Chapter 3

He is a ten year old boy who is being mechanically cut.

Although he had fallen into deep sleep, his body was still twitching, painful dreams and sleepless nerves responded to the rejection caused by the operation.

They start with pain - pouring pain, pain into the bone marrow.

The pain is boundless, like a churning ocean rushing to the sky, surging around and swallowing time.

Pull and expand for hours in a few seconds, break and compress back for a few minutes, dissolve the past and future in the present, and tear and spread.

The red clouds floated in the gray matter of his brain, and the pain turned into stinging pain again and again. One second they trembled like a knife, and the next they turned into a flame wrapped around him.

He couldn't hear anything at all. The pain cut apart all his other senses and left him nothing. Only the wheel turned into torture rolled and rolled on the other side.

He should have been destroyed. They want him to surrender and surrender so that he can succumb to the Red Sea and waves.

He can't even remember who they are, but it doesn't matter.

The key to everything is that he can never let go, he can never give in, so the pain continues, so he insists.

Then it's over.

He roared at the sudden end of the process, and a cold sense of emptiness poured into him. Then he soared into the haze and rolled from one end to the other.

Maybe this is death, without any pain, the end of pain and nothingness.

Then from the nothingness came a voice, hundreds of voices, whispering to accompany him across the nothingness, only outside his hearing.

Then the color replaced the darkness, and all kinds of images poured in. All kinds of colors he had seen in his life were cut into pieces.

Sometimes he thought he could even see the pattern and recognize the shape, like watching a picture through a sliding water curtain, but then the pattern broke and he returned to the colorful vortex.

Soshyan's only residual consciousness told him that he was undergoing surgery without injecting anesthetics, which was usually enough to kill an adult.

But he told himself that if he wanted to live, he must be patient.

——————

He is a twelve year old child and is being reshaped.

Two strong hearts beat in his open chest. The second new organ is smaller than the new heart, which will change the growth of his bones and stimulate his bones to absorb unnatural minerals in the process of his life.

Many hands, some human and some mechanical, cut and sew on the boy without trembling, and implant new organs into it.

The boy trembled again, his eyes opened for a moment, and something cold touched the skin under his eyes.

His eyes began to clear and he tried to blink again.

A god shook his head at the boy. His gray robe covered his strong muscles, a star shaped tattoo covered his chest and neck, and his eyes were gray and stable.

"Don't do that --"

A voice sounded around, soft but firm.

"Your eyelids are fixed and open. If you try to blink too hard, you will tear them off."

The boy tried to resist, but was soon wrapped in a thick sense of sleep.

He felt that it was just a moment, as if he was sinking into the deep sea of his hometown world.

He obeyed because the chemicals in his blood forced him to obey.

——————

He is a 14-year-old child, destined to be born different.

The third organ is implanted in his chest not far from the new heart. While the bone enhancer changes his bone to rely on new minerals for growth, the muscle enhancer will produce a lot of hormones to strengthen his muscles.

The pharmacist stitched up the boy's medical wound and then moved a yellow wrench.

The bondage of keeping the boy upright was released, and he fell forward to the ground.

He lay there for a few seconds, breathing heavily, and then propped himself up on his knees.

"Call..."

He began to ask, but the pain in his throat and lungs stopped him.

"What's your name?"

The pharmacist stopped and looked down at him. The tattoo on the right side shook on his face.

"My name is only for myself, not for you."

The boy tried 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 side of his eyebrow.

"You think I'm a failure."

The pharmacist shook his head again, hesitated, and then pulled him up.

"No."

He replied, taking the boy to the rest of the hall.

Under the frosty roof, rows of metal and iron frames are arranged and stretched. In the middle of each frame, there is a human figure standing naked, bound and covered by several circles of ceramic steel.

Many helmets covered their faces, the same pattern as the pharmacist took off the boy's head.

Their bodies tremble when light flashes at the edge of their line of sight, and many tubes are connected to their arms and chest.

The boy could see the blood vessels bulging under the skin where the needle was inserted. He rubbed his arms and felt the tingling of those wounds. Many of those bodies leaned loosely against the shackles, and the blood covered their bare skin.

Many machine servants in red robes and one eyed masks moved in rows of shelves, pulled loose bodies out of bondage and discarded them on many vans.

The first stage is to save one hundred miles.

The cold reality appeared in the boy's brain. The pharmacist told him, but he once expressed doubt.

"That's what the failed product looks like."

The pharmacist pointed to a figure that fell from the shelf due to the revocation of the binding. The young man was still alive, but only alive.

Blood flowed out of his mouth, his eyes turned white, his arms and legs cluttered outside trying to stand up, and then he was attacked by slave workers. The young man was as crazy as a beast.

Finally, one of them inserted a thick tube into the back of the young man's brain, and then there was a sound of stamping and fracture. Then the young man fell, and blood leaked out of 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, and the sight hurt him deeply.

The pharmacist looked down at the boy, and a trace of relief flashed into his gray eyes.

"Very good."

At this time, the child is no longer human.

This night's work is to achieve this goal. Time will tell people how different the 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 he was numb. They dug out large pieces of flesh and blood very roughly, and then implanted fresh organs into those places instead.

Before that, he had learned why his operation could not inject anesthetic.

Because he is special, his transformation operation is different from others. Usually, there are 19 Star Warrior operations, but soshyan's operation is actually 20. A step called [gray pulp] must be carried out in his awake state.

When they finished, the pain returned slowly, as if a piece of wire had been tied into his chest.

He did not show a trace of the pain, because he already knew something that ordinary people could not touch, brought about by the implanted new organs and hypnotic brain perfusion.

"You accepted it well, boy."

The grey eyed pharmacist smiled as he examined a series of fixed sutures arranged along the center of the boy's chest.

"Even after walking so far, some will still die here."

"Most."

The boy's voice is hoarse and his vocal cords are being changed.

The pharmacist looked up at him with gray eyes, and the boy stared back without blinking.

"Most will die before it's over."

"Yes, they will die."

The structure of his thinking changed. He could feel that the information and experience became clearer, the gap between thinking and action narrowed, and some emotions subsided after withering.

In his memory, what happened in the past drifted into the distance, and he could still see it, but it felt like something that didn't really belong to him.

At the same time, new memories filled his brain, some clear, some fuzzy and mixed. He knew more than he had before, but he didn't understand how it happened.

The machine they put on his head did this, and he knew that instilling change into his brain was like pouring liquid metal into a mold.

The pain became worse, but his ability to endure them grew. The pain from surgery and hypnosis became many islands in the vast and deep ocean.

Time has lost its meaning, and life has experienced many different pains.

Except for the pharmacist who flashed in the mist of pain, he had never seen any living person again. The only words he heard were from the machine servants who moved his limbs and repeated the remote control command according to the adjustment arrangement of the next stage.

Everything seemed so lifeless.