My body convulses, twisting from within. Thin filaments emerge through skin and clothing, quickly forming rigid legs with joints. I find myself covered in them even before hitting the asphalt. A huge centipede-like creature, remnants of a human body still protruding from its exoskeleton, frantically scurries toward a sniper position. A few more shots ring out. Missed. We've already left the firing sector. We're in the stairwell. On the stairs. In the apartment. A quick leap, and black spines pierce through a frightened person, burrowing into flesh and greedily consuming nourishment. And here are the others. A burst of automatic gunfire erupts. The sound of fleeing footsteps can be heard. A panicked grenade is thrown through the doorway. The blast wave scatters some of the biomass across the walls. The rhizome responds to the impact by spontaneously growing. Black bubbles begin to swell around us. Developing rhizomes spread along the walls like blotches. Now it's impossible to tell whether my enemies are near me or inside me. Tentacles close in, blocking the exit to the staircase. One soldier charges forward recklessly, but only gets tangled in them. He hangs there like a moth caught in a web, thrashing and screaming loudly as he quickly loses his arms and legs, flailing bone fragments in the air. His comrades watch in horror as the biomass devours the man alive, scurrying around the room in search of an escape route... In vain. Rhizomes are already dripping from the ceiling onto their dull heads. The commander shouts something franticly into his radio in his amusing pidgin Russian, but chokes off mid-sentence—their necks and mouths are already sprouting new tentacles. Human bodies disintegrate into pieces like papier-mâché in boiling water. Ten minutes later, everything is over.
But voices can be heard outside. The ruins of the neighborhood come alive. A small squad arrives at the building. They're just as confused meat, carrying various types of automatic weapons, mostly Western-made. One of them has an RPG slung over his shoulder. Of course, they noticed the sniper's elimination. So the plan becomes obvious even before the grenadier raises his devilish tube to his shoulder. The charge flies directly into the window, but the rhizome has already pumped most of the expanded body deep into the building. A black flow of spider-like limbs, writhing worms, swelling bubbles, and sharp spikes spills out of the entranceway amid rising screams and automatic gunfire.
Once free, the biomass spreads its tentacles around. It uses them like a frenzied octopus, knocking clumsy people to the ground, dragging them, tearing them apart, entangling them, and consuming them. They continue shooting, peppering my shapeless black form with lead, but cannot admit to themselves that it's all over. The sounds of gunfire drown out the agonized cries of dying people. All of them are destined to become my food today, giving the rhizome even more energy. One of the soldiers, having emptied his magazine, breaks away, trying to escape, leaping over a section of collapsed concrete wall. But a claw reaching after him catches up, piercing his back and beginning to grow inward. With his last strength, the soldier pulls the pin from a grenade, intending to throw it into the center of the raging black mass. "Glory, Uk..." His mouth and hand are seized by strong threads stretching straight through skin and flesh. Right before his surprised face, with eyes widened in terror, a toothy maw emerges from the biomass.
"Do you think I'll let you open your mouth?"
The rhizome grows through the fighter's throat, contracting downward and wrenching his jaw out of place. His hand, now no more than a part of a human puppet, jams the primed grenade into the torn mouth. Seconds later, the explosion tears the head apart.
The rhizome calms down. It leisurely finishes consuming the scattered biological material around it, reabsorbing unnecessary tentacles. Autophagy gradually breaks down excess biomass, storing energy for the future. Regeneration begins to restore the familiar human body. "Why did I make shark teeth? Did I want to show off? Where am I supposed to put them now? In my ass? Oh well, I'll walk around with them for now..."
Usually, I don't play with my food. My mother used to say it's not nice to do so. But scaring these bastards was worth it, if only for what they did to my form. My pants and boots are shot through in several places. The straps on my armor are torn by the blast. My helmet is dented. I examine my bloody trophies. Yes, I could, of course, dress up in fascist gear—boots at least—but it's still second-hand. And I had new ones on... The platoon sergeant to whom I'm currently assigned will definitely not be pleased... I smile, pulling a boot onto my newly grown leg, but the next moment it flies off somewhere along with part of my arm. I feel the shockwave pass through my entire body, throwing me against the wall with the inscription "PEOPLE."
Flashes, smoke, and explosions everywhere. Bastards, apparently, received a signal from the outpost commander and decided to obliterate the entire square with a Grad barrage. Maybe even more than one... Judging by the direction, these aren't ours anymore. Though who cares? Western news outlets will say whatever they need to anyway. "You bastards! You don't care about your own soldiers or civilians..." Without waiting for the next strike, the rhizome transforms me again. A non-human maw on a snake-like neck crawls downward into the basement. My torn body, carried by its extended legs, hurries to escape, hoping to distract the artilleryman. Through an eye that has opened somewhere around the nape of my neck, I notice that above the buildings hangs not only my "seraphim," but also the enemy's "Mavic." Clearly, they're adjusting their fire. I try to speed up, though I understand that the second barrage will still cover too large an area. The situation is hopeless. If only it would pass. The toothy maw in the basement roars under the iron door, "Ceasefire! Stay quiet!" but this voice is no longer heard by anyone. Around me, explosions ring out again. Large debris falls from the basement ceiling. The ruins of the house tremble, threatening to collapse completely any minute. Several heated signatures rustle in the darkness. People panic. I stop, literally spreading out on the ground, pretending to be dead, but it seems my opponents have decided to burn out all life here. Minutes tick by between volleys. People in the basement can't take it anymore: three figures run out into the street. "Stop!" The next round hits the house directly. The runners are cut apart by shrapnel, torn by the blast wave, and smeared across the messy asphalt, their bodies mixing with mine. Tired of resisting, the rest of the building collapses, burying the last survivors beneath it. I hear how silence descends upon everything, covered by cement dust.