Chapter 2 The Vivisection Protocol

Consciousness returned to me in fragments, like shattered glass being pieced back together. First came the cold—a metallic chill against my back that seemed to seep into my bones. Then the light—harsh and clinical, burning through my eyelids. And finally, the pain—a dull, insistent throb in my abdomen that pulsed with every heartbeat.

I tried to move my arms. Restraints bit into my wrists.

"Patient is regaining consciousness," a voice announced. "Increase the sedative."

"No." Another voice—familiar, commanding. Damien. "I want her awake for this."

My eyes fluttered open. The world swam into focus: a sterile operating theater, equipment beeping and humming, masked figures moving in choreographed precision around me. And there, watching from behind a glass partition, stood Damien and Vera, dressed impeccably in matching black.

"Damien," I rasped, my throat raw. "Please..."

He stepped closer to the glass, studying me with clinical detachment. "Fascinating. The emotional responses are incredibly authentic."

A masked surgeon approached him. "Mr. Cross, we've prepped for the hepatic extraction, but the anesthesia isn't taking properly. The subject's metabolism is rejecting the standard dosage."

"Then proceed without it." Damien's voice was flat.

"Sir, the pain response would be—"

"I said proceed." He turned to Vera with a smile. "We're live-streaming to potential investors, correct?"

She nodded, tapping something on her tablet. "Already connected to thirty-seven premium viewers. They're eager to see Cross Biogenics' proprietary pain-response technology in action."

The surgeon hesitated, then nodded to his team. Someone adjusted a camera positioned above my body. Red light on. Broadcasting.

I felt the first incision like fire—a white-hot line drawn across my abdomen. I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat as my body arched against the restraints.

"Remarkable response fidelity," Damien commented, as if narrating a nature documentary. "The synthetic nerve pathways replicate human pain signals with perfect accuracy."

Through tears, I saw him turn to Vera. She was smiling.

As the surgeon's hands worked inside me, memories flooded back—not in chronological order, but in bursts of emotional intensity. Damien and I in college, staying up all night talking about changing the world. The day I sold my grandmother's house—my last connection to my family—to fund his startup. The look in his eyes when I told him I'd donate a kidney to save his dying mother. The way he'd whispered "I'll spend my life repaying you" as we lay in his hospital room, both of us recovering from the transplant surgery.

"Liver extraction complete," announced the surgeon, holding up something dark and glistening. My liver. My actual liver.

"Beautiful specimen," Vera commented, leaning closer to the glass. "The bioengineered organs really are superior to natural ones."

I tried to focus through the agony. "I'm... not... bioengineered," I managed between ragged breaths. "Damien... we met... sophomore year... philosophy class..."

His expression flickered. For just a moment, doubt seemed to cross his features.

Vera noticed. She placed a hand on his arm. "The memory implants are impressively detailed," she said. "Remember what Dr. Porter said? The replica will cling to the installed narrative until the end."

"Of course," Damien nodded, but I could see the tension in his jaw.

"What... happened to you?" I gasped as the surgical team continued their work. "You promised... we'd go to the stars... together."

A nurse approached the glass. "Sir, we've detected fetal distress. The pregnancy simulation is responding as if it were actual tissue."

"Impossible," Vera snapped. "It's programmed tissue."

The surgeon looked up from my open abdomen. "The fetus appears to have a separate heartbeat and DNA structure consistent with natural conception, not laboratory genesis."

I saw panic flash across Vera's face. She quickly composed herself, whispering urgently to Damien. He frowned, then nodded.

"Continue as planned," he instructed. "Harvest the liver, then prepare for the consciousness transfer protocol."

Through the haze of pain, a memory crystallized: Vera, six months ago, at a charity gala. Her cold smile when Damien introduced us. "So this is your brilliant researcher girlfriend," she had said, her eyes evaluating me like I was merchandise. "The one who helped you build your empire from nothing."

I had felt uneasy that night. Two weeks later, Damien had been different—distracted, irritable, questioning things I'd said or done years ago. Now I understood. Vera hadn't just taken him from me; she'd systematically erased me, rewriting his memories until I became nothing more than a failed experiment.

"Initiating consciousness extraction," announced a technician.

A machine whirred to life above my head. Cold metal pressed against my temples.

"Damien," I called out, my voice weaker now as blood loss took its toll. "The baby's name... you chose it... Stella... after your grandmother..."

His eyes widened slightly. Vera gripped his arm tighter.

"Neural mapping sequence initiated," intoned the machine. "Prepare soul capture matrix."

Dr. Chen appeared beside Damien, his surgical scrubs now clean. "We're making history today," he said excitedly. "The first complete consciousness transfer from human to enhanced canine subject. If successful, the military applications alone—"

"Just get on with it," Damien interrupted, his voice strained.

The pain in my body was beginning to fade, replaced by a strange floating sensation. I could see the surgical team working, could hear the machines beeping, but it all seemed increasingly distant, as if I were watching from above.

"Neural patterns downloading," announced the technician. "Sixty percent... seventy percent..."

I felt myself being pulled away from my body, stretched thin like taffy. My vision split—I could still see through my human eyes, but also, somehow, through another set of eyes across the room. I caught glimpses of a sterile cage, of tubes and wires connected to fur.

"Transfer complete," declared Dr. Chen triumphantly. "Subject consciousness now residing in SPX-9 canine vessel."

Damien stepped closer to the glass, his expression unreadable. "And the original body?"

"Perfect for organ harvesting," Vera replied smoothly. "The heart alone will cover our development costs."

"Activating the Soul Preservation Protocol," said Dr. Chen, typing commands into a console. "This will lock the consciousness into the new vessel and prevent regression."

I tried to scream, but my human voice was gone. From across the room, I heard a dog's frightened whimper and realized with horror that the sound had come from me.

"The procedure is a success," Dr. Chen announced proudly. "Gentlemen, ladies—we have just witnessed the first successful human-to-animal consciousness transfer in history."

Applause broke out among the masked figures. On a large screen, I could see viewer comments scrolling: "Groundbreaking!" "Worth every credit!" "When can we invest?"

Vera stepped forward, addressing the camera directly. "This is just the beginning of what Cross Biogenics can achieve. Imagine the possibilities: criminals serving sentences in animal bodies, the wealthy extending their lives through multiple vessels, soldiers inhabiting battle-ready creatures..."

As she spoke, I watched my human body being wheeled away, still breathing but empty—a shell without its soul. My baby still inside it, heart still beating.

Damien didn't join in the celebration. He stood silently, staring at the dog cage where my consciousness now resided. For just a moment, our eyes met, and I thought I saw something flicker in his gaze—not recognition, not quite, but perhaps the shadow of a question.

Then Vera was beside him again, her arm linked possessively through his, leading him away from the glass.

"Come, darling," she said, her voice carrying to me through my new, sensitive ears. "We have investors to impress."