The days leading up to the Sus-an Membrane implantation passed in a blur of routine and anticipation. Daedren felt his body shifting under the weight of the constant training, his muscles adapting, his mind sharpening. He had been through much already, each phase of the gene-seed implantation slowly transforming him, making him something more than human. But this, the Sus-an Membrane, felt different.
It wasn’t just another organ. This was the beginning of something more profound, something that reached deeper into his being, intertwining with his mind, his consciousness. The membrane would become a part of him in ways none of the other implants had.
He had heard the whispers, about Astartes who had entered suspended animation for years, decades even, only to wake as if no time had passed at all. The Sus-an Membrane was a tool, but it was also a mystery, a key to survival beyond the natural limits of any human.
When the day arrived, Daedren stood once more outside the apothecarion, the towering metal doors reflecting his own tense expression. His fingers tightened involuntarily at his sides as he prepared for what was to come.
The apothecary's chamber was colder today, quieter, the usual hum of the machinery subdued. The light was dim, shadows stretching across the sterile floor. Apothecary Seranon, tall and imposing in his robes, was already waiting for him. The familiar smell of antiseptic filled the air, sharp and clean. Daedren breathed in deeply, steeling himself for the trial to come.
Wordlessly, Seranon gestured for Daedren to lie down on the operating table. The room felt colder than usual, as if the air itself was waiting for the silence to break. Daedren complied without hesitation, his body fitting into the cold metal recesses of the table with mechanical precision. He had done this enough times to know the routine: the restraints, the immobilization, the stillness.
The servitors, blank-eyed and silent, moved around him, securing his limbs. The metal cuffs clicked into place, locking his body into a rigid position. Daedren felt the familiar sensation of being more a machine than man, a vessel waiting to be transformed.
The ceiling above him was a mosaic of dull lights and sterile metal. The soft hum of machines barely broke the quiet as the apothecary prepared the instruments for surgery. Daedren’s mind began to drift, his breathing steady, though his muscles twitched involuntarily under the restraints.
He watched as Seranon produced the vial, the Sus-an Membrane, a thin strip of shimmering tissue suspended in a clear liquid. It was smaller than Daedren had expected, delicate even, but he knew that this fragile piece of engineered material would soon become a permanent part of him. It would wrap around his brain, creating a new layer of neural tissue that could preserve his life in the face of death. The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine.
Seranon worked swiftly. The first incision at the base of Daedren’s skull was clean and precise, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his nerves. His body tensed instinctively, but the restraints held firm. He forced himself to remain calm, breathing through the pain. He had been through worse, he reminded himself. This was simply another step.
The servitors moved with practiced precision, pulling back the skin and muscle to expose the bone beneath. The pressure in Daedren’s skull increased as the bone saw began to cut. The high-pitched whine of the blade filled the room, vibrating through his skull. The sound was unbearable, resonating through his bones and into his thoughts. But he remained still, his body locked in place.
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The bone gave way with a final, sharp crack, and Daedren felt a cool rush of air against his exposed brain. He could feel the pressure lessen slightly, the buzzing in his ears fading. The pain was sharp, but distant now, his body adjusting to the invasive procedure.
Seranon moved with quiet precision, the vial in his hand carefully tilted as the membrane was lowered toward Daedren’s exposed cerebrum. The touch of the tissue against his brain was a cool, tingling sensation that sent waves of electricity through his thoughts.
The membrane began to merge, its engineered cells binding to the existing neural tissue. At first, it was subtle, a slow integration that barely registered. But then, the pressure returned, building rapidly as the membrane spread across his brain. Daedren’s vision blurred, a swirling kaleidoscope of light and color exploding behind his closed eyelids.
The world around him began to fade, sound, light, sensation, all of it receding into the background. Daedren felt himself drifting, floating in a vast, endless expanse of nothingness. His mind struggled to hold on, to anchor itself, but the membrane pulled him deeper, pulling him under as it wove itself into his consciousness.
Time lost all meaning. Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into hours. There was no sound, no light, only the slow, rhythmic pulse of the membrane as it wrapped itself around his thoughts, each beat sinking deeper into his brain. It felt like drowning, but there was no panic, no struggle. Only the slow, inexorable descent into silence.
The pain dulled, fading into a distant ache as the membrane settled into place. Daedren’s body was still, his breathing shallow but steady. He felt… detached, as if he were hovering above himself, watching the procedure from some distant vantage point.
The sensation of time passing returned slowly, the weight of his body gradually reasserting itself. His muscles twitched involuntarily as the pain receded, leaving a deep, throbbing exhaustion in its wake. His thoughts, once scattered and chaotic, began to coalesce, the world around him coming back into focus.
He was still on the table, the cold metal pressing against his skin. The servitors were silent now, their tasks complete. He blinked slowly, his vision clearing as the room came back into view. The soft hum of the apothecarion filled his ears once more, the familiar, sterile smell of antiseptic grounding him in the present.
The last remnants of the procedure lingered in his body, a faint, tingling sensation that pulsed in the back of his skull. It was done. The Sus-an Membrane was part of him now.
For a long time, Daedren simply lay there, his body heavy, his mind distant. There was no need to rush. He had endured the trial. He could feel the membrane humming softly in his thoughts, a strange but comforting presence. He had passed another threshold, another step closer to becoming something more.
As the servitors disengaged the restraints and pulled back the surgical implements, Daedren slowly moved his fingers, testing the limits of his newly altered body. His head throbbed with the residual pain of the operation, but there was something else now, a quiet, humming strength that seemed to resonate from the very core of his being.
He took a slow, deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs. His heart beat steady in his chest, his body recovering quickly from the ordeal. He blinked, staring at the ceiling above, the soft light reflecting off the sterile surfaces of the apothecarion.
The world felt… different, sharper. The pain was fading, replaced by a strange clarity. He could sense everything around him in minute detail, the hum of the machinery, the faint rustling of the servitors’ movements, even the distant echoes of footsteps in the hallway outside. His senses seemed to be heightened, his perception expanded.
The Sus-an Membrane was alive within him now, a part of his mind, a part of his body. He could feel it, not just as an implant, but as an extension of himself, woven into the very fabric of his thoughts. He knew, instinctively, that he could control it, that he could summon its power if the need arose.
He lay there for a long time, letting the quiet moments wash over him, his mind and body adjusting to this new reality. There were no words, no need for them.