by David Bruno
Dr. Doe smiled. “Of course. Our bistro—yes, we have a very nice bistro here in the lab—is preparing a delicious dinner for all of you. It’ll be ready shortly.” Holding his hands together with his fingers to his lips, Dr. Doe continued. “First, I want to thank you all for coming and explain why you’re here. You have been selected for two reasons: First, you need help, and we can help you. Second, you have an opportunity to do great things for your country.”
The same man in the audience shouted out again. “Why would we want to do great things for this country? We live on the streets. We ain’t got nothin’. We owe nothing to this country or to you.” Several other recruits piped up with their agreement.
Holding his hands in the air to quiet the room, the doctor replied, “Well sir, your sentiments are exactly why this program has been started. We see the inequality. Our team believes that there is no reason for everyone not to have the same things in life.” The crowd shifted and began to pay more attention. “If you all agree, you’ll be housed, fed, trained, and given everything you need. Shelter, food, friends, even spending money. Sound good?”
The men and women looked at each other and nodded in agreement. The offer sounded respectable.
“What’s the catch? Ain’t nothin’ free!” yelled one of the women.
“No catch, really. You will work for us and be well compensated. We’ve been given a directive by the president to create a new team of superpowered soldiers for the defense of the country. You’ll either be those people or their parents.”
“I’m out of here,” said the disgruntled man. He got up from his chair and began to walk out. “I ain’t gonna be no lab rat. Not for some freaks.” Max observed the argument. This won’t end well for him.
Dr. Doe shook his head. “That’s a shame, sir—I’m afraid that now that you have heard our pitch, you cannot leave. This information is top secret. If the world found out about us and you, there would be great trouble for all of us. I assure you that we fully intend to fulfill our promises to you. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”
“No way, man. You’re crazy,” the man said, waving a dismissive hand as he headed toward the exit.
Dr. Doe sighed in resignation. “Alright, I tried.” He reached for a cigarette and put it in his mouth.
Still standing at his post, Max shuddered, knowing what was coming next.
Dr. Doe pulled out his sidearm and shot the man dead. The remaining eleven conscripted people fell silent in shock. Finally, one of the women raised a trembling hand. “Where do I sign?”
One by one, they each signed legal documents granting the Agency the right to conduct experiments on them for life.
Watching the group file by, Dr. Doe exhaled a cloud of smoke and spoke to Max with a smile of grim satisfaction. “Well, Mr. Hastings, we have our guinea pigs. Bread and circuses. Let’s give our director his übermenschen. Now the hard work begins.”
*****
Max fell into his role as assistant, more than happy to allow Dr. Doe to continue his command of the project. He would have liked to leave, but he knew he had to fall in line or he would surely be killed like those others. His survival instinct trumped all.
For months, the two men ran experiments on the human test subjects. They prepared dozens of human embryos treated with the meteoric metals. The babies born from these experiments, using the test subjects for parents, were intentionally twins or triplets to increase the number of test samples. Almost all were stillborn. A couple lived for a few weeks but then died of horrible abnormalities. The babies that lived longest had been created with the least exposure to the meteoric alloy. Each baby was autopsied and universally noted, despite the exposure levels, to have the extra glands that had been initially modeled by the unfortunate rats, years earlier. The glands were a clear indication of the experiments’ partial success, even with the deaths of the subjects. When all useful data had been collected, including blood samples for future use, the remains were preserved in glass jars and placed on display within the laboratory. They served as reminders of their work—trophies.
This mockery of creation awakened something inside of Max as he looked at the dead babies. As samples grew more numerous, he couldn’t put aside the sickening feeling in his gut. Never a religious man, Max began to wonder if he was not just doing the wrong thing by trying to preserve his own life, but also too freely working with the forces of evil.
After seeing two more jars placed on the shelf, Max spent an unusual amount of time examining them. This caught the attention of his supervisor. Dr. Doe approached him. “Are you okay, Max? You seem distracted.”
