The Cynic Clinic

Silas Romanov , head of pharmaceutical giant Cytech , the world's leading anti-depressant and anti-psychotics manufacturer , took a long draw of his Cuban cigar , exhaled steadily and looked down on the rest of Manhattan , smiling. Ironically , the glossy black of the surrounding tower blocks reminded him of the shiny onyx tombstone he'd picked out for his father. Death was final and fruitless , and more importantly , sickeningly unprofitable.

Everything was going according to plan , as long as the human race remained self destructive , Cytech's fortunes would continue to soar. Today's trading announcement , another trading record of $170bn for the year, up 18% on the previous and turnover of $564bn , was satisfying. The mental health economy was worth $2.5tn globally so there was still scope for improvement and Silas , with the old man in the ground , could now divert more capital to biogenic research and the human race potential.

As if to coincide with this thought , his watch tracker indicated Cytech's prototype was approaching , on foot , at speed , 40km an hour to be precise. The prototype had completed a circuit of Manhattan , leaving Midtown heading north to the George Washington Bridge , then south to past the Brooklyn Bridge and looped round back to Midtown and Cytech headquarters. Entering the building , the prototype always ascended the stairs and the 99 stories to the penthouse office suite at the top.

It always impressed Silas to see each floor in the stairways negotiated 2-3 seconds at a time , not that he would share that sentiment , he had to guard against complacency. It always made the record attempt that little bit more exciting , though. The record for this feat , to leave the penthouse , lap Manhattan island and ascend to the 80th floor was 2hrs and 1min. At that moment the oak double doors barged open , and the imposing figure raced to the centre of the Penthouse and hit the timer on a marble dias there.

'Titus , my boy!' Silas boomed. The figure had collapsed against the timer dial, heaving huge gasps of air desperately. Rivulets of sweat poured from his forehead and his eyes closed slowly , dreading the debrief.

    'Father , I ............'     

     'Silence!' Silas yelled ,'It feels like we've been here before , eh? Your broke the record , Titus! 2 hours and 57 seconds , very good...........' 

       'Thank you, father....' Titus trailed off.

    '...............for a mere human. Get up!'

Titus daren't do otherwise , he raised himself to his full height , towering over his patriarch , shuffling to his feet despite the pain in his legs , his arms , his heart , his soul.

'Is that all you are Titus? Human? Does a mere human receive $70m in biological science advantages , blood research , adrenaline supplementation? Transplant?? Two hours is superhuman , we've discussed this. And you know why I need these results, yes? The science supports these benchmarks , Titus , so I have no choice to assume YOU are the weakness. YOU are my failure.'

''Father , no , I can do this , I can make two hours , I know I can,' Titus pleaded. 'We can present to the military as planned and I'll continue with the time trials'.

'This is the last time , son' Silas said. Titus filled with familiar despair , he was only referred to as a son in the worst circumstances. 'Maybe , what we need here is the proper motivation.' 

Silas produced a beautiful golden Beretta from his pocket and stepped toward Titus. 'No,' Titus protested hands ahead of him , trembling , as Silas held the gun dead ahead. Slowly , Silas turned his forearm towards his own face and Titus shook his head , comprehending the sudden change in intent. Silas locked eyes with his son and squeezed the trigger. A short thud echoed in the studio as Titus screwed his eyes shut and shrank into his shoulders , sweating in fear now. He opened his eyes , perplexed as no shot rang out and there was a small flame at the end of the pistol as Silas began relighting his cigar again , grinning.

'Had it delivered today , Berreta made it for me specially', Silas quipped.

Embarrased but somewhat , relieved , he turned in anger and strode to the doors. As he turned towards one door , latticed with iron and lead and four inches of thick timber , he closed his left fist , pumped it , felt his anger , felt the adrenaline's surge and thrust the closed fist at the heart of the door , splintering a hole through to the other side. He pulled his shoulder back out of the hole , as the rest of the wooden slab began to fall from the hinges.

Titus looked at his hand , quickly pump flexed his fingers - no bruising , no cuts and above all , no residual anger.

