Blake flinched before he could stop himself, instincts flaring to life as the towering alien seemed to materialize out of nowhere, dominating the already tight space. How could something that massive move with such unnerving speed?

  "Blake, are you okay?" Eland navigated the tilted room with practiced ease, reaching Blake and working to free him from the restraints. "Thank the Twins you’re awake. What happened?"

  Blake forced himself to inhale deeply, grounding his thoughts and shoving the remnants of the nightmare to the back of his mind where they couldn’t claw at him anymore.

  "Just a bad dream," Blake rasped, his voice rough like gravel underfoot. "One I haven't had in ages, but this time it felt... sharper. Too real." He pushed himself upright, legs dangling over the edge of the examination table, the cold metal biting through the thin fabric of his pants. "Guess I haven't exactly wrapped my head around the last couple of days. Stress took an old nightmare and twisted it into something nastier than it had any right to be."

  "Nightmares a regular thing for you?" Eland's gaze lingered on him, sharp and calculating, like a scalpel poised to cut.

  Blake let out a dark laugh. Couldn't help it.

  "More than most." He scrubbed the cold sweat from his face, trying to ignore how the simple motion felt off somehow—like his hand belonged to someone else. Blake had experienced dissociation before; It came with the territory. It was probably the nightmare still messing with his head. Sure as shit, combat had marked him, inside and out.

  "I've seen too many battlefields, Eland. I figure the dreams mean I'm still human. Still processing. No nightmares? That's when you need to worry."

  Eland's expression shifted, the hard set of his jaw betraying a recognition Blake couldn't miss. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy. Blake knew that weight. Recognized it when he heard it.

  "Wars leave scars, Blake. The ones you can't see cut deepest."

  Blake studied him, reading the truth etched in the man's weary eyes. Shadows lingered there, the kind born from witnessing too much and surviving anyway. Blake didn't bother with a reply. Some truths spoke louder in silence.

  "Of course," Eland started again. "I wasn't initially asking about your dream. What happened out there in the piles, Blake? I found you unconscious next to the naked body of a deceased Tylwith noble. I was really hoping you would be able to explain that."

  "He was some kind of noble?" Blake asked, his stomach twisting. "Are they going to send someone to recover the body?"

  "Oh there will be people searching, no doubt," Eland responded. "But this depository world is one of many, and we are an incredible distance from the Tylwith borders."

  "Back up," Blake said, blinking as he tried to make sense of Eland's words. "That guy definitely had some kind of bodysuit on when I found him." He paused, his stomach knotting as fragmented memories surfaced. "The last thing I remember before blacking out was the suit... latching onto me or something."

  "Yes," Eland nodded slowly. "I had a feeling that might be the case."

  He leaned back against a counter, crossing his massive arms over his chest. Blake couldn't help but notice how the alien's biceps strained against the fabric of his shirt.

  "The suit you ran into is some kind of symbiotic biotech," Eland said, his tone steady but edged with curiosity. "I’ve never come across anything quite like it before. But based on my scans, it appears to have... well, merged with you. It rendered you unconscious and bonded you while you were out cold."

  "’Merged with me?’" Blake's stomach dropped as his eyes locked onto Eland, unblinking. "What the hell does that even mean?"

  "It means the suit has fused itself with your biology," Eland said, his tone deliberate, as though trying to cushion the blow. "I can pull up a few dozen examples of beneficial symbionts just from the records here in the med-bay. But that suit… Blake, it’s part of you now." He paused, his sharp eyes studying Blake closely. "And, from what I’ve observed, it’s already made some... modifications."

  Blake's heart pounded as he tried to process Eland's words. He looked down at his hands, turning them over slowly. At first glance, they seemed the same, but… There were no scarred knuckles, his previously calloused palms were smooth. The skin appeared smoother, the veins less prominent. His gaze traveled up his arms; the wiry muscles looked more defined, youthful.

  "What kind of enhancements are we talking about here, El?" Blake asked, his voice edged with unease.

  "Perhaps…" Eland hesitated, his eyes searching Blake's face. "Perhaps it would be easier if you saw for yourself."

  Blake swung his legs over the side of the examination table and stood, bracing himself for the usual chorus of aches and pains. They never came. Instead, raw power surged through his muscles like high-voltage current through copper wire. His joints, normally as cooperative as rusty door hinges, moved with fluid precision. When Eland motioned toward the reflective panel mounted on the wall, Blake's gut clenched. He forced one foot in front of the other, each step carrying him closer to whatever the hell had been done to him.

