Chapter 5 (Paul Engemann - Push It To The Limit)

...a fighting chance.

A chance, that I could fight in this fucked up city.

I stayed in my corner, made sure my posture was immaculate, and…coughed.

Feeling their gazes shift to me, I swallowed my nervousness once and met Tomasso's gaze.

"Excuse me, boss," I began and squared my shoulders. "May I talk?"

The silence stretched perhaps unnecessarily long while I held Tomasso's flat but interested stare.

"Go on, Billy." said Tomasso not unkindly and I quickly gathered my thoughts to be in proper order, desperate to make this count.

"Wayne Enterprises," I began with the one thing, that stuck out to me and quickly elaborated. "He probably has all the funding and equipment he could wish for."

"We are talking human enhancement, right?" I asked to be sure, my eyes momentarily drifting over to the other occupants in the room, who along with Tomasso nodded to various degrees.

"Bruce Wayne is a playboy, but he seems to be living by similar morals as his late parents given the various orphanages, clinics, and charities he is spearheading. I highly doubt that he would greenlight human subject research in his company." I paused again after the rush of words, checked If they were still following, and saw to my relief Tomasso's gaze noticeably sharpen, which in turn emboldened me to keep talking and further elaborate my point.

"Research, potentially crucial, to advance. I reckon such restrictions might rankle pretty fiercely with our man." I finished and kept my eyes on Tomasso since he obviously was going to call the shots here.

"What do you suggest?" He asked instead to my surprise. He most definitely came to the conclusion, that I laid out before them, but now he probably wanted to hear what I hadn't been saying.

All or nothing.

I squared my shoulders again and took a bold step forward, not unlike a soldier in the movies volunteering for a suicide mission.

"I'm a young healthy man. I don't drink, I don't smoke, and I am perfectly willing. What more can you ask for in a human guinea pig?" I asked openly and did my best to ignore Uncle Peppe swearing under his breath.


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

It was a 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.

Already on the very next day, Tomasso had managed to arrange a meeting with this Dr. Dekker in some super fancy restaurant in Diamond District and a deal had been struck.

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 had been 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 to fabricate a medical issue for me that justified my school absence. We had shared a short laugh when I had joked, that the freaks wouldn't be a problem, since my mom would kill us first if she heard I dropped out of high school.

Dr. Dekker, the one who initially had requested the timeframe, wanted 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 dividends soon, but underneath we were still family, so…

"Yes," he said distractedly, mind already elsewhere. I had no clue what was going on in the higher echelons of the Five Families and right now I was quite glad for it.

"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 making demands to the boss, 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 finally 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, sensing that keeping quiet might be the most sensible path here.

This was a guy, that was recommended by Professor Valentin after all.

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'.

Blood tests, urine, body fat percentage, 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 except for the numerous instances when he told me what he wanted me to do and the occasional mutter under his breath while examining my various results.

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.

"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 decidedly 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 hasn't been much talk even by the time of lunch during the next day in the opulent but incredibly dusty dining room.

The meals itself was a bit of a surprise, as well.

Shitty microwave instant-meals.

Dr. Dekker simply didn't seem to care about anything but his research, but for a guy, that practically lived in a pizzeria and worked in gastronomy, well…

The less said the better.

"Follow me." He suddenly instructed, one moment he was taking a bite, and the very next he was rising out of his chair. The guy wasn't even finished.

'Mother f…' I held my tongue, but it was a close call as I hadn't been finished either, but stood as well, ready to dispose of the dishes in the kitchen.

"Leave them," he said as he strode past me towards the basement stairs, and I couldn't help but stare at his retreating figure.

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


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 with the belts uncomfortably tightened not a moment after.

Eyes on the ceiling, I heard as the machine whirred to life, and not a second later the door slammed shut.


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 back 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." hope which had come just as quickly as it had withered and died.

'The guy 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!'


Back in the chair.

I stared at Dr. Dekker unblinkingly.

"…while it may not be my area of expertise, it is still tissue. Just like muscle tissue, the skeletal tissue is metabolically active and constantly being remodeled, thus being the foremost scientist that I am, I was even able to ably the properties of my Dionesium to the subject's bone structure." I let him wax about his genius into his little recorder while keeping my gaze on his pacing form.

I was agitated.

"Recovery rate is also extraordinary. Using a steadily increasing but controlled nutrient supply and daily exercises in the heat chamber the subject was able to recover his previous base form within the week. Dehydration is still an issue that needs to be addressed." he went on, clearly unaware of my rising blood pressure.

I was livid.

Yes, it had been nice to leave the wreck of a body, that I had become behind, and recover my old self.

What hadn't been so nice however was the fact, that I did my exercises in a blood-soaked sauna. Dr. Dekker hadn't minded the bodily fluids, which I had left behind after my surgeries the days before.

"Just this morning, April 4, 1994, I discovered another breakthrough. I removed the subject's right digitus medicinalis. Upon applying three epinephrine autoinjectors and constant exposure to the infrared lamp the body managed to regrow the digit within one hour. Influence on the DNA's code has to be researched more thoroughly posthaste."

What a way to wake up this little episode had been. I couldn't help but glance at my regrown ring finger and note the slightly pinker complexion.

Enough!

"Are there any negative side effects?" I asked loud and clear, interrupting his monologue

He whipped around, eyes wide, and for a single moment, he looked like he was going to leap over the desk and murder me. Oh, how I wished he did since there were no leather straps on this chair.

"There are no undesirable side effects, you imbecile." his disgust and derision almost dripping out of his voice.

'Good enough.'

In one smooth motion, I stood, my hands already flying to the metal backrest of my chair. Grip firm, I strode the two steps towards the desk, that was separating us and swung the piece of furniture with all my strength.

His head didn't give even a hint of resistance as the metal leg cleanly hit him on his temple.


"Yeah, it's me…"

"…really, I'm okay, just broke an egg and made a bit of a mess."

"…I'm not joking!"

Cringing at my own pathetic attempt at using Mob lingo on the phone, I couldn't help but sag in relief when it was clear, that Uncle Peppe got the gist of my problem and was on his way.