8. Adriano Celentano - Il ragazzo della Via Gluck

Sitting in the backseats with Tomasso I gazed at the beautiful townhouse just outside.

It was a little bit over a week after our little dinner, which had set things in motion and finally led me to the doorstep of the scientist who was going to conduct his 'experimental treatment' on me.

On the very next day, Tomasso had managed to arrange a meeting with this Dr. Dekker in some super fancy restaurant in Diamond District. I imagined; it had the appearance of a headhunter enticing a high-profile employee of a rival company.

A deal was struck, and I was to go in this Doctor's care for at least a month for the procedure itself and a subsequent period consisting of medical observation and tests. Tomasso was straight up told that it was highly likely that we could already expect a longer period of time and that he wouldn't budge an inch when it came to his studies.

Pretty ballsy move by the egghead, but it was painfully obvious, that we needed him and not the other way round.

A week was agreed for everybody to get their various things in order, which meant for me, that Peppe was instructed with dropping me out of school under the pretense, that I was transferring to a school in Europe. I was 'advised' to cancel my dojo membership, because 'if' everything worked according to plan, which by the way was still a scarily big if, then I was going to be very busy in a very different way.

Dr. Dekker requested the timeframe to put the finishing touches to his townhome, where the experiment was going to go down, and to arrange his job at Wayne Industries accordingly.

'Here goes nothing.'

"I have a favor to ask you." I said and turned to my cousin, who had apparently changed his view of me in the last week from promising little bet for the future to a high-rolling investment, that needed to pay its dividends soon.

Things had tensed significantly between us Panessas, but we were still family and frankly in the same boat, so…

"Speak." He said with the tiniest hint of impatience.

"If something goes wrong," I said as calmly as possible, there was a real chance of that, and waited for him to look at me. "Be it me dying or turning into some kind of freak," I had his full attention now.

"Nothing of this will reach my mother, ever! Whatever goes wrong, I died in a tragic car accident and my body was completely destroyed, a victim of the flames." I didn't care if I was overstepping some line again with my tone, but I needed this to stick.

"She will mourn, she will be distraught, but someday she will move on given that it was an accident, capricious fate, nothing more. There was nothing she could have done, no reason to blame herself." I paused and saw that he now was eying me shrewdly, but not unkindly.

"Do I have your word?" I finally asked straightforwardly.

"You do." He gripped my shoulder, and I held his gaze. There was this hint of family again.

"Thank you, boss." I inclined my head as a sign of proper deference and gratitude and stepped out of the car.

I sat on a straight-backed metal chair dead tired in the cellar of the man in front of me and let him talk.

I studiously ignored the metal bed with the thick leather straps behind me in this meticulously clean laboratory filled with state-of-the-art tech.

"And this," He said and held up a beaker with a neon-green liquid. "This is the reason why we are here. The pride of my creation."

It was already late in the evening since I had introduced myself this morning. I had barely stepped over the threshold when the guy had thrown me without much fanfare in a rigorous physical examination 'to get my baseline', he had said.

Blood tests, urine, body fat percentage was calculated, I had to do a VO2 max test until I nearly keeled over, and on and on it went.

So far there hasn't been much talk between us, I heard the occasional mutter under his breath while examining my various result and the numerous instances when he told me what he wanted me to do. So far, I had been polite and quiet, I didn't dare lip off the man that was going to rummage through my body and tried my best to get a read on the guy, desperate to find a way to raise his interest in my survival or better yet good health.

"I managed to enrich and achieve a malleability of the very metal, that I discovered. Dionesium, equally unpredictable and rare." He continued wide-eyed, seemingly turned on by his own genius.

'Oh boy.'

"Through a unique therapy and various implants, which will be inserted via surgery, I intend to coax your body into accepting the foreign substance. Depending on the success I will infuse your body to such a degree, that the desired outcome should easily be achievable." He finished confidently.

'Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.'

"Thank you, Doctor." I eventually managed to grind out with something vaguely resembling composure.

'And what exactly is the desired outcome?'

"Excuse me, Doctor, could we start the various procedures by talking them through?" I asked as I lay down on the operating table.

Dr. Dekker had woken me god knows when and impatiently ushered me into a room connected to the laboratory.

Sadly, I had noticed just how thickly padded and soundproofed this little operating room was and it had made me all kinds of nervous.

I tried to hide my nervous swallow by clearing my throat when he stared at me like I was wasting his time.

"It could be beneficial for my stress level if I could mentally prepare myself for the surgery or therapy." I said quickly, no idea just what the fuck I was talking about.

"And what if a high-stress level and the resulting hormonal state is necessary for the surgery or therapy in question?" He asked instead of answering. Illustrating what he thought of my sciolism.

"But…, it might make handling you in the future easier." He allowed. "Which should be beneficial for both of us."

"Very well." He leaned back. "I'm about to surgically insert something called a Cimino fistula, it's an artificial connection between an artery and a vein in your arm. It is necessary for the therapy, that will follow."

"Thank you." Always nice and polite.

There was still not much talk, even during meals in the opulent but impersonal dining room.

Dr. Dekker seemed to prefer it, but it was starting to grate on me somewhat.

