Chapter 102. Tomorrow Can Wait
This was my second time waking up in the same bed as Selina. Unlike the first time, I felt surprisingly at ease. It was not the luxury furniture or the silk sheets replacing the miserable barracks cot that made the difference. It was the oddly domestic, almost surreal innocence of the whole situation.
Miss Langstrom, always composed, reserved, and impeccably dignified, was lying beside me with her hair adorably mussed. In her sleep, she scrunched up her nose and had left the faintest damp spot on the Egyptian cotton pillow. Every trace of her regal polish had disappeared, revealing a real, ordinary woman beneath it all. For a split second, I even had the absurd urge to grab my phone and take a picture for posterity.
My watch read five-thirty in the morning. Thanks to my enhanced physiology, five hours of sleep was more than enough. I felt completely recharged and ready for the day. Selina, judging by her slow, even breathing, clearly planned to stay asleep for at least another couple of hours.
Waking her would have been rude, and lying there staring at the ceiling was not my style. I quietly slipped out from under the light blanket and headed into the kitchen. The night before, while she was loading the dishwasher, I had noticed a pantry shelf tucked in the back with a stash of packaged food.
I knew perfectly well that Selina preferred having meals delivered from Michelin-starred restaurants, but my stomach was already making itself heard, and waking her just so she could have the doorman arrange breakfast delivery seemed ridiculous. I was a grown man. I could handle feeding myself.
Five minutes later, I had already made myself at home in her state-of-the-art kitchen.
"Tom, what are you doing?"
Selina's voice behind me almost threw off my timing. I came within seconds of overcooking the vegetables. I turned around. Wearing nothing but a silk robe over bare skin, her glasses sitting slightly crooked on her nose, she looked unbelievably attractive.
"Making tetrazzini," I said, forcing myself to return my attention to the vegetables browning in the skillet.
"Excuse me?"
"Tetrazzini. It's a classic Italian American dish. I found a step-by-step recipe on a cooking blog the other day and figured I'd give it a shot. Based on what you enjoyed eating yesterday, I thought it'd be right up your alley."
"I know what tetrazzini is, Ross," she said, waving me off as she adjusted her glasses. "What I don't understand is where the ingredients came from. Did you secretly borrow my keys and sneak off to the grocery store while I was asleep?"
"I'll admit the idea crossed my mind," I said, sliding the skillet off the burner after deciding everything was cooked just right. "But I found a forgotten gift basket in one of the lower cabinets with canned vegetables, ham, and a box of pasta. I took one look at what I had and knew exactly what to make. Actually, you should thank me. I saved your investment."
"From what?"
"Those cans expire in exactly a month," I replied evenly while plating the food on wide porcelain dishes with as much care as if I were in a restaurant. "Another few weeks, and you'd have had to throw everything away."
"What cans? What are you talking about?" Selina frowned. The chief engineer's brain clearly was not interested in dealing with household logistics this early in the morning. "Oh... you mean that gift basket by the dishwasher?"
"Exactly."
"They gave me that as a housewarming gift three years ago." She let out a weary sigh and rubbed her forehead. "Oh my God... I completely forgot it even existed the very next day."
"That's pretty much what I figured," I said, setting both finished plates on the dining table. "I'd love to hear your verdict."
"Oh, you've made a terrible mistake," Selina said as she lowered herself gracefully into the chair I had pulled out for her. "I'm an unbelievably picky food critic."
She carefully speared a piece of tetrazzini with her fork, studied it for several seconds, inhaled its aroma, and only then took a bite, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. Danny had tried to play restaurant sommelier the other day, but he came across as theatrical and overdramatic. With Selina, that aristocratic air of ruthless judgment felt completely effortless.
I stood at the edge of the table with my hands clasped behind my back, maintaining perfect posture like a chef waiting for a Michelin inspector's verdict.
"The knife work is flawless. Ten out of ten. Every slice is perfectly uniform, like you measured each one with a ruler," she finally announced. "Presentation is excellent too. But the flavor... I'd only give it a four. The vegetables have lost too much of their freshness, and the meat's a little dry."
