Tw: slight gore

“Once you do this, you can never go back. Do you understand?”

He nodded to the best of his ability, holding the rope in his mouth. His teeth clenched tightly against the coarse and thick material, ready for the pain.

The friendly neighborhood doctor, Dr. Iven, raised his meat cleaver and smiled. A brief look of fear came into the eyes of the man held down by rope but was quickly dissolved by a new searing hot feeling of a sickening CHOP, right on his arm.

His muffled screams secured behind the rope, he twisted his face in pain.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” the Doctor chided as he picked up the man’s arm off of the floor and placed it onto the surgical table next to him. “If you wanted this to be painless you should’ve gone to a real doctor, Ron.”

Ron wrestled with the rope holding his head down and managed to free his face. He quickly spat out, “HEY GUY, I paid my money to get this thing off of me,” he lifted his now stubbed arm, “the least you can do is be a little gracious with some bedside manner and whatnot.” He sneered, using his available hand to prop himself up from the stainless steel table.

The Doctor sighed. “This is what happens when you think you’re a big man, trying your new prosthetics out before they’ve taken time to fully amalgamate with your living tissue. You break it, and it seizes up.”

Ron shot look at the doctor but then sighs, looking at the arm on the table. A delicate detachment meant much more money than he had. Instead of hours of surgery where they separate tissue from synthetic material, he had to get the “clean sweep” as they call it.

Nothin’ clean about it, Ron grumbled to himself. That chop hurt like heck.

“Now, while you don’t have the funds for a replacement I do happen to have a few discontinued attachments that I could sell you at a much lower price.”

“I’m bleedin’, Doc. Just show me the damn merch.”

With the courtesy of a customer service rep, the Doctor smiled once again and lifted a cardboard box up from underneath the table and opened it.

Inside were two arms, ready to use. Unfortunately, one was for what looked like a child, small and delicate. And the other was…

“…Really? These are my choices?”

“Yes,” the Doctor replied, pulling them out. The child-sized arm hung limply, but the other arm wiggled about, almost excitedly. It was a tentacle arm, a grey-ish blue in hue with almost a jelly-like quality to it’s look. They both looked at it, watching it slip and unfurl and bounce about.

Ron weighed his options.

“….I could be a tentacle guy.”

Writer’s note: this story is weird but it was fun to write. I wrote this sleep deprived, so please excuse it for not being the greatest, aha.