Something like that. [ He needs bad coffee for this. Or booze. Stay put while he gets some of the former and wishes for the latter. ]
So, I got the death sentence, right? El cancer. Nothing I could do — my girl was sending off all for all these brochures from Tijuana and China about experimental trials and all I wanted to do was slip away while she'd still remember me as a person and not a vegetable.
[ He takes a sip of awful coffee. ] Then this guy shows up. Tells me about this... genetic treatment they're working on. I have nothing to lose so I sign up and about five minutes after they strap me to a gurney I find out that it's not quite what they've been advertising. Instead, it's some bullshit super soldier program where they torture you until you trigger a mutation, so that was fun.
It worked. Here I am. A testicle with teeth that can't die.