumping the levers erotic.

            – What does that have to do with it? All of us find our prostheses and other equipment erotic. What difference does it make if I’m on legs or stubbies?

            – I don’t want to see you on stubbies, boy. Stay out of my sight unless you are wearing legs.

 

It was one of Zero’s more surprising outbursts. He had become increasing cantankerous after disabling himself to such an extreme degree. It had affected his libido and thus his dominant rôle. The torsos very rarely featured in his daily life. Zero had become a recluse, shutting himself away with his music, reliving his career as a world‑renowned arranger and conductor, his plastic arms twitching as his meagre stumps retraced the phantoms of his lost professional skills. Limb stayed with him despite the soured relationship but he had become more likely to stand his ground rather than back down and concede to Zero’s demands. Such was the case now. Limb printed all six components for his stubbies and open the modelling app to find the assembly animations. He went to the kitchen to find the only resident of the house with two hands.

 

            – Hi Chrome. Are you busy?

            – Not exactly. Why? Do you need help with something?

            – I do, actually. I need someone with hands. See, I’ve printed a pair of stubbies in parts and they need to be glued together and I was wondering if you could spare half an hour.

            – Well, if you can wait until after lunch, Limb, I can find the time. I have to keep an eye on the oven for the time being.

            – OK, I getcha. It won’t take long. Nub used to do it for me, see, but…

            – Yeah. If you can hang on for a couple of hours. Shall I come down to your workshop? Where your printer is?

            – Yeah. I’ll be down there. Thanks, Chrome. Appreciate it.

Limb heaved himself around in stages, rocked back along to the lift and was soon lost to sight.

 

Zero’s unfriendly words preyed on his mind, the more so because the man was technically correct. Limb had promised to learn to walk on full‑sized prostheses and had done so. He walked with a distinctive gait but he had mastered his legs better than any of the other residents. He could easily keep pace with Nub on his peg leg when they were together. Which reminded him once more of the other problem. He and Nub had shared adventurous sexual exploits and found deep satisfaction from their stumps. Zero’s loss of libido reflected immediately on Limb’s sex life and Limb had been reluctant to resort to adultery to satisfy his urges. Many times he swapped his standard hooks for worker’s hooks with their circular openings which better suited masturbation. Despite the inconvenience, the sight of his unfeeling arms and hooks toying with his erect penis never failed to bring him to orgasm. But Limb was young enough, barely thirty, and horny enough to want more. He wanted a partner.

 

As if to emphasise his determination to defy Zero, he settled in front of his laptop and sought out the files for his arm sockets. He was still using the original sockets on his original pair of arms. His stumps needed extra stump socks now but they were no bother and the sockets were still comfortable. They gripped firmly and he could lift and manipulate fairly heavy objects without his hooks slipping. He had the idea to make a new pair of arms, shorter than his original pair, which would match his shorter stature. If he could reform the sockets to accept a wrist attachment immediately below the tips of his stumps, he could easily shave fifteen centimetres off their length. It would be just as great a challenge to relearn how to use short arm prostheses as it would be to relearn to walk on stubbies. He had made three pairs of artificial arms for Zero, all different lengths including one pair which was almost completely useless but which looked amazing. He decided to rescan his stumps and base his short arms on the new scans. It was something else Chrome could do for him when he came down after lunch. He would have to pay for the new components himself and placed an order with prosthetist John Ford for a new double harness, two control cables and two basic wrist connectors. He might use farmer’s hooks permanently on his short arms. They looked more imposing and would add to the visual shock value of the truncated sockets. After making a full recovery from quadruple amputations, Limb was now gradually disabling himself again.

 

Limb stayed behind after lunch to help Chrome clear up. It was unnecessary and Chrome could do the job in a third of the time but the two men got on well together. Chrome had settled well into his routine of preparing seven meals three times a day which including planning, ordering, preparing and plating. Zero insisted on eating alone in his room and his meals were delivered under a cloche. Stump rolled the delivery trolley back into the corner where it was kept. He was surprised and pleased to find Limb present.

            – Hi Limb! How’s it going?

            – Not bad, thanks. Just waiting for Chrome. I need his fingers downstairs, see?

            – Is someone getting a new pros?

            – Yup. I am. I’ve made a pair of stubbies but they have to be glued together and it’s a job I can’t do with hooks.

            – Why not?

            – The components are slippery plastic and most of them are too big to grip. You know how wide the hook opens. The stuff I’m working on is much bigger.

            – I getcha. Can I come and watch?

            – I suppose so. Are the torsos settled?

            – Yeah, they’re fine. All settled down again with their hoods on.

            – Alright. Come and see what I’ve made.

 

Chrome and Stump waited while Limb saved his designs for new arms and activated the assembly animations for his stubbies.

            – See, these are the bits which fit together and you can see how they have to slot together so they can’t fall apart. Not easily anyway. The thing is, the glue melts the plastic and you only have a few seconds to get the bits into place before its too late. So Chrome, have a look at what needs to be done and practise a few times so you know what you’re doing. OK?

            – Sure.

 

Artificial intelligence had optimised the assembly so that each component more or less locked the others into place. The best examples of its genius were the leg prostheses which both Limb and Zero used. The sockets had remained solid, fused together into one piece and the shins and feet were optimised to withstand twice any reasonable forces the amputees might encounter in daily life. The six parts on Limb’s workbench should combine to provide similar reliability. Chrome held two pieces and referred to the repeating animation onscreen before slotting them together.

            – They’re a very good fit, aren’t they? You can hardly see the join.

            – Yep. Your arm socket is made the same way. Haven’t you noticed the joins yet?

            – Really? No, I haven’t. That’s amazing.

            – Chrome mate, if you’re ready, you can paint the glue onto one of the pieces and join it to the other. But you only have about fifteen or twenty seconds, OK? Try not to breathe the fumes.

 

Chrome checked the surfaces which needed glue and opened the tiny bottle. The cap held a narrow brush with long bristles. Chrome moved it steadily around the component. The glue flowed like ink in a pen’s nib. He quickly put the cap down and joined the two parts together. He held them in place for half a minute and rested the assembly on the table.

            – I could do the other side next, couldn’t I? Leave that to harden before I put the foot on.

He repeated his actions after which Limb’s footless sockets were ready.

            – Let’s wait a few minutes for the glue to set a bit.

            – Limb, what’s it like having leg stumps?

            – Wow! You don’t beat about the bush, do you? Let me think. For me, it’s just a matter of having different legs. I had long ones before and now they’re short. And they always need to be protected inside something, whether it be a liner or stump shield or a pair of stubbies or long artificial legs.

            – But when you don’t have your legs on, how do your stumps feel?

            – I like the fact that I have short legs. I’ve grown used to seeing them and I know how they feel. I know where the ends of my stumps are, a bit like a constant reminder.

            – Do they hurt?

            – Only very rarely. My amputations were elective which means that there was nothing physically wrong with my legs before and the surgeon could make me the stumps I asked for. He sewed them up neatly and I think I have a pretty handsome pair.

            – You like having stumps?

            – Sure. They let me play around with artificial limbs. I have four stumps and only rarely run into something I can’t do. Like right now, for instance. I think you could glue the feet onto the sockets now, Chrome.

 

Ten minutes later the new stubbies stood together on Limb’s workbench. In profile, they appeared to be uniformly wide. The sockets extended twenty centimetres beyond the tips of Limb’s stumps with a slight curve at the base. They would rock back and forth slightly if poked. From the front, the extensions narrowed sharply to provide a base like the sole of a shoe. Limb intended adding rubber soles to prevent the stubbies from sliding unintentionally. It was something he knew he could do himself.

            – Now all I need to do is wait. Thanks for helping, Chrome.

 

Chrome returned to the kitchen, leaving Limb and Stump in the workshop.

            – Stump, if you want, I can show you how I made your arm.

            – Oh, great! That would be interesting.

Limb called up the print files and showed Stump how the app had calculated the strongest possible arrangement of the four parts making up his socket. They slotted together in such a way that the last piece locked the other three into position. An animation demonstrated the assembly order and stress patterns in the completed socket. Stump compared his prosthesis with the diagram onscreen, trying to discern the joins.

            – It’s brilliant, Limb. It must be great to be able to make something like that.

            – It is. I’m working on a new pair of arms for myself. Don’t tell anybody. Zero will be pissed if he finds out.

            – No, I won’t.

Limb showed Stump the pair of virtual prostheses which he wanted to trial. The hooks were much closer to his elbows and would make an appreciable difference to how the prostheses were used. Limb anticipated a new learning curve. He remembered his fascination with his new hooks after collecting them from John Ford. It was the culmination of a life‑long desire. He loved being a new amputee, relearning his body, discovering his stumps for the first time and receiving his first set of replacement arms on the shoulder‑hugging harness was an achievement he had never expected to experience himself. But at the age of only twenty‑four, he became a double amputee with bilateral hooks and there had never been a happier man. He had his ideal physique. Limb was searching for that lost euphoria and hoped a more restrictive pair of prostheses might remind him of the early days when he was intensely conscious of his artificial arms and hooks.

            – Why do you want a shorter pair? Is there any advantage to having little short forearms?

            – I just want to try them out. And I think they’ll look better when I’m wearing my new stubbies. Short arms with short legs.

            – Yeah, I suppose. I wish I could try something like that but my stump is so long. But you know that.

            – Of course I do. Have you seen mine? Would you like to?

            – Sure!

Limb rose and shucked his harness off. He leaned against the workbench and used first the opposing socket and then the opposing stump to remove his stumps from the sockets. They were still covered by several stump socks and liners.

            – Roll these off for me, will you? Be careful with the liners.

            – I will.

Limb’s arm stumps rarely got any air during daylight hours. They were covered in dark hair, now matted, which covered the tips. Stump looked at the overall effect of his friend with two arm stumps. He looked so helpless without his hooks. Limb watched his expression transform from surprise to admiration.

            – They’re beautiful.

            – Thanks. I think so too.

            – I wish I could have a pair like that. And a pair of short prossies like yours! Man, I’d feel so horny just looking at them.

            – Yeah but that soon wears off once you start actually using your hooks.

            – I suppose so.

Limb was familiar enough with Zero’s moods to know that he was more likely to agree to new amputations when he was feeling vindictive and tried to decide whether to influence Stump’s future so soon after the man’s arrival.

            – Are you certain you’d like bilateral hooks?

            – Of course I am!

            – On stumps like mine?

            – That would be fantastic.

            – OK. Leave it with me. I’ll let you know. But I can tell you one thing, Stump. After you get your hooks, you’ll still have to do your present work. I had to carry on after I got my hooks. It was a real crash course in learning to use them.

            – I could do that. I’m pretty sure.

            – Good. I have the suspicion that you’re going to find out.

