Not in the way you're probably thinking. [or in the way he's thinking, anyway] We have prosthetics, but they're ... not overly functional and definitely not elegant. I'd still likely have the limp. [doubly so, if his insurance company didn't want to shell out the money for one of the nice prosthetics, which ahahahahah, American Healthcare]

[either way, he shrugs a little, before, coolly, he finishes:] I guess they just thought it was better to stick a hundred or so pins in my legs, to hold my bones together, and hope for the best.

[the question isn't insensitive, no, but he's edging into bitter, all the same. fuck the hospitals, that are content to let him suffer until, ultimately, he needs a wheelchair. fuck the Club, for doing this to him in the first place. fuck Aiden, for his inability to wait thirty goddamn seconds, when this whole thing could have been avoided, then]