Chapter 3 Recruit (Part 2)
He is a ten-year-old child who is being cut open mechanically.
Despite falling into a deep sleep, his body continued to twitch, with painful dreams and sleepless nerves reacting to the rejection brought about by the surgery.
They start with pain - pain that pours out, pain that hurts to the bone.
The pain is boundless, like a churning ocean rushing toward the sky, swaying back and forth, swallowing up time.
A few seconds stretch and expand into hours, and hours burst and compress into minutes. The past and future are all dissolved into the present, and the tear spreads.
Red clouds swayed in the gray matter of his brain, and the pain turned into stinging time and time again. One second they were shaking like a knife, and the next second they were wrapped around him. of flame.
He couldn't hear anything at all. The pain cut off all his other senses, leaving him with nothing but the wheels of torture that kept rolling and crushing at the endless end.
He must have been broken, they wanted him to surrender, to surrender, so that he would surrender to the red sea and the waves.
He couldn't even remember who they were, but that didn't matter.
The key to everything is that he can never give up, he can never give in, so the pain continues, so he persists.
Then it was over.
He roared at the sudden end, a cold emptiness flooding into him, and then he soared into obscurity, tumbling from one end to the other.
Maybe this is death, without any pain, the end of pain, nothingness.
Then a voice came from the void, hundreds of voices, whispering to accompany him across the void, only out of hearing.
Then color replaced the darkness, and all kinds of images came one after another. Every color he had seen in his life was cut into strips.
Sometimes he thought he could even see the pattern and recognize the shape, as if looking at a picture through a sliding curtain of water, but then the pattern shattered and he was back in the colorful vortex.
Soshyan's only remaining consciousness told him that he was undergoing surgery without injecting anesthesia, which would normally be enough to kill an adult.
But he told himself that if he wanted to survive, he had to be patient.
——————
He is a twelve-year-old child who is being reshaped.
Two strong hearts are beating in his open chest. The second new organ is smaller than the new heart. It will change the growth of his bones and stimulate the growth of his bones throughout his life. Absorb unnatural minerals.
Many hands, some human, some mechanical, were cutting and sewing on the boy's body without trembling, implanting new organs into it.
The boy trembled again, his eyes opened for a moment, and something cold touched the skin under his eyes.
His vision started to clear and he tried to blink again.
A god shook his head at the boy. A gray robe covered his strong muscles. A star-shaped tattoo covered his chest and neck. His eyes were gray and stable.
“Don’t do that—”
A voice sounded beside you, soft but firm.
"Your eyelids are fixed open. If you try to blink too hard, you will tear them off."
The boy tried to resist, but was soon enveloped in a thick layer of sleep.
He felt, just for a moment, as if he were sinking into the deep sea of his home world.
He obeyed because the chemicals in his blood forced him to obey.
——————
He is a fourteen-year-old child, destined to be born different.
The third organ was implanted in his chest not far from the new heart. While the bone strengthener changed his bones to rely on new minerals to grow, the muscle strengthener A large amount of hormones will be produced to build up his muscles.
The pharmacist sutured the boy's medical wound and then moved a yellow wrench.
The restraints keeping the boy's body upright were released and he fell forward to the ground.
He lay there for a few seconds, breathing heavily, and then pushed himself up to his knees.
"Call..."
He started to ask, but the pain in his throat and lungs stopped him.
"What's your name?"
The pharmacist paused and looked down at him, the tattoo on the right half of his face shaking.
"My name is only for myself, not for you."
The boy wanted to retort, but his mouth was dry.
“Most people ask me why.”
The pharmacist shook his head.
“I know why.”
The boy said stubbornly, and the pharmacist raised one eyebrow. "You think I am a failure."
The pharmacist shook his head again, hesitated, and then pulled him up.
"No."
He replied, leading the boy toward the rest of the hall.
Under the frost-covered roof, rows of metal iron frames stretched out. In the middle of each frame stood a human figure, naked and covered by several circles of ceramic steel.
Many helmets covered their faces in the same manner as those the apothecary had removed from the boy's head.
When light flickered at the edge of their sight, their bodies shook, and many tubes were connected to their arms and chests.
The boy could see blood vessels bulging beneath the skin where the needle had been inserted. He rubbed his arms and felt the sting of the wounds. Many of the figures were leaning loosely against their restraints, blood covering them. Bare skin.
Many servitors wearing red robes and one-eyed masks moved among the rows of racks, pulling out the loose bodies from the restraints and discarding them on numerous transport vehicles.
The first stage is already a success.
This cold reality appeared in the boy's mind, the pharmacist had told him, but he had expressed doubts.
“That’s what failure looks like.”
The pharmacist pointed to a figure that fell from the shelf due to the cancellation of the binding. The young man was still alive, but only alive.
Blood flowed from his mouth, and his eyes rolled back. His arms and legs were stretched out randomly trying to stand up, and then he was attacked by the slave workers. The young man was as crazy as a beast.
Finally, one of them inserted a thick pipe into the back of the young man's head, followed by a punching explosion and the sound of fracture. Then the young man fell, and blood flowed from a neat hole in his skull. leaked out.
“We don’t want you to fail, we want you to succeed.”
“I will not fail!”
The boy growled, the sight hurting him deeply.
The pharmacist looked down at the boy, and then a trace of relief flashed in his gray eyes.
"Very good."
At this point, the child is no longer human.
This night's work is to achieve this goal, time will tell how different that boy will become.
——————
He is a fifteen-year-old child, a new god waiting to rise.
When they cut him, he could feel it most of the time, but it was numb. They very roughly dug out large chunks of flesh and then replaced them with fresh organs.
Before this he had learned why anesthesia could not be injected during his surgery.
Because he is special, his transformation surgery is different from others. Usually there are nineteen surgeries for Space Marines, but Soshyan's surgeries are actually twenty. There is one named The steps of [Grey Marrow] must be carried out while he is awake throughout the process.
When they finished, the pain returned slowly, like a ball of wire tied into his chest.
He did not show a trace of the pain, because he already knew some things that were beyond the reach of mortals, brought about by the implantation of new organs and hypnotic brainwashing.
"You're taking it well, kid."
The gray-eyed apothecary said with a smile as he examined the series of holding staples that lined the center of the boy's chest.
“Even after walking this far, some will still die here.”
"Most."
The boy's voice was hoarse, and his vocal cords were being altered.
The pharmacist looked up at him, his gray eyes looking straight over, and the boy stared back without blinking.
"Most will die before this is over."
"Yes, they will die."
The structure of his thoughts changed, he could feel that information and experiences became clearer, the gap between thought and action narrowed, and some emotions withered and subsided.
The things in his memory about what happened in the past were drifting into the distance. He could still see them, but it felt like something that never really belonged to him.
At the same time, new memories filled his mind, some clear, some fuzzy and mixed. He knew more than he had before, but he didn't understand how this could happen.
The machine they strapped to his head did this, he knew full well, pouring change into his mind like liquid metal being poured into a mold.
The pain got worse, but his ability to tolerate it grew, and the pain from surgery and hypnosis became islands in a vast, deep ocean.
Time loses its meaning and life becomes one of experiencing many different pains.
Except for the pharmacist who flashed through the mist of pain, he never saw any living people. The only words he heard came from those who moved his limbs according to the next stage of adjustment and repeated the remote control commands. Servitor.
Everything seemed so lifeless.
(End of this chapter)