Chương 59: A Fatal Upgrade

"Oh, yeah…" Selina let out a muffled moan, her fingers clenching convulsively around the edge of the sheet.

"I'm literally melting…" Right at the peak of her relaxation, I smoothly slipped out of hyperfocus mode. The blur in front of my eyes stabilized, and I was finally able to assess reality with a clear head. A completely naked Selina lay face-down on the improvised massage table. Her entire back, along with my palms, glistened under a thick layer of oil. Well, technically not oil. Instead of going for predictable bedroom nonsense, I had decided to use professional massage techniques.

At the end of the day, it was still physical contact and an excellent way to engage the system without unnecessary intimacy. Naturally, a Corps major's dorm room looked nothing like a spa, so I had to improvise. I shoved the dining table and work desk together and covered them with thick sheets. Instead of massage oil, I used regular shower gel. I poured it into a cup and warmed it slightly in the microwave to body temperature so the first touch would not trigger a negative reaction.

After that, I trusted the algorithms completely. Years ago, out of sheer boredom, I watched an entire professional video course on classical and deep-tissue medical massage on YouTube from beginning to end. My own memory had erased most of the details by now, of course, but everything remained perfectly organized inside my memory palace. In hyperfocus mode, it felt like fast-forwarding through a recording.

My fingers detected the slightest trigger points, scanned the tight knots of muscle along her spine, and methodically worked through every ligament with perfectly calculated pressure. I glanced at the wall clock. The entire session had taken exactly forty minutes of uninterrupted, highly efficient work.

"That was a ten out of ten," Selina purred into her folded arms.

"Tom, you can deny it all you want, but now I'm going to do everything I can to officially make you my personal research assistant."

"You mean your personal massage therapist." I walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet, washing the remaining gel off my hands.

"If I ever decide to change careers, I'd probably open my own spa."

"Your clients'd start fistfights for appointments a month in advance." Selina slowly rose from the table and skillfully wrapped a thick tablecloth around her body. A rare blissful smile still lingered on her face.

"I'm taking a shower. And don't touch anything in this room until I'm back out." I nodded silently and raised an open palm for emphasis, mimicking an oath gesture. Half a minute later, water began rushing behind the wall. Damp steam and a faint floral scent drifted out of the bathroom. I was left alone in someone else's space. There was absolutely nothing to do here. No television.

No diplomas or family photographs hanging on the walls like ordinary people loved to decorate their homes with, but Selina was a pragmatist. Why waste resources decorating government housing where outsiders were not even allowed inside? Still, one object in the corner of the room had very direct relevance to me. That same heavy military crate. I stepped closer and noticed that the steel clasps and wooden lid had already been carefully pried loose and deactivated.

Formally speaking, the lock had already been opened, which meant I had every right to inspect the contents. I pulled the lid toward myself. The crate was completely empty. I did not feel anger flare up inside me. What I felt instead was mild confusion at the sheer absurdity of the situation. I refused to believe Selina would stoop to such a cheap bait-and-switch stunt.

She was far too intelligent and fully understood that tricks like that would instantly destroy my trust and ruin a partnership that brought her enormous benefits. Eventually, the sound of running water stopped. The bathroom door opened, and Selina stepped back into the room. She had already changed into a loose terry cloth robe and lazily rubbed her damp hair with a towel.

"Have I already told you that you worked an actual miracle on my back?" she asked in a half-whisper, stretching contentedly.

"You did. You also claimed I'd be getting a material bonus for fulfilling my obligations." I shifted my gaze toward the opened crate.

"I looked inside the box, Selina. It's empty." My tone remained calm, without even a hint of accusation or aggression. I was simply stating a deficiency and giving her an opportunity to provide a reasonable explanation.

"Of course it's empty." Selina calmly walked past me and sat down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other.

"The wooden crate existed solely to get your attention and guarantee you'd come visit me. Inside were fragile, high-value ampulated medical compounds. Keeping specialized materials like that in a residential sector without temperature control'd be a disciplinary offense. Everything inside was unpacked, cataloged, and transferred into a sterile medical storage unit a long time ago." The explanation sounded logical. Entirely in line with her professional style. My suspicions faded away.

"So," I said, leaning back against the chair, "I'm guessing I'll have to wait until tomorrow morning to learn what makes these drugs so special?"

"Only if you absolutely need to hold the ampules in your hands." Selina gave me a faint smile from the corner of her lips as she evaluated my interest.

"If all you care about're the technical specifications and operational protocols, I can explain everything right now."

"Just spare me the excessive terminology," I warned immediately, already familiar with her habit of disappearing into endless formulas, voltage figures, and nanometers.

"Simple, understandable language. What's this stuff?" If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"Restricted military-grade pharmacology," she said crisply and directly, without dodging the question.

"Massive amplification of a soldier's raw physical strength, reaction speed, and overall endurance."

"Now that part needs more detail." I leaned forward involuntarily, feeling excitement begin to stir inside me.

"Oh, suddenly my throat feels incredibly dry. And I'm getting sleepy too…" Selina theatrically covered her mouth with her palm and yawned.

"A cup of strong coffee'd really hit the spot right about now."

"Message received, Professor." I stood and headed toward the kitchenette.

"How many spoons of sugar d'you want?"

"One," she called after me. Fabric rustled behind me as Selina got up from the couch and headed toward the wardrobe to change out of her robe and into pajamas. While she shuffled hangers around in the closet, I quickly prepared two cups of strong black coffee and took the opportunity to inspect the cabinets. After discovering a fresh sweet roll, I sliced it into thick pieces without the slightest guilt. After all, forty minutes of high-quality manual labor in the name of science definitely earned me a sugary bonus.

