The operating room was the cleanest part of their office by far. Derrick wiped down the reclining chair, and motioned for the man to sit down. The apron was freshly washed, the nitrile gloves were new, and his zoom lenses were polished. It felt good to be fully equipped.

“First and last name?”

“Xavier. Williams.”

“So, what’s bothering you? I’m guessing it’s your little friend.”

“Yeah, it’s a fucking mess right here.”

“And what exactly is the problem?”

“I got a mod, you feel me, and it was working fine, but actually it wasn’t. I was balls deep in this bitch, you know how it is, and right when I’m about to come, it goes soft.”

“Soft?”

“Yeah, it actually goes soft. It goes as limp as—uh, as limp as an old hotdog, you feel me? Like one of those really cheap ones.”

“Are you sure that’s not just—well, never mind. Let’s have a look. Take your pants off.”

The man pulled his pants down, revealing a misaligned, and frankly unimpressive prosthetic penis. The synthetic skin was uneven and broken, the vertebrae simulating the corpora cavernosa formed an unnatural arch in the middle of the shaft, and the part of the crotch around the mod looked inflamed and poorly melded to the mod’s mounting points.

“Jesus…where did you get this done?”

“Twenty-Seventh and Sons.”

“That old chop shop? You’re lucky they didn’t take your balls out by accident while they were at it. Why did you get this mod?”

“Man, do you really want me to say it? I had problems! I have problems! You know. Nothing worked. A player’s gotta play, so I had to get that mod, you feel me?”

This was a highly involved mod, that most likely had connections going to the sacral plexus to detect arousal and erect the prosthesis. The chop shop boys probably stole a busted high-end model from the manufacturer’s disposal and slapped it on the man, with a handful of generic components to keep it together. But how did they connect it to the relevant nerves? Specialized mod shops had machines from the manufacturer that could automate some of the surgery, but those were expensive and well-guarded . . . .

“Look, I’m not one to judge, but that’s an important part of your body to mod. I don’t know if I’m qualified to be working on this, to be honest. You need to go to a real doctor, and a specialist.”

“Homie, I need this fixed yesterday. And I can’t go anywhere else; they’re too expensive.”

“Go complain to Twenty-Seventh and Sons, then.”

“Twenty seven sons of bitches, more like it. ‘Cause I didn’t even know they was going to fuck me up this badly, why would I go back?”

Derrick sighed. “Do you have insurance?”

“No, but I got cash.”

“Okay…there’s a consultation fee of ten dollars. You pay that, and I’ll see what I can do. No promises, though.”

“Consultation fee, that’s just letting you know, like this place is legit, right? I’m ready to walk outta here feeling like a new man.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and hesitated. “Uh, hold up, on second thought…” He got off the bench and rummaged through his pockets, with his ass hanging out in the air, until he pulled out a crumpled ten dollar bill.

An anonymous payment. This was sensitive indeed. The bill was a bit greasy, but otherwise fine. “Alright, thank you, sir. Go ahead and take a seat back on that chair, and I’ll be right with you.” This job called for a little more personal protective equipment. There were still a few face-masks in the closet, but those would be running out soon. Goggles were another must; Derrick didn’t want to catch an infection from this guy’s shitty mod install, if he really had to cut him open.

The man was still in his chair, poking and prodding at the prosthesis, which responded halfheartedly to his stimulation.

“Hands by your sides, and spread your legs, please.”

“Damn, I can’t believe I’m really spreading my legs for a dude.”

“Come on, don’t give me that. You had to open your legs for Twenty-Seventh and Sons.”

“Yeah, but for a second time though.”

The prosthesis seemed even faker under the examination lamp’s glare.

Near the root of the shaft, there was a small flap, under which was supposedly an interface port. Derrick flipped the switch on the bedside monitoring tool, and gave it a few good whacks until the image stabilized.

“Sit back and relax. I’m going to give your mod a scan.”

It was standard procedure to swab the entire area with clean disinfectant wipes before any internals were opened, but an old rag and some alcohol would have to do. Opening the flap required some finagling with a pair of tweezers. The inside, and the port itself, looked a bit askew, as if someone had roughly yanked a cable out.

The connection fit in the port, albeit a bit loosely, the screen flickered, and…nothing happened.

Ah nuts, of course it’s locked down.

“Hey . . . did Twenty-Seventh and Sons tell you what brand this was? Like, which vendor they got it from?”

“What you talking about? I got it from them.”

Well, this could take all morning.

Thankfully, it only took half an hour to find a similar design on the internet, on the website for Revolute Prosthetics. Some disgruntled employee had leaked a package of their internal credentials a few months ago, so they would likely still be valid for this patient’s mod. Derrick dug through the small box sitting beneath the display to find the matching USB drive, and then stuck it into the monitoring tool.

Lines of identifying information with abbreviated labels appeared on the screen:

Rvlte

P/N: 091374

Frmwr rvsion: 1.53

Good, the part number matched the model on the Revolute website. There wasn’t any information for technicians on the website, though, and Tony’s shop didn’t have preferred access to vendor documentation anymore . . . . Derrick would have to play it by ear.

The following lines had fluctuating values, and seemed to indicate the current status of the prosthesis.

Arsl: 7%

Erct: 5%

“Mr. Williams, I need your attention for a second.”