 

Limb tested the waters later in the evening after Zero had dined. He had been silent throughout the meal, which Limb took to mean that there was nothing particularly acute annoying him.

            – Zero, there’s something which may cause some disruption but I have it mainly in hand.

            – What is it?

            – Stump has become envious of my arms and wishes he had a similar pair of his own.

            – Ha! I guessed as much. It’s been a while since we had some fresh amputations. He wants both arms gone, does he?

            – Both hands. He wants stumps like mine. I don’t think it’s yet time to persuade him to lose his elbows. I want him to be able to function as the housekeeper after he recovers. I don’t mind taking over his job for a month or six weeks before he gets a pair of hooks.

            – He wants his stump revised too, does he?

            – Yes sir.

            – Very well. Leave it with me.

 

Zero was actually cheered by the idea of having another bilateral hook user as housekeeper. Limb had shown that it was perfectly possible and had relinquished the job to Nub only after gaining his leg stumps. Even Nub had managed the job perfectly well limping around on a peg leg. Yes, a new severely disabled housekeeper might be entertaining for a few weeks. He slowly tapped out a message to his leather colleague the surgeon and enquired about available times for a bilateral BE on a twenty‑five to thirty year old male. The surgeon was delighted to hear from Zero after a considerable hiatus following the removal of the man’s leg stumps and suggested a date far earlier than Zero had anticipated. He agreed with the timetable at the suggested cost. Limb would be back housekeeping sooner than he anticipated and it would do the boy good. He had been far too lax and idle recently.

 

Stub and Nub checked their appearance and that of their new premises for the last time before opening the door to a small group of waiting customers. Stub had outdone himself and produced two trays of cake, one gluten free, since getting up at four in the morning. The slices looked tempting. A large thermos of fresh coffee stood behind an array of paper mugs, with a variety of tea bags and rooibos also available. Nub opened the door and welcomed his first prospective clients.

 

They were a homogenous crowd, women and men, late twenties, early thirties, dressed in smart casual clothes. They cast knowledgeable eyes about the space, approving of comfortable seating, indirect lighting, ample work space in a neutral contemporary environment.

            – Please help yourself to coffee and cake, everyone. This is what will always be on offer free of charge while you’re working here.

Stub stood by the refreshments, hooks demuredly clasped in front of his crotch. As Nub had suggested, he had donned his long prostheses after his baking was ready and felt rooted to the spot. He dared not move in fear of revealing himself to be even more disabled than he already obviously was. A woman draped with cameras and recording equipment approached smiling and introduced herself.

            – Radio London, hi. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?

            – No, of course not.

            – Oh good. Would you start by explaining what sort a place this is and how you came up with the idea?

Stub had already prepared some credible answers, as had Nub, and explained how solitary home workers had no place in which to meet colleagues or where they could experience a new environment when they wanted a change. Traditional pubs had mostly closed and coffee bars were usually too noisy and expensive to work in. The newly converted pub offered a quiet environment with good coffee and something to eat where independent workers could both work peacefully and meet each other. Who could say what might result?

 

Both Stub and Nub gave similar answers to several interviewers during the first couple of hours. Visitors continued arriving and Nub accepted several trial subscriptions for the next month. The receipts included a bar-code which opened the electronic lock. Stub kept an eye on the refreshments and brought more coffee and cake from their upstairs kitchen at regular intervals. Shortly after eleven, Limb appeared. He looked up at Stub and Nub from his new height and grinned. He stumped further into the space and spun himself around on his stubbies. He was dressed in leather shorts with a motorcycle jacket from which his hooks extended just enough to make them visible. Zero appeared in his wheelchair, propelled by Stump. Zero had made no effort to conceal his prosthetic leg stumps and wore his own ancient leather jacket and a high‑peaked officer’s cap. Stump looked very much the poor relation in his newish leather jacket and black Oxford bags. Zero insisted he could navigate from now on and dismissed Stump. He stared at Nub until Nub noticed and jerked his head. Nub joined him, sitting on a chair with his peg extended.

 

            – Are you pleased with the reception?

            – You mean the number of people? Yes, I am. We advertised on a few social media sites last week and trusted in the word spreading and it seems to have worked.

            – I’m glad to hear it. I see Stub is standing tall. How is he faring with his prostheses?

            – He usually wears his stubbies upstairs but we both want him to be walking on full‑length legs in order not to be a distraction.

            – Understandable, I suppose.

 

Zero continued with his own interview. Nub thought the man seemed much tamer than previously. Perhaps talking to another independent entrepreneur altered his approach. Zero looked around for Stump and saw him chatting with Stub and another customer and raised a hook. Stump excused himself and crossed the room.

            – I am ready now, boy. Thank you, Nub. This had been most informative and I wish you well.

Stump winked at Nub and pushed his limbless mentor back towards the house. There was still work to be done. Limb watched them go and made an indistinct gesture suggesting he would soon follow.

            – How come you’re on stubbies, Limb? What’s that all about?

            – Strange you should ask. When I was working on your legs, I was thinking about how you’ve been on stubbies since you had your legs off and I began to wonder what it must be like to have artificial legs which are really nothing more than an extension of your stumps. And I wanted to try it out so I made my own pair. How do you like them?

            – Can I be honest?

            – Ha! Of course you can.

            – I don’t like ’em. If I say they are not elegant, does it sound silly?

            – No, but how do you mean?

            – I can see what you’re aiming for with the base sort of narrowing to something like a foot but it doesn’t look good. The proportions are wrong somehow.

            – Yeah, I sort of know what you mean. But the thing is, they’re really great to walk in. I can roll forward exactly the way I hoped and they hit the ground at just the right angle. And I can’t tell you how erotic it feels to have rigid legs all the way from my arse. Actually, they feel so good that I slept in them last night. Didn’t take ’em off.

            – Had a bit of a wank, right?

            – Yeah! Christened ’em.

            – So do you think you’ll be wearing them instead of your legs now?

            – That’s what I have in mind and I’m making a short pair of arms right now to sort of match my shorter legs.

            – Wow! That sounds amazing. Look, I have to get back to meeting and greeting and we need some fresh coffee so I’ll have to love you and leave you.

            – OK, mate. Take care.

 

Stub cautiously stepped towards the lift and Limb watched his gait. Sub walked stiff‑legged, understandable in such a small space, but he seemed balanced. He would learn. Limb sought out Nub, raised a hook in farewell and made his way back to the house, savouring the sensations from his stubbies in his stumps. His curved ‘feet’ made each step a little easier with a slight rotation. After balancing on two prostheses for several years, the stubbies felt like a breath of fresh air. They were lighter, too. Zero had already expressed his disapproval but in the matter of his own personal prosthetics, Limb intended to stand his ground.

 

Curious prospective customers continued to arrive at the converted pub. Nub was kept busy. Not only did he have to explain how much access cost and how it worked, he also found himself contending with the occasional admirer of both his looks and his unobtrusive peg leg. Nub sported a full blond beard and curling moustache, a look which hearkened back to the heady days of the twenty‑teens when young men competed to grow the most extravagant beards. The look was back with the increase in work‑from‑home. Men found that growing long beards not only saved time but also provided some kind of solidarity, a friendly competition between peers.

 

One visitor stood out from the crowd. He had heard through the grapevine that not only was there a new community centre for homeworkers but that the owners were amputees. He was excited and intrigued by the idea and, not really believing that such could be the case, turned up and looked around. The clientele, if such they were, looked like the sort of crowd he had expected to see. He spotted Stub watching him. Stub’s interlocked hooks were immediately obvious and his doubts evaporated. He sauntered over to the refreshment table and Stub greeted him.

            – Help yourself to coffee.

            – Thanks, I will. This looks like a nice place to come and work for a change.

            – You’ve hit the nail on the head. That’s exactly the idea. Somewhere to come for a change of scenery with no distractions and everything you need to work in peace, including all the coffee and cake you want to keep the munchies at bay.

            – Right. I guess you’re one of the owners, aren’t you? Someone said the owners are amputees and I thought I’d check it out.

            – Yeah. The guy over there with the blond beard and I co‑own it and we have a pad upstairs. What used to be the stockroom.

            – Nice. Is your friend disabled in some way too?

            – He is. You seem interested.

            – Sorry. I am. Always have been. I don’t know why.

            – Are you a wannabe? You like seeing amputees because you want to be an amputee yourself, is that it?

            – Oh, you nailed it this time. It’s true. I’d like to have my left leg off above the knee and have an artificial leg. It sounds crazy, I know.

            – Not at all. I know several men who have done exactly that, and more. Would you like some cake? It’s home made.

 

Before hearing the answer, Stub rocked himself around and deftly used a silver cake server to place a slice of cake onto a paper plate. He nipped hold of a wooden fork, placed it on the plate and handed it to the devotee. He rocked around again to face him.

            – Er, do you have an artificial leg too? You’re sort of limping.

            – I have two artificial legs. Unfortunately I’m not used to them yet.

            – Are you a recent amputee, then?

            – No, no. Nothing like that. I’ve always worn stubbies until very recently. My partner thought I would less of a distraction if I wore prosthetic legs instead of short stubbies.

            – I get the idea.

The two men summed each other up for a few seconds. Both assumed they knew what the other was thinking.

            – Why don’t you talk to my colleague and ask him about getting a key? Then you could come in anytime for a chat.

            – Thanks. I will. That’s good coffee, by the way.

 

He looked around appreciatively at the unobtrusive decor and noted the secure free wifi and other technical features before sidling up to Nub, who was talking about transfer speeds to two visitors. Nub segued into his spiel about a month’s membership with access from nine ’til nine and the newcomer eagerly signed up with the other two listeners. He had still not discovered how the bearded guy was disabled and was reluctant to ask.

 

Opening day continued until six o’clock when Nub announced that anyone wishing to buy a subscription could still do so during the next few minutes. The implication was clear enough and the last guests thanked the hosts, gradually leaving Nub and Stub alone to evaluate the day. Over two hundred visitors had attended and seventy‑three of them had bought a door pass for the next month. Stub was almost incredulous. It was twice the number he had expected. Their venture might be off to a flying start after all, the worry and doubt during the previous weeks futile.

 

Stub’s inquisitive wannabe was not the only visitor who bought a subscription chiefly because of a desire to see the amputees again. Perhaps every day. Maybe they could forge a closer social relationship and eventually see their stumps. Stub cleared the coffee things away and Nub vacuumed the floor before dimming the lights and ascending to their loft for a well‑earned rest. It would begin again at six the next morning, as it would every day.

 

Zero told Limb that he wanted a word with the new housekeeper.

            – Stump, you mean? OK. What time?

            – When he gets a few minutes. You have coffee at eleven, do you not? Send him up then.

Zero gave no further explanation. Limb hoped Stump was not in trouble.

