“Aaron, wake up! It’s an emergency!”

Mat’s warning was unneeded; Aaron was aware the second Mathis shook him, jarred awake by the brief and terrifying sensation of falling when his head was knocked off of its precarious perch. He took a deep breath, eyeing Mathis’ hand on his shoulder. 

“Christ Mat, you scared me.” He rubbed his face and looked Mat up and down, taking on a more concerned expression. “What happened? Are you alright?” He eyed the safety goggles, still around Mat’s neck. “Hey, who let you deal with the flammables? I know fire doesn’t hurt you but a canister explo-“ 

Mathis shook his head, cutting off the doctor and glancing nervously toward the door. He rocked back and forth on his feet, as if he were preparing to sprint. “Never mind that, Genzken is here.” He snapped, his grip on Aaron’s shoulder tightening. “He was speaking with Klaus, but he should be coming up here any moment.” 

Aaron inwardly groaned. Of all people, of all days…

His lamentation was interrupted by the sudden inward swinging of his door, and the unhappy-looking individual who stood behind it. Mathis’ hand tore away from Aaron’s shoulder as if it had grown spikes and Aaron jumped up, hastily straightening his atrocity of a desk and ultimately making more of a mess than before.

“Gruppenführer, what a surprise.” He cleared his throat and nodded in the General’s direction, looking much like a teenager caught doing something he shouldn’t. Mathis left, as silently and quickly as possible. 

Genzken took a seat in front of Aaron's desk- unlike Foerster, Aaron actually kept chairs in his office- and motioned for him to do the same. Aaron obliged, albeit looking less than comfortable. 

"Doctor Bachmeier. How are you?" Genzken looked slightly more disgruntled than usual- clearly his conversation with Klaus hadn't gone well. "We were very impressed with your last round of reports. The men have been showing absolutely no side effects, you say?" 

“I am well, General.” Aaron braced himself for the conversation to come. “That’s exactly what I’ve been finding. Somehow every… [i]uniquely inclined[/i] patient in my study has been showing no physical reaction to their new, um, [i]augmentations.[/i]” Aaron shuffled through the mess of his desk to pull out Mat’s record from his physical that morning. He offered it to the General. 

“This one is from just this morning. I’m watching everything I can, from sleep to meals to dandruff and yet other than the episodes themselves, there’s nothing separating these men from any other.” Displeasure was apparent in Aaron’s tone, though whether it were toward his research or present company was impossible to tell. 

Genzken took Mat's file and flipped through it briefly. "Ah. Auttenberg. Your lab technician. You're close, aren't you?”

Aaron averted his eyes. And so the dance began.

Genzken looked up and gave Aaron a slight smile that belied no goodwill, and set the file down on the desk. "No adverse reactions...that's encouraging. That's very encouraging. What about the other aspects?" He leaned forward. "You have among you a telekinetic, a man who sets things on fire, a man who summons objects, and a man who can turn invisible." Genzken gestured to Aaron. "These talents would be [i]invaluable[/i] in the services of the SS. When can we expect to begin human trials?”  

Genzken’s enthusiasm was no stranger in the lab, as Aaron had come to know. This inquiry, while expected, shocked Aaron. “Human trials?” His voice grew thin. “With all due respect sir, what may seem encouraging to you is downright spooky to me. I have reason to believe - and fear - that something may be, [i]must be[/i] lurking beneath the surface, and is likely to become volatile. For the human body to undergo such drastic changes, it’s inconceivable not to experience any adverse effects…” 

His hands began to shake, and he busied them with the papers strewn about. A quick glance into the mirror on his desk alerted him to the fact that his nose was turning translucent. Without looking up, he took a deep breath and concluded, “In any case, Gruppenführer, even if I could confidently say I knew what was going on, even [i]if[/i] human trials were an option, I simply can’t think of any way to repeat the incident that started all of this."

For the first time, Genzken's expression fully betrayed his anger. "Six months, Doctor. Six months since you were exposed, and there have been no side effects. We don't know that the army has six weeks. Your country is at war, Doctor Bachmeier. I would advise you to remember that." 

He stood. "You know very well what we need. Do not toy with me like Doctor Foerster. Your men created the black hole, you should be blue to replicate it. And if not, it's your job to figure out how. Otherwise," here Genzken's eyes narrowed, "You know where you stand."

Aaron had to fight back a string of curses. He stood as well, towering over the general by at least five inches, a small personal victory. These days, he took them wherever he could get them. 

He had a wonderful argument in the works, too. About his oath, about exactly what the silver Rod of Asclepius pinned to his collar meant, about the atrocities of war and the impossibilities of the General’s demands. How wonderfully it went over in his mind. Perhaps in another time and place it wouldn’t get him killed.

Instead, the doctor looked down at clenched fists and wondered how rope burn could so flawlessly match with his skin colour. His voice nearly shook with heat. “I’ll have a word with Doctor Foerster," he resigned. "Is that your final recommendation, General?”

The General smiled icily up at Aaron with the confidence of a man who knew he held the upper hand. For no matter how aggravated Aaron became, no matter how deeply he resented his directives, he had no choice but to remain in the laboratory or face the full retribution for who he was. [i]What[/i] he was.  

"You may expect my men back soon. Try to have something we can work with by then, [i]Schwul,[/i]" Genzken muttered under his breath as he turned to leave. 

Aaron flinched as if struck, squeezing his eyes closed and bowing his head, the posture of a man defeated. His quiet words hung heavy with regret, even as he uttered them. 

“Yes, [i]sir.[/i]"