Chương 103: Level Up

Waking up felt like struggling to the surface through an ocean of crushing water. Not like coming up after a refreshing dive into a pool on a summer day, but as if someone had dumped me onto the ocean floor without warning. Every muscle ached with a deep, relentless pain, my head throbbed from the pressure change, and my lungs burned with the desperate need for air. That suffocating feeling was what finally pulled me back to reality. A thick medical feeding tube was lodged deep in my throat.

Gripping it with my fingers, I yanked it out of my esophagus in one quick motion, rustling the hospital sheets and snagging the sensor wires as it slid free. I could breathe through my nose just fine. Apparently it had been supplying my central nervous system with enough oxygen while I slept, but once I was conscious, my brain demanded that every foreign object be removed from my airway immediately. The tube seemed impossibly long. It had clearly been threaded all the way into my stomach.

I pulled it free with a wet, unpleasant sound and tossed it onto the tile floor. A gray, semi-liquid slurry seeped from the tip onto the white tiles. The smell and texture were painfully familiar: protein emulsion. Everything had gone exactly according to our original protocol. After completing the primary procedures, Selina had switched the nutrient delivery system over to autopilot, continuously supplying my body with the protein it needed for accelerated regeneration.

I took a slow, full breath through my mouth, then calmly surveyed the room. It was a standard sterile hospital suite, not much different from the intensive care rooms at the training center. A panoramic window overlooked Washington's gray city blocks. There was a private bathroom and a bedside console displaying my vital signs. My own condition, however, was anything but normal. My right arm and both legs were locked in immobilizing casts.

IV stands on both sides of the bed continuously pumped powerful vitamin and recovery infusions into the veins of my forearms. There was also the autonomous feeding system delivering protein directly into my digestive tract. A bedpan had never become necessary. Under the effects of the [Special Command], my metabolism was operating at peak efficiency, burning through every bit of incoming material without producing waste.

I called up the status interface, scanned the readouts, confirmed there were no hidden injuries or system abnormalities, then removed the IV lines now that they had served their purpose. I dealt with the casts just as casually. Bracing them against the heavy steel frame of the bed, I shattered the plaster until my joints could move through their full range again. Once I was standing, I took a moment to evaluate how my body felt.

My muscles carried the familiar heaviness that came from remaining motionless for days, and the skin beneath the medical bandages itched faintly, but overall my physical condition was excellent. I shut off the main valve feeding the protein mixture to keep any more from leaking into the room, then headed into the bathroom to inspect the results in the mirror. There were no visible deformities.

The reflection staring back at me was the same thirty-two-year-old Thomas Ross, exactly as I had looked before the first drop of the drug entered my bloodstream. Thanks to the precise wording of my [Special Command] and Selina's flawless surgical work, not a single scar had formed. Every change had taken place on a deeper mental level, raising the Trainer to an entirely new tier. A detailed review of my upgraded capabilities could wait. First, I needed to take care of a few ordinary matters.

The first order of business was a hot shower. I washed away the sticky sweat and lingering hospital grime, then changed out of the gown and into my usual clothes, neatly folded inside the bedside cabinet. I grabbed a disposable towel, wiped every trace of spilled protein mixture and plaster dust from the room until it was spotless again, then threw everything into the waste container. After sitting back down on the bed, I picked up my smartphone from the table and unlocked it.

The date showed that I had been offline for three full days. The process had taken even less time than my previous recovery cycle. Either the modified Omega Plus formula had been less toxic to my tissues, or my manually rebuilt metabolism had performed far more efficiently. The top of the screen was filled with missed-call notifications from Megan, along with a long string of unread messages. Considering how our last conversation had ended, that much activity immediately made me wary.

Megan: I talked to the guys in IT. The automated monitoring system flagged what you did during the Bogota cleanup as suspicious. Megan: They've opened a routine internal investigation. Someone might reach out to get your statement. Megan: Don't worry, Tom. Mary already told me your S-Armor failed right in the middle of your fight with the alien commander. You did what you had to do. Megan: The system just choked on an unusual situation. Administration has to follow procedure.

Megan: The same thing happened to me a couple of years ago. They closed the case without me ever having to do anything. Megan: The only downside is you'll probably be waiting a couple of weeks. Our investigators move at a snail's pace. Megan: Hey, you there? Why haven't you answered? A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. I let out a slow breath through clenched teeth. A couple more weeks of frozen finances, operational restrictions, and waiting.

On the bright side, the uncertainty was gone. The situation was under control. Tom: Got it. Thanks for the heads-up. Tom: Sorry I disappeared. I was undergoing medical treatment and didn't have access to my phone. Her reply came back less than thirty seconds later. Megan: Well, there you are. I was starting to think I'd texted the wrong number. Megan: So what were you doing? I honestly can't imagine going three days without my phone. Tom: Personal business. I can't really get into it.

I've got a couple of things I need to take care of. Megan: Got it. We'll catch up later, then. I closed the messenger app and locked the screen. The line about "a couple of things" had been nothing more than a polite excuse. At the moment, I was completely free and could easily have spent a few hours chatting. But I had no interest in encouraging Megan's overly familiar attitude, as though we were lifelong best friends. I could not consider someone a friend after twenty years without speaking to them.

