War Bastard winced as he handed over the credit tabs. The Chop Doc - Crom was his name - was pale, skinny and hairless, the very opposite of everything the Goliath respected in a man. In his filthy white coat he reminded War Bastard far too much of one of those treacherous long coats, and as his bony hands clutched greedily at the creds and deposited them in the depths of a front pocket, War Bastard had an almost irresistable urge to break the mans arms. But no... this was necessary. It was true that The Linnaen freaks had built a stranglehold on much of the dome's better bionic implant operations, forcing War Bastard to use this back alley body chop shop. It was also true that together the two operations would cost him the majority of Roid Rage's gang stash. But Rockfist was strong and resilient, and had developed into a fearsome combatant since joining the gang. He'd come close to besting War Bastard in a number of mock combats recently but the wound he'd sustained to his forearm some weeks ago kept festering up and putting the new ganger out of action, and War Bastard had a feeling he'd be needing to rely on the likes of Rockfist being fit for battle in the future, so he had decided to replace the arm before things got any worse.
As for 8-Ball's operation, that had a somewhat different motivation. He'd never admit it to the gang, but while Rockfist was a precocious but manageable combat talent, War Bastard had the feeling that 8-Ball would already be able to defeat him in one on one combat - handily at that. And lately he'd been showing signs of gaining increasing respect from the gang. He'd even been the one to order the retreat in the last battle against the Linnaens, when War Bastard himself was knocked unconscious after a poorly calculated charge. As far as War Bastard could make out, the retreat was a poor tactical choice, but the fact Roid Rage had listened to 8-Ball already showed he had leadership potential.
War Bastard had made sure to get 8-Ball particularly drunk this evening and it had been simple enough for one of Crom's snivelling assistants to sneak up behind the Goliath ganger and slip the needle into his neck. 8-Ball had collapsed to the floor instantly, but War Bastard had given him a good nugging with the pommel of his Chainsword for good measure.
When activated by the special code word, War Bastard had been promised that the Permaslaught 5000 implant would turn 8-Ball into a crazed, enhanced combat machine with super human strength and speed - a useful tool. But he'd also been assured that the brain chip would have a "pronounced destabilising effect" on 8-Ball's personality. As far as the Goliath leader could make out, that meant 8-Ball would start going batshit crazy, which ought to dent his future leadership potential just enough. Best of all, nobody would be none the wiser about the implant. If Crom did his job well, 8-Ball would wake up with nothing other than a few head stitches and a bad headache. Easily explained...
...
As he watched the hunched Crom at work over the prone forms of Rockfist and 8-Ball, War Bastard mused on his plan. 8-Ball would have to be relieved of his power axe. The heirloom was among the best weaponry in Roid Rage's arsenal. It wouldn't do to keep such fine bit of kit in the hands of a lunatic, and if the implant failed and 8-Ball retained his sanity, War Bastard would rather not have to face the axe in the event of a leadership challenge from the upstart ganger.
At that moment, Crom dropped a last piece of waste flesh into a metal tray besides the frosted plastic operating couch, straightened his back with an audible crack, and turned to War Bastard. The chop doctor wiped his bloody hands on his coat and lifted the scope goggles from his face.
"All done. Your friends...". At this word, Crom paused, glancing over his shoulder at 8-Ball. "Your friends should come around in about an hour. Will there be anything else?"
War Bastard grinned. Rockfist was far more controllable, and giving him the axe might keep him that way for longer. And besides, if the Permaslaught 5000 lived up it's name, 8-Ball wouldn't need a weapon as powerful as the axe to hit the enemy like a speeding Goliath truck. Something much more unsubtle would suffice.
"Yeah, as a matter of fact dere will be... 'ow much for dat rusty old chainsaw over there?".