The walls covered with old white tiles. Cold fluorescent light. Metal rails with hooks under the ceiling. Near the entrance, a nostalgic yellowed poster: "Beef Cutting Scheme. GOST 7595-79." Next to it, two people. Valery Semyonovich with his eternal smile and hands in the pockets of a white coat. The second one—a man in a gray business suit with a stealthy voice. He seems familiar, but I don't know his name.
Through dense cellophane covering the loading bay, a worker in overalls and a gas mask appears. He rolls out a huge cow carcass suspended on a hook into the middle of the room and quickly disappears. It's some kind of slaughterhouse. And I still don't understand why I've been brought here.
"Well then, patient... Let's go. Show yourself," says Valery Semyonovich.
"What?"— I turn around to face the doctor.
"Have a bite," he calmly replies, but seeing the confusion in my eyes, clarifies: "Like you did recently in the cafeteria. You managed it."
I nod. I take a few slow steps toward the carcass. For some reason, my legs in hospital pajamas don't obey me. They shuffle along the floor. A hum is growing louder in my ears, probably from excitement. Through it, I can hear quiet remarks.
"Is he really going to eat it? Raw?"
"It doesn't matter. He doesn't feel taste. Only hunger and satiety at the most basic signaling level. All cells of the body participate actively in substance consumption. Theoretically, he doesn't even need a gastrointestinal tract right now..."
I understand what they want to see. The same thing that happened with the sandwich the day before yesterday... I reach out my hand. I run my fingers over the cold, slightly damp meat. Almost immediately, I feel resistance, as if I'm pushing my head through the narrow collar of a sweater, catching on with overgrown bristles. Black, needle-like hairs push through the skin. They lengthen, firmly embedding themselves in the flesh, making it impossible to pull my hand away. Beneath the skin, their extensions twist and pulse, resembling roots or fragments of fungal mycelium. This structure continues to grow and expand, soon completely enveloping the beef carcass, which now looks more like a tangle of long worms. They actively burrow into the offered meat, tearing it apart into fibers. They digest and absorb it, continuing to increase in length. All that remains are bones, from which there is nothing left to remove.
It's terrifying to realize that this isn't something foreign. Now it's part of me. This is my new body. This is myself. And now I feel full and stronger with every passing second.
"Amazing," notes the unknown man in the gray suit quietly, barely containing his emotions.
And I completely agree with him. Yes, it's amazing!
The scene fades. Everything becomes dim. The white tiles spread outwards, disappearing somewhere. There remains only dimness and heavy burgundy curtains. So thick that it's unclear whether it's day or night. Only the lamp light. A massive table. An equally massive figure in a green tunic. Yellow highlights on golden stars. I don't know if I'm present during the conversation. But I see the man in gray from behind. I recognize him again. Or rather, his soft, stealthy voice.
"Coordinating actions will be in the common interest..."
"With me? Do I have to coordinate actions with you?"— the general objects indignantly. I no longer see the epaulettes, but for some reason, I mentally address the speaker exactly like that.
"Exactly," smirks the man in gray. "We won't be able to work under any other conditions. You indicate areas and combat tasks, provide safe routes, our transport, execution too. We enter and do all the work. All audiovisual materials created during the process become the property of the Holding until their publication by our media network. You don't touch them. As they say, this is our exclusive."
"And you haven't heard anything about military secrets and censorship? Businessmen, damn it..."
"No problems. Well, yes... You'll have to change some rules. But let me remind you once again that, according to the most conservative estimates, thanks to the use of our technology, you'll be able to reduce personnel losses by at least ten times."
"I've heard! I've heard!— the general waves his hand irritably.— The same old story! Human lives... Do you think I don't care about human lives?! And ten times... That still needs to be checked!"
"Then check it. Agree, conducting an operation without risking a single human life is an excellent opportunity. It's worth a lot."
"Not a single life? What about mine?"— I suddenly ask myself mentally, and answer myself: "Well, yes... After all, I'm already out of the count."
The general grumbles darkly but nods. The man in gray extends his hand across the table for a handshake, looking satisfied.
