Parasite

The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, the kind that clung to your clothes long after you left. Dr. Selene held up a small, unassuming pill. It rested in the middle of her gloved palm like an innocuous piece of candy, its smooth surface reflecting the sterile lights above.

“Do you have someone to take care of you for the next few weeks?” she asked, her voice calm but with a hint of seriousness. “This is going to be pretty unpleasant.”

Lt. Andrew Hayes, sitting shirtless on the examination table, furrowed his brow. His gaze flicked between the pill and her unreadable expression. “Unpleasant how?”

Dr. Selene lowered her hand and slid the pill back into its container. “That little capsule isn’t just medicine. It’s a parasite, genetically keyed to your biology.”

Hayes leaned back slightly. “A parasite? What is that—gene therapy?” His tone was skeptical, almost incredulous. “Gene therapy’s illegal under the accords.”

Selene sighed, folding her arms. “No, not gene therapy. No laws broken here. But it’s close enough to make people nervous, which is why we’re very selective about its use.”

“Close enough? What’s that supposed to mean?” Hayes shifted uncomfortably, the anxiety in his chest tightening like a coiled spring. “What’s it going to do to me?”

Selene pulled up a holographic display, the glowing projection illustrating a series of human intestines. “Let me give you a quick history lesson. Humans and hookworms evolved together for millennia. They were parasites, yes, but they played a key role in regulating our immune systems. The worms lived in us, and in return, they kept our histamine responses in check, preventing excessive inflammation.”

Hayes raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying parasites were good for us?”

“Exactly. Back in the 21st century, we eradicated them. Thought we were doing humanity a favor. But once they were gone, we saw massive spikes in heart disease, cancers, autoimmune disorders, even anxiety. All traced back to inflammation running rampant because our symbiotic partner was missing.”

Selene tapped the hologram, zooming into the microscopic image of a worm. “Eventually, we realized we needed them back. We started with selective breeding, and when that wasn’t enough, we made adjustments. Genetic ones. We couldn’t touch human DNA anymore, but altering the worms? That was fair game. Now, they don’t just regulate your immune system—they can unlock capabilities buried in your biology.”

Hayes stared at her, his skepticism only growing. “Capabilities like what?”

She smiled faintly. “For you? This particular worm is engineered to maximize your maintenance response. Traveling through unshielded space exposes you to radiation. Your body will need to destroy cancer and mutant cells almost as fast as they appear. These little guys will help your body do that—and a few other things, too.”

“What other things?” His voice was sharp, edged with unease.

“Well,” Selene said, leaning against the counter, “after a few weeks of discomfort—breakdown and rebuilding, really—you’ll feel like you’re 27 again. Maybe younger. Stronger. Sharper.”

Hayes exhaled slowly. “And the side effects?”

“Rapid healing,” she said, her tone almost casual. “But the process is… intense. You’ll feel like you’re coming apart at the seams. Fever, aches, exhaustion—your body won’t thank you at first, but when it’s over, you’ll be in the best shape of your life. Or anyone’s life, really.”

Hayes stared at the pill container. “And this is legal?”

“Completely,” Selene replied, her expression unreadable. “But it’s not reversible. Once you start, there’s no going back.”

For a long moment, Hayes sat in silence, his thoughts spiraling. Finally, he nodded. “Give me the pill.”