They kept him outside the cylinder for several days. The shift felt strange at first, it seemed without noticing his body had grown accustomed to the sedative inside, giving him the past few days an addict retaliation because of the lack of it in his system. The room carried a wider echo when he moved, and the air brushed against his skin in a way he hadn’t felt since they first locked him inside the transparent prison. The alchemists didn’t comment on the change. They simply guided him from one table to another, adjusting restraints, repositioning his limbs, and marking new points along his torso.

  They wanted to test the limits of the two body parts he still had. The new arm responded with small movements whenever they pressed along the bone. His remaining leg twitched when they applied pressure to the nerve clusters they had rebuilt. They watched each reaction with a focus that bordered on hunger. They weren’t looking for failure. The alchemists were looking for possibilities.

  He stood still when they asked him to. He lay down when they gestured toward the table. They didn’t need words. Their hands and tools told him everything he needed to know. They wanted to see how far regeneration could go. They wanted to see whether his body could recognize damage on its own and repair it without instruction. Everyone wanted to know if his awareness would grow alongside the parasite.

  He didn’t know the answers. His body changed faster than he could follow. The parasite under his ribs shifted with a rhythm that didn’t match his breathing as it was adapting to the new visitor. The new arm responded to stimuli before he processed the movement. His consciousness lagged behind the physical changes, as if the organism inside him moved ahead and he followed.

  The alchemists didn’t hide their excitement. They circled him with their slates, marking each reaction with quick strokes. Their previous subjects never survived long enough to reach this stage. Most collapsed before the parasite stabilized. Others lost control of their limbs. None adapted the way he did.

  They began discussing full reconstruction. They unrolled new blueprints across the table, showing a complete body with reinforced joints and expanded muscle groups. Kept on traced the lines where the parasite would grow new tissue. It pointed to the areas where they planned to graft additional limbs. They spoke about reflexes, wondering whether his reactions would match theirs or surpass them. They speculated about whether he would notice the difference or whether the parasite would guide his movements without his awareness.

  Some of them wanted to push the process faster. They believed the parasite could be shaped into a tool that responded to their commands. They imagined a host who moved with precision, controlled by the organism inside him. Didn’t say it directly, but their gestures made it clear. They wanted a weapon.

  Others hesitated. They examined the tissue around his shoulder and the way the new arm responded to stimuli. The curious individuals whispered about the unpredictability of the symbiosis. The alchemists noted how the parasite had adapted beyond their expectations. They didn’t understand how it learned so quickly. Didn’t understand why it reinforced certain pathways and ignored others. They didn’t understand why it reacted to him differently than it reacted to any other host.

  They had tried to replicate his DNA in other bodies. They had taken samples from him and combined them with tissue from other creatures. They had accelerated cellular growth in dead hosts, forcing the parasite to rebuild the structure. The bodies twitched. Some moved for a moment. None survived long enough to stabilize. The parasite rejected them… All but GR1m1 were truly chosen.

  GR1m1 felt them move around the room, adjusting tools and preparing new mixtures. They didn’t look at him as a person. It looked at him as a discovery. A structure that opened doors they didn’t know existed. A chance to build something they had only imagined.

  He stood still on the table, the restraints loose around his wrists. The parasite shifted again, slow and steady. The new arm flexed once, responding to a stimulus he didn’t feel.

  One of the scientists spoke louder than the rest that morning. His voice carried across the room in uneven bursts as he paced between the tables. He pointed at GR1m1 with the end of a metal probe, waving it as if outlining a future only he could see. He wanted GR1m1 trained the way they trained their lowest workers. A body that followed commands without pause. A structure that didn’t break. A tool that didn’t rest. He listed the roles as stacking objects on a shelf… A Guard… perhaps a servant… something he already was an experiment. All in one said one of the alchemists...

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  The others didn’t interrupt him. They let him talk, marking notes on their slates while he calculated how much they would save if they didn’t need to hire escorts or replace broken equipment. He muttered about enemies tracking their order. He muttered about someone infiltrating their ranks. His eyes darted toward the door every few seconds, as if expecting someone to burst through it. The paranoia didn’t slow his enthusiasm. He kept outlining tasks GR1m1 could perform once the reconstruction was complete.

