We lie in the room of a half-ruined hotel. The building is designed in the style of late Soviet Constructivism. Its geometry resembles Tetris. Many rooms have no windows; some have entire walls intact. This section has survived only because its windows faced an inner courtyard. In the corridors, furniture lies overturned and broken. On the floor are torn-up carpets, shards of glass, construction dust, and pieces of crumbling plaster.
Evening falls. Of course, there is no electricity here. Darkness thickens around us. But I don't need light. I don't even open my human eyes. I simply settle onto the pillow, resting my hands behind my head, and listen to my sensations.
The rhizome is working on the mangled body lying beside me. Right now, we are connected by a dozen "umbilical cords," linking cavities, vessels, and organs. The girl sleeps and feels nothing—some cunning tumor, having overcome the blood-brain barrier, has penetrated her brain and released a dose of serotonin and norepinephrine reuptake inhibitors, inducing pleasant sedation. Then, just to be sure, it severed her spinal cord, blocking all signals.
The human body is simple. Mostly simple. I learned this while killing. Now it's time to reverse the process. Black threads stretch throughout my patient's body. Hardly anyone has ever delved so deeply into another person's inner world… Organs and soft tissues are the easiest things I usually have to restore. Bones take longer to form, especially when you try to create them from scratch.
The sculptor removes everything unnecessary. But he works with dead matter. I, however, am given the ability to add what is missing and alter what already exists. I manipulate living flesh—something that can breathe, eat, and suffer. Just like myself… And yet, I also need to maintain aesthetics. I doubt the young lady would be pleased with a pair of cloned male legs. Perhaps, in that case, I should use my imagination? After all, she is my Galatea. If she wants, she'll redo everything herself later.
Less rigidity. More flexibility. A developed muscular corset instead of a crude skeletal framework. Longer. More mobile. More graceful. Thanks to viruses for horizontal gene transfer…
The rhizome multiplies vertebrae, extends new vessels, wraps them with muscle fibers, innervates the tissue, covers everything with patterned skin, reconnecting the spinal cord once again. The girl shudders. For now, she is too weak and unable to control her new body. But it is already warm.
In the distance, muted cannon fire echoes. The fighting moves away from the city. The sky lights up with flashes from illuminating ammunition. Magnesium "chandeliers" descend slowly into the night, like snow. A magical sight. It's a pity she can't see it. But in the strip of light falling from the window, I see her lips. Red again. She is alive. Alive.
Quietly, so as not to wake her, I run my hand through her hair. I inhale the scent of her hair. It's black and smells of soot. I lean close to her ear—"I'll make your eyes like your mother's… Green"—and, covering her bloodied eyelids with my hand, press her against my shoulder. "Sleep now… Do you want me to tell you something?"
Why am I asking this? Does she even hear me? And what can I tell a girl who probably lost her entire family just a few hours ago? Perhaps one of those stories Valery Semyonovich used to entertain me with…
Far, far away, on the other side of the world, on the hot island of Tasmania, live small predatory black creatures. They have sharp eyes, large mouths, and many, many sharp teeth. They are the only species of their kind, *Sarcophilus*, which means "flesh-eater" in Greek. But white settlers simply call them Tasmanian devils. These small predators are so aggressive that they bite each other on the snouts even during normal interaction. Sometimes, at the site of the bite, a facial tumor begins to grow—a deadly malignant neoplasm. It consists of mutated Schwann cells—supporting cells of the brain—and spreads from animal to animal. A contagious glioma. A transmissible cancer. Also unique in its kind. It's amusing that once it itself was one of these very creatures, which died but outsmarted all its overly malicious relatives. Now its cells travel from one snarling face to another, devouring them from within to continue living. Forever.
Eyelids under my palm twitch slightly, tickling with eyelashes. "Sleep, sleep…"