"So," I said as I walked back into the room and set the improvised midnight snack on the table, "you promised me information about these steroids."

"Modern pharmacology's already studied most classic anabolic compounds inside and out." Selina took a careful sip and closed her eyes in satisfaction.

"A lot of those drugs can be bought completely legally at any pharmacy."

"Those're children's vitamins, not stimulants." I grimaced skeptically as I lowered myself into the chair across from her.

"The stuff pharmacy chains sell as hormonal support barely affects muscle fiber density at all."

"Makes sense, because the government tries very hard to tightly regulate anything that's actually toxic and effective." She smirked ironically, resting her chin against her palm.

"Which means anybody determined to wreck their body's gotta shop on the black market instead. Decommissioned military stimulants, underground Asian labs, veterinary compounds…"

"I've already dug through that market," I interrupted before she could sink into lecture mode.

"That entire inventory's useless to me. None of it provides a meaningful boost, and none of it can push my peak performance any higher."

"That's exactly the dead end I accounted for." Selina nodded with satisfaction.

"Standard chemistry can't punch through your new biology. So I had to reactivate some old archive connections and work my ass off to pull an Omega-series stimulant out of restricted storage. Late seventies development." I leaned back in my chair, evaluating the information critically.

"And why's this museum exhibit from forty years ago better than modern science?"

"Because it was designed by a pack of completely unhinged science nerds with an unlimited budget," Selina answered without a trace of irony.

"The story's pretty simple. Back in the day, some high-ranking Pentagon official got obsessed with bodybuilding competitions and came up with the brilliant idea of staffing the entire military with heavyweight lifters. They secured a massive government grant for the project and assembled a sealed research team. The assignment was extremely specific: create a miracle compound that could turn an average recruit into a mountain of functional muscle after a single treatment cycle." I nodded in understanding.

It sounded like the plot of half the B-grade action movies that flooded television during my childhood.

"But then the official suddenly died of a heart attack," Selina continued, lazily stirring her coffee with a spoon.

"And then classic government bureaucracy kicked in. They appointed a replacement within a week, but he had zero interest in untangling the mountains of paperwork and unfinished projects left behind by his predecessor. So the Omega program kept getting renewed through sheer inertia for another full year. Right up until the new boss noticed the gigantic drain on federal funds and shut down a project he personally couldn't've cared less about.

But the scientists in that lab understood perfectly well where everything was heading. So during that final year before shutdown, they decided to have a little fun on the government's dime."

"What kind of fun?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Did they order a stripper cake to a classified bunker?"

"If only it'd been something that harmless." Selina let out a heavy sigh, and for a brief moment genuine professional embarrassment flickered across her face.

"No, those nerds decided to get creative. They stripped every safety protocol out of the formula and built an absolutely monstrous stimulant. Something capable of forcibly squeezing a hundred and ten percent of the human body's biological limit out of it."

"And that's supposed to be bad for our purposes?"

"The theory looked beautiful on paper, but the field results…" She looked away and stared down into her cup.

"The production cost of a single ampule turned out to be astronomical. The drug was completely impractical for large-scale military use, and more importantly, it caused a one hundred percent fatality rate among test subjects. This wasn't a military product, Tom. It was pure childish stupidity."

"I get it," I replied sincerely. The concept was familiar to me. I immediately remembered Reddit threads where military hardware enthusiasts designed hypothetical supertanks capable of wiping entire megacities off the map by themselves. Massive steel monsters armed with lasers and railguns. But once the final audit rolled around, it always turned out that solving the same problem would be cheaper, faster, and more practical with three standard nuclear warheads.

"But if we ignore economics and practicality," I said, locking onto the important detail, "the stimulant itself works?"

"Yes. Your strength output'll increase by at least twofold, and that peak strain should force your [Trainer] level upward. But Tom…" Selina fell silent, and the look behind her glasses became unusually heavy.

"Every documented test subject died in horrific convulsions and agony during those trials. No exceptions."

"But the key point's that it works. It isn't just poison," I replied coldly.

"I only need to become stronger for a single second so the system registers a new level. Then I'll activate [Special Command] and forcibly purge every toxic element from my bloodstream."

"I know what your abilities can do. Otherwise I wouldn't've even opened that crate for you." She bit her lip irritably, clearly realizing she was losing this argument.

"I just… I need you to use your brain and seriously weigh the risks before you agree to something like this."

"My body already handled your ultramodern CIA poison without any trouble. My baseline immunity dealt with it just fine. Besides, you'll be backing me up in the medical bay with a full resuscitation kit like always, right?"

"Of course I'll be there," she sighed heavily, admitting defeat.

"But you should still take the night and think about it carefully. An Omega injection isn't a joke. Even if your system manages to start detoxification in time and flush the chemicals out, the physical damage to your tissues and nerve clusters'll still be catastrophic. There's a very real chance you could end up permanently disabled with impaired motor function."

"You know, you already gave me this speech when you infected me with an HIV strain to test my immunity. I survived that, and I'll survive this too. But I hear you. I'll think it through carefully before tomorrow." I rose from the chair, gave her a farewell nod, and left the apartment with the most thoughtful expression I could manage. Deep down, though, I had already made my final decision the moment I heard the words "twofold increase in performance."

I needed a new level, and this was the only way to obtain one without evolution.