The sun struggled to rise above the Siberian horizon, its pale light dimmed by the perpetual overcast sky. The morning air carried an almost metallic bite, the kind that crept into the bones and refused to leave. Sergeant Dmitry Ivanov’s breath fogged the air as he stood on the frozen training field, his senses unusually sharp. He could hear the faint murmurs of his comrades, their voices strained and uneasy, and the soft crackle of frost beneath their boots. But beneath the surface of this icy morning, something far colder was stirring.
Captain Yegor Mikhailov’s voice sliced through the quiet. “Attention!” His bark snapped the soldiers to formation, their movements precise despite the heavy layers of winter gear. Mikhailov’s stern gaze swept over them, lingering just a moment longer on Dmitry, who stood at the front.
“Today, comrades, you face the next trial in the Dogs Program. Strength alone is not enough. Endurance, discipline, and above all, loyalty to the Motherland will define your worth. Fail, and you will be reassigned.” His last word carried a weight that sent a ripple of unease through the ranks. Reassignment was a polite term for exile from the program—or worse.
Dmitry’s fists tightened at his sides, his muscles coiling with restrained energy. The serum coursing through his veins hummed, a low vibration that both empowered and unnerved him. Since the injections, his body had become something otherworldly: faster, stronger, more resilient. Yet, each enhancement brought with it a growing awareness that something primal lay beneath the surface, a force he did not fully understand—or trust.
The whistle blew, and the morning’s drills commenced. The obstacle course loomed ahead, a brutal labyrinth of ice-coated walls, treacherous climbs, and narrow tunnels that demanded both strength and precision. Dmitry’s legs propelled him forward with ease, his enhanced reflexes making each leap and climb feel almost effortless. Yet as he pushed through the course, he couldn’t ignore the furtive glances of his comrades. They whispered behind him, their words lost in the wind but their unease clear.
By the time Dmitry crossed the finish line, he was alone. The stopwatch in Mikhailov’s hand read an astonishing time, but his expression betrayed nothing.
Dmitry nodded and moved on, his chest heaving as he walked away. He could feel their eyes on him, his fellow soldiers who had once called him comrade now looking at him as something… other. It was not admiration, but fear.
Later that night, Dmitry sat on his bunk, staring at his hands. The dim light overhead cast long shadows across the barracks, where the low murmur of conversation buzzed like a distant hum. His hands, once calloused but human, now seemed almost alien to him. The veins pulsed faintly beneath his skin, their color darker, almost metallic in the half-light. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the strength he felt in even the smallest motion.
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“Ivanov.”
He looked up to see Corporal Pavel Sokolov standing at the edge of his bunk. Pavel’s face was unreadable, but his posture betrayed hesitation.
“What is it?” Dmitry asked.
Pavel hesitated, then sat down on the bunk beside him. “Something’s changing in you. I don’t know what it is, but… it’s not just the injections.”
Dmitry’s jaw tightened. “We’re all changing. That’s the point of the program.”
Pavel shook his head. “Not like this. You’re faster, stronger than all of us. But you’ve also… pulled away. Like you’re not one of us anymore.”
Dmitry’s gaze dropped back to his hands. “Do you think I wanted this? That I asked for it?” His voice was low, almost a growl. “They chose me, Pavel. I didn’t have a choice.”
Pavel sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Just don’t lose yourself, Dmitry. Whatever they’re doing to us, we can’t forget who we are.”
Dmitry didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
In the sterile confines of the lab, Dr. Yelena Morozova studied Dmitry’s latest test results. The monitors displayed a dizzying array of data: elevated neural activity, increased muscle density, accelerated metabolic rates. Each spike and graph told the same story: Dmitry Ivanov was no longer fully human.
“He’s exceeding every expectation,” Morozova said, her tone laced with both awe and concern.
Captain Mikhailov stood beside her, his arms crossed. “And yet you’re worried.”
That evening, Dmitry found himself unable to sleep. The barracks were quiet, the other soldiers lost in their own dreams. He lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts a tangled web of doubt and determination.
A faint sound drew his attention—a scrape of metal against stone. He sat up, his heightened senses immediately alert. Slipping out of his bunk, he followed the sound outside.
The training grounds were empty, but the scent of something unfamiliar lingered in the air. Dmitry moved cautiously, his steps silent on the frost-covered ground. The sound came again, sharper this time, leading him to the edge of the forest.
There, in the shadows, he saw it. A pair of amber eyes glinted back at him, filled with an intelligence that mirrored his own. For a moment, Dmitry felt a connection—an understanding that went beyond words.
Then the creature vanished into the woods, leaving Dmitry alone with the realization that he was no longer the only apex predator in this program. Something else was out there, something that called to the part of him he was beginning to fear.
The next morning, Dmitry approached Captain Mikhailov in his office. “I need answers,” he said, his voice firm.
Mikhailov looked up from his desk, his expression unreadable. “About what?”
“The program,” Dmitry replied. “What are we becoming?”
Mikhailov leaned back in his chair, folding his hands. “Weapons, Ivanov. That is what you signed up for. That is what you are.”