Here we go, the first augment. Dr. Weel was cackling about something when I got back from the job, some kind of "revolutionary power source". All I really understood was that, I'd be put under, and when I awoke - long as the good doctor was as good as he said he was - I'd have a nuclear heart, steel bones, and enough strength to outmatch any other man. Now, I've always been fit, even when my skills started to slip in retirement, I kept up my exercise routine, and anyone with eyes can see the results I got, but now, with this reactor in my chest, fueling all kinds of wires and pistons and pulleys and such? I feel like a God, like I could crack concrete and bend steel with my bare hands. It's intoxicating. Apparently, the good doctor hasn't included any "combat capable" upgrades quite yet, said I'd have to do some more work before I qualified for his "genius", but even just the general boost I've gotten is a gods damn miracle. I could fold any man in half in the ring, and keep on chugging through the kinda hits that would floored me even in my prime, I'm an honest to gods juggernaut, even if I doubt I'll be able to headbutt bullets outta the air or anything like that anytime soon.

I can already hear the ring, calling for me, the sweet sound of the bell, the cheers of the fans, my old theme song, oh, wait for me baby, daddy's comin'! Just need to get a few more upgrades. How hard could it be?

Well, here it is, the day comes at last. I'm gonna be hunting down a magical creature, and breaking it's damn spine. I've looked through the papers, the news, everywhere, and I've picked my target, these crazy fire-breathing rats they got down in Chicago. Once I'm done with them things, the whole country's gonna know Dan Steel is back, and he's better than ever.

For my new gear, Doc Weel fitted me with a more full body upgrade, reinforcements all around, protection against bleeding out, hell, even loaded a couple shotguns into my fists without makin' 'em anymore likely to break, somehow. Things slide right outta my knuckles, bit weaker than a normal shotgun, but I reckon that's more to do with the size than any flaw in the design, and having a ranged option is gonna be a hell of an advantage in any future jobs, 'specially as I won't have to carry 'em with me, or bother with a holster or none of that nonsense, no sirree, just bring up ol' lefty and righty for a brawl, and then, right as they think they've got me, POW POW POW! Dan Steel unleashes hell, like on o' them whatchamacallits the kids are into these days, a Ha-doe-ken, I think it's called. Heh, gonna have to shout that one at some damn kids when I use it on 'em at some point, God knows some upjumped teens are going to think they can get one over on this old man.