He hated it when things didn’t go according to plan. When there was the wrong dose of anaesthetic. Or the chosen ones offered resistance at the last moment and ripped the cannula from their arm.

‘Please don’t… no,’ his client slurred. The doctor preferred this term. Chosen one was too pretentious, while patient sounded wrong to him, because only very few of the people he treated were properly ill. Like most of them, the man lying there now was as fit as a fiddle, even though at this moment he looked as if he’d been wired up to the mains. The black athlete rolled his eyes, frothed at the mouth and arched his back as he struggled in desperation to escape the shackles pinning him to the surgical bed. He was a well-toned sportsman and, at twenty-four years old, at the height of his physical prowess. But what use were all those years of hard training when an anaesthetic was coursing through his veins? Not enough to knock him out completely, for the cannula had been wrenched off, but enough at any rate that the doctor was easily able to push him back down onto the bed once the worst of the fit had passed. And since he’d managed to apply a tourniquet, the blood had stopped spraying out.

‘Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh.’

He placed his hand on the man’s forehead to comfort him. It felt feverish and the sweat glistened under the halogen lamp.

‘What on earth is wrong with you?’

The client opened his mouth. Fear sprung from his pupils like a jackknife. It was hard to make out what he was saying. ‘I… don’t… want… to… d…’

‘But we agreed,’ the doctor said with a reassuring smile. ‘Everything has been arranged. Don’t go backing out now, just before the perfect death.’

He looked to the side, peering through the open door at the instrument table in the neighbouring room. He saw the scalpels as well as the electric bone cutter, plugged in and ready for use.

‘Didn’t I explain it to you clearly enough?’ He sighed. Of course he had. For hours on end. Again and again, but this ungrateful fool simply hadn’t grasped it.

‘Of course it’s going to get rather unpleasant. But I can only let you die in this way. It won’t work otherwise.’

The athlete whimpered and yanked at the straps around his wrists, albeit with far less force than before.

The doctor noted with satisfaction that the anaesthetic was now having its desired effect. Not long now and the treatment could begin.

‘You see, I could break it off here,’ he said, one hand still on the sportsman’s forehead, the other adjusting his face mask. ‘But what would your life be after that? Nothing but fear and pain. Indescribable pain.’

The black man blinked. His breathing became calmer.