"I have to admit I got everything I possibly could out of the ingredients, but canned food can only taste so good," I said with a restrained sigh as I took the seat across from her. "If I'd had fresh tenderloin and organic vegetables, you'd have been giving me a perfect score."
"So you're a chef, a massage therapist, and... judging by last night... you've got some very specialized talents in bed too," she purred, flashing me the kind of smile a predator gives its prey. "Tom... why don't you move in with me?"
"In what role?" I asked, calmly cutting into my breakfast with practiced precision. "Your personal butler?"
"Why are you selling yourself so short?" Selina shook her head with exaggerated sympathy, though the gleam in her eyes gave her away. "Move in as the father of my future children. You'll make me breakfast, keep up my massages and physical therapy... and remember, it'd all be strictly for the baby's healthy development and the mother's well-being."
"Of course. Entirely for the sake of the next generation," I replied dryly, meeting her smug grin without the slightest reaction. "Speaking of children, there's something we never got around to yesterday because the timing wasn't right. You've known about Earth's core deteriorating for around ten years, haven't you?"
"Let's say I have." She narrowed her eyes, instantly picking up on the shift in tone as she tried to figure out where I was going.
"If you understand how serious this is, don't you think having children in a world with a ticking clock is incredibly reckless? They might not even live long enough to graduate from high school."
"Oh, that's what you're getting at." She shrugged, visibly relaxing. "You know, Ross, people have been predicting the end of the world forever. The Mayan calendar, the ozone hole, global warming... and people kept having kids anyway. Even the die-hard environmental activists who keep insisting we're all going to burn up from solar radiation in ten years still take out mortgages and have three children."
"Because deep down they know they're preaching nonsense."
"You're wrong. A lot of them genuinely believe what they're saying, and they still have children anyway. Why do you think that is?"
"I haven't got the slightest idea. You're the expert on human psychology. You tell me."
"All right, let's look at it from another angle," Selina said, leaning forward as she watched me with undisguised curiosity. "Take the Corps. Every recruit knows exactly what they're signing up for before they even finish basic training. We all know we're playing with fire. There's always the chance that the next portal spits out something our entire arsenal can't even scratch. A full-scale planetary war breaks out, humanity gets wiped off the map, and the handful of survivors end up as livestock for alien conquerors. But none of that stops anyone. People still fall in love, get married, and have children while they're living on top of a ticking bomb."
"So what's your theory? Why?"
"Because we're hopelessly selfish," Selina said with an ironic shrug. "We know perfectly well that, sooner or later, we're all going to die. That's exactly why we're driven to grab whatever happiness we can while we still have the chance. As long as we can experience being parents, we'll keep choosing it."
I nodded silently. It was self-centered and brutally cynical, but there was an undeniable grain of truth in it. Saving the world as an abstract ideal was a questionable mission. Living life to the fullest while the clock was still ticking, on the other hand, was a strategy anyone could understand.
After breakfast and a quick dip together in the jacuzzi, we headed for the laboratory. Selina's convertible glided to a stop in front of a massive multi-story building made of dark gray concrete. From the outside, it looked less like a cutting-edge research facility and more like a dreary government archive.
"Yeah, I know. It's an architectural masterpiece," Selina said, wrinkling her nose as she shut off the engine. "I suggested updating the facade and replacing it with panoramic glass, but the Pentagon dug its heels in. They think an ugly gray box attracts less attention from curious civilians. The upside is that once you're inside, I'm the only authority that matters."
She headed toward the main entrance with her usual easy confidence, the sharp click of her heels echoing through the concrete entryway. The armed security detail at the checkpoint, two soldiers in full tactical gear carrying assault rifles, snapped to attention the moment they saw Miss Langstrom. Neither of them even thought about asking for her credentials. Mine were a different story. Their eyes locked onto me immediately.
"He's with me," Selina said over her shoulder without slowing down.
That was all it took. The guards stepped aside without another word.
