He is a ten-year-old child who is being cut open mechanically.
Although he had fallen into a deep sleep, his body continued to convulse, with painful dreams and sleepless nerves responding to the rejection of the surgery.
They start with pain - pain that pours out, pain that hurts your bones.
The pain was boundless, like a churning ocean rising straight into the sky, swinging back and forth, swallowing up time.
A few seconds are pulled and expanded into hours, and hours are broken and compressed back into minutes. The past and future are all dissolved into the present, tearing and spreading.
Red clouds swelled in the gray matter of his brain, and the pain turned into stinging pains again and again. One second they were shaking like a knife, and the next second they turned into flames that enveloped him.
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 end of the endless world.
He must have been crushed, they wanted him to surrender, to surrender, to submit 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 let go, 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 suffering, 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 make out the shape, as if he were 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 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 beat in his open chest. The second new organ, which is smaller than the new heart, will change the growth of his bones and stimulate his bones to absorb unnatural minerals during his life.
substance.
Many hands, some human, some mechanical, were cutting and sewing on the boy's body without trembling, and 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 began to clear and he tried blinking 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 ever do that-"
A voice sounded beside him, soft but firm.
"Your eyelids are held open, and if you try to blink them too hard, you'll rip them off."
The boy tried to resist, but was soon wrapped in a thick layer of sleepiness.
He felt, just for a moment, as if he was 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 who is destined to be different.
A 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 for growth, the muscle strengthener would produce large amounts of hormones to grow stronger.
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.
"May I have your name?"
The pharmacist paused and looked down at him, the tattoo on the right side of his face shaking.
"My name is only for myself, not for you to use."
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'm a failure."
The pharmacist shook his head again, hesitated, and then pulled him up.
"No."
He replied, leading the boy towards 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.
Their faces were covered by numerous helmets, similar to those the apothecary had removed from the boy's head.
When light flickered at the edge of their sight, their bodies shook, and numerous 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 on 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 doubted it.
"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 leaked from a neat hole in his skull.
"We don't want you to fail, we want you to succeed."
"I won't fail!"
The boy growled, this scene hurt 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 was all about achieving that goal, and 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.
He had previously learned why anesthetic 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 surgery actually has twenty surgeries, and there is a step called [Grey Marrow]
It must be done with him awake at all times.
When they finished, the pain returned slowly, like a ball of wire tied into his chest.
He didn't 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 indoctrination.
"You took it well, kid."
the gray-eyed pharmacist said with a smile, inspecting the series of staples that lined the center of the boy's chest.
"Even after traveling this far, some will still die here."
"most."
The boy's voice is hoarse and his vocal cords are being altered.
The pharmacist looked up at him, his gray eyes looking straight at him, 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 thinking and action narrowed, and some emotions withered and subsided.
Things in his memory about what happened in the past were drifting into the distance. He could still see them, but they felt like things 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 very 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 has lost its meaning and life has become an experience of many different pains.
Except for the pharmacist who occasionally flashed through the mist of pain, he never saw any living people. The only words he heard came from the servitors who moved his limbs according to the next stage of adjustment and repeated remote control commands.