Sanjay was happy, too. Most of the nuyen he’d gotten in exchange for his home-cooked drugs had come up good, and one he’d even been able to "tune up," as he put it. He was dulled with poppy now, but he’d be heading for Mohsin’s soon, checking out the skillwires and street cyberware. She smiled remembering the day Sanjay had come home, stiff and sore, with the muscle replacements. Though grimacing with pain, he’d lifted her clean off the floor in his arms, not something he’d been able to do since that horrific day and night of agony when she had transformed. The new biceps gleamed under his oiled skin and she could see the enlarged pectorals straining under his sweat-soaked shirt. Mohsin was distant family; street gear was a far sight safer when the scalpel was wielded by one’s own blood.