Travis had a proper laboratory. He led them past the rats in cages and topped at a glass fronted lab fridge. The thermometer on the front read -15°.
"He drank something that cold?"
A drunken laugh, and Travis nearly fell over when he tried to slap Ernie's shoulder.
"I warmed it up a bit before I gave the injection, to avoid tissue damage." Travis giggled.
Scotch's phone rang. He glanced at it, then answered. "Yes, sir?"
Loomer's voice was faintly detectable. "We've checked. Shady Oaks doesn't know what we're talking about, no ambulances were called, no body any where. Doctor Inferno's alive. And on the loose."
Ernie raised his voice. "Told you so!" he snorted and looked behind him at the young woman.
So get back to work.
"So, Cary, Travis is, I suppose the T in K & T Research. Who is the K?"
She rolled her eyes. "Me. My name is spelled Keri. Keri Burngarner. And I'm obviously an idiot who fell for your suggestions, but since he isn't dead, and he forced us to give him the combination treatment, you can just go away."
Scotch grinned. "Sure. As soon as we both get a shot of the cold stuff."
A long silence. Even the happy drunk sort of stood there, wobbling as some common sense tried to get through.
Then the woman's eyes narrowed. "Sure. And if you die? It's your fault, not ours, because you insisted."
Ernie's turn to swallow.
I don't want to live forever.
But if I could walk again . . .
He looked back at the pair. "Exactly. We're two new guinea pigs for you, but you do realize that since we're also Supers, our data has nothing to do with how normal humans will deal with this stuff."
Scotch stared from one sibling to the other.
The woman was apparently a mean drunk. She was smiling as she prepared the syringes. And no matter the water bath, it was colder than the North Pole when it froze its way down his arm.
They were all sitting around the reception area staring at each other when the DSMD stormed through the door, bullet proof vests over their pretty suits, and armed to the teeth.
Scotch looked around and smiled. "Took you long enough."
Nobody shot him.
Or the siblings.
"You need to put a watch on them, in case he comes back for more." Scotch smiled. "Would you like me to call out the lab boys in DC, or would you prefer to do it yourself?"
Harkness glared at him, then looked at the Burngarner pair. "Why him?"
"We needed money, an investor. So we looked over the people in Vegas, looking for someone old, and rich. That man was spending like it didn't matter, so I talked to him." Keri-with-a-K squirmed. "He said it needed to be secret, and to cover up my license plate. So I got out the electrical tape and changed it a bit. Then I drove him here, we showed him everything and then he . . . just looked at us and we gave him the combination serum."
Harkness glared. "And did you get any money out of him?"
One of the local guys leaned and tried to look intimidating. "And where did you get the base information for your research?"
Double swallows. "From our own DNA. Our parents and grand parents were very long lived. Very." Travis looked sick, or maybe hungover.
Or maybe he realizes it's time to come clean.
Kari nodded. "And they healed so fast, never got sick. So we tried to figure out what our not-normal genes did, and how to duplicate it without touching the DNA."
The local DSMD chief frowned. "What do you know about your ancestors?"
Travis shrugged. "Granddad always claimed he was a son of Lightning Man, but of course we didn't believe him."
Kari smiled. "And then Grandmother would say she was a granddaughter of The Brain, and they'd argue about who was best, or worst. They were so cute. And apart from living so long, none of us have any Super abilities."
Ernie sighed. They know they're about to get tested up down and sideways, and I'll bet there's some Super Genius in there as well.
And there were very few Black Supers. Maybe twenty total out of the thousands. Mostly the American Supers. And this pair could easily have gotten that skin tone from their normal ancestors.
But what if they are actually descendants of Will's? If he knows that, would they be useful bait?
There was stubble on the top of his head. "Hol lee crap! I've been bald since I was a hundred and twenty."
"You are looking much younger, Master."
Will leaned to study his face. Still wrinked.
Stood back and took a strong man pose. Skin drooped under his arms and flexing his pecs was best not repeated. "Saggy man boobs. I need to gets some exercise equipment. After breakfast."
He headed for the kitchen. He'd lived alone most of his life, and was perfectly capable of cooking for himself. "I'm just out of practice. And the bacon's not that burned. And eggs. Toast . . . dammit, I don't have a toaster. So . . . I need to go shopping."
And do a few things to start a new identity that even Glenda won't know about, just in case she goes rogue on me.
So he beat up the eggs and made french toast . . . with lots of butter and no syrup. and burned bacon and then went back to his bath room to make himself into Laine Black.
Yeah, pick and pale green sweatsuit, with a pink visor over the curly gray wig. A little rouge, lipstick . . . Shit. no one expects an old lady to be a D-cup, but I'd better get a bra and show a little shape.
He walked out to the garage. The lump under the tarp turned out to be a tiny cube of an electric town car. Pink. Help!
"Glenda, is the registration up to date?" He unplugged it.
"Yes master, and insured. I am transferring that information and the key code to your phone, now."
"Excellent. Thank you." He scooted the seat back as far as it would go and squeezed in. No too bad. As a disguise.
The garage door opened behind him and he backed out. Drove a few blocks around the neighbor hood to get his driving reflexes back. And get used to driving a car that was a slight improvement over a golf cart.
He'd been to Vegas many times, so it was easy for him to locate everything he needed.
Even if the wrong person was there.
Will stared at the boy in consternation. Hard to say, but he might have been twenty five. Business haircut, a loose tie around the neck of his button down. At least he wasn't wearing a suit. "What happened to Mitch the Bitch?"
"I heard that!" A voice from the back. And old man stomped out of the back. "No one calls me that! No one!" He leaned to scowl, and his eyes widened.
"Except you . . . what's up Ferno?"