 

Stump himself was nonplussed when Limb told him. It was clearly not an urgent matter. Stump thanked Limb and promised to see what Zero wanted. Even after such a short time in the house, he knew Zero was not a man to be crossed.

 

Zero was much as he had been last time Stump had seen him. His glossy black leg stumps, motorbike jacket and a peaked officer’s cap. His longest artificial arms stretched along his wheelchair’s armrests.

            – Come in, Stump, and close the door.

Stump did so and stood waiting while Zero stared at his face, reading his thoughts so it seemed and then taking in his artificial arm and hook.

            – Tell me how you are adapting to being a hook user.

            – Very well, sir, I think. I’ve already learned to do quite a few things with it.

            – Good. I’m interested to hear about how you feel about wearing it in public. Are you not self‑conscious about people’s stares and comments?

            – No sir. The only time I’ve been outside was yesterday when we went to the opening. And it was mostly hidden in my jacket sleeve.

            – Indeed.

            – But I wouldn’t be shy about showing it off, sir. I think of my hook as a symbol of what I want to be, sir.

            – And what do you want to be, Stump?

            – I want to be seen as an amputee, sir, who uses hooks instead of hands. That’s my goal in life. To have artificial arms on two stumps.

            – I see. You anticipate the situation. That being simply this. This afternoon you will pack a small bag with the belongings you will need for a hospital stay of five to seven days. You will be collected this evening and taken to a private clinic where both your arms will be amputated halfway along your forearms. That is the condition. I am sure you would prefer longer stumps but that is not possible. I want your stumps to be short so you will be compelled always to wear bilateral protheses. Do you understand?

 

Stump was unsure if he understood. He thought he understood Zero’s words but not his intention nor the enormity of losing his remaining hand and half his forearms. He tried to picture himself naked with short arm stumps, maybe a set of artificial arms somewhere nearby. Two steel hooks for the rest of his life. He was only twenty‑three. He would be an amputee all his adult life, always the centre of attention, always admired for his amazing dexterity flashing his hooks.

 

            – Yes sir. I understand. I will be ready to leave by this evening.

            – I suspected you would. That is all. I would prefer you not to talk of this to the others.

            – No sir, I shan’t.

Zero fixed his stare on him again and Stump realised the interview was over.

 

Limb learned from Nub that Stump had been driven off in a grey car with a hold‑all. Zero had synchronised Stump’s departure so that no siren sounded inside the house to warn of the approach of an outsider.

            – Have you heard anything, Limb? What was that all about?

            – I don’t know. But you know as well as I do what it looks like.

            – Amputation.

            – Yeah. But he’s only been here a couple of weeks. Surely he’s not ready yet.

            – It does seem strange. Ask Zero what’s going on.

 

Limb had no need to ask. Zero informed him that he would be taking over housekeeping duties immediately and could relinquish them to Stump when the boy was fitted with a pair of hooks.

            – He’s having his hand amputated? Is that it?

            – He is and both forearms will be reduced to half their length. You’re going to have your work cut out caring for him, as the saying goes.

            – You mean I’m going to have to look after him when he returns?

            – He’s your friend. Make him your responsibility. See to his needs while he is recovering and fit him with hooks as soon as you can.

            – I’d have to move back to my old room to be with him.

            – I thought that was what you wanted. To be with your pretty young friend who so admires you he is willing to lose both arms to emulate you.

            – Did you arrange his amputations out of spite?

            – Remember your position, boy. You will not address me in that tone.

Both men stared wordlessly at each other until Limb spun himself around on his left stubby and stumped out. The door to Stump’s room was unlocked. He set about changing the sheets on the futon and took them to the laundry room. He returned with fresh sheets and made the bed. It was much easier to do wearing short legs. He fetched fresh underwear and stump socks and liners from his and Zero’s room.

 

The amputations were performed the next morning. Stump chose local anaesthetic and was mildly sedated. Even so, he followed the transformation of his long stump into something alarmingly short. His arm would be long enough to operate an artificial arm with, he supposed, but the situation would be as Zero intended. He would always need his prostheses to use his stumps. Naked, they were too short for any practical purpose. He did not watch the amputation of his hand. His healthy lower arms were incinerated that afternoon and the ashes would be used to fertilise the roses in front of the clinic’s forecourt. Stump’s arms were bound in thick layers of bandages and the semi‑conscious man was allowed to rest for the remainder of the day.

 

Limb determined to maintain standards and woke before six to assemble himself ready for the daily ritual with the torsos. They were all surprised to see him, worried about Stump until Limb told them he had gone for a medical procedure and would be back in a few days. No‑one suspected that such a recently arrived housekeeper might already have been granted amputations by Zero and they accepted Limb’s devious explanation. Limb ferried everyone to breakfast and back, washed those who requested it and dressed them in their customary black leather and hoods. He took more laundry upstairs and vacuumed floors minus three and minus two. The black room was so rarely used these days that he ignored it. It had been the custom for Zero to spend an evening watching video and sharing a drink with the torsos before he had disabled himself too severely. Limb was always reminded of the evening when he and Rage had smoked one of Limb’s enormous cigars in there soon after he arrived in the house. He was full‑limbed then and watched the way his limbless companion used his hooks, wishing and hoping that he might one day do the same. Now he had them, and a new pair of stubbies too. In theory, he was no more able‑bodied than Rage had been but Rage was settled in a life of limbless leisure whereas Limb had to continue working. It was what he had wanted and now he had it. But the pleasure had gone. Only the drudgery remained.

 

Stump was disoriented by the suddenness of his maiming. It was the first time he had been in hospital and although this was a privately owned clinic, the routine was identical. A series of medical staff attended him regularly, wordlessly checking a digital display to which he was linked, offering a variety of tablets and encouraging him to drink copious amounts of water. His bandaged stumps rested helplessly on his chest and he was trying to comprehend the enormity of the loss of both hands. He suspected that his new artificial left arm would no longer fit and Limb would have to make another one. In this he was correct. Limb had already contacted John Ford to order yet another double harness, wrist connectors and a right hook and cable. He paid from his own account but fully intended to get the money from Stump. His own prosthetic equipment was expensive enough and he was reluctant to fund anyone else’s in addition.

 

Zero was in touch with his leather friend, the surgeon.

            – How is the boy?

            – Recovering well. As well as electives usually do. Blood and oxygen levels fine, cholesterol a little high. Nothing special.

            – Did you amputate as I directed?

            – I did. The boy’s stumps are as identical as possible. They extend halfway the length of the boy’s former arms including the padding at the tips. The bones are somewhat shorter, naturally.

            – So you’d say two fifths of the radius and ulna left? Little enough to make life difficult?

            – I should say so, Zero. This young man will rely on prostheses for the rest of his life. He will still have use of his elbows but otherwise he will have little benefit from his residual limbs. The stumps are simply too short.

            – Good. When may we expect his return?

            – You want him back at the house?

            – As soon as possible.

            – Let’s call it four days. Saturday afternoon.

            – Will you deliver him?

            – Of course. The same as always, Zero. I’ll let you know the details before the weekend.

            – Very well. I look forward to it. Good bye.

 

Stub seemed to have found a new rôle as an agony aunt for lonely work‑from‑homers. He was relieved at how popular the converted pub had become so quickly. There already seemed to be a few regulars who arrived soon after nine, sought out their favoured spaces and set to work in the comfortable company of peers doing the same thing. There was no music, no tv, no sound of people’s conversations or raucous forced laughter. People worked and helped themselves to coffee. Occasionally, someone would quietly complain about the stress of tight deadlines or clients who demanded alterations to agreed designs. More than once, Stub pointed out that a deadline of four o’clock on Friday afternoon was complete rubbish because no‑one would do anything with the material before Monday morning after ten anyway. A Friday afternoon deadline meant a Monday morning deadline. He told designers who were tearing their hair out in desperation that next time they should stipulate in their contracts that up to two alterations would be billed separately. No more than two alterations. The designers looked at Stub as if he had gone mad before realising that the rôles were in fact reversed and thanked him for his sage advice. Designers who compromised their creativity because a customer is supposedly always right were condemned to generating crap. Someone had to put their foot down. Stub’s advice was accompanied by generous gestures with his hooks which never ceased to attract attention, sometimes admiring attention. By the end of the first week, after Nub worked on guestimates of debits and credits, it seemed that the pub was already close to breaking even and they hoped that their clientele might spread the word during the upcoming weeks. It had been hard work, starting early and acclimatising to meeting and seeing a flood of new people after years in the house, especially since Stub needed considerable assistance from Nub to get himself ready for bed and the next day. So far, it seemed it would all be worth the effort. They slept well, Stub clinging to Nub’s lithe body with his stumps, kneading Nub’s genitals with a leg stump until Nub either begged him to stop or invited his limbless lover onto his back for penetration. It was difficult for Stub to perform coitus with his short leg stumps. Nub knew it and allowed him all the time he needed. Stub found his leglessness to be at its superb ultimate zenith, crawling onto his lover’s back, seeking entry, fighting frantically for balance with his arm stumps. Nub could feel Stub’s struggle and savoured the sensations of a quadruple amputee’s stumps massaging his body, straining for release. Nub sometimes held Stub after he achieved penetration. Sometimes not. It was most enjoyable when Stub was responsible for his own satisfaction.

 

The surgeon inspected Stump’s residuals and, bearing in mind Zero’s wishes, pronounced them healed well enough for him to continue his convalescence at home. The stumps were still swollen and the sutures were ugly slashes emphasised by black stitches. Within two weeks, they could be removed by a local district nurse, someone who received a retainer to tend to unofficial fresh amputations without protesting against the additional workload. One such nurse, originally a student from Ireland who had made London his home and who frequented leather haunts dedicated to Tom of Finland, enthusiastically took on the responsibility of caring for Stump after he was informed of the young man’s affinity for the leather life. Liam O’Connor regarded life as an adventure and the odder it became, the more he enjoyed it.

 

Stump’s return was almost unnoticed by the rest of the household. He was still obsessively wary of allowing his heavily bandaged stumps to knock against anything and held his arms at an awkward angle in front of him in the distinctive way of new arm amputees. Limb and Stump sat for an hour or so in their shared room. Limb explained that he would be living with Stump from now on in order to watch out for him, at least until Stump had bilateral hooks and was familiar with them. Stump smiled wanly, grateful that his friend was so considerate but uncomfortable for causing so much disruption, as he saw it. He knew nothing about the growing rift between Limb and Zero.

 

            – Zero informed me that a district nurse of some kind will be visiting every day until your stumps are healed enough to remove the stitches. They’ll probably drop by a few times after that too, I should think.

            – I’m sorry to cause so much bother.

            – Don’t say that! It’s no bother. It’s what the nurse is for.

