It started in his toes. They had become numb at first, then immobile. Dr Terrence didn’t think too much of it at first, perhaps ill-fitting shoes, or too much stress. A lack of Vitamin B12 or not enough fibre. But soon his feet and ankles lost feeling, making walking hard. Too stubborn to seek help, Terrence soldiered on.
By the time his shins and knees were affected, his toes had become ashen and hard, like fossils. Terrence was worried, but his ego still prevented him from speaking to a colleague or getting a second opinion. He moisturised.
It took only three short months for his entire legs to become concrete.
He had stopped going to work at the institute, telling the board he had in-depth research to do and couldn’t be disturbed. He had taken to dragging the immense weight of his lower body around his apartment on a dolly borrowed from the warehouse.
He cursed Asteron with every inch of his ossifying corpus. They would pay for this. His right index finger was the last part to go, even as his eyes went grey and dry, the last motion he was capable of was pressing the reset button.
It was, again, 1976.