There had been rumblings of discontent from the rigs, threats of a general strike unless their genitals were returned. The Japanese investors had been flown in for a reassuring tour of the facilities. They were given a tour of the organ vats up in Aberdeen and the grafting center in Dundee. The gaggle of fascinated businessmen shuffled into the operating theatre, while a carefully picked selection of riggers coming off their shore leave were being prepared for surgery. The workers waved and smiled weakly through the minimum level of sedation needed to keep them conscious. 'Put on a good show for the investors and there'll be a fat bonus in it for you,' their boss had told them.

The Vice President and the investors flinched as the circular surgical saw descended on the rigger's rugged torsos. He hadn't realized the process would be so visceral. A spray of gore narrowly missed the businessmen.

"Shall we move on to lunch?" the Vice President said lightly, quickly ushering the businessmen out, while the surgeons carted away the men's legs and affixed a thick, feminine fishtail in its place.

There was a PowerPoint presentation to settle their stomachs. The VP flicked through slides of more smiling workers proudly showing off their augmentations.

"Gentlemen, as you've seen, the Maritime Rescue Modifications (or MRM Aid for short) is completely safe and beloved by our workers. Everything is locally sourced. We manufacture the legs using fish caught fresh from the Firth of Forth (it plays very well with the environmentalists). We extract whatever we need from the sealife, crafting them into new legs or a swim bladder or whatever organs our employees need. Then, once assembled, they're put on ice and shipped to Ninewells Hospital to be painlessly grafted onto our workers, as you saw. Typically we remove their lower bodies from the navel down, but we can take as much as we need. Whatever we remove is stored in preservative while the men are out on the rigs, or it can be decanted for anyone wishing to make use of the men's lower halves. Well, we've certainly heard no complaints from the men's wives!"

That elicited a murmur of amusement from the investors. Caviar and Scottish whisky was brought out by a trio of MRM-enhanced workers. They were being paid handsomely to pretend to be delighted as the investor's gazes (and occasional hands) grazed across their shapely, scaled rears, giggling girlishly as they filled glasses and handed out canapes.

"Should anyone fall into the ocean, the grafted organs will keep the man alive until help arrives. The webbed feet and tail negate the need for life vests, while gills in the abdomen provide oxygen even underwater. Even if the man was swept away from the rig, within a few hours of exposure to the ocean, the MRM Aid will start to spread throughout the body, redistributing fat deposits to insulate the internal organs from the cold of the North Sea."

The VP still saw uncertain, still-decidedly-greenish faces among those assembled.

"Most importantly, it brushes away all our previous safety standards. Since the organs fulfill the function of so much PPE, the cost savings on life jackets and lifeboats is considerable. We save thousands of pounds on safety railing maintenance alone. And with the employees depenised, workplace disputes are greatly reduced. Our workers are calmer and more compliant. And best of all, it requires us to only insure the upper half of our employees - a saving of fifty percent!"

He gestured to the adjoining room. "Now, we have a treat I know you will all enjoy. Our former safety inspector will be serving you dinner - or rather, dinner will be served on him! Haha! We decided to fire him, since we no longer have any use for him, but thought we'd give him a chance to earn a little extra cash before we let him go. He's quite the delicacy, and I'm sure you'll all be salivating at the sight of him!"