            – No, I mean you having to look after me all the time.

            – That’s not a problem, either. Look on the bright side, Stump. You’ll have your own hooks in a few weeks and start living life how you wanted.

 

Limb lifted his arms, opened the hooks as wide as possible and allowed them to close slowly. Stump stared at them. He had previously loved their appearance and was envious of Limb and Stub for using them so naturally. Now they seemed to present an almost insurmountable challenge. He would shortly have to master similar devices and felt inadequate to the task. For one thing, his stumps were shorter than he had imagined. He had wanted long forearms without hands. Instead he had elbows with about ten centimetres of stump. He knew enough about upper limb amputations to know that he would benefit from retaining his elbows but his meagre stumps would make it more difficult to operate artificial arms efficiently.

 

            – Talking of arms, my new pair is almost ready. The short pair I was working on, remember?

Limb suspected Stump was suffering from buyer’s remorse. ‘Possession diminishes perceived value, immediately’. Getting him involved with prosthetics might persuade him into a more positive mindset.

            – Shall we go to the lab for a look? There’s still two hours to lunch.

Limb slid off his chair onto his stubbies and twisted himself around to face the door. The minuscule contact area between the base of his rigid legs and the polished wooden floor made the manoeuvre easy. Turning while wearing two artificial legs was far more demanding. The pair descended into the silent bowels of the house.

 

            – See, I’ve got all the parts ready to be assembled but I had another idea and I want to be sure about it before I go too far. I really hate undoing stuff I’ve already made.

Stump saw the short hookless forearms and triceps cuffs, neatly glued into seamless perfection.

            – I could have short arms too, couldn’t I? I’ve only got a bit of stump left.

            – Don’t exaggerate. But it’s true. You’ve got a lot of potential to wear arms of all different lengths. I’ve got an idea for your first pair which you may or may not like but we’ll talk about that later. I need your stumps to heal first before we start planning anything permanent.

            – What was your idea about these arms? Why can’t you get them completed?

            – Oh yeah. I was thinking about having cylindrical cuffs instead of the usual sort. I’ve already made a few really long cuffs and I was wondering if a sort of completely enclosed design might work.

            – Why wouldn’t it work?

            – It might make it more difficult to get the harness on and off, see? That’s not such a problem for me ’cos I wear my arms fulltime but it might be a chore if someone is used to whipping their arms off all the time to use their stumps for something. You’ll be able to do that if you want.

            – I think my stumps are too short to do anything with.

            – Don’t say that. You never know. You might find they’re more useful than you think. You might like to be able to wriggle your prostheses off when you want to screw the lid off something, for example. That’s what I find difficult. If it wasn’t so much of an effort to get my stumps out, I’d probably use them far more than I do now.

            – Well, if you don’t take your arms off during the day, you’d only have to tackle your cuffs twice a day. You could always replace them if you don’t like them.

            – I know. I could even take the cuffs off this pair. I reckon my short arms are going to be permanent. I like walking on these stubbies, see? And shorter arms just sort of look better, I reckon.

            – It’s grand to be able to choose, isn’t it?

            – Aha! That’s the first positive thing you’ve said. And you’re right. We get to choose the sort of hooks we want to use and the sort of sockets, long or short. And maybe even what kind of cuffs we wear.

            – Why don’t you make a pair anyway and try them out? You don’t have to use them if you don’t like them, do you?

            – No, not really. Alright. You’ve twisted my arm and talked me into it. Come and see how I set up the printer.

 

Limb started his modelling app and found the dual cylindrical cuffs he had designed. In keeping with his preference for long cuffs, the cylindrical versions would conceal his upper arms entirely. Stump socks would have to extend to his shoulders in future. Stump looked at the virtual socket rotating slowly onscreen and tried to imagine having his own upper arm covered by such a cuff.

            – Why don’t you make a sort of hinge to connect one of these long cuffs to the socket, Limb? Then the whole arm would be sort of one piece. It would look real horny.

Limb stared at Stump with his mouth open.

            – Why didn’t I think of that? It might make it harder to sort of rotate your arm but there are ways around that. Wow! Have you got any more bright ideas like that?

            – Not yet. I’ll let you know.

            – I don’t doubt it. You know, now I want to try out round cuffs fixed to the sockets. I’m going to get the AI to make one I can attach to my new ones. I don’t want to reprint those.

 

Stump was pleased to have come up with an idea which Limb liked. Limb was suddenly more enthusiastic about his new set of arms which seemed to have taken ages to get ready. Actually, it was good they were not yet ready. He could imagine himself wearing a pair of arms which not only covered his arms entirely but also restricted his movement to some degree, although the short socket might compensate for that. He retrieved the latest scans of his stumps, the short sockets he had already printed and his experimental design for a cylindrical cuff. Stump looked at Limb’s hooks skittering over a touch‑sensitive control pad until Limb leaned back in his chair, revealing his gleaming carbon stubbies and watched Limb thinking about the next step.

            – I think that’s everything we need. Now we just have to get AI to assemble them properly. It might take a few attempts. I know—I’m going to make it include my arm first.

Stump tried to move his chair closer to the screen to watch but was unsuccessful. Limb exported the virtual objects and fed them into his AI extension. He thought about how to word his prompt so the machine would understand what he needed and tapped his first request with the tips of both hooks. Stump peered at the screen from behind him. The AI responded with thanks and its own request to wait while it optimised the connected components for use with the virtual arm.

            – At least it understands what it’s supposed to be doing.

            – How long does it usually take?

            – Anywhere from forty seconds to forty minutes. It used to offer all kinds of ridiculous suggestions but I think it has more common sense now. For example, it already knows that the sockets are ready because it controlled the prints. It probably wants me to drill holes somewhere but it won’t redesign the sockets.

            – It’s clever stuff, isn’t it?

            – It’s as clever as what I ask. Some of my prompts aren’t clear enough. I know what I mean but the machine doesn’t.

 

It took seven minutes to design a cylindrical triceps cuff which would attach to the existing short sockets with the only modification being two extra holes each side of the elbow. The cuff took the slightest contours of Limb’s upper arm into account and included a suggested route for the control cable and slots through which to loop the harness’s straps. A virtual model of the completed prosthesis in default glossy black carbon rotated slowly onscreen, its short forearm arresting and intriguing.

            – Oh, I like that. I can just imagine wearing arms which are not just short, they give much less freedom of movement too. It’s like having to learn how to use prostheses all over again. And if I start wearing worker’s hooks with them, that’ll be another challenge. Oh yeah, I think I’m going to enjoy wearing these. Thanks for the idea, Stump.

 

Stump beamed at Limb. He felt a greater bond between them. He was grateful for Limb’s friendship which was a mere shadow of the admiration he held for the quadruple amputee who continued living as if nothing was amiss. It would be fantastic if they could work together on projects like this, making prosthetic limbs for the men in the house, for each other and why not? For the outside world too. Limb was extracting the hinged upper cylindrical cuff from the animation and was soon adapting it with the required cable tunnels and strap slots from his own personal files. AI sliced it and Limb sent the first of six components for printing. If it worked on his right arm, he would mirror the files and resend them for a left arm cuff. He could almost feel how his stumps would be restricted by the prostheses. In fact, he suddenly realised, he would experience the same kind of disability which Stump would contend with every day of his life. His mood became more serious and with the printer illuminated in an almost invisible ultraviolet glow, Stump returned to their room and Limb went downstairs to check on the torsos. He was interrupted by a siren sounding throughout the house, a warning that someone had approached the house. Limb made his way unhurriedly to answer the front door to be confronted by a smiling face topped by curly ginger hair.

            – Good day to ye. I’m district nurse Liam O’Connor here to see Peter Coombs.

Limb was momentarily confused until he realised that was Stump’s proper name.

            – Sure. You’re in the right place.

O’Connor took in Limb’s own bilateral hooks.

            – I see you too have lost your hands. That’s quite a coincidence, don’t ye think?

            – It is at first sight. Follow me and I’ll take you to Mr Coombs. That is not what we call him here, by the way.

            – Is it not? What do you call him?

Limb summoned the lift.

            – He’s called Stump.

 

O’Connor had been informed that the house was a community of amputees where their physical needs were attended to by staff. He had no idea that the staff were amputees too and it was a shock to be met and escorted by a quadruple amputee wearing stubbies and leather shorts with a leather shirt over bilateral hooks. O’Connor thought Limb looked horny. There might be more going on here than he expected.

 

O’Connor removed Stump’s bandages and inspected the stumps. As he had thought, the patient had been discharged from the clinic far earlier than would ordinarily be the case. However, the stumps looked healthy and the patient insisted there was no unexpected pain although the stumps were far from comfortable. O’Connor nodded and applied fresh bandages.

            – I’ll be back to see ye tomorrow, Peter. Be careful with your stumps, my friend. Don’t knock them.

Stump promised to be as careful as possible. Limb walked with O’Connor to the front door and watched him depart. It was almost lunchtime. He went to the sub‑basement to place the torsos onto their trolleys in preparation for the midday meal.

 

Stump was as helpless as a newborn. Limb called by whenever he needed to urinate to ask if Stump needed the same. Stump wore elasticated sports bottoms which were simple to tug down with hooks. Limb guided Stump’s stream as best he could. For much of the afternoons, Stump tried to sleep, constantly wary about rolling over onto one of his stumps. He would have loved to sleep on his side but it was too fraught with risk of unintentional injury. His stumps had been wrapped more tightly and were less bulky, for which he was grateful. He slept from three until six when Limb returned from his rounds.

 

Liam O’Connor arrived each morning at irregular times, met by Limb who stood by while Liam checked Stump’s progress. Two weeks passed before he disinfected and sterilised the stumps and removed the ugly black stitches. It was not a comfortable procedure. Stump grimaced in pain as the thick threads were tweezed from his flesh but shortly appreciated how much better his stumps looked. They even felt better, less constricted.

            – I want you to continue wearing the compression bandages for another couple of weeks and then we’ll see about a pair of shrinkers which you should also wear under your prostheses. Have you made any enquiries about being fitted for artificial arms?

            – We have our own facilities here for that sort of thing, Liam. Almost all our prostheses are made right here.

            – That is remarkable. You are very fortunate. Well, I must be going. I’ll call in again tomorrow, Peter, but I think we can get by with twice weekly visits after that. It’s good to see you making such a good recovery.

Limb escorted him to the door and made sure he left the premises before returning to their room.

            – Are you OK for an hour or so? I have to vacuum on two and three but I’ll be back before lunch and I want to work on an idea I have for short arms. If you don’t like it, I’ll make one for myself. Anyway, you can come down to the lab again if you want.

            – OK, I will.

