The world returned to Etrius slowly. The air was heavy, stale, and tinged with a metallic scent that clung to his tongue. Each breath felt deliberate, the chill of the room seeping into his lungs. His head throbbed, and his limbs were sluggish as though bound by invisible weights.
He opened his eyes to a dimly lit, concrete-walled room. The single bulb overhead cast a weak, yellowish glow, barely illuminating the sparse furnishings: a small metal table, a chair, and the cot on which he lay. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of air circulating through unseen vents. The air felt wrong—too still, too cold.
He could tell he was underground. The smell of damp concrete and the oppressive stillness betrayed that fact, and the realization set his nerves on edge.
Etrius shifted, groaning as he tried to sit up. His muscles screamed in protest, still dulled from whatever cocktail of drugs had kept him subdued during transport. As his vision cleared, he noticed the figure seated in the corner, watching him.
The man’s appearance was striking, even in the poor lighting. His frail frame was draped in a tattered lab coat, its pockets weighed down by tools and vials. Silvery white hair framed his face, unkempt and thin, but his piercing blue eyes were vivid and sharp, scanning Etrius with an intensity that made the room feel smaller.
“Ah, you’re awake,” the man said in a deep, heavily accented voice. He leaned forward slightly, his old-fashioned wire-rimmed glasses catching the light. “Good. I was beginning to wonder if they’d overdosed you.”
Etrius said nothing, his body still sluggish. His eyes narrowed as he studied the man, suspicion and frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
The man smiled faintly, though it did little to warm his expression. “I am Dr. Vladimir Petrovich,” he began, his tone calm but commanding. “I imagine you have many questions, but allow me to explain. It will save us both time.”
Petrovich stood, his movements deliberate, and paced slowly across the room. His boots echoed faintly against the concrete floor.
“What I did to bring you here,” Petrovich said, pausing for effect, “was a necessary evil. You, Etrius vanRandr, are a man with an expiration date—one that has been accelerated by your unfortunate exposure to radiation. You’re dying.”
Etrius’s jaw tightened. He hated hearing it, even though he knew it was true.
Petrovich continued, his hands clasped behind his back. “I have the means to change that. Not only to cure your cancer but to stop your aging entirely. To make you stronger—far stronger—than you ever thought possible.”
Etrius forced himself upright, swinging his legs off the cot. His head still spun, but he focused on the man before him. “And you expect me to trust you?” His voice was hoarse but steady, his glare unwavering. “You shoot me, drug me, drag me across half the continent, and now you want me to believe you’re my savior?”
Petrovich turned, meeting Etrius’s gaze with an almost amused expression. “Trust is irrelevant. You will make your decision based on facts, not sentiment. And the fact is, I wouldn’t have orchestrated your capture with such precision if I had intended to kill you. I could have let you die in the sands of the Middle East. No,” he said, his voice firm, “I brought you here because I can save you.”
Etrius studied him, searching for any sign of deceit. Petrovich’s eyes, sharp and unyielding, offered none.
“Why?” Etrius asked finally, his voice low.
Petrovich tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question. “Why not? I have spent my life pushing the boundaries of what humanity can achieve. You are an ideal subject—strong, disciplined, capable, talented. And, if I may be frank, your current situation provides me with a unique opportunity.”
Etrius’s fists clenched at his sides. “Opportunity for what? To turn me into some kind of experiment?”
Petrovich shrugged, unbothered by the accusation. “Call it what you will. I prefer to think of it as a partnership. One that benefits us both. You gain your life back—no, more than that. You become something greater. And I…” He paused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I get to see my work realized. That is reason enough.”
The room fell silent. Etrius stared at Petrovich, his mind racing. Everything about the man—the way he spoke, the confidence in his voice—suggested he truly believed what he was saying.
“And if I refuse?” Etrius asked.
Petrovich gestured casually toward the door. “You will be escorted back to the United States, unharmed, to live out the remainder of your days as you see fit. A few months, perhaps, before the cancer finishes its work.”
Etrius felt a chill run down his spine. The simplicity of the offer—the bluntness of it—was almost worse than any threat.
Petrovich moved closer, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Etrius. “The choice is yours, Etrius. But make no mistake: this is an opportunity you will not find again.”
He stepped back, returning to his chair. The faint scrape of the legs against the concrete echoed in the small room. He sat down, folding his hands in his lap, and waited, his expression unreadable.
The air hung heavy between them, the weight of the decision pressing down on Etrius like a physical force.
Etrius sat in silence, his mind churning as he processed the enormity of the choice before him. The cold air of the underground facility gnawed at his exposed skin, matching the chill settling in his chest. Petrovich’s piercing blue eyes bore into him, patient but expectant.
“I’ll do it,” Etrius said finally, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. He hated the words even as he spoke them, but what choice did he have? To die slowly, helplessly, in a hospital bed back home? To leave Sophie and the kids with only memories of the man he used to be? He couldn’t accept that.
Petrovich nodded, the faintest hint of satisfaction crossing his lined face. “Good. You’ve made the right decision.”
As Petrovich rose, Etrius couldn’t help but glance toward the door. Through the narrow window, he’d noticed something odd during their conversation: a small, uneven mound of dirt at the end of the dim hallway. A crude wooden cross marked the spot, weathered and leaning slightly.