  GR1m1 watched their mouths move. The sounds didn’t form anything he understood. Their words blended into a steady stream of noise that washed over him without meaning. But something inside his head shifted as he observed them. His thoughts felt clearer than they had the week before. Not sharp. Not organized. Just clearer. As if the fog that had settled over his mind since the early procedures had thinned enough for him to notice the edges of things.

  He blinked once, slow and deliberate. His eyes moved without the usual strain. He tested the motion again when the scientists turned away. The movement still dragged, but not as much as before. He didn’t need to coordinate his neck with his eyes to keep them from locking in place. The adjustment surprised him. He hadn’t noticed the change until now.

  When he was alone, he tested the movement again. His eyes shifted toward the corner of the room. The image didn’t form clearly. Shapes blurred together. Light and shadow mixed into uneven patches. But he could track motion. He could follow the way the scientists walked. He could see the rhythm of their mouths when they argued. He could tell when one of them leaned forward or stepped back. And the thirst for the liquid that had him so obsessed now had strangely disappeared.

  He learned through the shadows. Through the way light bent around their bodies. The faint outlines that moved across the walls. The details didn’t matter. The patterns did.

  He sat on the table, the restraints loose around his wrists. The parasite under his ribs shifted with a steady rhythm. A new arm rested at his side, fingers curled slightly. The scientists continued their discussion, their voices rising and falling in uneven bursts. He didn’t understand the words, but he understood the movement.

  His sight sharpened in uneven steps. One day he could only track shadows. Next, he recognized the outline of a tool on a distant table. The room still warped at the edges, shapes bending into each other, but he could separate objects now. He could tell where the metal trays ended and where the stone floor began. He could follow the movement of an alchemist’s hand without needing to shift his entire head.

  He tested his eyes whenever they left him alone. Slow movements at first. A glance toward the ceiling. A glance toward the door. The strain that once locked his gaze in place had faded. He didn’t know how long the improvement would last, but each small gain felt like a step toward something he couldn’t name yet... A way out... A chance out of the hell he had been holding on…

  But the room carried a tension he couldn’t ignore. The alchemists moved with shorter steps. Their hands shook when they adjusted their tools. They whispered more than usual. He didn’t understand the words, but he recognized the rhythm. Something had changed outside the chamber. Something that pressed into the room like a weight.

  The next morning, a new group entered. Their robes were cleaner. Their masks thicker. They walked with the confidence of people who didn’t need to explain themselves. GR1m1 watched them through the blur of his vision. They didn’t look at the tables or the tools. They looked at him.

  One of them approached with a slate and measured the length of his new arm. Another circled him, marking points along his torso. They spoke to each other in short bursts, comparing notes. They wanted to know how tall he would become once reconstruction finished. They wanted to know which height would be most effective in combat. They wanted to know how easily he could lift an injured body.

  They examined the growth along his knuckles next. The parasite had reinforced the bone there, forming small protrusions that reacted to pressure. They pressed along the surface, watching the way the tissue shifted. One of them muttered about using those structures as the prototype to form the bone claws weapons that were still going on around. Another mentioned a device they were developing to summon the parasite’s response on command.

  The body rejected the idea. They said it plainly. The organism refused to release anything they tried to extract. The parasite held its structure tight, ignoring every tool they used to coax it out. They didn’t hide their frustration. They didn’t hide their urgency… but couldn't risk ruining their golden egg of alchemy.

  These alchemists carried a different authority. Their robes bore markings the others didn’t have. They spoke with a tone that cut through the room. They didn’t ask for progress. They demanded it. They warned the others about funding. They warned them about resources. Not only that, but they warned them about the consequences of delay.

  GR1m1 watched their mouths move. He didn’t understand the words, but he understood the pressure behind them. The room felt smaller. The air felt heavier. The alchemists moved faster, adjusting tools and marking new points along his body.

  He stood still on the table, the restraints loose around his wrists. The parasite under his ribs shifted with a steady rhythm. The new arm flexed once, responding to a stimulus he didn’t feel.

  Time was running out… They wanted results… and they wanted them soon.

  “???????? ??? ???????... ?????? ???? ?? ???????? ?? ?????? ?? ??? ?? ?????????...”

  “Monsters are mirrors... showing only the darkness we refuse to see in ourselves...”

  How was it??