 

Limb set about his work. He had been using his new pair of shorter arms for ten days. The tall cylindrical cuffs fit perfectly along his upper arms and the broad hinges on both sides of his elbows held the short forearm sockets firmly. They restricted the amount of rotation which Limb could exercise and although he appreciated the loss of movement and the additional inconvenience of the short reach, he preferred to wear the new arms with his stubbies. He was a short limbed man, completely reliant on prosthetic limbs which he was attempting to pare down to a minimum degree of utility. He wanted to create a set of prostheses which provided as little assistance as possible. He felt his present pair of stubbies were close to the minimum length he could use for walking on, although he could also make himself a pair of stump boots which would make ambulation a seriously demanding chore. Something to play with later, perhaps. His latest idea, inspired by his recalcitrant short arms, was simply to create forearms which curved inwards, bringing the hooks closer together at rest. His present pair made it impossible to extend a hook in line with the centre of his body. It was always to one side. He had to twist his torso to move his hook and quickly learned to do so. Curved forearms, unnatural as they would look, would solve the problem.

 

Limb and Stump found time after lunch. The three torsos had to be fetched, fed, toiletted and returned to their cavern where their hoods were replaced and they were placed into comfortable positions. More than once, the conversation revolved around Limb’s changing persona. He was definitely undergoing some kind of metamorphosis, changing from an active man into someone who closely resembled the torsos themselves. It was all very mysterious but no‑one deemed it appropriate to question him about his transition. They were all content with their minimalist stumps and primitive prosthetic devices which Limb had designed and created for them. After Stub had left, there was no‑one who had a pair of practical artificial arms, although Rage had experimented with a short pair of immobile hooks attached to a rigid harness.

 

Limb settled himself onto a chair and twisted his body from side to side as his hooks sought to operate the keyboard. His new arms were unable to let him move his forearms laterally. They moved up and down. That was all. Stump watched Limb patiently coaxing the modelling app into readiness and was shortly agog at the virtual arms which turned slowly through all dimensions on the screen. 

            – So what do you think? How would you like a pair like that, Stump? You could wear the same kind of cuffs that I’ve got, holding your arms rigid except for up and down and you’d have these arms to let you use your hooks in front of you.

The arms curved sharply inwards from the elbows. The hooks met at a ninety degree angle in the middle.

            – We could make them even more extreme if you want.

            – I really like the look of them, Limb. But two seems like overkill, if you know what I mean. How about the left arm is straight but the right arm curls all the way inwards, sort of horizontal?

            – I’ve thought about that but I don’t think the cable will let you. It wants to be as straight and as taut as possible so it’s easy to use the hook, see?

            – Oh, alright. But I reckon it would be cool to have one curved arm and the other just as long but straight. I mean the hook is just as far away.

            – Yeah, I get it. Do you wanna try out a pair of arms like that? Do you want short sockets or normal length? Or something in between?

            – If I could have sockets as long as yours, I’d like that, I think.

            – And you want the long stiff cuffs like these?

            – Yeah, why not? You like ’em, right? I want arms which look good and are useful even with my little short stumps.

            – Alright. All you need to do now is decide which arm should be straight.

 

Limb had another idea which was so outrageous that he had not spoken of it to anyone. He had two muscular healthy thigh stumps but had begun to think about creating a monocoque into which he could fit both stumps. What would he look like wearing such an incredible device over his leg stumps? He began to draw it, swaying, drawing with the tip of his right hook on the pressure sensitive tablet, occasionally requesting AI for assistance. Stump sat beside him, not understanding what he was watching. When they stopped for Limb’s return to household duties at four o’clock, he had designed a lightweight socket for Limb’s above‑knee stumps. Limb was now faced with yet another decision. He could extend it up past his hips so his entire body was held rigid inside it. He would be as legless as Zero. He left the laptop to switch itself off and the pair of lovers returned to their room for a nap before supper.

 

Limb thought more about his monocoque and realised it would be too impractical. But he still wanted his leg stumps to become defunct. Zero’s example was ideal. The man still had short stumps of some indeterminate length. His stumps were mere nubs, useless for mobility. Perhaps they provided a little support when the man sat without his artificial stumps. It was a horny look. Limb wished it were somehow possible to swap between leglessness and using his robust stumps with his stump boots and stubbies. It was a conundrum. Perhaps some kind of moulded seat for his wheelchair would hold his stumps firmly in place rendering them useless. He might even consider the same kind of artificial stumps as Zero. 

 

Liam O’Connor visited the house for what he intended to be the final time. Coomb’s stumps were as well healed as any he had treated. He had amputee companions who could and did advise him on all matters related to post‑amputation and it was apparently his room‑mate who was the resident prosthetist. The man was in good hands. O’Connor pronounced the stumps ready for their first fitting. It came as a huge relief to both Stump himself and to Limb. They both knew exactly what kind of prostheses Stump wanted and after O’Connor had left, they returned to the lab to finesse the remaining details.

 

Stump had decided he wanted a short straight prosthesis on his left and a curved one on his right. It would be angled at about sixty degrees and the two hooks would be equidistant. Limb estimated that a well‑placed control cable would take the extra force. The long cylindrical cuffs prevented the cable moving about between it and the lower socket. Limb wanted Stump to trial the curved socket because, as a new amputee, he had no prior experience of such equipment and he would be able to provide an unbiased report.

            – Sit down and I’ll scan your stumps.

 

Stump’s data was soon uploaded to Limb’s laptop and AI assembled a virtual pair of stumps. Limb found the files for his long upper cuffs and the file for his short left arm prosthesis. Only the right socket was left. Limb thought about the best way to design it. He simply drew a curved line as seen from above extending from Stump’s right elbow along his short stump from where the socket should curve gently inwards. He explained what the line represented to Stump and prompted his machine to create a socket whose centre line followed the curve. Several minutes later, a virtual socket was available for viewing. Limb completed it with a standard wrist connector and a Hosmer Five hook.

            – How do you like the look of that?

            – It looks amazing. Thanks ever so much, Limb. I can’t wait to try it out.

            – Neither can I. If you get on OK with it, I’m going to make a pair for myself. Alright if you think you’ll manage with it, I’ll do the straight one too. You don’t have to wait if you don’t want to.

            – No! I like being down here. It’s much more interesting. It’s fun to watch.

            – OK. What’s next? I think I’ll alter the left arm so the tips of the hooks touch, then I need to make sure the cuffs will fit you properly. The AI can work out the hinges again and then the last thing to do is to overlay the design for the cable guides and what not. It won’t take long. We should be able to start printing later on unless there’s a problem.

 

Limb made one additional change to the right prosthesis. The left socket could hang vertically from the cuff but the right one curved and would rest on Stump’s belly and exert a twisting force on the elbow hinges. Together they designed a wedge‑shaped stop on the right socket to prevent it from straightening. At rest, it would angle forwards at about twenty degrees. Stump was well aware how odd the arm would look but no‑one had the right to criticise or judge him for his personal prosthetic solutions. Limb also repositioned the control cable guides to take advantage of the lesser curve and programmed both prostheses to rotate in unison. The virtual cable activated the hook smoothly at all angles.

            – I think it’s ready, Stump mate. I’d better stop now and see to the torsos in case someone wants a shower before supper.

            – Oh, is it that late already?

            – It is. Hold your stumps out and I can put the liners back on.

            – Are you going to continue after we’ve eaten?

            – Not sure yet. It might be a good idea to sleep on it in case you think of something else.

            – Ah, yeah. OK.

            – You’re impatient, aren’t you?

            – I am now when I’m so close to getting my hooks.

            – Another couple of days, Stump, and you’ll be wearing them.

 

Limb was almost as impatient as Stump. He was satisfied with his experimental short arms with restrictive sockets. As he had expected, the short arms looked more compatible with his stubbies and he was privately amused by having imagined and built prostheses which were much less versatile than the time‑tested standard design. Being unable to move his hooks from side to side was a continual reminder of his disability but he had adapted quickly by rotating his body slightly. The slightly curved bases on his stubbies lent themselves perfectly to such an action. The broad flat bottoms of his stump boots did not.

 

Limb questioned Stump over breakfast. He fed Stump as he had done every morning for the past several weeks and asked if he had thought up any new features which might be included in the virtual models before printing. Stump shook his head.

            – I think we’re ready to print now, Limb.

            – If you’re sure. Alright. Come and join me in the lab after ten, OK?

            – What are you printing this time, Limb?

            – Stump is getting his new arms, Rage. They’re a different design from the ordinary run of the mill and we’re looking forward to seeing how he manages with them.

            – That sounds interesting. You’ll have to come down to the dungeon to show us, Stump.

Rage still wore his leather hood without eyeholes unless he was being washed or fed. Of all the torsos, he was the most private and least talkative. No‑one knew what he thought about in silence every day but he was always lucid and interested in new events in the house. All four limbs had been disarticulated and he was therefore also the most severely disabled. Edge and Mane still had vestiges of arm stumps, although they were useless for anything more than gesturing. Edge was mobile if someone attached his short stubbies to his leg nubs. They still missed Stub, who had been proficient enough with his artificial limbs to act as general assistant for the other torsos.

 

Limb returned the torsos to the basement and made sure everyone was comfortable. He paid unusual attention to Edge’s and Mane’s leg stumps, long enough to provide some stability when seated, too short to use with prosthetic legs. He still felt dissatisfied with his own status and went to his room to change his stubbies for his shorter stump boots. To all practical purposes, they were padded stump shields. The bases were flat sheets of inch thick rubber, almost circular. They were difficult to walk in. It was what Limb wanted to experience and he started his chores, waving his hooks for balance as he transferred his weight from one stump to the next. The stump boots had one advantage compared to his stubbies—the flat bases let him stand securely. The stubbies always needed adjustment thanks to their curved ‘feet’. If his boots had curved bases, they too would be unstable and even more disabling. Limb was bemused by the idea of wearing such impractical stump boots. They would look well horny.

 

Stump was waiting for him in the lab when he arrived mid‑morning. He had found Limb’s encyclopaedia of amputation and succeeded in wrestling the heavy book to the table.

            – I’ve been looking at some of these old artificial arms. Hope you don’t mind.

            – Of course not. See anything you’d like to try out?

            – Some of the old wooden stuff looks interesting. The ones which are just wooden hands with leather gloves over them.

            – Sunday hands. They were just sleeve fillers. Men used to wear them simply to disguise the fact that they were amputees. I don’t know how well they pulled off the deception.

            – And then there are the big hooks which are just that. They don’t open or anything.

            – You could have one like that if you wanted. They make them out of steel and you can get something which matches your other hook in size or something really big and impressive.

            – Can you print hooks?

            – I can but they’re not strong enough to use for anything. Right. Shall we get started? Have you thought of any changes you might like before we get started?

            – Well, I have really. I hope you won’t be angry after all your effort.

