WHO: Rachel and Bryant WHEN: Backstory - A quick recap from college to her first day at the Red Door WHERE: The Red Door WHAT: Consequences to thoughtless actions WARNING: Surgeon Needed
The project had existed for the longest time in many different forms.
As an undergraduate Rachel worked on an early stage. Two summers as a research assistant found her soaking in the sun and the Mediterranean ocean off Greece. Mornings were for bagging and tagging. When the sun was directly overhead they retreated into the water, diving for observations. Evenings they spent drinking and eating up the local culture.
Her doctorate had researched the regenerative properties of hydras. Her post fellowship had been worked with starfish. Rachel had gotten the job, not just because of her amazing references but specifically for her expertise in the marine.
While there was nearly always some research regarding regeneration somewhere, funding was always hard. Everyone knew that the research would be a long road. There were too many questions and so many possibilities. The immediate reward to most research was negligible, but the profit potential at the end of all that research kept the project going.
When she joined the team they had also started something they had never done before. Trials. Previous research proved that observational science lead to more questions. They found themselves asking if Hydra's could ever grow old, a question which required endless longitudinal studies. Rather than trace everything back to the root, it was much more interesting to ask what if questions instead of why. Let others answer the why, undoubtedly others were working on those problems anyway. What if we take a rat which has lost a limb and inject them with hormones similar to biochemistry of starfish, hydras, salamanders or any regenerative species? What if we alter the cells, the proteins? Finally what about the DNA? That is when the real data started rolling in.
Things were incredibly exciting. They had fast tracked to real results and a serum was developed which mixed all the best things from previous trials. That’s when the rats had begun to re-grown limbs. And strangely that's when all funding fell through, not because of the lack of results but because of the results. At least that was what Rachel was told as they packed up the documentation and tagged their rats for destruction. There were lots of excuses. There were so many questions still. The foundation of the research wasn't strong enough to truly define the results. They had a faction of the understanding of the process behind their results. The timing was wrong. They were afraid. So even though the rats displayed no side effects to date they were destroyed and the entire project was moved to cold storage.
At first she started to go into storage and read the documentation to build up the lacking foundation of the project and thus reverse the decision. It was a reasonable step considering the importance of their findings, but quickly it became clear that her voice was inconsequential. Her determination was met with vacations and removal from primary research, suddenly her work load became rudimentary.
Bored and chaffed by the insinuation that she had pushed too quickly towards results instead of answers Rachel had taken the experiment into her own hands and taken it to the next stage. Actually she skipped some stages. After all didn't have the equipment, the licenses or the animals to do further mammalian testing. So she engineered the serum for humans and tested it on herself.
The first week was fine. Vitals were normal and side effects seemed to be nil. A few nights she recorded restlessness but overall she felt very good. But shortly after the second week she noticed the nub of the new limb. For a day it seemed like a possible tumor, a hard tumor. But it grew quickly and on the second day Rachel realized the nub was a new limb. Her first instinct was a cold calm certainty. She had to dock the limb as you would a dogs tail. Given the side effect she felt regeneration of the limb was very likely but if she could dock it then it would be a manageable side effect.
She talked to a dog breeder, read several books from the library and then fitted some industrial bands as close to her back as possible. She had been told the process was rather painless, but that of course was a lie. The pain started out as a constant distraction; nothing sharp or truly painful at first, but a constant pressure, an ache pounding in the rhythm of her heart; which ate her attention and mood. She had spent the first day of the banding face first in bed unable to tolerate clothing brushing the pressurized skin.
The pain was much worse on the second day, the tingling pressurized sensation seemed to be spreading. She hadn't slept, so again she called in sick to work and spent the day in bed. Banding takes three days she told herself and held in, pushing aside the thought of scissors nearly every hour. Eventually she brought a bottle of vodka into the bed.
On the third day the pain was finally truly intense. The scissors suddenly seemed like a very good idea, as Rachel clutched at her pillow. For half the day Rachel laid there her hands twisting her pillows into knots before she finally decided to have a look in the mirror and decide what to do. When she pulled herself out of bed the bands broke and at first she laughed from the sheer relief.
And then the laughter had become tears. Tears which had been impossible to stop.
Three days later she stood in the Red Door. The limb was now large enough that she had to be careful how she dressed. Despite the heat she wore a heavy coat, a sweater, and her dress because the layers made her look fat and disguised the real issue. She had made some attempt to cover the dark rings under her eyes with makeup but the puffiness around her blue eyes was not as easy to hide and Rachel wasn't invested enough to try very hard. Besides all of the layers of clothes were making her perspire and melting the makeup anyway.
Quietly she knocked on the door, Rachel did have an appointment but now that she was here, in a brothel of all places, she wasn't confident that she had come to the right place.