The first name on my list was Mom. Before diving into Selina's little gamble, I had sent her a quick text letting her know I would be stuck in the capital a little longer on official business so she would not worry. Just to be safe, I followed up with another short message telling her I was alive, doing fine, staying at a restricted facility, and would have limited access to my phone. That took care of the bare minimum of my social obligations. Next up was settling things with my attending physician.

I headed for the door. It was nothing but a solid slab of metal, with no sign of a handle. Instead, there was a heavy electronic scanner for fingerprints and security codes. Through the reinforced glass panels, I could see thick steel bars. Hell of a resort hospital. It was a full-scale maximum-security isolation ward hiding behind the label of the Corps' classified research division. I pulled out my phone and called Selina. The first call went unanswered. She picked up on the second.

"Mind explaining the whole locked-door thing?" I asked without any introduction.

"Am I under arrest?"

"Tom, quit being paranoid," she replied, her voice dripping with lazy, deliberate nonchalance.

"You're inside a restricted Corps facility. We've got classified technology, top-tier xenobiology, and enough strategic data to keep every door locked by default. And by the way, after spending three days in a coma on my floor while eating through my supplies, you could show a little gratitude instead of interrogating me."

"Please accept my official thanks for your hospitality," I replied evenly.

"Now for the important part. As far as I can tell, I'm fully recovered and ready to leave medical isolation."

"That sounded about as heartfelt as an accounting report, but I'll take it," she said with a quiet laugh.

"I'm in the next wing. I'll be there in a couple of minutes. Oh, and one more thing. I've got a little present for you." The line went dead with a soft beep. That last comment immediately put me on guard. Selina was not the sort of person who gave gifts without a hidden motive or some experimental angle. About a minute later, the electronic lock clicked, and the door slid silently into the wall. Selina stepped through the doorway. A white lab coat hung over a stylish business suit.

The same high heels, the same tailored skirt, the same signature glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. Up close, though, the polished image had started to crack. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and every movement carried the unmistakable fatigue of someone who had spent two straight days inside an operating room.

"Catch," she said with forced enthusiasm, tossing a small transparent plastic container onto my stomach. It hit my T-shirt with a dull thud, followed by the dry, unsettling rattle of something hard inside. I picked up the container and looked through the clear plastic. A neat pile of white objects rested at the bottom. Human teeth. Every last one of them. I frowned as a cold shiver ran down my spine. Half the world had probably dreamed about suddenly losing all their teeth.

Instinctively, I ran my tongue across my gums and found every incisor and molar exactly where it belonged.

"What exactly is this supposed to be, Selina?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

"It's not a joke, Ross." She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Every trace of playfulness disappeared from her face, replaced by cold, razor-sharp seriousness.

"You had the easy part. You checked out, disappeared into whatever digital meditation you do, and left me standing elbow-deep in blood while your body swelled into a giant lump of biomass. Your muscles grew so aggressively that the internal pressure shattered your lower legs and cracked your ribs. Your jaw literally turned itself inside out and spat out every one of your teeth, roots and all."

I absently ran my tongue over my teeth again, trying to grasp the scale of the reconstruction that had taken place inside my body.

"So I grew an entirely new skeleton," I said matter-of-factly.

"That explains the chalky aftertaste in the protein supplements."

"Tom, could you stop being such a cynical bastard for one second?" She threw her hands into the air before folding them tightly across her chest. Her voice cracked into an angry shout.

"All you care about is your new superpowers, like I'm just some intern standing in the corner! I restarted your heart three different times! I hammered titanium rods into your shattered limbs with my own hands so they'd heal straight! I stood over you every damn hour, adjusted inhibitor protocols, stitched your skin back together every time it split open, and pulled every stitch at exactly the right moment so you wouldn't be left with scars! If it weren't for me, you'd be feeding lab rats right now!"

She stood there breathing hard, staring at me with bloodshot eyes, waiting for me to explode back at her. I said nothing. Years ago, I had read an excellent guide on crisis management. When a highly skilled specialist hit the peak of emotional overload, the smartest move was simple: do not interrupt, do not argue, and let them get it all out. Only after the last echoes of her voice disappeared into the steady hum of the ventilation system did I answer. Calmly, carefully, and without unnecessary drama.

"I'm genuinely sorry I put you through so much beyond what our contract required, Selina," I said, holding her gaze.

"And I know exactly what your work cost you. I'm alive because of you."

"You could've made that sound a little less official." She turned toward the window with exaggerated annoyance, but her shoulders noticeably relaxed.

"You could've written me a sonnet about my brilliance. Or at least a serenade for the heroic dedication of a research scientist."

"Poetry has never been one of my strengths," I replied without so much as a smile.

"I can, however, prepare a detailed analytical report documenting every contribution you've made to my anatomy."

"There you go again, turning everything into numbers and spreadsheets." She let out a tired sigh, and the last traces of anger drained from her voice, leaving only exhausted irritation.

"Just tell me honestly... was this upgrade really worth everything it took?" A faint smile crossed my face as I felt the system's expanded potential humming quietly beneath the surface.

"Absolutely, Selina. I gained a level. And I picked up a new ability along the way."