            – I won’t be angry. They’re your arms, Stump. You can have whatever you want.

            – I was just thinking I would like both arms to be curved.

            – Oh! I thought it was going to be something complicated. Are you sure? You’ve thought about using a pair of hooks which always meet in the middle in front of you?

            – Yeah. The way I see it, you always use two hooks together most of the time anyway.

Limb thought about it for a few seconds and tried to imagine his own hooks always resting in front of his belly. He had often clasped his hooks that way before he adopted the new triceps cuffs which made it difficult.

            – Alright. Let’s copy the right arm over to the left and the computer can sort out the elbow hinges.

 

Limb called up the completed virtual prostheses and deleted the straight left arm. He made a copy of the right, mirrored it, checked the position of the cable channels and slots for straps and prompted the AI to reshape the hinges. Stump watched him with something akin to love. Limb’s own hooks were limited by the long cuffs and large robust hinges. He swayed from side to side controlling the positions of his hooks as well as simultaneously shrugging his shoulders to operate them. It all looked exciting and fantastically masculine to contend with such a disability. Limb’s short forearms looked pathetic until he powered life into them. Stump hoped he would give off the same vibes when he had become used to his own hooks. Not long now.

 

The screen displayed a pair of matching prosthetic forearms. Limb was fairly certain that the hooks would not clash but there would only be a couple of centimetres between them.

            – Is this what you want, Stump?

            – Yes. Thanks, Limb.

            – OK. I’ll slice them and then we can get printing.

 

Limb poured a litre of liquid plastic into the printer and sent the first component’s file to the machine. A laser hardened adjacent molecules of plastic at superhuman speed and Stump’s first pair of artificial arms were under construction. They left the machine and Limb went to prepare the torsos for their midday meal. Swinging his stump boots was both strenuous and satisfying. Limb imagined the effort needed if his stumps were only half their current length. They would still be suitable to use with stubbies, little short ones with rocker feet to let him actually walk. But he might never use his full‑length prostheses again. The question was, did he want to? He was perfectly happy to use his wheelchair with its levers for any outside excursion which might otherwise have required long legs. And he thought his stump boots looked well horny when he used his chair. Maybe a new pair of stump boots with spherical bases would look even hotter. In fact, they would look exactly like Zero’s artificial stumps. That decided the matter for him. He would print a new pair of crippling stump boots next and learn to balance on them.

 

Stub was leaning towards the opposite. Since opening for business, he had been motivated to master his artificial legs with Nub’s admiring encouragement. He was still impressed by his new height after using short stubbies for many years at the house and although they were still comfortable and he occasionally wore them upstairs in their loft after work, he was determined to master walking on prosthetic legs. There were many men he had seen and admired on video who seemed to manage with equally short stumps. The sight of his trousers wearing boots and standing alone by their bed became familiar to both of them and was no longer startling. Nub helped Stub assemble himself each morning, not only as a time‑saving measure but because he loved handling Stub’s artificial limbs, especially the arms. He was content with his peg leg and had no intention of gaining a new stump. Limb had promised both of them that he would act as a go‑between if they needed new prosthetics or additional amputations. Limb always suspected that Nub would become a bilateral one day. Surely a single peg was a mere aperitif of what the future might hold.

 

Both men were keen to maintain contact with the house and with its founder. They had recently spoken of inviting Zero and his entourage to the pub for alcoholic refreshment one evening and began to make preparations. They would need more soft furnishings, more adapted crockery and glassware and other sundries. Over the next weeks, they purchased everything a group of limbless men needed for a pleasant evening and Nub posted a notice downstairs well in advance that the Saturday after next was early closing due to a private function. Only then did Nub send Zero an invitation, suggesting he bring those house members with whom he wished to spend an evening. Nub knew he was taking a risk. Zero was unpredictable at the best of times but Nub and Stub felt they could cope with any possible circumstances.

 

However, Zero was delighted. Chrome answered on his behalf by text message. The two men spent an increasing amount of time in each other’s company. There was no doubt about who was the alpha in the relationship but thanks to Chrome’s continual presence, Zero began to make a more concerted effort to use his artificial arms to better effect. It was unseemly to appear helpless, he reasoned. Chrome was enamoured of Zero’s minimalist leg stumps and toyed with them to their mutual pleasure when they made physical love. Chrome was also the conduit through whom Zero learned of seemingly private affairs throughout the house. Zero knew of Stump’s new deviant prosthetic arms and approved of Limb’s experiments with stump boots. He believed Limb had the most perfect leg stumps but if he wished to disable himself further, he was entitled to do so. Chrome suggested that Zero himself spend time in the company of the other members but Zero showed little interest. Only Limb was free to spend time with him but Zero showed little enthusiasm for Limb’s company. Limb spent much of his time alone while Stump took care of the housekeeping duties.

 

Chrome informed Limb and Stump about the pub evening and they debated whether to attend. It seemed churlish not to, despite their fear of appearing less than enthusiastic in the presence of Zero. Both Zero and Limb attended in their wheelchairs, compelling Limb to use his longer prosthetic arms in order to operate the levers. He wore the short stump boots with flat bases in order to demonstrate his new painfully slow gait. Chrome attended to Zero at all times, pushing him to their destination and ensuring he was able to enjoy all the drinks and food on offer. Stub had surpassed himself and had created a dozen open sandwiches on rye bread with shrimp, boiled egg and his home‑made mayonnaise. They were distinctly awkward to eat using hooks.

 

Stub was pleased to see Stump wearing artificial arms at last. He was intrigued by their design, the hooks always close to each other at rest on the curved sockets. Stump demonstrated his new found prowess at handling a wine glass, which he had practised specifically.

 

Stub had something on his mind which he wished to clear up with Zero.

            – There are one or two guys who have expressed more than a casual interest in my hooks, sir. One of them asked me if I knew of a surgeon who might undertake an amputation for cash.

            – I hope you were discrete, Stub.

            – Oh yes, sir, I was. I said I did not but that I would keep an ear to the ground. The chap looked distinctly distressed by seeing my hooks.

            – Stump envy, as usual.

            – Yes, that’s what I thought. Anyway, sir, do you think your surgeon friend would agree to accept prospective patients from outside the house? For a fee, of course.

            – The problem is, Stub, as I am sure you will understand, the risk of his identity becoming known publicly. Who is this prospective patient? Does he have a family to support? Will he be shunned by some perverse religious community? We have to be careful. But I will explain your proposal to my friend and let you know of any interest.

            – Thank you, sir.

            – And Limb can make him a prosthesis for a fee, I am sure. Can’t you, boy?

It was the first time Zero had spoken directly to Limb for weeks.

            – Yes sir.

 

Stub and Nub were genial hosts and with the persuasion of alcohol, the tension between Zero and Limb lessened to a point where Zero was willing to talk about the chaotic scenes in Berlin during his final appearance. Limb added his own comments and anecdotes and noticed Zero’s relaxed fatherly expression more than once for which he was grateful. Perhaps Zero was no longer as hostile as Limb had assumed.

 

The evening ended after midnight. Stump was proud of the way he had managed his new prostheses on their first public outing and basked in Stub’s compliments. Chrome reached an early peak of intoxication and maintained it. He was a quiet drunk. His lip rings remained askew for much of the evening in order for him to drink from the rim of a glass, forcing his lips into unnatural shapes. His blackwork facial tattoos no longer attracted undue attention from the assembled group. The four guests made their way back, Limb insisting he wanted to push his wheelchair until the others tired of his slow pace and insisted he sit in it while Stump pushed him, arms spread as wide as possible to allow him to clutch the wheelchair’s handles in his hooks.

 

Limb bore the criticism in mind when he turned his hand to creating a longer pair of stump boots for himself. In theory, he could master a pair long enough to reach his knees, if he had any. He was obsessed with the idea of the ends being semispherical. When he used his wheelchair, the long rounded tips would look like the artificial stumps which Zero still wore. To all intents and purposes, he would be walking on a precarious pair of peg legs and he was up for the challenge. He knew he would have difficulty in standing still without grasping something in a hook to hold him steady but he was certain he could stump along on the semispherical tips more easily than on his stubbies. He called up the files for his stubbies and started the process of lengthening the lower half. Artificial intelligence seemed to understand his prompting perfectly and a pair of uniquely challenging virtual stump boots rotated temptingly onscreen. Limb sliced them and sent the first part for printing.

 

With Chrome’s willing assistance, two long rounded stump boots were cured and waiting three mornings later. Limb poked at them with his hooks, turning them to inspect their unblemished surfaces. The tops were fluted, identical to his other prostheses but the bases attracted the most attention. They were perfectly semispherical providing minimum contact between the boots and the floor. They looked exactly like long stumps. Limb pulled them to the floor, sat and began removing his stubbies.

 

The new stump boots were shorter than his stubbies. He reversed his hooks and opened them to the maximum extent to coax the boots onto his stumps, covered comfortably in liners. His impression of the boots was that they resembled stumps. He lifted each stump feeling their weight and tried rising onto their tips. He scrabbled with his hooks against his chair trying to find purchase. Twice he almost succeeded in standing but the curved shiny tip was unforgiving and slid away from under him. He had thought about adding some kind of rubber sole to the bottoms but that would spoil their appearance. After some determined effort, one of the boots remained in place long enough for him to place the other alongside. He looked down at his footless black stumps and grinned. All he needed to do now was stay upright.

 

Limb found walking on such deviant prosthetics fascinating and gratifying. He tottered up and down the corridor outside his lab until he was sure he had found his centre of balance. He walked close to the wall, sometimes touching a hook to it to maintain balance. He wished he had a pair of walking sticks but he had never succeeded in gripping one tightly enough for it to be useful. Nub dropped by one evening to collect some of his and Stub’s T‑shirts which had been in the laundry basket when they moved out. Limb happened to be nearest the door and opened it to let Nub in. He immediately spotted the new boots.

            – You’re wearing two pegs! Don’t you like your stubbies any more?

            – I like wearing these. I have to keep moving them about to keep balanced when I’m standing still but they feel really great. I love the way they grip my stumps.

            – Why don’t you make yourself a pair of proper peg legs? They don’t have to be great long things like mine. I’m sure the prosthetist could sell you a couple of pylons.

            – I’d rather print the whole thing myself. I haven’t even thought about peg legs.

            – If you can already walk on those so well, you’d have no problem learning to use pegs, especially as they’d have rubber ferrules to stop you slipping. Why don’t you give ’em a try? You could get a couple of the big ferrules meant for peg legs. You’d look great, Limb. You already do.

Limb handed Nub half a dozen clean and pressed T‑shirts, escorted him back to the door and went downstairs to the lab. He looked at centuries old examples of sculpted wooden peg legs and found a design which he thought would convert well to reproduction in plastic. The modelling app would estimate the load bearing capacity.

