Our next stop wasn't exactly a 'stop'―it was more like a fast-forward version of a 3D all-around video. Sounds epic, eh? Well, it would've been cooler if there were dramatic sound effects playing in the background, but I'll take what I can get.
After his admonishing comment at my 'blatant staring', Lenny snapped his fingers, and with a start, the Athena Lab was rapidly populated by numerous scientific apparatus. A metal shelf appeared magically right under where Lenny and I were standing, effectively chopping off the bottom half of our bodies. It didn't even tickle. I guess being an overly-lifelike hologram was creepier than I thought.
The spotlights around us dimmed slightly, and once again I saw Lenny Jr. He seemed to be pacing around the room at one moment, then bending over the surgical bed on the next, but the motion was sped up, so I couldn't be sure what exactly he was doing. There were lumps of whatsit―bodies?―appearing and disappearing on the surgical beds at sporadic intervals.
I must admit that Lenny Sr. was a terrific narrator. "The unofficial commencement of Operation Athena was in the fall of 1997, and I began delving enthusiastically into the operation, spending brutally long hours in the lab every day. I was desperate to please The Duke, to show my utmost gratitude for his generous support. The enthusiasm blinded me; I became so obsessed with my research that I was oblivious towards The Duke's intentions and his callousness.
"At first, it was just theoretical assumptions. Then, we began experimenting on lab rats, and a year later, I had managed to perfect the procedure for Phase One." He turned to me quizzically. "You do understand the two phases in Operation Athena, don't you?"
Under his expectant gaze, I had no choice but to be frank. "Yeah. Phase One, extraction; Phase two, implantation. Pretty straightforward."
Lenny Sr.'s expression darkened. "Easier said than done, although Phase One was relatively easy. A few months after I've perfected the procedure, we received news about the attack in Kandahar. We flew there right away, and in the ramshackle makeshift lab they'd prepared for us, I managed to extract the consciousness of the first―which turned out to be the only―survivor we received."
"Phillip Rogers," I whispered.
Lenny Sr. nodded. "He was barely alive when they brought him in; he had lost three of his limbs, and his vitals were failing at a shocking speed. The man was beyond saving, but we weren't there to save him. We were there to give him a second chance at life."
A thought―so distant that it seemed foreign―struck me. "Are you sure he was the only survivor?"
"Pardon?"
I realized I had been mumbling the question to myself. I repeated my question, this time more audibly. "Are you sure there were no other survivors?"
Lenny Sr. frowned. "Based on what I recall, nope. The others were decimated instantly by the cannon blast. Phil was lucky to be alive at all―they were all saying it was God who'd protected him from the blast." A wry smile crept up his lips as he recalled the nostalgic moment.
"And he was your friend." I pointed out, trying not to sound as if I was blaming him for choosing to save his friend over my dad. I think I failed.
Fortunately, Lenny Sr. didn't seem insulted at all. He merely gave me a strange look. "Yes, he was. Anyway, with Phase One complete, The Duke told me that there was no time for respite, and ordered me to initiate Phase Two right away. I didn't mind―the obsequious mindset has yet to be wiped off me yet."
He thrust a finger in the direction of his younger equivalent, disdain written all over his face. "Eager to please The Duke, I started Phase Two right away, but was met with a serious setback. Before we went down to Kandahar, The Duke informed me that he had had a couple of hospitals contracted to send in brain-dead patients to LAMRAED for 'research purposes'. This was to make sure that I had patients ready for me to work my hypothesis on once Phase One was complete. I had no idea how did he manage that, but I wasn't interested in asking at that time.
"So based on one of my various hypotheses, by implanting Phil's consciousness into a brain-dead patient's mind, it would automatically purge the host's consciousness―which, because of its vegetative state, is dormant―out of its body and subsequently, assume control. However, the problem arose: when we started introducing Phil's consciousness into the patients' brains through electric impulses, they all rejected it."
I had heard this part before, but I wanted a deeper understanding on the matter at hand. "Rejected it how?"
An anguished expression flitted past Lenny's face, too quick for me to be sure. "They showed no signs of neural activity whatsoever, no matter how much I increased the intensity of the induced stimulants.
My heart skipped a bit. Stimulants?
Note to self: Do a blood check once this mess is over. I wouldn't wanna get apprehended by a street cop who figured that I must be a regular junkie just because some mad scientist fed me meth without my consent.
Lenny continued. "They died eventually. It might be the intrusion of a foreign consciousness, or the extreme level of electrical and chemical stimulations―both were just too much to handle for their vegetative brains."
He swallowed, and an aghast look appeared on his face. "I was incapable of saving them―I swear to God, I tried all my best―I just. Couldn't. Save. Them."
As I glanced back to the drama, I saw that there was yet another body on the surgical bed, but this guy didn't look so good. The heart rate monitor was emitting a continuous and piercing beep that reverberated throughout the room. Lenny Jr. had his head buried in his hands, his back heaving uncontrollably. He's crying. I thought, dumbly.
As I gazed at the remorseful expression on Lenny Sr. face, I knew that this was the turning point for Lenny Jr. This was it, the moment when his absolute, unconditional reverence for The Duke started to crumble.
Without warning, I heard a snap of fingers, and my surroundings started to spin. Caught in the moment, I nearly jumped out of my skin as the metal shelf did the slicing thing on my waistline again.
Lenny barely noticed my discomfort. Instead, he was glaring at me. Uh-oh. Glaring was bad. "I suppose you're familiar with the red agar theory too?"
"Yes." I gave a slight but solemn nod as I struggled to maintain a perfect poker face, not giving anything away.
"Good." He sniffed, almost in disdain.