"Follow me." He instructed, having just finished his lunch while I was still eating.

'Mother f…' I held my tongue but stood as well, going for my dishes to dispose of them in the kitchen.

"Leave them, my housekeeper will deal with them." He said as he strode past me towards the basement stairs.

"Very well then." I held up my hands as if to signal, that it was water off a duck's back.

Back in the basement, Dr. Dekker stood at the door to the operating room but didn't step in yet.

"This room used to be a sauna, which had been a fortunate happenstance for my private studies." He told me and I stared, clearly uncomprehending.

'Good for you.' I really had to make sure that my thoughts remained inside.

Apparently, he took note of my questioning stare and started to explain the next step with a healthy dose of derision.

"I put a modified hemodialysis machine inside the room. For the next hour, the machine will steadily insert a small dose of my Dionesium into your bloodstream. I plan to use the next three weeks by continuously increasing the doses." He explained and it slowly dawned on me, that this was going to be a highly uncomfortable experience.

"Dionesium only unfurls most of its unique properties under the influence of a reasonable amount of heat. Body temperature being the minimum." He finished and opened the door quickly. He grabbed me roughly by the shoulder and steered me inside, just to quickly close the door behind him again, obviously trying to trap as much of the heat in the room as possible.

'At least now the sauna comment made sense.' I thought as I was hit by a wall of hot air.

"Get on the operating table and slip your arms into the belts." He instructed panting but forcefully.

I did just that and was immediately hooked to the machine next to me. The belts suddenly tightened.

Eyes on the ceiling, I heard the machine whir to life, and not a second later the door slam shut again.

My mouth was bone dry, my head hurt, and I was just so tired.

I could only react bleary-eyed to the lights flashing on and blinding me.

Dimly I heard the door open and felt pure coolness tickle over my exposed skin.

My head lolled lethargically to the side when I noticed Dr. Dekker step up to my right arm.

He loosened the strap the tiniest bit, twisted my arm slightly so that the other side was exposed, and tightened the belt again.

"Patient shows obvious signs of mild dehydration. No seizures so far." Did he talk to his hand? Huh? He checked his watch and resumed talking with his hand.

"I proceed with the first cut into the extensor digitorum at 2:34 pm."

And suddenly pain from my forearm wrestled with my headache for dominance. I cried out, I might have vomited, I couldn't remember, I might even have fainted.

…2:39 bleeding didn't show any signs of slowing, applied basic bandages. Reserve the next day for rehydration."

The next few days, weeks, I didn't know, thankfully flew by in a constant daze of delirium.

Until one day I was propped up in the same chair I had sat on during the very first day. The only difference was the infrared heat lamp still pointed at my forearm.

At a desk nearby Dr. Dekker, funnily enough, I didn't even know the asshole's first name, was still busy writing notes. He had deemed the first part of our whole arrangement a resounding success and after nursing me back to something resembling normal lucidity had proceeded to demonstrate just that.

I was after all a paying customer in a sense.

He had started by pulling out a scalpel and had happily slashed along my left forearm, to my vocal disagreement to be honest, and had made me watch the wound bleed and bleed and bleed some more until slowly but surely my skin had started knitting itself together under my very own eyes.

And suddenly there had only been blood on unblemished skin. I had still been ogling like an idiot when he had slashed a haphazard cut into my right arm and had pointed a burning infrared lamp on the wound. I hadn't even finished my cursing when the wound had already started to close again.

"Holy shit." I couldn't help it, credit where credit was due.

"There was nothing 'holy' about that." He said patronizingly as if I was a fucking peasant and he was the renaissance man par excellence.

I shook my head, as I saw him stand up and switch on a video projector, which displayed a rather detailed picture of a human skeleton.

"Tomorrow I will proceed with phase two. It will give your body the means to supply itself with the necessary amounts of Dionesium on top of the copious amounts already in your system." He announced and revealed a small laser pointer.

"I will surgically insert highly concentrated Dionesium implants into your bone marrow here," he helpfully pointed out with the red dot, while I went paler by the second. "in the sternum, here," the red dot jumped to another spot, and I felt a bit of bile rising. "into your pelvis and here," another jump upwards and I felt my little buddy trying to shrink into itself. "into a vertebra of your spinal column."

I still stared at the projection in faint disbelief and horror, when Dr. Dekker turned to me.

"I will perform local anesthesia," he said, and I felt the tiniest hope blossom. "on the upper layers. You will be awake during all three procedures to ensure the necessary blood pressure." And my hope just withered and died.

'Dude was fucking with me, right?' I thought with abject horror, surely, he was bullshitting me.

I was strapped spread-eagled onto the operating table, the lights above blinding me, thankfully I didn't feel the doctor work yet.

BBZZZzzzzzzzzzz

Then I felt it.

And screamed.

And trashed.

"Patient tore his right musculus biceps brachii," Did he just chuckle?! "fascinating, the body seems to be already reacting to the damage. As theorized, heightened blood pressure can potentially stimulate the Dionesium to above base level."

BZZzzz

"Correlation between Dionesium and Adrenalin demand further investigation."

BBBZZzzzzzzzz

'I'm going to KILL him!'