“Not really, just looking at what we’ve done. Look at those faces in the jars.” The faces of the babies were formed, as were their tiny hands, feet, fingers, and toes. They were so human. They were people. No matter how much Max tried to put their humanity aside, he knew it to be true.
Then and there, Max arrived at the answer to the question he had been mulling since the day in Director Fischer’s lab when he learned the whole truth: he was indeed cooperating with the forces of evil. He exhaled deeply and was forced to accept that there could be no forgiveness for him. He was just as guilty as Dr. Doe, all the other scientists at the lab, and all Nazis that had come before.
Dr. Doe put his hands on his hips, tilted his head back and looked up at the jars. “You know, these embryos could have been created and ended legally in this country at will. A million each year are destroyed with us learning nothing from them apart from the body parts that are sold for research.” He ran his hand along several of the jars. “With these relative few, we’ve learned almost all we need to know to create our army.” Sensing Max’s discomfort, he tried to ease the tension. “Relax, Max, and be proud of what we’ve done. You mourn for the loss of life. I mourn for what could have been with each of these specimens. Besides, we’re almost done.” Dr. Doe momentarily put his arm around Max and then departed the room.
Max felt dirty. He shivered with a shame he had not recalled ever feeling in his life. I’m going to be sick.
The adults who were coerced to use their biology to create the atrocities were indeed treated well, as promised by Dr. Doe. The number of recruits grew. Almost without fail, they initially objected to the creation of the babies. But the strategic supply of limitless food and high-quality drugs helped ensure their compliance and kept them docile. They became a kind of cult-like family in their depravity, living a charmed life—with the exception of their working to create a race of superpowered killers.
*****
Dr. Doe and Max focused on the genetic material extracted from the dead infants. They learned how to isolate gene combinations responsible for amplified strength, armored flesh, energy beams from eyes, and the energy shield. With these powers, the team was satisfied that they had a sufficient sampling of powers to create their army. The challenge became how to expedite the process to place these genes into adults. They were under ever-increasing pressure from both the U.S. government and their Nazi benefactors to deliver results.
The first step was to place the gene for armored flesh into an adult subject, the reasoning being that it was the least likely to result in a person with heightened offensive abilities and perhaps aggression. It was a comfortable stepping stone for future experiments.
The doctors and lab technicians began pulling stem cells from infants before their deaths and splicing the superpowered armored skin gene into DNA strands from the selected adult subjects. Mengele would have been proud. Before long, their grotesque efforts were rewarded with their first successful human specimen.
The first specimen stood across from a mirror in his dormitory-like accommodations. This is what they promised. I feel great, strong. But no powers yet. They mentioned some physical tests. I wonder what they have in mind.
A soft knock filled his room. “Dr. Doe is ready for you now, sir,” said the technician on the other side of the door.
“I’ll be right there.” Moments
later, the man joined the technician and the pair made their way to the lab for testing.
“Okay, Number One. Time to find out if you’re our first hero!” Dr. Doe stated gleefully to the man injected with the stem cells. In Doe’s mind, he was no longer human. He even lost the dignity of a name, becoming only a number on a spreadsheet. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir. I’m very excited to be the first. Thank you for helping me, and I’ll do you proud, sir,” the man replied.
Dr. Doe smiled, extinguished his cigarette, then reached back and sucker punched the man as hard as he could with a right hook to the face. The technicians documenting the test gasped and recoiled at the unexpected ferocity of the attack. The man’s head snapped to the side and he stumbled backward in pain. His flesh had not changed.
Dr. Doe pursed his lips in dissatisfaction. “Well, I see you do not yet have the ability to turn your skin to armor. Maybe we need to keep trying.”
“No, sir, that hurt! Please!” begged the test subject as a large bruise formed on his cheek and blood trickled gently from his lips. “Please give me a minute to recover a bit.” He bent over, put his hands on a table, and tried to catch his breath.
Dr. Doe showed no mercy. He struck the man repeatedly, over and over, without a hint of defense from his test subject.
Suddenly, the man’s skin reacted. The next punch from Dr. Doe was like hitting a brick wall. His knuckles fractured immediately upon impact.
