Reginald Crickincrack removed my cap and wobbled back.

I rubbed my head with my artificial hand. “Wow. I’m Blake. I’m a blue blob. I’m Blake again. Then an old man.”

Reginald sat down and lit a cigarette.

I turned on the air filters. “Air filters ON.”

Max’s head flashed like the Fourth of July. “Smoking is bad for humans. And you’ve got no right to expose Shark to your secondhand smoke.”

Reginald shook his hands. “I can’t help it. I need to smoke to think.”

He turned to me. “Shark, the ratings went through the roof after the first transfer. People loved seeing Blake panic.”

“People are sick.”

“People are curious. Next time you and Blake will go back into the cyclist.”

I looked into his little eyes beneath layers of fat.

“Fine, but where’s Diana and Christine?”

“They’ll be here next time,” he said, blowing smoke. “Meanwhile, you’re headed back into the cyclist.”

“What’s his disability?”

“He’s eighty‑three. Otherwise, he’s fine.”

Reginald glared at Max as the robot moved in with the vacuum cleaner. “Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t mind at all,” Max said, sucking up the ashes.

Reginald turned away. “The producers want to show all the variations of disabled life.”

I gasped. “Which means I have to suffer?”

“It’s necessary,” he said.

“Forget it. Disabled people simply need to leave this world for a better one.”

He stopped smoking and stared at me. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do. I admire Blake’s cause. Especially now that I know what I’m missing. Diana and Christine should be here.”

His eyebrows rose. “You’re not developing feelings for Diana, are you?”

A lifetime of frustration hit me.

“Don’t worry. But I realize I’m paralyzed and Diana is married.”

He stood up in all his heaving glory.

“Are you sure you’re not developing feelings for her?”

“I don’t know what I’m developing.”

“Yes, you do.”

“She’s kind.”

“She’s married. Her interest in you is purely professional.”

“I know, vomit bag. So, let’s drop it.”

I cringed when he touched his palms to my face. The magic wasn’t the same as with Diana.

“Shark, reassure me you’re going to help the ADAC stop a madman. Don’t forget, we can make you able‑bodied if you cooperate. We can bridge your broken nerves with synthetic biological nerves. Well?”

“You can make me able‑bodied?”

“Yes.”

I stared at my useless legs. “Trade eternal happiness for a few years of walking? I don’t know.”

Reginald stopped smoking. “Shark, listen to yourself.”

“What?”

“You’re talking as if a disabled life can’t be meaningful.”

“Can it?”

Reginald stared at me through the smoke. “You should know. Your inventions changed millions of lives.”

But helping people hadn’t been enough. To find happiness, I needed to go somewhere else.

Reginald placed the cap on my head.

Suddenly, I was an eighty‑three‑year‑old man pedaling a recumbent bike.