The first arm is installed later that week. It's a clumsy thing with a pincer at the end, laced with hydraulic tubes, and it weighs a ton. They have him pick things up, raise and lower the arm. He tries to obey until the weight proves to be too much for his body and muscle tears. He yelps, dropping to his knees with the pain, his remaining hand clutching the injured flesh reflexively. Someone strikes him hard across the face and shouts at him. He reels.
"Did I tell you to make noise?" they demand.
"N-no…?" he says, stunned and confused.
"Did I tell you to move?" his handler continues, not angry, just… harsh. He's being disciplined, he realizes.
"No… sir."
"Then don't fucking move, and don't make noise." the person snaps.
They take the arm off and operate to repair the damaged muscle. It hurts like hell but he keeps his silence as best he can. They told him to be quiet.