Xavier shook out of his doze and gazed at Derrick with unfocused eyes. He had fallen promptly asleep after Derrick started searching the internet for the brand of his crestfallen unit.

“I’m going to need to stimulate you forcefully to give you a diagnosis. So I’ll be holding this tiny button here—” Derrick pointed at the security button near the interface port “—and then after that, you’re going to feel like you’re getting erect, OK? That’s normal, so just relax.”

Xavier nodded and dozed back off, only to jerk up in his seat as the prosthesis activated.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just relax. This is part of the diagnosis.”

Derrick waited until the room was quiet to hold down the button, and then, after ten seconds, the monitor started reading the signals from its activation. There was a quiet whirring sound as the vertebrae moved, until they halted and crunched, before popping the rest of the way up into the fully erect position.

“How long has it been doing—”

“—That shit’s normal. It’s been doing that since day one, when I first got it installed.”

“Okay then.”

Arsl: 13%

Erct: 100%

This model of penile prosthesis could have been attached in a variety of ways. The x-ray machine had been broken since last month, so there was no way to say for sure . . . but, since the patient still had his balls, the mod was most likely linked to the urethra, and either replacing or aiding the muscles that controlled ejaculation.

This meant that his vas deferens, which moves semen out of the testes during arousal, was natural. And that meant a manually stimulated ejaculation would feel like a penile dry fire.

There were a couple of dirty rags peaking out of the bottom shelf of the cart. They were about to be thrown out anyways, so Derrick draped them over the patient’s thighs, and got a dusty plastic cup from the cart. “Here, hold this cup up to the tip. We’re going to see if we can manually force an ejaculation, so we can tell if the mod itself is broken, or if it’s something else.”

“I hope to God it ain’t something else. I paid enough already for this shit, it’s supposed to fix my problems, not cause ‘em, you know what I mean?”

“I know.” Derrick selected the option for manual ejaculation, and steadied his hand over the keyboard.

Do you want to continue [Y/n]?

“Alright, prepare yourself. I’m about to manually force the ejaculation, so it’s going feel strange in the area inside and above your crotch. Your balls might feel a bit tingly too, so get ready. Keep a good grip on that cup, please.

“Three, two, one . . . .”

The patient grunted and shook in his chair as the mod vibrated—most likely a premium feature. “Ah, FUCK! Yes, homie! Damn, I didn’t even know how bad it was until now!” He laid back and gasped for air after his ear-piercing tirade had finished.

“It seems like it’s working just fine . . .” Derrick said. He took the cup and put it on a tray. If it wasn’t a mechanical issue, it might be a psychological one. Or maybe the mod couldn’t properly detect his arousal levels? “Where were you when you had this issue before? In your bedroom? In a hotel?”

“Everywhere, homie.”

“Alright, let’s try something out. It might not work, but if it doesn’t, I won’t charge you. You’re going to go into the bathroom and try to rub one out, just like normal. We’ll keep the door closed, but I’m going to monitor you with this cable—or maybe a longer one—and see what happens start to finish.”

“Right here? How the hell am I supposed to get in the mood in your bathroom with you watchin’ me and shit?”

“I’m not watching you, I’m just taking the readings from the equipment. And you have to do it here. This monitoring equipment is expensive; no way I’m bringing it out of the office. Look, this is the best I’ve got. You don’t like it, go somewhere else.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Good. Relax for a second while I get things ready, sir.”

Derrick peeled his gloves off and put them on a clean pad for re-use. He would probably need something at least fifteen feet long if he wanted to snake it under the door and up onto the monitoring cart, if he put it right outside the bathroom. If only the office was organized. Plastic drawers and bins were stacked five high along the walls.

Dust rained from above as he pulled four unsorted boxes down before finding a long enough cable, and then stacked them all back into place.

The monitoring cart rattled as he weaved it around the parts on the ground and next to an exposed pipe outside the bathroom. The cable would indeed just barely reach.

The patient was flicking through his smartphone. Derrick put his gloves back on and cleared his throat. “Alright sir, go ahead and grab that same cup and follow me. Watch your step, please.”

He ushered the patient into the bathroom, and brought the long cable over, plugging it in. “Be very careful not to hit the cable when you’re doing your business. If you knock it out, you might damage the port, which means it’ll be impossible to service this mod in the future.”

The patient nodded, and then wrinkled his nose. “Man, it’s kinda nasty up in here.”

“Yeah, sorry; I’ve been meaning to clean it. But let’s not waste any time. Catch it with the cup, and then leave the cup on the floor near the toilet. When you’re done, wash your hands and knock on the door. I’ll come and unplug the cable for you.”

“You got any magazines or shit?” He looked like a panhandler who was disappointed with someone’s spare change.

“Magazines?! You’ve got your smartphone, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. It ain’t the same, though.”

Derrick gave him the Wi-Fi password, closed the bathroom door, and then put on a pair of headphones. The arousal and erection values on the monitor slowly went up, and up, and stayed at an elevated level.

A minute after the levels peaked, they dropped straight down, and then shortly after, there was a knock on the bathroom door. Derrick took his headphones off.

“I’m done, homie.” The patient’s muffled voice sounded utterly defeated.

“Okay. I’m going to open the door. Stand back and make sure not to tug on the cable.”