Human Trails: Unethical Experimentation (Part 1 of 2)

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
Before Mr.Goldwasser's returns to the states from his retreat, he needs to find a test subject by any means.

Submitted: June 23, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 23, 2016



Bavaria, Germany; May, 2010.

I woke up in my hotel to a knock on the door. I open the door to nothing but a letter asking for me to meet in the lobby in regards to my family. What I noticed however is the letter wasn’t signed with neither of the Goldwasser’s signatures. Just a signature with the initials “E.L.”

I got dressed and went down to the lobby in my displeasure. I really don’t want to see the Goldwasser’s. I need to focus on my research…or at least making sure the same monstrosity never happens again. As I walked down the stairs from the tenth floor to the first; I start to question if this is a possible attempt on my life. If so, I don’t care to live anymore. If it’s not, which my gut is telling me it’s not; then I have the feeling I have to shovel through the usual Goldwasser bullshit. They found me because the owner must have call them. The family has invested a lot of money in their business.

  When I got to the lobby I was approached by a Caucasian male dressed in a sky blue three piece suit, with a white dress shirt with no tie; light brown hair and black shoes. I look him straight in the eyes as he stops two feet in front of me. He was rather upbeat and approached me with a smile.

“Jorge Goldwasser; September 4th, 1984?” he asked me?

“Are you E.L?” I asked him with my arms crossed.

“Call me Ethan. I’ve been a friend of your parent’s family since my birth. My family has been close with yours for decades.-“said Ethan.

I then cut him off “How come I’m just meeting you now?”

Ethan looks around to check if anyone is listening. He then ask me if I speak or at least understand Italian. 

“I understand it.” I told him. He starts talking to me in Italian and starts telling me his family has been protecting the Goldwasser’s fortune since the 1930's and pretty much “protect their interest”. What’s weird is he said the first half in Italian and the second in Russian. He was testing how I would react since my real father was Russian. I reply to him in Hebrew saying “I rather talk about this in a more modified scenario.”

  In Italian “Define modified?” questioned Ethan.

  “How about a forest? If you are who you claim you are it would be wiser this way.” I said calmly in Hebrew. He then pauses and laughs “smart man.” in English.

"So you’re a friend of my uncle Alex?" I questioned.

Yes, well Alex was our lawyer. Responded Ethan.

Being the one to choke slam the elephant in the room, I asked “So you’re mafia?” I asked.

"Yeah. But not the type you think. We were the protection type. My family has been protecting the Goldwasser’s since they immigrated in the mid 1930’s trying to escape Hitler’s reign. They moved to New York and my grandfather met with your great grandfather and helped each other out. Since their German Jewish immigrants my family had to step in to make sure they have the best security both business and personal wise since as you know, tensions were at an all-time high with us. They scratch our backs we scratch theirs." He explained.

"What a minute-where does your family originate from?" I asked.

"Well to tell you the truth kid, we’re Germans. But when my family emigrated from Berlin in 1918, we had to change our identity as Italians and Christian name to match the correct origin. Also again all due to war time tensions.” Said Ethan.

German mafia acting as Italians covertly… I wonder who else knows of this. But I don’t want to ask too much knowing the nature of his profession. I rather not offend him.

  "So what are you a capo-excuse me for asking. This is none of my business."

"Nonsense! Just know I’m four out of five stars. We are forever indebted to your family, which means we are indebted to you Jorge. They helped us get to where we are today!"- said Ethan.

  "Which is?" I asked.

 "Wealthy and under the radar.” Ethan then pulled out a pack of menthol cigarettes. He puts one in his mouth and lights it. He offers me one but I politely turn him down. He then exhales “Look I-I heard what happened and I’d like to give my condolences-"

I cut him off stating “I appreciate your respect but no matter how many condolences I get I’ll never connect with the love of my life ever again.” I said with a goosebumps hiving from the back of my neck. A rather weird feeling as if there was an extra presence watching us.

Ethan looked to the floor and proceeds with “Jorge I understand your grief, it’s natural." Then he looks at me and continues. “All these emotions your feeling all at once. It’s hard when someone close to you passes away. But you have to realize the soul is nothing but energy in which never dies and moves on towards it’s next stage of existence. And I’m not talking about religion or-

All this metaphysical shit was getting me anxious. “I understand what you’re saying."

He continues “But you can’t just let her death hold you down from living the rest of your life. You got a whole life ahead of you! You can’t dwell on something you had no control over. It will eat you up inside and turn you into something you’re not. And trust me; me and my brother been down that road way to many times and I’d hate to see someone as smart as you go down that path. You have so much potential. I mean your parents are worried! Call it what you want but they didn’t have to adopt you and send you to a good schoo-"

At that point I had to put him in his place. “I've been to pseudo “A” graded public school in which the faculty only cared about test scores, cutting salaries and not teaching us to use plausible life skills. On top of that I barley saw them growing up until after I got my master’s degree. They were always dining on their yachts with other fat cat bankers and celebrities while their employees rip off poor people. I don’t know shit about my birth parents besides the fact of my father being a journalist from Russia and my mother being a nuclear chemist from Israel. Babysitters raised me until I was fourteen years of age and then I had to end up raising that spoiled little bitch they call a son. I’m telling you right now, if I have to insert my sim card and turn my phone back on just to call them-ugh; look I’m not in the mood for their rudimentary bullshit. They're most certainly going to blame me for everything and then get into an argument about putting me on opiates and anti-depression medication.

What's weird about Ethan is, his body language and speech pitches seems to be showing a lot of concern for my situation. 

“What?! They’re worried sick! They think you were either kidnapped, died or joined a cult.” Said Ethan.