Boy, the guy was furious! I cringed. I guess he wasn't a fan of red agars. Either that or he didn't fancy the notion of the 'highly-classified' Operation Athena being understood by such a lowly college kid like me. I think I'll go with the latter.
As abrupt as it started, the spinning stopped, and I found myself standing in a bar. Yes, I am serious―a late-night, whisky-serving, warm-but-not-cosy bar. Home to all inebriated drunkards.
You know what? I changed my mind; I think I'll go with the not-a-fan-of-red-Jelly-Beans option instead.
I was about to ask Lenny what are we doing here when he gave me a sign that said 'shut up and listen'. He then pointed at a discreet corner of the bar, where two men were sitting.
One of them―whom I recognized as Lenny Jr.―was clearly drunk. He was hollering something unintelligible whilst bellowing in laughter, froth and tears spewing out from his mouth and eyes respectively. The guy was a total mess.
The other guy was obviously closer to the shore of sobriety compared to Lenny Jr. There was something familiar about his face―blunt jaw, thin eyebrows, and an exceptionally short nose. Then the cloud of uncertainty cleared, and I gasped as recognition slapped me in the face.
It was John Doe. The mask-wearing, Mustang-driving, Oscar-winning John Doe, who had been the one impersonating Lenny earlier today.
Lenny must have heard my gasp, for he was introducing the guy to me like the host of a fraternity party. "Yup, that's my best friend and personal assistant, Kristoff Baranovich. That day, after God-knows-how-many-failed-trials, I had been so close to completing Phase Two that when I eventually failed once more, I broke. It had been ten years since I last touched alcohol, but that night, I decided to 'get a drink' with Kristoff. I was on the verge of despair, and so I didn't care much about the number of whiskeys I was downing."
I wondered whether I should tell Lenny the truth about Kristoff, but then decided against it. That could wait. I thought. I was more interested in the impending events in the bar than anything right now.
There was a rare moment of silence as Lenny Jr. stopped his laughter to take a large swig from the whiskey bottle.
"So," Kristoff, sensing a brief respite from 'How to laugh like a madman 101', piped up. "How did it go with the trials today?"
His words had an instant effect; it darkened Lenny Jr.'s face right away. The latter plopped down the whiskey bottle and glanced around self-consciously. "Not well. I almost did it, y'know? I stabilized the vitals, and the electromagnetic probe even got a few seconds of neural activity, but at the last moment, POOF, it was gone. Just like that; gone. So was the subject."
Kristoff tapped his fingers on the whiskey bottle. "You know it isn't your fault the man died, right?"
Lenny Jr. shook his head stubbornly. "You don't understand! This is the first time I've ever recorded a neural activity reading. Ever. And guess who the subject was?"
"A blond dude in his late twenties?" Kristoff recalled. "I forgot the name tho―"
"Exactly!" Lenny Jr. hissed, excited now. "Wanna know what I'm thinking?"
"You bet."
Then, in a deliberately-hushed, conspiratorial tone, Lenny Jr. explained his red agar theory to his PA.
Beside me, Lenny Sr. sighed. "I'm not sure what made me do it; the alcohol or the innate dread of witnessing any more patients dying futile deaths. I just couldn't handle the smell of death and failure any longer."
At first, I thought he was going to break down, but he just sniffed and continued.
"Thanks to me and my big mouth, the next day―" Lenny snapped his fingers and the surroundings changed once again. "―I received a 'gift', compliments of The Duke."
We were back in the Athena Lab. Someone, perhaps one of the lab assistants, was rolling in a morgue trolley. Lenny Jr., noticing it, motioned for the trolley to be placed abreast the surgical bed. Together with the lab assistant, Lenny Jr. heaved the guy up and moved him onto the bed.
"He was a teenage boy." Lenny Sr. murmured. "16-year-old Jason Davenport―according to the police report―was mugged by a robber on his way home from school. Doctor's report claimed that he suffered a severe head trauma when he was sent in and had been in a coma since."
Lenny Jr. was already working on the body, setting up probes and firing up machines around Jason. The guy was in a frenzy.
Lenny Sr. carried on in his narration. "I had my qualms about the boy's 'unfortunate accident', for the whole thing was just too coincidental to be true. But at that moment, all I had in my mind was to save him. I wasn't sure if it was because of my moral conscience, or my eagerness to prove my red agar theory; I just had to save him."
I interjected. "You do understand that even if you'd succeeded, you wouldn't have saved this...Jason guy, as based on your hypothesis, his consciousness would've already been purged out of his body. What you actually save, is merely a husk of what Jason was."
Lenny Sr. seemed taken aback by my intervention. "Well, I suppose you're right, but, blinded by the desperation for success, I wasn't exactly aware of that fact at that moment."
Well, thank God he got that part wrong, or I would've been a mindless, wandering ghost by now.
There was a loud beep that made me turn back to the drama. It was coming from the electroencephalogram.
"This time, I managed to get a reading on the EEG for ten whole minutes. I was about to punch the air and celebrate―" Lenny Sr. pointed at his younger counterpart, who was practically dancing on the balls of his feet, his eyes glued to the monitors. "―when his heart gave in."
What happened next was torturously heart-breaking. As I watched on in mute horror, Lenny Jr. and several lab assistants launched into a feverish and desperate attempt to bring Jason back. At first, it was CPR, but it was quickly replaced by defibrillation. As the shouts of 'three, two, one, clear!' and the jarring jolts of the AED pounded rhythmically in my ear, I knew what was going to happen.
Jason was going to die.
"Just so you know, I completely understand it if you wanna skip this part." I managed to croak without my voice breaking.
"No." Lenny Sr. shook his head defiantly. "I shall be brave enough to relive the sins I was brave enough to commit."