Page 2 of The Chemist

Fluorescent lights and flickering screens welcomed him, as well as a shit ton of electronic equipment, most of which were used for high-definition streaming and surveillance.

He walked to the center of the room, where a man wearing small, thin-framed glasses sat staring at a computer screen.

“How are we looking?” the doctor asked, stopping behind the man and placing a hand on the back of his chair.

“Right on schedule. The subjects are primed and ready to go.”

Perfect.Dr. Baasch didn’t like delays… or problems. He preferred numbers and timetables and everything running problem-free. This was also one of the reasons he quit working at the university years ago. He hated having to work with people and having them make last-minute changes or demands on progress.

“And Subject A?” the doctor asked.

The technician in front of him pressed a few keys on his laptop until a large monitor next to them lit up with the face of a woman in the center.

“Subject A has been given a sample of LX5 and is currently placed in the center of the grid.”

They both watched as a young brunette, no older than twenty-five, struggled to get to her feet. Her hair was messy and fell chaotically over her face. When she managed to finally get both feet under her, she swayed as she concentrated on remaining upright.

“And her vitals?” Tracking his subjects’ vitals was crucial to his little experiment. He needed to know the effects of LX5 on the subjects and any possible side effects that may be present. Also, he didn’t want his subjects to die too quickly. That was never good for business.

“Her heart rate is elevated, which is to be expected. And it appears that her hallucinations have just begun manifesting themselves.” The technician pointed to the woman, who appeared to be swatting her hand at nothing in particular.

The doctor smiled. Right on schedule.

“And Subject B?”

The technician pressed a few more keys before a screen to their left went live, displaying the image of a dark-haired man growling and holding a metal pipe in his hands.

“Subject B was injected with LX3 and appears to be exhibiting the same heightened aggression and paranoia as ourprevious test subjects. Not sure where he got the pipe from, but it should make for an interesting show.”

Glancing between both screens, the mad scientist marveled at his creations. He had spent the last three years designing his LX series of narcotics and was now busy studying the effects of the drugs on humans. It was all part of the experimental process. First, you theorize, then you design, test and observe the effects. Then you modify and adjust as needed. When this series is perfected, it will change the way we handle fear and paranoia.

Then he nodded toward the large screen hanging at the far side of the room. “And them?” Thick red numbers counted down from sixty.

“Right on schedule.”

Perfect.Everything was going to plan.

“It’s time to begin.”

The doctor waited until the numbers reached zero before pressing the enter button on the technician’s laptop and watched as the horrors began to unfold on the screens.

1

DIESEL

Straightening himself, Diesel ran his fingers under his nose, removing any evidence of the white powered residue that might be lingering before leaning forward and checking himself out in the mirror.

His eyes took a moment to focus as the effects of the last two bumps he had just done began their journey through his body. Warmth, followed by a tingling sensation, followed by a feeling of being pulled away, all added to the euphoric bliss sweeping across his body. He loved this part.

Smiling, Diesel leaned closer to the mirror to make sure that there were no traces of the powdery substance clinging to his nostrils. Not that he was ashamed for doing a line of coke, but rather he didn’t think Matteo would appreciate his dancers strutting around onstage with a nose full of cocaine on full display. That didn’t exactly scream “classy”—more likefive-euro hooker who will blow you in a back alley if you ask them nicely.

Loads of clubs in Europe offered that sort of thing—naked young men, eyes glossy as fuck, with traces of drugs on their faces or needle tracks in their arms. But not here. Not atLa Maison de M.

Here, at this club, Matteo and his boys offered nothing but class and luxury. A mix of high-end elegance and sinful debauchery.

Watching as his reflection came into focus, he scanned his features carefully.

Good.Nothing on his face and no evidence of his extracurricular activities.Matteo wouldn’t freak the fuck out.

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