The Pink Mohawks ran in through the front door. Toxic rain water dripped off their ponchos and through a metal grate on the floor. Hogwash asked, “Is everybody doing okay?”

He received grunts, chirps, and meows in response. Six Uplifts and Wounded pulled off their ponchos. Anna, Buzzard, one uplifted rooster, and two uplifted raccoons escorted Wounded. Wounded herself unwrapped a long scarf and peeled off her large ill-fitting gas mask before gasping answering, “If I felt any better, I’d have to be twins, Sir.”

Anna gave Hogwaller a narrow-eyed look. She said, “She called you, ‘sir.’ You must feel old, Washed Up.”

Hogwash grunted in nondescript disapproval. Buzzard ignored them both.

Wounded looked around the dark building as her lenses switched to low light enhancement mode. From the outside, it looked like a derelict, abannoned and boarded up like every other building on this block. From the inside, it retained a degree of its former quiet beauty. The building had at one time been a funeral parlor, tastefully decorated but spartan. After the foyer in which they stood, the space opened into a large dark room with rows of open caskets. The air felt chilly and dry.

Wounded asked, “This place is nice and all, but why are we here exactly?”

Buzzard said, “Because there are limits to what I can do. I’m a street medic. I stitch cuts and occasionally reattach a limb. I can perform a sex change in an hour. I cannot protect you from the thousands of deadly chemicals and pathogens to which you are exposed every day in this city. You require hardware which I don’t have, hatchling.”

A woman came out of the darkness to meet them. She had red skin and six arms. Her left eye was a copper-colored metal with a triangular slit. Her human-based face were framed by a head of dark wavy hair and dangling gold earrings. She wore a shiny gold-colored sari which stretched to the floor. Under the dress, a snake’s body instead of legs glided over the floor. The woman said, “Welcome to Doctor Gossamer’s body realization clinic. Patients require an appointment. The restroom is for paying customers only, I am afraid.”

Buzzard answered, “We are paying customers. Is the doctor available. If not, we would like to make an appointment – please.”

The red face tilted to one side slightly and her eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid that we are not equipped for Uplifts in this clinic, only Trumen patients. Is this a medical emergency?”

Buzzard answered, “No emergency, but we brought this young woman. She is a Truman, and she’s your patient.”

Hogwash interrupted, “This piglet almost died yesterday. She needs lung filters and cybernetic brainstem to control it, lickity-split. I’d call that an emergency.” Hogwash slapped an open palm on Wounded’s back and pushed her forward.

Wounded stumbled forward, but this time, she managed to remain on her feet. Wounded waved and said said, “Yeah, that’s me. How do you do?”

The receptionist bowed. She said, “On behalf of Doctor Gossamer, I welcome you, madam. “You may browse the showroom.”

Hogwash said, “Just so get the sawbones, Toots.”

“I will inform Doctor Gossammer of your arrival.”

Wounded looked around again in confusion. Then she her eyes settled on the nearest casket, and she understood that she was already in the showroom. Each casket contained a preserved body, dressed in formal clothing and prominently displaying various body modifications.

The receptionist said, “We’re having a special this month on fang implants. The rattler models are very nice. Please keep your Uplift friends from touching the display models until I return.” She slithered out of the room before anyone could respond.

Anna hissed.

Wounded looked in some of the caskets. Some cadavers had bio-augmentations like extra arms or insectoid compound eyes. Others had polished gleaming machines grafted onto their bodies. An small elegant lady with white hair and deep wrinkles had two chainsaws in place of her forearms and a spider legs poking out of her gown.

Hogwash said, “Don’t fall in love, piglet. The more extensive the job, the larger the price tag. You budget ain’t flush with mad money.”

Anna pushed herself up so that her front paws rested a casket’s rim next to where Wounded stood. She asked, “See anything to put on your birthday wishlist, kitten?”

Wounded shook her head. “It’s all grotesque to me. I can’t see myself becoming any of these things.”

Hogwash said, “Good on you, kid! You’re comfortable in your own skin.”

Anna said, “But it’s a nice collection, right? We provided the doctor with most of these display models.” Anna had a smile in her voice even though her face did not show it.

Buzzard perched on a wingback chair and said, “Cosmetics aside, you should consider some practical upgrades for later. Feathers are out of fashion right now but very cozy. I never heard any Truman with an extra arm complain.”

Anna chimed in, “I know a cat with an extra arm. Says it’s very handy.”

Wounded said quietly, “Tentacles are better than arms.”

Wounded leaned down to look closely into the face of another display model. The model was a female Truman, not much older than herself, but Wounded could only estimate that age by the condition of the skin and hair. Her face was completely replaced by a plastic extra hand reaching forward out of her face. The eyes had been displaced onto eye-stalks on the top of its head. Wounded had no idea where the mouth was.

Wounded said, “I think I’ll still with just the essentials for now.”