Cancer had damned each one of his limbs. An experimental procedure gave a faint outline of hope. It required the removal of affected appendages; he requested a taxidermist’s touch. They would grace his living room mantel where he would discuss shock art during dinner parties.
Organometallic compounds grown into the nerve endings of his stumps married flesh to machine. His new limbs glistened in configurations of lightweight steel and plastic, its very alien nature prompting a sheath of false flesh. He went to prison on a manslaughter charge during his first week with the cybernetic extensions. In prison he learned control and carried that lesson to the grave.
Movie deals were made, interviews given, the revenue invested wisely. As a result, he lived a life of comparative luxury, and hosted dinner parties whenever he could, languidly pulling at a pipe while commenting on the mantelpiece.