As we walked through the building, we passed researchers and technicians in spotless white lab coats. Next to Selina's polished elegance, they looked almost colorless. Judging by the faint smile tugging at her lips, she thoroughly enjoyed the contrast.
Behind the drab exterior was a state-of-the-art research complex. Gray corridors stretched in every direction, lined with sealed steel doors secured by electronic locks. The ventilation system hummed overhead, blending with the low mechanical rumble of industrial compressors deeper inside the facility.
Selina stopped in front of one of the heavy doors, pressed her palm against the scanner, and entered an access code. The lock clicked open.
The room beyond was an operating suite. White tile covered the walls beneath bright shadowless surgical lights. A rolling stainless steel instrument tray stood beside several IV poles. At the center of the room sat a heavy specialized table resembling a cross between an operating table and a massage table, complete with a face cradle and fitted with wide leather restraints for the arms, legs, and torso.
"This is where we're working," Selina said as she stepped inside and locked the door behind us.
"Judging by the setup, today's procedure is going to be a little different from last time," I said, running my fingers across the thick leather restraints.
"A standard IV isn't going to cut it," she replied, her voice shifting into the calm, clinical tone of a researcher. "This is a concentrated version of the compound. To maximize its effectiveness and avoid any loss of potency, it has to be injected directly into the adrenal glands."
"Got it."
Without another word, I started taking off my shirt.
While Selina calibrated the equipment, adjusted the sensors, and sterilized the instruments, I found myself with a minute to spare. I pulled out my phone and checked my bank account. The payment for the last operation still had not come through. I texted Megan to ask about the transfer. Her entire reply was a single smiling emoji.
"Why are you just standing there?" Selina asked as she set several measuring cups filled to the brim with a thick protein mixture onto a metal tray in front of me. "The law of conservation of mass still applies. If you're planning to accelerate muscle growth, your body needs raw material right now. Otherwise it'll start breaking down its own muscle tissue for protein. This is the maximum dose, so drink every last drop."
"Understood."
[Special Command: Consume and fully absorb the entire protein shake.]
There was a brief lapse in awareness, and every cup was suddenly empty. My stomach swelled instantly from the sheer volume of liquid. A crushing wave of nausea settled inside me, leaving me painfully overfilled. It felt like my stomach was seconds away from sending everything back up.
I immediately lay down on the table, lowering my face into the padded opening and pressing my bare stomach against the cool surface. That turned out to be a mistake. The pressure on my overstuffed stomach increased immediately, and I could physically feel the mixture climbing toward my throat.
"Selina," I said carefully, barely moving my lips, "I'd get started now if I were you. Give me a few more seconds, and all your building material's going to end up on the floor."
"Everything's ready." Selina attached the monitoring sensors across my back, then lifted a long syringe fitted with an oversized needle filled with a vivid green emulsion. "This is going to hurt. A lot."
[Special Command: Block all pain receptors for twenty-four hours.]
The only thing I felt was a dull mechanical pressure as the needle sank deep into the muscles of my back. Reflected in the polished chrome of a nearby equipment stand, I watched the pneumatic plunger slowly drive the toxic green fluid deep into my body.
I had absolutely no desire to watch the compound rip through muscle fibers, rupture blood vessels, and force the mutation process in real time. I had seen more than enough of that the first time.
A body placed in deep therapeutic suspended animation could withstand catastrophic physical stress far more efficiently, dramatically increasing the odds of surviving the procedure while extracting the maximum possible improvement from it.
I carefully formulated the system request using precise medical terminology.
[Special Command: Place the body into therapeutic suspended animation. Maintain all vital functions until the steroid reaches maximum pharmacological effectiveness. In the event of imminent terminal failure, initiate toxin neutralization and elimination procedures. Once the body has stabilized, activate the internal S-Power reserve together with all available nutrients to regenerate and comprehensively repair damaged tissue without scar formation.]
The muscles beneath my skin began swelling and twitching uncontrollably, and every vein stretched taut, but I no longer cared. My consciousness drifted into darkness, and the pain faded away before it ever reached my brain.
All that remained was to wait for the results.