 

Limb messaged prosthetist John Ford explaining his need for two large heavyweight ferrules. Ford had to order them from the Dutch supplier and estimated two to three weeks for delivery. But Limb had the dimensions and asked AI to create an approximate equivalent. The ferrules were as wide as a shoe’s heel at their base. Limb wanted his pegs to look proportionate and the size of the ferrules dictated the length and thickness of the pegs.

 

One aspect of Limb’s existence preyed on his mind with increasing frequency. He was creating professional quality prostheses of remarkable design but there was no public audience. The amputees scarcely ever left the house and since Zero had lost his arms, the assisted trips abroad had also dried up. Nothing prevented Limb or Stump from going for a walk around the nearby park but visits to the leather club had ceased, mainly because Zero was too disabled to travel that far and Limb had learned to his disappointment that riding his heavy Night Rod was too unsafe for a man, however enthusiastic, wearing four artificial limbs. The collection of bikes gathered dust under wraps in the garage. Limb had worn his new rounded stump boots a couple of times while pumping himself along in his wheelchair beside Stump. It was on one such promenade that Stump asked a question which led Limb to his present mental conundrum.

            – Why don’t you start your own company and sell your artificial limbs to outsiders, Limb?

Stump himself had begun to show greater enthusiasm for deviant disability. Limb had ordered a large static hook for him, resembling something a pantomime pirate might wear. Chrome was usually available to exchange Stump’s hooks and was amused by the conspicuous but almost useless oversized hook. Stump intended wearing it for some special occasion but the time had not yet arrived. Stump’s hooks attracted attention in public anyway, whether because of their exclusivity or his curved forearm sockets. It was unclear.

 

Unknown to Limb, John Ford had also considered forwarding more prosthetic work to him. Ford had learned from Zero of the variety of custom‑made prostheses he had created and knew there was a larger clientele who might also be happy with an unofficial private source of artificial limbs. Zero was not Ford’s only source of illicit amputations—far from it. Every year he performed over a hundred elective amputations for wannabes and enthusiasts. Many of them expressed a desire for specific unusual characteristics in their prosthetic limbs but were condemned to standard issue health service artificial limbs, adequate but uninspiring. For many, a simple mechanical artificial leg was the pinnacle of desirability but there were others, more extrovert, who lusted after historically accurate monstrous heavy peg legs or modern artistically sculpted lower legs. The next time Limb contacted him, Ford would invite him along for a chat.

 

Stump tired of his curved arms and the restrictive long cuffs they were attached to. He had been a useful guinea pig and given a good deal of useful information about his experiences with his hooks. Now he wanted a normal pair of hooks to see what it was like when he could reach around for things without bending this way and that. Limb laughed at his request, stating that he was amazed by how long Stump had stuck it out.

            – I can imagine using one curved arm if you need to have a hook in front of you to do something but two seemed to be to be overkill. So what do you want? A normal pair with half cuffs without hinges? Listen. I think with your stumps, you might have to have hinges but we’ll make a pair where we can add them in later if you want them, OK? Do your cuffs still fit you OK? And you want normal length forearms, right?

 

With Stump’s previous files readily available, it was simple enough to program a suitable pair of standard prosthetic arms. The cuffs were still long but open on one side. Stump would finally be able to lift his stumps over his head and out to the sides as he wished for the first time. He was already an adept user of the restrictive equipment which Limb had made and which he had coveted but now he wanted to be a proficient hook user on a par with men like Stub and Limb. Limb understood completely and re-purposed the curving arms. Stump had to bare his stumps again for three days while his new arms printed and cured. They were ready for testing after breakfast on the third morning and Stump was ecstatic with the ease at which he could manipulate his hooks and their astonishing range of motion.

            – These are wonderful, Limb. You should make yourself a pair.

            – I already have two pairs, Stump mate. I like the ones I’m wearing.

True enough, Limb preferred his short arms with the semi‑rigid elbows. He had wanted hooks in order to be disabled and had discovered a way to disable his prostheses still further. His mechanically challenged arms provided him just enough mobility, otherwise Limb savoured the sensations of severe disability.

 

Limb suddenly realised as if surprised by the fact that he owned a large selection of artificial limbs. He had three pairs of arms of varying lengths, a long pair of artificial legs, two pairs of stump boots and his everyday wear, the stubbies. They took up a considerable amount of space in his and Stump’s closet. Fortunately Stump had only one pair of arms, the curved ones having been cannibalised during the manufacture of the newer pair. His attitude had brightened as he discovered new freedoms which his prostheses provided compared with the first design. His short stumps seemed adequate to operating the forearms. Limb and AI had designed the sockets with a receptor into which hinges could be slotted but they might not be necessary. Stump was able to lessen the tension which kept his sockets functional and shrug his stumps out of them to use instead of the hooks. It became one of his most distinguishing features. It was common to see Stump’s empty pair of artificial arms hanging from his triceps cuffs while he manipulated something with naked stumps. Without missing a beat, he swung his arms out and caught them on the rebound with his stumps, donning the sockets once again. It was a useful manoeuvre and one which Limb wished was available to him. But Limb’s arm stumps were too long to let him extract his stumps without first removing his entire harness. The cylindrical cuffs also restricted such acrobatics.

 

John Ford performed two below‑elbow amputations on a professional motorbike racer whose hands had been severed and reattached following a gory accident in full view of spectators during the previous year’s TT competition on the Isle of Man. The hands were painful and partly paralysed. The biker’s forearms were reduced to half their former length and he wept with relief the first time he saw them. It soon transpired that he had no intention of retiring from his competitive biking and mentioned that he wanted a pair of hooks or something which would allow him to continue riding a bike in competition. John Ford immediately thought of Limb and his experimental prosthetic work. He invited Limb at his earliest convenience to come and talk to the biker wearing whatever he had used in order to continue riding. Chrome did Limb the favour of replacing his Hosmers with his long unused rubberised claws. They looked even larger than usual and more incongruous on Limb’s short arms. Limb departed for a convoluted journey to the clinic where Ford practised his licit and illicit trade.

 

            – Thank you for coming, Kyle. I see you’re wearing claws, which I recognise. But your arms are non‑standard. Is there any particular reason?

            – I prefer this length. They make me feel more disabled somehow. I have non‑standard cuffs too.

Limb showed Ford his long cylindrical cuffs which held the control cable and harness strapping secure.

            – And this pair has elbow hinges which restrict lateral movement, as I’m sure you know.

            – Ah, I see.

            – You asked me to wear prosthetics suitable for motorcycling, right? These are perfect. The arms are robust and long enough to reach a bike’s handlebars and the claws give a really strong grip. I should mention that my own bike is customised so I can ride using hooks, but these claws are the best for that particular purpose.

            – I’m glad to hear it. Now, shall we get to business? There are two reasons I invited you today. One of them is in a private ward recovering from bilateral amputations not dissimilar from your own. The patient is a professional racer who came a cropper last year.

            – Oh, I think I know who you mean.

            – Just so. And I’d like you to give him a bit of a pep talk and show him your arms, especially the claws.

            – And then I have a proposition for you, but more about that later. Shall we go and visit our patient first?

            – Sure.

 

Limb kept pace with Ford as they negotiated the corridors leading to the private rooms. Ford knocked on a door and opened it without waiting for an answer. A familiar face from the sporting world watched their entrance with a sudden grin.

            – Welcome! It’s good to have some company. How do you do? I’m Mike Holt. Sorry I can’t shake hands.

Limb raised his claws.

            – Neither can I.

            – Great to see you.

            – Gentlemen, I’ll leave you to it. Kyle, follow the red line back to my office. Room one seventeen.

Limb nodded and moved closer to Holt’s bed.

            – Do you mind if I sit on your bed?
            – No, of course not. So, are you a biker yourself?

            – I was, of sorts. Not a racer like yourself but I have a decent bike which I had customised after I lost my hands.

            – So you carried on riding. Man that’s great to hear. Did you ride it here?

            – No. I haven’t ridden much after I lost my legs. The bike is too heavy for me now.

Holt was dumbfounded. He had seen immediately that his visitor had hooks but he had not been forewarned that the man was legless.

            – Wow! I had no idea. You’d never know to look at you.

It was the standard comment which Limb had heard many times. Neutral, complimentary and an assurance that his gait would be scrutinised minutely for outward signs of disability. Limb was determined to steer the conversation away from his legs.

            – So how can I help? Mr Ford said you want to continue biking.

 

Holt talked about his past and how he had been lured into the world of competitive biking during a misspent youth. He had often wondered if he had some kind of death wish. His bravery, or foolhardiness, had led him to gain several championships and he was almost certain to win another when he was nudged from behind by another racer and thrown into the spokes of the bike he was trying to overtake. His hands were immediately toast and he was left standing, holding his bleeding stumps for spectators to witness. His hands were reattached which was a complete waste of time because they were useless so he demanded amputations, got them and now he needed a pair of hooks so he could pick up where he left off.

            – I can make you a pair of arms which are exactly what you need. I can customise them for your exact bike but you’ll have to have some modifications done to it.

This time it was Limb’s turn to explain about how he had inherited some money and bought a Harley V-Rod. The Night Rod Special, matte black, sleek, fast and one of three in the entire country. Holt’s ears pricked up. The bike had been customised according to Limb’s needs as a bilateral amputee. The only functional difference was that both brakes engaged simultaneously.

            – Oh! That might be a problem. I need independent braking for competition.

            – I dare say they can work something out. It’s not so important for a street bike.

            – Hey! The V‑Rod is hardly a street bike.

            – You know what I mean. I didn’t take it off‑road. And then I lost my legs and that altered my whole centre of gravity and spoiled my balance so I’ve more or less not touched the bike for three years.

            – And it’s just sitting in your garage?

            – Yup.

            – All adapted for an amputee with hooks?

            – Yup.

            – Give me a pair of hooks so I can ride it and I’ll buy it off you.

Holt named a price three times what Limb had paid.

            – Are you serious?

            – I’ve never been more serious in my life. You can’t let a V‑Rod waste away like that. I’ll take it off your hands… er, you know what I mean. Get me riding again, Kyle, and I’ll be in your debt forever.

 

It sounded like a good deal. Limb would not only have the satisfaction of selling his beloved bike to an appreciative professional rider, he would also have a sizable sum of money again. Holt and Limb exchanged personal contact details and Limb promised to visit again after Holt’s stumps had healed a little further to measure them for the man’s first pair of hooks. He returned to room one seventeen and rapped on the door.

            – Come in! Ah, it’s you. I hope you got on together. Do you think you can help him with what he needs?

            – I think so. He needs arms which are a specific length and he needs something like these claws with a decent grip. Everything else depends on his bike.

