Sergeant Dmitry Ivanov's muscles ached, but it was a good ache—the kind that reminded him of progress. He crouched in the snow-covered field, the frosty air biting at his skin, but he didn’t feel the cold like he once did. Since his latest injection, his body had started to change in ways he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just the strength, though that alone set him leagues ahead of his peers. It was the instincts, the heightened awareness that let him hear the crunch of boots in snow far beyond what any human could.

  “Ivanov! On your feet!” barked Captain Yegor Mikhailov from the edge of the training ground. The other soldiers, bundled tightly in their winter gear, watched Dmitry with a mix of awe and unease. He’d been one of only a handful selected for the program—a chance to serve his country in ways others could only dream of.

  Dmitry rose, his movement fluid and precise. The captain nodded to the obstacle course ahead, a twisted maze of climbing walls, ice-covered pits, and barbed wire. “Let’s go, soldier. We don’t have all day.”

  The whistle blew, and Dmitry was off. His legs propelled him forward with an unnatural speed, his boots barely making contact with the frozen ground. He leapt over the first wall with ease, the surge of power in his muscles feeling almost intoxicating. Behind him, the other soldiers murmured among themselves, their voices tinged with envy and fear.

  By the time Dmitry reached the end of the course, the stopwatch in Captain Mikhailov’s hand read one minute and twenty seconds. Dmitry stood tall, his chest heaving but his face calm. The captain’s expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

  “Outstanding,” Mikhailov said. “You’ve set another record. Dismissed.”

  As Dmitry made his way back to the barracks, he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. The injections, the grueling tests, the endless nights of training—it was all worth it. He was becoming something greater, something unstoppable. But as he caught his reflection in the frost-covered window of the barracks, a flicker of doubt crept into his mind. His eyes, once a pale blue, now glinted with a faint amber hue in the low light.

  Later that night, Dmitry sat on his bunk, the room dimly lit by the glow of a single bulb overhead. Around him, the other soldiers whispered in hushed tones. He could feel their gazes on him even when his back was turned.

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  “What do you think they’re doing to him?” one of them muttered. “He’s not the same anymore.”

  “He’s stronger than all of us,” another replied. “This program excites and terrifies me, man.”

  Dmitry ignored them, focusing instead on the faint hum in his ears. It wasn’t the light bulb, nor the murmur of voices. It was deeper, like a vibration just beneath the surface of his skin. He flexed his hand, watching as the veins seemed to pulse unnaturally. The injections were doing something more than making him stronger. They were changing him.

  In the command center, Captain Mikhailov stood before a group of scientists clad in white lab coats. “Ivanov is performing beyond expectations,” he reported. “Batch 42 is working.”

  Dr. Yelena Morozova, the lead scientist, adjusted her glasses and tapped a monitor displaying Dmitry’s biometrics. “The changes are accelerating. Neural activity is up 20% since the last injection. Muscle density has increased by 30%. But…”

  “But what?” Mikhailov demanded.

  Morozova hesitated. “There are… side effects. Behavioral changes. Heightened aggression. Loss of self-control under stress.”

  Mikhailov frowned. “Can it be contained?”

  “For now,” Morozova replied. “But if we continue at this pace, there’s no guarantee he will remain stable.”

  The captain’s gaze hardened. “The program must succeed. The Motherland is counting on us.”

  Dmitry awoke in the middle of the night, his heart pounding. The barracks were silent, the other soldiers fast asleep. But something was wrong. The hum beneath his skin had turned into a roar, a tidal wave of energy he couldn’t contain.

  He stumbled outside into the frigid night, his breath visible in the icy air. His vision blurred, the amber glow in his eyes intensifying. His nails—no, claws—dug into the wooden railing as he gripped it for support. A low growl escaped his throat, unbidden and primal.

  “What’s happening to me?” he whispered, his voice trembling.

  From the shadows, Captain Mikhailov emerged, flanked by two armed guards. “Ivanov,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Come with us. Now.”

  Dmitry turned to face him, his breathing ragged. “I don’t… I don’t think I can.”

  Mikhailov’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have a choice.”

  As the guards stepped forward, Dmitry’s instincts took over. He moved faster than he thought possible, his body a blur of motion. One guard went down with a single swipe of Dmitry’s hand, his rifle clattering to the ground. The other hesitated, fear flashing across his face.

  “Stand down, Ivanov!” Mikhailov shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

  Dmitry froze, his chest heaving. The growl in his throat subsided, replaced by a crushing wave of guilt. He looked down at his hands, the claws retracting as quickly as they had appeared.

  “What have you done to me?” he asked, his voice breaking.

  Mikhailov stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “You wanted to be a soldier, Ivanov. This is what it takes.”

  Far above, the pale light of dawn bled into the gray sky. The forest reclaimed its quiet, its secrets buried once more beneath the snow.