'Report to Dr Cronenberg!' Silas yelled as Titus waved back but kept walking to the elevator. Titus knew the diagnostics would reveal the same metrics so it was time to change the game and raise the stakes.

   'Ah , Titus , just in time , I have your performance data,' said Dr Cronenberg.

    'Let me guess , three thirty minute splits and a slight blowout for the last split? With the stair climb?' 

Cronenberg lowered his head and peered over the rims of his glasses , nodding sheepishly. Titus strode through the laboratory and slumped into the diagnostic chair, 'I need something more Crone-Borg!' as the Dr frowned disapprovingly at the sleight but his hurt turned to panic as Titus leaned forward grabbing the lapels of his lab coat in one hand and pulled him face to face ,'He pointed a gun at my head - DOES THAT COMPUTE! CAN YOU ASSIMILATE THAT!!!'

Again the Star Trek sledge wasn't lost on Cronenberg but as the tips of his feet were barely touching the ground he nodded co-operatively and , after a brief second , Titus' powerful arm slowly lowered like a crane and the good Dr was back down to the flats of his feet again. 

As the Dr pressed his lab coat flat again and composed himself he said,' I might have an innovation that will help you , Titus'

Titus leaned back and clasped his fingers in front of his broad chest , elbows propped on his knees and fixed Cronenberg with a hawkish glare.

Dr Cronenberg stammered into his presentation 'AAaaaaaaahhhhhmm , what I am proposing is a graft onto to each of your adrenal glands which will produces Hype Adrenaline . The way it works is when your natural adrenaline levels have peaked at optimum , we see 30 minute splits every ten miles , so two hours in total. If we stimulate the Hype Adrenaline release in the last phase in the circuit , say two miles from Cytech , it will give you an incredible surge of testosterone at the end which will shorten your last split.'

'Sounds a bit 'Warp factor 9 , Scotty' to me , Doc. How does the Hype stuff release? What's it gonna do for my times , I have to make 2hrs flat or its no good.'

'Well , its in an experimental phase so we don't exactly know I'm afraid , but I can guarantee you one thing , Titus. One dose of Hype and a New York cab won't be able to catch you. The release level is 10,000nm/l so you must be very careful to pace yourself and not exceed 40km/h for more than a minute or your adrenaline will hit the release threshold , the dose will release and we cannot guarantee you will be able to finish the race if its released early. I have a wrist monitor for you to wear to keep track and I'll be able to talk to you during this race'

'OK , where do I sign up?'

'Well , you see Titus its a small operation , twenty minutes max but.....erm..........in order to avoid any side effects , we cannot use anaesthetic.'

Titus sprung out of the obs chair and snatched a length of lead pipe from a laboratory bench top on the way to confront the doctor.

He held the pipe horizontally between his outstretched hands and could see the terror in the thin doctor's eyes as his forearm strength alone was enough to bend the rigid pipe like rubber hose until Dr Cronenberg's face was framed like bagel filling. The Prototype stepped slowly forward and wedged the semi circle over the Dr's head , held the two pipe ends again and gently pulled them slightly closer together. The Dr grabbed the pipes ends trying to separate them , but fruitlessly , he winced and gasped as Titus leaned down to his face , grabbed the pipe ends and levelled the Dr's eyes with his.

 'Pain is only a state of mind , Dr Cronenberg , and something I long ago learned to ignore. But hear this , you may operate now , you may provide your tracker , but understand - this is literally your life's work,' he separated the pipe and it dropped behind the Dr on the hard marble floor. 'Two hours or under , or you will be fondly remembered only in the minds of those who care.'

Titus opened his eyes in the dojo , as he sat , cross-legged ready to start his mantra. The operation was a quick success , the only evidence a surgical patch over the navel. He inhaled for eight seconds continuously and exhaled the dark yoga mantra:

I am my only asset , I need no other

Strength and fight are my only allies

Others are a weakness and a burden to strength

I am a Cynic and this is my decree

Death is dishonour

Power is Glory

As Titus stood outside Cytech , rain gently kissing his black running suit he felt an emanating confidence. 'You ready , Cronenberg?

 'Affirmative , Titus , commencement in 30 seconds. Adrenaline at 200nm/l,' the wrist monitor replied.

