Vincent is performing checktests on his Claw lying on bedsheets, scanning template tickets, comparing results, wooden gone-hand attached to armstump, one finger stretched to push buttons, the others in a loose fist. He’s supposed to change Device soon: it’s obsolete. As is the rest of me, he sighs despondently, then rolleyes: he hates self-pity.

On the wallscreen, a three-by-three grid of Devices slowly rotating, with Leon’s face occupying the last square. Eight Claws.

“That’s all I have in stock, man”, Leon says. “At least in your price range”. Leon is mate, as mate as Claws can be, which is to say not much: Claws are solitary buggers. Say, he’s a guy he can rely on to swap a shift, f’instance.

Eight is not many: Claw jobs don’t pay that well and Vincent can’t afford. True, they’re cheaper than the ten-digit double-prosthesis you need for dataentry, but: Vincent’s not clerk. He doesn’t have the diplomas that go with fastyping.

What he is is Claw, and you don’t need diplomas for that. When on duty, he’s got what’s basically crab-pincer at the end of his left arm, fitted with scanner light pulsing neon blue. What it does is scan. Scan tickets. And nothing else. Off duty, he wears wooden dummy gone-hand instead. Some colleagues have gone-hooks, somelse more expensive gone-haptics they treat like shiny pedigree pets. Somelse can’t afford anything, so keep Claw on all the time, or go wrist-naked.

“You’ll need a new interface, uknow”, Leon continues.

“Yeah, I know, thanks”, tone sarcastic. Leon shrugs.

That’s another hurdle. New Claw won’t fit straight anyway. He’ll have to upgrade his port first, then install. Vincent never manages to make enough to upgrade to the latest iteration, always having to remain two versions behind, or even three when times are hard. False economy, he knows, but nomatter, coz that’s all he can do anyway. Staying behind. Adding an intermediate Mod-layer to his existing graft would look bulky and ungainly, wouldn’t confer this air of confidence and above-boardness he needs to get good ticket contracts instead of being terminally LondonTube-confined.

Maybe plug in garlands, like they do in Japan. A micro-chyron with inspirational quotes, or a holographic cartoon projector. Christmas lights, pulsing vibes for high-qual raves, stuff like that. Make it fun, irreverent, heart-shaped. But. He lives in London, not Tokyo: people here more likely to headbutt than bow.