“What’s that?” Etrius asked, gesturing toward it.
Petrovich’s gaze followed Etrius’s, and for a moment, his expression faltered. He adjusted his glasses, his movements deliberate. “That,” he said slowly, “was my first attempt. You will not share his fate.”
The answer sent a shiver down Etrius’s spine, but he said nothing more.
Etrius sat in silence, his mind churning as he processed the enormity of the choice before him. The cold air of the underground facility gnawed at his exposed skin, matching the chill settling in his chest. Petrovich’s piercing blue eyes bore into him, patient but expectant.
“I’ll do it,” Etrius said finally, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. He hated the words even as he spoke them, but what choice did he have? To die slowly, helplessly, in a hospital bed back home? To leave Sophie and the kids with only memories of the man he used to be? He couldn’t accept that.
Petrovich nodded, the faintest hint of satisfaction crossing his lined face. “Good. You’ve made the right decision.”
As Petrovich rose, Etrius couldn’t help but glance toward the door. Through the narrow window, he’d noticed something odd during their conversation: a small, uneven mound of dirt at the end of the dim hallway. A crude wooden cross marked the spot, weathered and leaning slightly.
“What’s that?” Etrius asked, gesturing toward it.
Petrovich’s gaze followed Etrius’s, and for a moment, his expression faltered. He adjusted his glasses, his movements deliberate. “That,” he said slowly, “was my first attempt. An unfortunate failure. But you will not share their fate.”
The answer sent a shiver down Etrius’s spine, but he said nothing more.
The days that followed blurred into a routine of tests, injections, and evaluations. Petrovich’s laboratory was a labyrinth of makeshift stations, filled with old, repurposed equipment and scattered notes in Cyrillic script. Despite the facility’s worn appearance, Petrovich worked with the precision of a craftsman, his hands steady and deliberate.
Etrius spent hours hooked to monitors, enduring endless pokes and prods as Petrovich studied every aspect of his body.
“Blood type: O negative,” Petrovich muttered to himself one day, scribbling notes on a clipboard. “Ideal for universal acceptance. Strong immune system, though compromised by the cancer. No significant genetic anomalies—good, good.”
Etrius sat on a stool nearby, watching the old man work. The monotony of the tests and the sterile environment wore on him, but he tolerated it. Each day and the results of each test brought a mix of hope and unease.
Then came the injections. Petrovich prepared them with meticulous care, each vial holding strange, shimmering liquids that ranged in color from deep crimson to iridescent blue.
“Some will feel unpleasant,” Petrovich warned as he filled a syringe. “Others, quite the opposite. Your body must adapt to the enhancements gradually, or it will reject them entirely.”
The first few injections were mild, leaving Etrius with little more than a faint warmth spreading through his veins. He felt stronger, sharper, almost invigorated. But as the weeks went on, the reactions grew more severe.
One night, after a particularly viscous green serum, he collapsed in his cot, his body wracked with fever and chills. His vision swam, and his muscles burned as though they were tearing apart from within. Petrovich stayed by his side, administering pills to quell the symptoms.
“You must endure,” the doctor said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Pain is part of the process. It means your body is responding.”
Other injections brought bursts of clarity and energy so intense that Etrius felt almost euphoric. On those days, he would push himself to move, testing his strength against the cold, unforgiving walls of the facility.
Through it all, the cancer’s presence remained a constant, gnawing reminder of his fragility. The headaches came like storms, sudden and relentless, leaving him clutching his temples in agony.
Petrovich seemed almost indifferent to the affliction at first, merely observing Etrius’s suffering with a clinical detachment. But eventually, he relented, offering small white pills that dulled the pain.
“These will not cure you,” Petrovich said as he handed Etrius the first dose. “But they will keep the beast at bay while I prepare you for the real work.”
The pills helped, allowing Etrius to function despite the growing toll on his body.
Months passed. The routine became as familiar as the cold air of the facility. Petrovich’s tests grew less frequent, his injections more targeted. Etrius noticed the subtle changes in himself—the way his body healed faster, the way his senses felt sharper.
Then came the day Petrovich declared him ready.
“You’ve done well,” the doctor said, his voice tinged with rare approval. “The next step is the culmination of everything we’ve worked toward. It will be... transformative.”
Etrius sat on the edge of the operating table, watching as Petrovich prepared the instruments. The old man moved with purpose, his sharp eyes glinting behind his glasses.
“What exactly happens now?” Etrius asked, his tone cautious.
Petrovich paused, glancing over his shoulder. “You will sleep,” he said simply. “When you wake, the cancer will be gone. And so will your limitations.”
Etrius nodded, his body tense as he lay back on the table. The cold metal pressed against his skin, and he shivered despite himself.
Petrovich placed a mask over his face, the faint smell of chemicals wafting through the rubber. “Breathe deeply,” the doctor instructed. “And trust the process.”
Etrius’s vision began to blur, the edges darkening as the sedative took hold. His last conscious thought was of Sophie, Emma, and Ryan, their faces etched into his mind.
Then the darkness consumed him.
Etrius slept, unaware that the man who had promised him salvation was about to strip away his humanity in the name of science.
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