  The stranger in the mirror stole Blake's breath. His familiar salt-and-pepper crewcut had been replaced by a shock of dark hair, wild and untamed. The face that greeted him was a mockery of the one he'd worn in this morning—weathered creases and battle-earned lines smoothed away like they'd never existed. But the eyes, fucking hell, those eyes. His old muddy hazels, unremarkable as ditchwater, were gone. In their place burned something fierce and feral—pools of molten amber that almost seemed to glow with their own inner fire. Not a trace remained of that forgettable brown, not a hint of the green flecks that had made them at least somewhat interesting.

  "What the fuck..." The words escaped Blake's lips, barely more than breath, his voice strangled to a whisper by disbelief. His fingers trembled as they traced the alien planes of his face, unfamiliar and unyielding under his touch.

  "The suit has been... reconstructing your body," Eland said gently. "You've been unconscious for several hours. During that time, it tapped into the ship's power systems to facilitate the process."

  "Hours?" The word clawed its way from Blake's throat as he tore his gaze away from the disturbing reflection. He fixed Eland with a glare sharp enough to cut steel, his voice rising with every syllable.

  "Did it cross your mind to stop this... this thing from turning me into whatever the hell I am now?" His breath hitched, fury bubbling beneath his words. "Because I sure as shit don't recall agreeing to a complete fucking renovation." Bastard looked far too calm about the whole mess, and it only fueled the fire in Blake's chest.

  "Of course I tried to intervene," Eland said, lifting his hands like he was soothing a wild animal. The gesture only made Blake’s blood simmer hotter. His careful words and measured tone grated against Blake’s nerves, setting his teeth on edge. "But Zephyr's readings were quite clear—yanking the foreign matter out of you mid-process would've likely killed you dead." He gestured vaguely at Blake’s twisted, unfamiliar form. "The cursed thing apparently decided this... was necessary for proper integration."

  "You didn't happen to find an off switch?" Blake growled, the words scraping past clenched teeth. The phrase "optimal integration" clawed at his anger, making him want to put his fist through something expensive—preferably Eland's face. He held back, of course, because that wasn't fair.

  On the other hand, neither was this damn parasite rewriting his body like some demented sculptor with a god complex.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "The technology is highly advanced, possibly even sentient on some level," Eland began, slipping into yet another of his scientific lectures. Blake was getting really tired of those. "It must have calculated that returning you to your physical prime would maximize compatibility." The alien's tone carried a hint of awe that made Blake’s jaw tighten. "It's... honestly, Blake, it could have been far worse for you."

  Blake stared at his reflection in a broken slab of metal, and a stranger stared back. He barely recognized himself. Where age and gravity had taken their toll, now stood a man with the vitality of someone half his age. The parasite had done its work well—too well. Energy thrummed through his muscles like a living current, bringing with it a cocktail of emotions he wasn't ready to process. Hope warred with rage in his gut, neither willing to give ground.

  His fingers tangled in hair that felt foreign - thick and full where it had started to thin. The sensation sent another jolt of unreality through him.

  "This is insane," he managed, his voice rougher than intended. "I feel... different. Stronger." The words felt inadequate, like trying to describe a hurricane as a stiff breeze.

  "That's to be expected," Eland said. "The suit has likely maximized your muscle density, cardio-vascular system, and it definitely reworked your meridian channels. Your natural energy flow is orders of magnitude better than it was this morning. But we won't know the full extent until we run comprehensive diagnostics."

  "Hold up," Blake's brow furrowed. "Natural energy? Meridian channels? What are you talking about?"

  Blake watched the massive man drop his head into his hand with a weary thump. Something about the gesture seemed oddly human, given that it was coming from a 7-foot-tall Beluga whale.

  "Of course. You're from a non-cultivation world," Eland said, as if that explained everything. The big man straightened up and waved his free hand, brushing aside Blake's confusion. "Look, we have more immediate concerns. The suit's bonded with you, and we need to figure out exactly what that means for your safety."

  "But—" Blake tried to interject, his mind swimming with questions.

  "I promise I'll explain everything about cultivation over dinner," Eland cut him off, his tone brooking no argument. "Including why your energy channels matter. But first, we need to run those diagnostics and make sure you're stable."

  Blake glanced down at his rejuvenated body again. Much as he wanted answers about this 'cultivation' business, Eland had a point. Making sure the alien tech hadn't done anything dangerous to him took priority. He shuddered as a few more memories of various Cronenburg classics bubbled up from his grey matter—definitely something to avoid.

  Blake took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Alright. You said it drained power from the ship?"

  Eland nodded. "A significant amount. It prioritized your transformation over all other systems. I had to drain two full backup cells to maintain life support."

  Blake clenched his fists, feeling the fresh power coiled within his muscles, making him even angrier. "So not only did it hijack my body, but it also put us both at risk of being well and truly stranded here."