            – Just so. Now, I want to talk to you about something else. I know you’ve been experimenting with various different designs for both upper and lower limb amputees and I can see from your own arms that you’ve given some thought to creating what you need. Not to put too fine a point on it, I want you to start producing prostheses for my patients. You’ll negotiate the price with the patient and I want no part in the negotiations, nor do I want nor expect a cut from the proceeds. But I do expect you to produce professional quality equipment custom‑made for my patients. Many of them express a desire for non‑standard prostheses which are quite simply unavailable from most prosthetists. I know from another source that you have some experience in producing such equipment and I would like to suggest a collaboration. I hope this will be acceptable to you.

 

It was not what Limb had been expecting. He had been trained by Ford himself, had several years’ experience and an excellent reputation. He had shown willingness to act as a guinea pig himself, as his short arm prostheses demonstrated, and by all accounts did so cheerfully and co‑operatively. In addition, Ford liked Limb for his intelligence and level‑headedness and hoped he could persuade the man to expand his horizons. He was wasted in the house—a useful and popular member by all accounts but he had more to offer an increasingly harried public. Limb toyed with his hooks, absorbing what Ford had said.

            – That’s a very kind offer. I’m not sure, John. Can you give me a few days to think about it?

            – Of course. If I might make a suggestion—discuss it thoroughly with your patron. You’ll need to start your own private company in your own name to order prosthetic accessories which you’ve been buying from me. I have no idea if Zero would allow you to operate from home. I don’t wish to speak out of turn, but Zero has already given some kind of preliminary approval for the idea which is why we are having this conversation.

 

It was not the first time Limb had thought about starting his own company but now he might have a regular source of potential clients. He knew no other amputees outside the house. Like the other residents, his social circle was severely restricted by Zero’s house rules and the general atmosphere of secluded privacy. He was also reluctant to branch out on his own due to the simple fact that as an quadruple amputee he saw little chance of negotiating a bank loan to start his own business. He might be satisfied with his skill at using hooks but a complete stranger, like a bank manager, might see only disability and a higher than usual risk of failure. He needed someone to discuss the matter with and some practical advice. He sent Nub a text and asked if he might pay a visit to ask a few things.

 

Zero was more relaxed and less officious after Chrome took Limb’s place in Zero’s apartment. The mere fact that Chrome was still full‑bodied meant that Zero’s life was easier. Chrome had demonstrated willing enthusiasm for the older daddy who masterfully retained his dominance over a household of potential and former lovers. Zero treated Chrome as a servant during the day but at night, in their communal bed, he submitted to Chrome’s desires. Chrome learned that Zero loved to feel his lip piercings teasing Zero’s penis and Chrome himself found Zero’s minimalist stumps the height of eroticism, especially Zero’s leg stumps, nothing more than a couple of centimetres of residual femur useful for nothing more than making his fleshy stumps twitch. Zero fought the air with arm stumps when Chrome’s steel and flesh mouth serviced his leg nubs.

 

Nub was more than happy to explain everything Limb asked about starting a company. There were reams of official text online for prospective new entrepreneurs but Limb had no desire to digest them. On several occasions, after the converted pub had locked its doors, Limb stumped along to pump Nub and Stub for information and gradually pieced together both a business plan and the correct order in which to do things. Several weeks later, after Limb had made a pair of artificial arms with standard hooks for the professional motorcyclist, he appreciated the need to find a place independent of the house where he could consult with clients. Zero had utterly forbidden him from inviting clients to the house to conduct his business with the exception of the use of the lab and its equipment. The only way he could continue was to find premises where he could consult with amputees who wanted custom prostheses.

 

Mike Holt was an ideal first patient for Limb. He was bemused to see his transformation from his previous sportsmanlike self to a man whose disability was obvious to everyone who saw him. He was determined to continue his career and dedicated much time to mastering his hooks, aware that the process would be slow and frustrating at first. After a few weeks, he had already learned a few tricks useful when dressing. He requested his partner not to help him unnecessarily unless he specifically asked for it. He was no longer surprised by the alien appearance of the steel hooks. As they became familiar, he began to regard them more as his personal intimate items. They were less like prosthetic tools and more like a new pair of arms. He personalised the sockets further with a variety of commercial stickers. He had already attempted several times to ride some of his motorbikes but found braking to be precarious and his grip with the standard hooks were less than optimal. His team members supported him in his determination to make a come back and the technical team assured him they could make any required alterations or conversions on any of his bikes, as soon as he had the prostheses which he intended to wear for racing. He felt the time was ripe and contacted Limb, requesting a new more robust set of arms with racing claws like the ones Limb had shown him.

 

There was no more suitable venue than the repurposed pub. Limb knew that the place was usually vacant after eight in the evenings and suggested a meeting there. Holt arrived wearing red and white leather Dainese togs which distracted somewhat from his steel hooks. Limb introduced him to Nub and Stub, who recognised Holt and was impressed with the man’s prowess in manipulating the hooks. Holt felt as if he had come home. He was excited to be with two other bilateral arm amputees. They made quite a trio.

 

Holt described his attempts to mount his bikes and the problems his present hooks were incapable of surmounting. A pair of claws would help solve some of the problems and Limb recommended them. The present sockets fit perfectly. They were comfortable and secure and Holt said he often forgot he was wearing artificial arms. But he wanted another pair with beefier forearms for racing—more muscular. They would look better with the big claws. Limb agreed.

            – I can start making them as soon as you have your racing bike converted. Then we’ll know stuff like how long the sockets should be and if they need to be angled somehow.

            – The trouble is, our tech guys want me to have the arms before they start converting my bikes. It looks like I’m going to have to compromise with the brakes, you know, both front and back operated by the same lever.

            – Like on my Night Rod. Yeah, I know.

            – And that’s something else I wanted to discuss with you, Kyle. Are you ready to sell?

            – At the price you mentioned?

            – Sure.

            – OK. I’ll get the papers and registration stuff sorted and get back to you on that.

            – Great.

Mike Holt was doing Limb a huge favour in taking the converted Night Rod off his hands. Limb would never be able to sell it through normal channels and he had invested a large sum of money in its conversion which he would never recoup. Now, just as a large sum of money would be most useful for starting a new business, it appeared effortlessly, solving two problems at one stroke. Stub changed the subject, curious to know how advanced Limb’s arrangements for his new company were.

            – Have you found some premises yet, Limb?

            – No, not yet. I’ve been looking but local rents are fairly high and most of the potential stock is too old or unsuitable.

            – What sort of premises are you looking for, Kyle?

            – I need about fifty square metres for my new company, accessible, with reliable electricity and water, toilet, that sort of thing. Somewhere to work, which doesn’t need much room, and somewhere to have a couple of easy chairs for consultations with customers.

            – I know a place which might suit you. But it might be bigger than fifty, probably more like seventy. It’s full of broken bikes and assorted spare parts at the moment but we could have a clear out and clean it up a bit.

            – Where is it?

            – Just south of Croydon. It’s at the entrance to our training circuit. Why don’t you come down and take a look at it?

            – Is it awkward to get to? I don’t know Croydon at all.

            – No. One of the tram routes goes past the gate.

            – Oh, that’s good. Yeah, Mike, I’d like to have a look at it.

            – I’ll ask the crew to tidy the place up first and let you know. Give it a couple of weeks?

 

Everything was coming together. The glorified bike shed in Croydon was perfect apart from being windowless. Holt had a new pair of claws on order from John Ford. The Night Rod would transfer to his ownership as soon as he was feeling confident with the claws. Limb signed the papers authorising his new start‑up, trading name L&S Prosthetics. Holt’s technical team studied the prosthetic claws and began to convert one of Holt’s previous racing bikes as a trial piece before making such significant alterations to the current racing machine. Limb had paid a deposit on a new larger printer which would allow him to print an entire lower leg in one piece, improving both component reliability and production time.

 

As both Limb and Holt had wordlessly planned, Holt was L&S’s first paying customer. The old bike shed gleamed with a fresh coat of white paint. The new printer occupied one corner at the rear, flanked on both sides by workbenches equipped with a variety of electronic and mechanical tools. Limb already had a small selection of stock comprising prosthetic knee joints, wrist connectors and steel hooks in a variety of patterns. Zero had allowed him to take the scanner with him. Limb’s laptop with its modelling and printing apps was permanently set up to allow fast access to customer data and a ten terabyte server backed everything up every midnight.

 

            – We did some tests during the week with me wearing the claws. Just to see if the length needs adjusting for better performance but we came to the conclusion that the present length is ideal.

            – It’s the same length as your natural arms, Mike. It’s not surprising you find them suitable.

            – Yeah. So I thought it might be a good time to start making those racing arms I was talking about. The beefy ones.

            – I remember.

            – The only thing is, I want them to be red and white, not black. Can you get different coloured plastic?

            – Sure.

            – Great! Let me show you what I mean.

Holt opened a folder he had brought and turned it around so Limb could see the designs which a talented draughtsman had drawn of a pair of enviably handsome masculine forearms. The sockets were white with red appliqué designs which would be simple to add after printing. The sockets looked sporty and matched exactly with Holt’s team colours.

 

Behind the scenes, John Ford sent out a bulk email to all his colleagues informing them of new specialised prosthetic facilities recently opened in Croydon by a capable and trustworthy quadruple amputee who had several years’ manufacturing experience and who used prostheses made by himself. The fact that the owner, Kyle Byrne, was a quad awakened considerable interest in addition to long‑needed availability of specialist prosthetics which the health service no longer provided. Limb was about to be inundated with lucrative enquiries from all over the country from amputees as the news slowly spread throughout the community. L&S had an attractive website generated by and manned by AI. Limb soon found that administration was taking up too much time and considered taking on an enthusiastic devotee who might take care of info and bookings.

 

Holt arrived one Sunday morning to collect his Night Rod. He had transferred the agreed purchase price to Limb’s bank account which suddenly looked especially healthy again. Stump let him in. Holt was amazed to see yet another bilateral hook user. He was wearing claws on his original pair of black sockets. Stump alerted Limb and the three men went to the garage to conclude the formalities. Holt acquainted himself with the different positions of the adaptations which Limb had ordered and checked the machine for any outer signs of wear. It was in beautiful condition. Holt could understand why the Night Rod might pose difficulties for a limbless man with an altered centre of balance. The Night Rod was long and low and demanded a riding position not readily available to a man whose knees and feet were non‑existent. Holt swung his legs over the saddle and settled himself onto the bike, his claws gripping the brake and the throttle. Stump opened the garage door and Holt fired the bike into life. He walked it slowly onto the driveway, lifted a claw in farewell, and powered away. Limb watched the bike diminish into the distance. It was like the end of an era but its sale price provided the wherewithal for a new future. Stump closed the garage door and the two hook users returned to their room.

 

            

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO LIMB STEEL?