I was immediately disgusted yet not surprised by what he said my parents thought. It’s some bullshit they would've thought. I grinded my teeth and responded sarcastically “Wow, what high expectations they have of me.”

"Jorge they just want you to come home-hell at least call them and tell them you’re okay." Said Ethan.

"Tell them I’m busy! That sentence will ring their bell. They should get used to me saying that for now on since that’s all I had growing up. I had to learn everything by myself through wisdom and observation." I said capriciously.

"Remember when you guys first moved to Miami and all your father’s rivals stocks went up by twenty percent due to stealing their investors? Said Ethan.

Yeah? I questioned.

Ethan explained how sophisticated and dangerous his network truly is. “Your family’s stock shortly skyrocketed passed their rivals by quadrupling pass their twenty percent increase to what they made within forty-eight hours. Within the next week your father’s rivals filed for bankruptcy and by the following Monday, the CEO’s and CFO’S either began working in a DMV, a post office, sucking dick or selling crack-cocaine down on Sistrunk boulevard. You’re welcome! Google me and my family- hell ask your family themselves. We have a long history together and you’ll be astonish by not only my craft but my family’s as well. We’re diplomats and professionals with a code of honor of respect and integrity whether it’s business or personal. We don’t bullshit my friend and if shit ever were to go south; trust me, nobody is perfect. HOWEVER- it’ll usually be due to hidden agendas or the inflated ego of the other party. Now I’m not asking you to trust me but at least give your parents a call."

Fuck it, I had to ask-“Question. Why is a made-man like you talking to pathetic ol’me for? My parents obviously sent you here to make sure I follow their wishes by any means-am I correct?”

“Look kid-“ said Ethan before I cut him off. When I did I was losing my patience with this "kid" bullshit. “In case you may have change my diapers as an infant and your hands still reek get this through your skull-I’m a grown ass man. What you’re going to do is you’re going to call my parents as a confirmation of you actually knowing each other. Put them on speaker and I’ll confirm my safety to them. After that I’m going to hang up that phone and you’re going to help me find a test subject and not just any test subject- a HUMAN test subject. THEN- AND ONLY THEN I’ll fly back to that piece of shit town populated by imbeciles and drug addicted narcissist. Deal?"

He then looks at me rather surprised by my response. I can’t tell if he wants to punch me in the face or laugh. But Ethan later responded “And if I refuse?”

“Feel free to put two bullets in the back of my head. I don’t care. I’ll tell you this- you nor your family fuckin' threaten me.”  I said.

“Wow Jorge, amazing how you grew up so fast.” He then ashes out his cigarette on the heel of his shoe and puts the cigarette remains in his cigarette holder. "Whatever, I’ll find you a bum or something. No big deal.” Said Ethan.

“No. No bums. I need scum-I-I need a menace to society. A complete fucking sicko with no children and nothing to lose. Not a drug dealer. Not a thief. A psychopath.” I said coldly.

Ethan smiled “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Proceed with your call.” I said.

Ethan ended up making the call and it turned out everything he told me was the truth. Later I even made a friend I knew since high school who’s a private investigator look him up. Surprisingly these are some honorary business men; however, extremely dangerous and very sophisticated individuals. They even have close ties with the Yakuza, a few Italian connections, the Colombian cartel, the British, a few Mexican cartels and pretty much any organized crime division west of what would have been the iron curtain; as well as an abundance of Wall Street connections and even rumored to have their own private military overseas with the help of one of the most powerful arms dealers alive today.

Later, I explained to him how I wanted everything to be setup. I’m going to give the patient a 150 milligram dosage. Ethan is going to hire a prostitute to flirt with him in the bar and slip a two hour dose of melatonin. Then have her make him order another drink. She will open the capsule into his drink without him looking. Ethan picks him up and then will drive his unconscious body to a warehouse thirty minutes away. Within that warehouse there will be a total of five rooms in which music with different audio frequencies will be played from speakers built within the walls and ceilings; as well as different visual influences (flashing colors, projections, strobe lights, etc). From the looks of how I found Vivian that night, I must have found her towards the end of the trip meaning she was mobile for what I’m going to assume a few hours. I have a feeling I’m going to have a change in direction in terms of my career path for as long as I breathe.

The first room he wakes up in will be a bedroom with incense and white candles burning- Feng Shui type shit. I’ll play music with alpha waves in the blue room. There’s cameras all over each room. In the second room (with beta waves) I’ll kick it up a notch with him in a room with orange walls and a projection of people in a night club on each wall. I’d figure the drug has harsh side effects and I needed to know what they are in explicit detail. From that point on I’ll begin to play a series of both high and low frequencies. By the fourth room he’ll experience a series of strobe lights with cigarette smoke and the fifth room with be black and grey with no sound and boarded windows. I need to test the effects in each environment as well as the half-life of the 150 milligram dosage. Ethan was rather impressed by my plan and hired a few people to help out with the experiment.

At around two am, we got our incapacitated patient and drove him to a warehouse built in the middle of a forest in the outskirts of Bavaria. Me and Ethan were viewing the experiment from a surveillance room upstairs. Turns out Ethan got me a true piece of shit-an embarrassment to humanity. Our test subject happens to be a serial rapist known for recording his acts on random women and uploading it onto the deep web. At the end of every video he would brand the word “slut” and an upside down cross on their foreheads with a hot butter knife and proceed to read all the details of their ID on camera. What’s even more fucked up is he happens to be apart of a local black-doom metal band called "Werewolf Blowjob". I tried my best to not go in there and bash his fucking teeth in with a ball-peen hammer…but I had to show patience and not get all into my emotions. This is just business after all.





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