“AHHHH!” the doctor yelped in pain, cradling his hand. He shouted to the technicians, “Someone get a nurse and some ice! I think it’s broken!” Doe shuddered in pain but managed one final comment to his specimen. “Congratulations, Mr. Stone.”
His skin still armored, the bloodied and battered man replied, “My name is Mr. Jones.”
“You are now Mr. Stone,” Dr. Doe said, smiling broadly as the nurses tended to his hand. “You are as hard as stone. Cool name, huh? Come, we’re just getting started.”
Over the course of the afternoon, the team realized that the harder Mr. Stone was struck, the harder his skin became and the less pain he felt. When his skin was hard, it was impossible to take blood samples for analysis. But samples could be taken when he was not armored and the needle was gently pressed into his epidermis. In spite of this milestone success, they noted that the armor was not stable. It varied in hardness and did not cover the entirety of Mr. Stone’s body. His transformation was not complete, and their formula needed work. But it was an incredibly promising next step.
The next day, Dr. Doe and Max met Mr. Stone in his private suite, which he had been given in accordance with his newfound higher status. Dr. Doe sported a cast on his right hand to help repair the fractures from the day before.
“Mr. Stone, we’re very proud of you. Today is going to be a challenging day. You will be subjected to tests more severe than we have ever tried before. Are you ready?”
“Do I have a choice?” the man asked dryly as he nursed his fat lip.
Dr. Doe threw his head back and laughed as his cigarette fell from his mouth onto the floor. Max smiled weakly and glanced at the spectacle Dr. Doe made. Their intention was to test Mr. Stone to his breaking point. He would be subjected to hammer blows and bullets, with the bullets getting progressively larger and more powerful.
One by one, test by test, Mr. Stone was able to repel them all. Even .50-caliber Browning rounds bounced off him, though they hurt a little bit, unlike smaller-caliber rounds. Mr. Stone smiled and became a little cocky. He bounced on his feet like a prizefighter matched to a much weaker opponent. “Bring it on, Doe!”
Dr. Doe’s excitement had been steadily mounting. “Okay, Mr. Stone. I know we said .50-caliber was our limit. But since you’ve done so well, we’re taking things up a notch. Max, please take Mr. Stone outside to the range.”
Max, although unhappy with the speed and brutality of the test, complied with his boss’s order and walked Mr. Stone outside past their massive 4,000-pound GAU-8 Avenger Gatling 30-mm gun, which had been borrowed from an Air Force A-10 Warthog. The monstrous gun was mounted on a concrete pedestal. It had a scope with a camera as well as computer-programmable control positioning of pitch and rotation with both manual and automatic target tracking. It could be positioned and operated remotely from a safe location or from a pendant connected to the gun by a cord. The gun was a daunting weapon, capable of destroying tanks from the air. It was just as formidable at ground level.
If Mr. Stone could endure rounds from this gun, Dr. Doe knew he would be a superior soldier, the first of many, able to carry out his agenda.
Mr. Stone’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open as he took in the massive machine. “Um, no way.” The bravado he’d projected minutes prior faded into terror.
He began to back away but was grabbed from behind by thugs from the Agency, who strapped him to a wooden wall some fifty yards beyond the gun mount. Behind the wall were large piles of dirt to contain any stray rounds as well as somewhat conceal this part of the project. The men from the Agency slugged Mr. Stone with a baton to the stomach to active his power and retreated to the safety of the bomb-proof gun control room.
Seeing his predicament, Mr. Stone recovered from the baton strike and struggled against the restraints. He begged and screamed to be released. “No! No, please! I’m a good man!”
“It’ll be okay,” Max said through the public-address system as he gave a thumbs-up to Mr. Stone. He knew he was lying to the man. He wondered if Dr. Doe, sensing his discomfort with the program, had selected him to fire the weapon on purpose. It was a test of faith, one that Max must pass if he valued his life.
Dr. Doe flashed a weak smile and ordered the weapon to be fired. With a quiet sigh, Max pushed the button.
BRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT!
The gun fired for about a quarter of a second directly at Mr. Stone, hurling seventeen fourteen-ounce armor-piercing rounds into Mr. Stone’s abdomen.
Mr. Stone’s body burst into pieces. Shards of hardened flesh littered the range and even the adjacent helipad more than a hundred feet away.
“Wow!” said Dr. Doe as he shivered with excitement despite what appeared to be obvious failure. “I guess the Avenger was too much for him. A bit disappointing. Pick up the pieces and let’s think of what to do next.”
Technicians swarmed the scene. Joining them, Max observed the remains. Mr. Stone’s left arm and both legs had detached entirely, and his torso had been ripped into pieces ranging from specks to six to eight inches in size. What was most interesting to Max was that all of the pieces remained like stone—they hadn’t reverted back to soft flesh.
Max retrieved a sample to show Dr. Doe. “Jeff, look at this. There’s no blood and the pieces are still solid.”
Dr. Doe barely looked at him, instead choosing to focus on his notebook. A cloud of smoke hovered over him. “What are you trying to say, Max? The subject’s dead and in pieces. We should’ve used a smaller gun.”
“I’m not so sure,” Max persisted. “I’d like to try to put him back together.”
That got Dr. Doe’s attention. “Put him back together? Are you serious?”
“It’s worth a shot. At least let me try?”
Dr. Doe shrugged. “I guess you can try. It’s your time to waste. What will you do if he wakes up?”
“I guess try this again,” answered Max. Maybe I can save this poor man’s life.
*****
Max placed all that he could gather of Mr. Stone’s remains on a table in the infirmary. Laboriously, he began to arrange as many parts as he could find in their proper locations. He lost track at 110 pieces and was missing many small bits, so Mr. Stone’s body still had various holes throughout.
The broken body lay motionless on the table for hours as Max worked. There was no change.
“I just wondered if the power keeping the parts solid would also help fuse them back together,” muttered Max in frustration.
“Maybe you need magic fairy dust,” joked Dr. Doe, who had jus
t wandered in.
Max’s eyes lit up. “Magic fairy dust! That we have.”
“What are you talking about, Max?”
“Meteoric alloy!” Max sprang to a locked drawer. He pulled out a small lead box that contained fragments of meteoric alloy. He quickly placed them on top of the wreckage of Mr. Stone’s body. He then backed away, being sure to keep a safe distance from the radiation.
The minutes ticked by with no change and Dr. Doe left, shaking his head at Max’s foolhardy experiment. Stubbornly, Max settled in to observe.
About ninety minutes later, Max burst into Dr. Doe’s office, insisting that he come look at the body.
“Jeff, look at this!” shouted Max excitedly as they entered the infirmary, pointing at Mr. Stone’s body. “The parts are fusing! He may not be dead, Jeff!”
“Amazing, Max,” Dr. Doe breathed in astonishment. Wide-eyed nurses were gathered all around them, staring at the body in wonder—and fear.
Piece by piece, Mr. Stone’s parts came together like pieces of ice melting into each other. His body became whole again, with the exception of the missing parts that Max couldn’t find—leaving pronounced holes.
Then Mr. Stone’s eyes opened. His eyes, filled with horror, fixed on Dr. Doe as he screamed. Every nerve in his body came to life with horrible fury. He screamed louder and louder as his body softened. Blood spurted from the missing holes and fractured arteries, splattering onto anything or anyone in its path. Nurses frantically held Mr. Stone down as they attempted to staunch the wounds, but there were far too many holes to plug. Moments later, the blood stopped flowing and Mr. Stone stopped moving. He was dead—for good this time.
“How very interesting,” Dr. Doe proclaimed, taking in the scene with a keen, emotionless detachment.
“I suspect if we had all the pieces, we may have been able to save him,” marveled Max. I’m sorry, Mr. Jones. I really tried to save you. Rest in peace, good man.
“I agree, Max. Good work. Let’s document these findings and work on our next specimens.”