  "Technically, yes," Eland admitted. "But the immediate danger has passed. Now, we need to focus on understanding what's changed."

  Blake paced the small room, his movements fluid and effortless. "I've spent a lifetime learning control, Eland. Of myself, of my surroundings. This... violates that on every level. I feel like I should be having a full-on panic attack right now, and the fact that my pulse is barely elevated is freaking me right the hell out."

  "Well, about that," Eland said, some of his earlier sheepishness creeping back in. "The auto-doc recommended a short-term mood stabilizer for you, to help you process the changes. I may have let it dose you."

  Blake stared daggers at Eland, but eventually relented. Frankly it was working. He was upright and functioning instead of catatonic. He had shrugged off his nightmares faster than usual and was handling a deeply existential crisis about his own state of being. When he thought about it that way it was a good call.

  "I understand your frustration," Eland said. "But there's really not much we can do until we've figured out more about what was done to you and whether the process is finished.

  Blake stopped his navel-gazing and looked back at Eland. "Right. How could I forget to consider that I could be a ticking time bomb? We have no idea what this damned thing is or what it wants. Shit, I don't even know where it is! Is it inside of me?"

  Eland held up his hands in a calming gesture. "Blake, I know this is a lot to process. But panicking won't help us figure it out."

  "Easy for you to say," Blake glared at him. "You're not the one who just got body-snatched by alien tech. Besides, I'm not panicking. Those drugs work wonders."

  "You're right, I suppose I'm not the one directly affected here." Eland's voice was steady. "But I am the one who's going to help you understand what's happening. We'll take this one step at a time."

  "Alright," Blake said finally. "We'll run your tests. But if at any point this Venom rip-off takes over and I become a threat—to you, to anyone—you put me down before I do anything I'll earn any new nightmares for. Agreed?"

  "Agreed," Eland replied without hesitation. "What's a Venom, in this context?"

  Blake chuckled. "A comic book character. A black alien symbiotic life-form."

  "An apt parallel," Eland conceded.

  Blake exhaled slowly, a semblance of resolve settling over him. "Yeah. So, where do we start? What's step one?"

  Eland gestured toward a console embedded in the wall. "First, a full biometric scan now that you're conscious. We'll need baseline readings to monitor any further changes."

  Blake stood in the center of the med-bay, letting the alien scanners do their work. Their beams crisscrossed through the air like search lights cutting through fog, the steady hum almost meditative. His gut churned, but he kept his posture loose, balanced. The combat stance came naturally, even here.

  "Hold steady," Eland said from behind a holographic display swimming with alien text and diagrams.

  "Didn't know I was moving," Blake said. The words came out drier than he'd intended.

  Eland shot him a look, almost smirking. "Fair point."

  The tests blurred together after that. Some device drew his blood without leaving a mark. Holographic targets tested his reflexes. A humming helmet mapped his brain, vibrating against his skull until his teeth ached. Through it all, Blake held position, wondering what the readings were telling them about whatever he was becoming.

  "You're handling this quite well," Eland noted, eyes scanning a readout.

  Blake shrugged. "Been prodded and poked before. Besides, you've got a good bedside manner."

  "Glad to hear it."

  Finally, the last machine powered down with a descending chime. Eland tapped a few commands, and the med-bay's lights shifted to a softer hue.

  "That's everything?" Blake asked.

  "For now." Eland removed his gloves, fixing Blake with a thoughtful gaze. "The results are... impressive."

  "In what way?"

  Eland gestured to the myriad of data floating beside him. "Your physiology is, as predicted, extraordinary. The suit has enhanced your muscle density, bone strength, cardiovascular efficiency—even your cellular regeneration is operating at unprecedented levels."

  Blake crossed his arms. "Bottom line it for me."

  "You're still human," Eland said. "But your body has been pushed to the near peak of human performance—as if designed for it."

  Blake breathed out, releasing tension in his back and shoulders he had hardly been aware of until that moment. "Okay; me and Steve Rogers, still human. Good."

  All right," Eland announced, studying the readings one last time before powering down the displays. "We've made sure you're not going to fall apart. We'll get some food and really talk this through," he continued. "There's still so much you need to learn, and this fiasco only makes your lack of knowledge more dangerous."

  "But, before we do that," Eland added, "I need to finish seeing the ship's current state. Want to come with?"

  Blake flexed his fingers, still adjusting to how fluid and natural each movement felt. No creaks, no protests from old injuries. Just pure, raw strength waiting to be unleashed. It was almost intoxicating. That thought made him uneasy.

  "I never did get the full tour," Blake said, rolling his neck out of habit and unnerved to feel the casual fluidity of the motion. He forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. Standing around wouldn't give him answers.

  "Lead the way, big guy."