Johnny walked through the muddy streets of the Settlement, his feet squelching in the mud as he walked, ankle deep on the left and heel deep on the right foot. If there was a time he could remember both his legs being the same length he could not recall it, and this was the closet they had ever been. The right had broken and been replaced two or three times, the left only the once – recently – but the replacement is a good fit. The streets were empty this late of a night, with all other Adam’s having turned in for the even or else were in the roaring saloons – drinking with euphoria to forget that the apocalypse had been and the world was winding down to its quite finale. Johnny stayed away from the crowds. His horse had died some ways beyond the Settlement’s walls and the ride had cost him the last of his wealth – the two rolls of toilet paper and three cans of cola that he’d earnt for a quarter day’s ranking along the road. He would have walked, but Johnny knew that this was Mutant country. Besides, lingering in it had already taken its toll – costing Johnny a perfectly good arm. He flexed his right hand and looked down. The limb was leaking humours with a rapidity that had Johnny worried. He needed a replacement. Johnny found the drunk addict staggering through the alleyways, a needle of buzz protruding from his neck. Johnny hit him from behind, on the head, so as not to endanger the arm, and went to work with the hacksaw. He took several other parts from the drunk addict as well. But not so much as to be greedy or give his act away. Johnny went to see the Grafter moments after and, after his arm was replaced with the drunk’s and its fitting covered, traded what was left for a new gun, motorbike and radiation suit before fleeing across the wastes.