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Club Happy Cyborg Billbill say: > Nowadays I keep away from the ones with the > flaps glued down. I visited Club Happy Cyborg, but only once. I'd heard that it was what it had been advertised as; a place where people with 50% or more mechanical replacement parts could gather and, you know, do stuff together; chat about their week, swap anecdotes about their mechanics and doctors and all that kind of thing. There was a dance-floor there, but someone had destroyed the sound system. I mean, destroyed it; yanked it from its enclosure and broken it up into pieces big enough to fit in your mouth. It didn't take long to get the real vibe of this place. No-one spoke (and that wasn't because they were wired together; everyone kept as far away from each other as possible); they only moved when they entered and when they left. I found out later that it was part of their acclimatisation and recovery programs; they had to come here and socialise with other cyborgs. The ones who still had faces all had horrible grins, as if they'd hooked coat hangers into the corners of their mouths and tugged them apart. Their eyes were flat and lifeless. I stood in the doorway, looking from one cyborg to the next. Over in the far corner, someone who'd lost their entire left side took a tentative step away from the wall and then fell over with a crash. It lay there, face down. No-one moved to help it. I left with the feeling that this was some kind of joke; an art installation, perhaps.

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