Mares of The Night

The snowcapped mountains of Belgorod rapidly pulled into view as the helicopter, now flying low, skimmed just above their peaks. That was the last memory Romeo had before he blacked out.

He woke up in an eerily familiar room. The walls, the air, even the way the light filtered through the curtains—it all felt known, yet foreign. He had been here before. He was sure of it. But when? How?

Must be a case of déjà vu, he thought. A severe case at that.

He pushed the covers aside and got out of bed. His movements were precise, too precise—like muscle memory was guiding him rather than conscious thought. He went straight to the closet, reaching for a black pull-neck and trousers. He bent down, plucked a pair of boots from behind a row of trench coats, and laced them up with practiced ease.

Then he froze.

He knew where everything was. He had never been here before, yet his body moved as if this was routine. That didn't make sense.

Something was wrong.

The unease slithered through his mind like a shadow. His last memory was crouching behind a counter with Ivan and Victor, dodging bullets as a Russian Mil Mi-8 helicopter rained down hellfire. He remembered pain, the sharp sting of bullets tearing into him. He should be dead.

But he wasn't. He felt fine—no wounds, no soreness, not even a scar.

His breath came slow and steady. His heartbeat was unnaturally even. 72 beats per minute. Yes, he counted them.

Then, a voice behind him broke the silence.

"I see you're awake," a woman said.

He turned swiftly, coming face to face with a stunning blonde in a white lab coat. Her silver hair was tied back, but it did little to tame her beauty. The curves beneath the coat were impossible to ignore. And Romeo, despite his growing confusion, was very aware of them.

His body responded before his mind could stop it.

The woman's lips curled in amusement. "Dr. Sharapova," she introduced herself, extending a delicate yet firm hand.

Romeo took it, his grip lingering. Their eyes locked—longer than necessary. The air between them thickened.

"Are you flirting with me, Doc?" he asked, half-teasing, half-curious.

Sharapova smirked. "Oh no, of course not… but I could."

"Is that even allowed?"

She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eye. "Of course. I'll just have to wipe your memory after the session… if there is a session."

Romeo arched a brow. "Alright. Where am I?"

She took a step closer, biting her lower lip. "Ahh, you still don't remember yourself…"

Then, as if making a sudden decision, she placed a forefinger in her mouth, tilting her head in a lazy, seductive stance.

"In that case, Romeo, first—you're gonna Juliet the fuck out of me."

Romeo's breath hitched. He wasn't sure whether to laugh, resist, or let his instincts take over.

Dr. Sharapova didn't wait for an answer. She pushed him back toward the nearest door, which he instinctively opened. By now, his body had abandoned logic entirely. His blood roared in his veins. His heart raced. 140 beats per minute.

Inside, the sterile lab setting barely registered in his mind. Sharapova yanked his pull-neck over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. Their lips crashed together—hot, breathless, consuming.

She shoved him back onto the examination table, her hands already working on his belt. Then she froze, eyes widening as she freed him from his pants.

"Shit," she murmured. "That's… a lot."

A cocky grin tugged at Romeo's lips. He didn't get a chance to reply before she grabbed him, steadying herself. Then—

"Hawk Tuah."

She spat, kissed the tip, and swallowed him whole.

His head fell back, a deep groan escaping his lips as she worked him like a seasoned expert. He gripped the edge of the table, fighting the urge to lose himself too soon.

Then, still fully dressed, she climbed onto him, pulling her panties aside as she sank down onto his length.

A sharp gasp left her lips. "Fuck, you're deep."

Her movements started slow, rolling her hips as she adjusted to his size. Then, as pleasure overtook hesitation, she rode him harder, her moans filling the room.

Romeo grabbed her blouse and, with one swift motion, ripped it open, sending buttons flying. Her bra followed, her breasts bouncing free. The sight made him harder—made her grip on him even tighter.

She clenched around him, a shudder rippling through her body. And then—

They collapsed together, bodies trembling, breathless.

For a moment, all was still.

Then, as if snapping back to reality, Sharapova sat up, adjusting her disheveled clothes.

"Oh yes, Romeo. That was fun," she said, voice husky but composed.

Romeo propped himself on his elbows, smirking. "Do you do this with all your patients, Doc?"

She chuckled. "No. Just you. That's why I took this job."

His smirk faltered. "You took this job… just to fuck me?"

Her playful expression softened. "It's complicated. Let's just say… I'm your Juliet, Sergeant Romeo."

His stomach dropped. "Sergeant?"

"You have a lot to remember, my dear."

Sharapova rose from the table, smoothing her coat. "Follow me to the memory bank. Everything will make sense in a few minutes."

Romeo hesitated but complied, following her across the room. Then, in the reflection of a full-body mirror, something stopped him cold.

His body.

It had doubled in muscle mass—tripled even.

His veins pulsed under his skin. His muscles felt dense, powerful.

"What the hell is happening to me?" he whispered.

Sharapova turned to face him. Her expression was unreadable.

"You, my love," she said softly, "are neither human… nor machine."

She gestured toward a reclined chair, holding up a helmet lined with electrodes.

"Sit down," she instructed. "I'll hook you to your memory bank. With this, you'll remember everything."

Romeo's jaw tightened. He glanced at her, then at the machine.

A moment of silence stretched between them.

Then, at last, he nodded. "Go ahead."

As she lowered the helmet onto his head, she paused.

"But… will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?"

Romeo blinked. "What? That's so random."

"I mean it," she murmured. "Answer me."

His throat bobbed. "Of course. Yes, of course."

She smiled faintly. "Alright then."

She pressed a button. The machine hummed.

And then—

Pain.

A shockwave tore through Romeo's mind. Images, memories, nightmares flashed behind his eyes.

Monsters. Experiments. Blood.

He gasped, his body convulsing.

Mares of the Night, Running in Daylight