Thread: City of Taken Souls (Rania Lark X ArcturusMagnus)

They told the good doctor that The Project would have to be called off. Too many unexpected side effects was one of the reasons. Volunteers would come in, and they did not get quite what they had expected. Sometimes, it was very different from what they had expected. That had in turn lead to a lack of willing volunteers. With nobody to test on, progress had ground to a halt. With no progress, the major financial backers had pulled out. Without the backers, The Project was all but done for. The executives had let go of almost all of the scientific research team, most of the labs had been shut down. They had even stopped the call for volunteers. The philanthropists, once so enthusiastic about what was being done, now considered the project to be done and buried. The only reason they were still continuing the premise was because the lead researcher was very prominent, at least within certain circles. He was no longer on the official payroll. On paper, he was now researching it on his own, and still had access to whatever he needed, as long as he could do it on his own, without the assistance of any of the backers. In reality, the doctor was on his own. His own finances, his own research, his own employees if he could afford them. Doctor Antonin D'Ambrosia was a genius in the field. He had attended the academies of London and Paris, was ahead of his time when it came to bioengineering, mechanics, and medicine. He had been part of several major breakthroughs in his distinguished career. Illnesses which had ravaged their ancestors were a memory of the past. The crippled could walk again with the assistance of his machinations. He had contributed his considerable knowledge to such projects, and the rewards had followed. When he had put forth a proposal for further modification, many had at first been on board for it. Major investors had poured considerable sums of money into The Project, and other great minds had joined the team. From early on, however, The Project was beset with problems. It was difficult to pin down what caused certain effects in the body. The amount of serums, injections, and alterations needed for the exact same effects varied greatly from person to person. Because of how difficult it was to determine what the correct dose was to give a person, often it was more like guessing. The result was that, sometimes, there was hardly any effect at all. Other times, the effects of the serums were far more extreme than had been anticipated. After three years of research, development and experimentation, The Project had been all but shut down. Using his own money, his own facilities and his own connections, Doctor Ambrosia had continued on his own, the legality of his operation tenuous at. At least his manor house , an old, sprawling thing, was more than large enough for his needs. Most of the rooms had been converted into labs, operating room and more. More often than not, the whistle of steam and the whir of machines could be heard. Below, however, was where the real magic was done. If anybody had seen the full extend of what the Doctor's money and time had gone into, they may have had cause for concern. A sprawling network of tunnels and rooms existed below the manor. Secret, less than legal contacts had given him the money and resources to continue when the legal money flow had dried up. These were people who wanted him to succeed. His success would bring in a new age in medicine, a new era of the human body, and they wanted to be the ones to reap the rewards. Great men often had to do terrible things. Wiping his hands off, Ambrosia turned from his most recent patient. He lay moaning and writhing, strapped to the operating table, knuckles white where they were clenched. Just what the man was feeling, the doctor neither knew nor cared. At this point, it was probably an interesting cocktail of emotions and sensations coursing through the man. Depressing a button set into the wall, the Doctor spoke into an intercom. Send out the grey men. His voice was deep, soothing, professional and had just the hint of a foreign accent. While he could not hear it, Ambrosia knew that even now they were being sent forth. The Grey Men were his tools for acquiring volunteers. Garbed in dark grey slacks, grey shirts, long coats, with hats atop their heads and scarves wrapped around their faces, blood-tinged goggles covered their eyes. To the casual observer, they were simply overdressed for what might be a cool evening. Only the most inquiring of eyes would notice the too-stiff way which they moved, or would see past the goggles to the eyes which were glazed over. Those who resisted the Grey Men sometimes pulled a scarf away, and found lips blue as ice, pulled back in a macabre grin. They were old volunteers, and they now served the Doctor even when their original purpose had come to an end. They did their job very well. The Doctor never had to wait long for a new volunteer to appear. They usually found younger men and women, outcasts, loners. It was dark out, with few people around. The fact that they had vanished often went unnoticed for days. The authorities had yet to connect him with the kidnappings. His new investors had seen to it that the right wheels were greased. He had nothing to fear. Clasping his hands behind his back, Ambrosia exited the room, the man strapped down giving another gurgling whimper as the door closed.