Again, everything spins. Black night sky is cut by tracer rounds. Armor shakes beneath me. A modernized T-80 roars with its aviation engine. It takes off over bumps, lifting clouds of dust as it rushes forward to break through.
Bullets chatter against metal. Someone with night vision equipment has already spotted me. Trying to knock me out. A few seconds later, an anti-tank guided missile arrives. The dynamic protection activates. I duck down, hiding behind the turret from the showering hot fragments. But the driver has already reached the agreed-upon point. He makes a sharp turn. Preparing to retreat along the landing strip, behind the trees. I tumble down. Right into the darkness.
The sound of the engine fades away. I try to figure out where the shooting is coming from. Ah… There's the trench. It winds like a black snake, disappearing into the night. I jump down. I run across soft, loose soil, straight toward the clicking of machine-gun fire. The first soldier doesn't have time to see me. When he turns around, he seems surprised. I don't know what to do with him yet—I just throw myself onto him with all my weight. Something inside me awakens, taking over and making instinctive decisions. While I'm holding the struggling man as hard as I can, a black liquid begins to ooze from under his clothes. It forms thin tentacles that crawl beneath his skin, tearing through flesh. The soldier screams, firing wildly in random directions. His comrades hurry along the trench to help, but there's no one left to save. Under the beams of tactical flashlights, I rise up from the lifeless body. His entire abdomen and part of his torso are completely eaten away down to the bones. Someone shouts. I can't see who it is because of the blinding LED light. A burst of bullets flies toward me. I feel hot pieces of metal pierce my chest, burning, passing close to my heart, puncturing my lungs. The long, threadlike extensions growing out of me twitch in pain, then swiftly shoot forward to meet the bullets. They wrap around someone's rifle, someone's hand, dragging them toward me, burrowing into human flesh, entangling the writhing figure in agony. Despite my wounds, I feel a surge of strength. I step over another enemy who has become my meal and move forward... Who's next? Judging by the shouts and the chaotic flashes of light, panic has broken out in the trench. My overgrown body feels cramped between the earthen walls. Impatient tentacles are already crawling forward, searching for the next portion of easily accessible protein. I can't see yet, but I already feel someone grabbing my leg, dragging me in different directions, tearing me apart. Rare bullets still hit me, but I pay no attention—they're quickly repaired by what lives inside me.
I reach the bunker. Someone else is still struggling inside. Food has crawled inside. I squeeze in after it. I no longer resemble a human being. Around the terrified soldier, worm-like extensions stretch in all directions. He pulls a bundle of grenades closer to himself, desperately yanks the pins... The explosion tears both of us apart. Pain. Silence. And...
Light. I don't see it; rather, I sense it. A new day has arrived. Surprisingly, I'm still alive. Scattered into separate pieces, I somehow still retain awareness of myself. I think, therefore I am... I feel the morning coolness. I hear calm voices and leisurely footsteps.
"Easy now, Seryoga... Easy!"
"All clear!"
"Guys, let me through..."
"What are you people?"
"Don't you see? Medical service..."
"And why the gas mask?"
Opening my bloodied eye, I see through a pink haze for the first time a hand bearing a strange chevron. It looks like a microscope... A gloved hand grabs me. They dump me into an enamel bucket, piece by piece. That's how I'll be transported somewhere... Darkness. Heat. The smell of my own blood. Then cold again. And finally, familiar white tiles on the walls. The glow of fluorescent lamps. I'm dumped onto some large metal tray. Valery Semyonovich's smiling face.
"Well, what's wrong? Are you planning to die again? I told you... Death is the last thing you need to fear now..."
I remain silent. I have no mouth...
"Well, what do we have here? Who's going to regenerate? Too lazy, huh?— continues the kind doctor.— Never mind... We'll learn."
Indeed... A mess. I need to pull myself together somehow. I move my single remaining eye. There's the "Beef Dissection Scheme. GOST 7595-79" on the wall. And here's the beef itself, kindly hanging on a hook. A slaughterhouse...