NOVEMBER 23, 1995, 09:47 CET

  He spent two days in a fog. Two days during which the only reality was the creak of wheelchair wheels on the floorboards and the patterns on the ceiling. The world had shrunk to four walls and the face of his grandfather, who moved through the room like a silent shadow, bringing food Viktor didn't eat and water he didn't drink.

  On the third day, the fog cleared. Viktor lowered his head. Under the blanket were his motionless knees. Beside them were clumsy, alien wheels. His legs had become a useless weight, an anchor chaining him to this chair.

  His grandfather sat opposite him. The web of wrinkles around his eyes had grown deeper, as if someone had cut them with a blade overnight. The gray in his hair had turned from individual strands into solid ash.

  "Viktor," he said softly, and the name alone made the boy flinch. He hadn't heard it for so long. "We have to talk. You need to know why."

  Viktor remained silent. Words were redundant. Only one question remained in his head, pulsing with a dull pain: Anya.

  "It wasn't an accident," the old man continued, his hands gripping each other so hard his knuckles turned white. "They were hunting you. Because of me. Because of what flows in our blood."

  He stood up, went to a dilapidated wardrobe, and pushed it aside with an effort. Behind it, in the wall, was a niche hidden behind a piece of burlap.

  The grandfather reached in and brought out two objects. A leather tube and something heavy covered in canvas.

  He unrolled a yellowed piece of tracing paper on the table. It was a blueprint. Gothic script read: Projekt Eisenengel. Project "Iron Angel."

  Beside it, he placed a model made of dull bronze. An exoskeleton. A central frame following the contours of a spine, from which pistons and bundles of twisted metal branched out. From the inside, along the entire structure, protruded dozens of thin, sinister needles.

  "They weren't looking for you," the grandfather exhaled, looking at the blueprint rather than his grandson. "They were looking for this."

  He touched a vein on his wrist with his finger.

  "It all started in '44. I was a young biochemist, invited into a secret project. 'The Axis of Innovation.' Germany, Japan, Italy... We believed that war was the ideal laboratory for science without morality. The Germans built... this." He nodded at the model. "Their 'Iron Angels.' The Italians searched the ruins for traces of non-human technologies. And we... we, the Japanese wing, dealt with biology."

  He paused, swallowing.

  "We were creating a serum. Not a super-soldier. That’s vulgar. We were creating... fuel. We discovered that the cerebrospinal fluid of a human pushed to the limit of pain, terror, and despair... changes its structure. We weren't creating strength. We were distilling agony into might."

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  Viktor looked at his grandfather’s hands. The very hands that had changed his bandages.

  "I saw what they did to the prisoners. To the women, to the children... I couldn't do it. I wanted to run. But then... I met her. Your grandmother. She was a prisoner. A Jew from Poland. But she wasn't afraid. She looked at me... and I..." He fell silent again, his voice breaking. "I realized I had to burn it all down."

  He turned his gaze to Viktor.

  "I stole the last ampoule of the completed serum. And I injected it into myself. I don't remember much. Only rage. The rage of everyone we tortured entered me. They say I destroyed the entire base alone. Killed everyone. When the war was lost, the surviving acolytes of the 'Axis' went underground, taking their knowledge with them. I thought I'd buried that demon. But it stayed in me. In my blood. And I... I passed it to you, Viktor. That Japanese man in the coat... his grandfather was the head of our wing. My teacher. They found out about you. They didn't want to kill you. They wanted to awaken what sleeps in your blood. And they... they succeeded."

  A whisper sounded in Viktor’s head. Not mocking, but insidious, seductive.

  Hear that, partner? It’s not a curse. It’s a legacy. The old man just gave us the manual. Now we know how it works. And how to become stronger.

  Viktor slowly raised his eyes. He stopped looking at his grandfather as a relative. He looked at him as a source of information. His gaze focused on the blueprint, tracing the lines, evaluating the connections. His lips pressed into a thin, emotionless line.

  He pointed to the bronze model. His first question in three days.

  "Will this help me walk?"

  The grandfather looked at him with infinite sadness.

  "No. It will become your legs. Your flesh will remain dead. But the machine will move at your command. It doesn't just sit on you. It integrates. The needles are inserted into the spinal canal, connecting directly to the nerve endings. It feeds on your impulses. Your will becomes its movement. But the price... the price is high."

  "Anya..." Viktor said quietly, and the name was like a shard of glass in his throat. "They took her. And others. To the camp."

  He looked up at his grandfather. There was no longer a void in his eyes. There was cold, steel-like calculation.

  "If this thing helps me save her... and the others... I agree."

  He paused, his voice growing firmer.

  "No one else should suffer like this. If I can become a shield for them, even if that shield pierces me through... I agree."?"Yes", the inner voice purred, now with a hint of approval. "Yes. Save the girl. An excellent excuse to crack a few skulls. I like your plan. Especially the part where we get a new, sharp body. I can already feel those needles biting into our back. It will be... ticklish."