This was it , but it felt different , more assured , more intense , angrier? He recalled the Dr's advice about pacing and not exceeding the threshold , he looked down at the shiny wet plaza at his feet , composed himself , drew the wrist monitor in front of him .......... 3....2.....1 , and set off explosively , heading north as always. Manhattan was typically busy but he also drew one or two startled looks at the speed he sprinted past at. Their looks of disbelief. Cretins , if only they knew the half of their own potential.

'Speed . 39.8km/h, Adrenaline rising rapidly , still under 10,000. Maintain your current pace , Titus'

Titus felt comfortable , gliding through the streets , a predator with prey in his sights. There was an ease and grace in his intense speed tonight he wasn't accustomed to. 

Dr Cronenberg looked up at the data bank on the laboratory wall , nervously watching the adrenaline counter as it surpassed 9000. Titus had been maintaining pace for twenty minutes and was tracking well , but he was still aware of the threat imposed on him and the unknown side effects of the surgery. Performance was one thing but stroke , heart attack , haemorrhage were all real risks without testing. 

Back on the 99th floor , Silas turned to his subordinate and offered, 'Whisky , General. My very own Romanov 12 year old single malt.'

'Perhaps its best we keep a clear mind until we see some results , Mr Romanov.'

'Hmmmm. Well, lets just say , if my results blow your mind - what's the difference'

The General gave a small nod to acknowledge the point , and Silas began to pour from a decanter on his desk. He clasped the two glasses and walked around the expansive oak antique , sat on the edge and offered one to the General.

'Power and Prosperity' toasted Silas and drank a large mouthful. 'Romanov crystal, you know.'

General Macklin leaned forward , noticeably uneasy with the extravagance and said,' Mr Romanov , you need to understand that superior athletic performance is one thing but what about the other matter? This is a $40bn contract and Senate are pressing me for answers.'

'Patience, General. Take in the view , you will have your answers within the hour'.

As expected , Titus had completed the first three splits in 30minutes even and this time , felt revitalised. He could see the imposing tower of Cytech in the distance and willed himself onward. He'd show them , he'd show them all a performance that would shatter all expectations , Father included. 

'Titus? Its time , Titus , I need you to accelerate you have been tracking between 9800 and 9900. There are two miles left of the circuit plus the stair climb and you have 10 minutes to complete.'

'Affirmative,' Titus replied and began to kick harder , lengthening his stride , gritting his teeth together in determination and suddenly his running began to flow , his arm and leg rhythm seemed independant of his consciousness and he accelerated past motorcycles and cars as they swerved and honked as the black figure bulleted through streets and intersections and disappeared towards the Cytech plaza. The entry camera recognised him and started to open the glass sliding doors but couldn't do so fast enough as Titus's shoulders crashed through the entrance and glass shattered across the wide entry vestibule.

Silas rubbed his eyes as he watched the thermal image of the stair climb on his wrist monitor. 'Can't be right , he's ascending each flight in two strides , and the speed??''

'Technical problem , Mr Romanov?' the General intoned and as Silas raised his head , the enormous collossus bounded through the open doorway and slammed the timer before either could follow its movement. 

One hour , fifty seven minutes and 50seconds , the record had been destroyed! But Titus , chest heaving and hitching felt boiling hatred , piercing pain began to bolt through his head. He lurched forward at Silas who stammered a trite 'well done' as he backed against the desk. Titus raised his arms forward , vile hatred contorting his face and Silas hand felt cold metal on the desk. As he raised the gold Beretta , Titus grinned at the novelty gun but a shot rang out and Titus right shoulder flew backwards as his right knee collapsed beneath him.

He lay groaning , not comprehending as Silas came into view and leaned down over his son. Titus mouth trembled at the care and concern on his father's face , but this was only momentary. Silas grabbed the Titus's collar and shouted 'Get over here , you!' as the General shifted into view.

Silas pulled the collar away from Titus' trapezius muscle where a bullet hole had hit a bulging vein there but the blood had drained away from the wound already and started to dry. 'See , General , the coagulant is working already.' And to the wrist monitor 'Dr Cronenberg , bring a medical team to my office , rightaway'.