He woke to pain, hunger and thirst. That slip of soul into skull. There was not only a fog behind his eyes but also in front. The lids heavy like some rust sealed metal blinds. He tried to pull on that hidden cord, find a button to pull them up. With great effort they rose to bleary eyed tears, not of sorrow but of something else he could not yet feel. He could tell he was lying on his stomach so it took even more effort to raise his throbbing head. Slowly, the lead holding his head down began to melt into a slowly waking dross. His eyes widened, he moved his head from side to side to take in his surroundings. Each movement was a fight, he would have to learn. The walls were sterile white, light came from above but so bright it took away his sight. He could not see a door or window. He pushed and pulled his breath in and out, hoping to drive whatever was holding him down away. The pain was ebbing, the hunger and thirst swelling in his throat and belly. He had never felt this way before, but how did he know how he knew that. He had no memory, he had just woken to this and the feeling of I am, then followed by: what—-who am I? The pain in his head had cleared to a tingle. With an effort he stretched his body to a stand. The spin of where he was lasted but an instant. He felt strength returning and an instinct to run. An instinct to eat. An instinct to drink. His eyes and nose cleared at the same time, he could see an opening in one of the walls. It was hard to detect, the white never ended and blurred until his pupils flared and barely caught the thin lines showing a way out. He wanted to use his eyes, put them in charge. His nose, however, was starting to take the lead. It had found the scent of something to eat, it sensed the damp of water. A battle had begun between medulla and cerebellum. Those two ancient urges, flight or fight. He was trying to find a way in between. He felt the pull of his body to run without thought, he felt the pull back of his mind to hold his urging sinews. Torn between two rivals struggling in his head. His belly was no help raising its voice in a grumble. He stumbled forward two more steps. He looked left, he looked right both a long stretch of unending white. There was that push again deep down inside, he had to get out of wherever he was. His nose and legs pulled him to the left, they knew their needs would be fulfilled. He let his nose and legs lead him, he was all desire. The scent became stronger, he had never smelled food like that. A memory was triggered to baguette and cheese and the warm, sweet swallow of wine. He fell completely into that feeling, scampering along, he felt a twitch of slight pain in his head. He pushed it away. He was there, a lump of desire. Poison. A trap. Everything went black. He woke to pain, hunger and thirst. But there was something more there as his throbbing head forced his eyes to open. Everything was all white. Had he been there before? He felt a rumble in his belly and twitch in his head. Two desires awoke—-to eat or to find out where he was. He was surrounded by white, he lifted himself off his belly and squinted his eyes. There in that unendless white he saw the thin lines of an exit. He pushed himself in that direction and when he arrived at that opening, he was overwhelmed with the scent of something so sweet—-it triggered a memory of a delightful picnic. He pulled his body back from pointing to the left. Something overcame him as he felt an ever growing pressure in his head. It could be a trap, maybe the better choice would be to go right. To find where he was and maybe a way out. The cerebellum had taken the upper hand. His belly held still as he made his plans. He rushed down the right side, turned only with the consideration of his eyes. No thought bothered him as his way parted into tunnels. That was a mistake, he came where the white walls had no openings more. Dead end. A snap. Everything went black. He woke to pain, hunger and thirst. He felt his head might burst. Hunger and thirst took second place. He forced them away as he wondered if he had been there before. His nose pulled one way to something it wanted. His eyes in another direction searching for the way. He stopped it all, breathed deep and thought a moment. More thoughts came, he knew he’d been altered; he knew he had been changed. Those gray cells in his head were multiplying in a rampage. A push against that tight skull. Outside and in, he was locked in a maze. He wanted to speak, to shout—-there was just a squeak. He looked back and saw what was balancing him from a fall—-the long pink tail waved back at him. Was he that? An experiment, a human brain in a rat’s body and head. He panicked, he shook, he was too much man in a beast. That skull was too small, it couldn’t hold it all. A stroke. Fully lamed. Everything went black. He woke to pain, hunger and thirst. His head felt as if it might burst. His ears heard a jumbled mumble from above. The light too bright to see. But the mumble rose to a rumble and then he heard words, words he could understand. “Do you think it’ll take this time. Have the cells gathered and split enough?” The other voice—-somehow familiar—-in a strong, certain tone, “Well, they are mine, so I have no doubts about it at all!” There was giggle from those two above, he knew it was a joke. A joke was something he had heard before. But he was no joke, or so he hoped. He felt them touch a spot right where his tail met his body, a searing surge of lightning snapped his body straight. His mind was clear and forgot his senses. He had to find an exit, it was the only way out. His eyes followed the walls, found where there were openings, considered the contour of the whole. Between the cerebellum and medulla the hippocampus began its surge. The last of the base urges were stilled, the overwrought thought of higher cognitation calmed to a soft voice in the back. The hippocampus was in the lead, it understood space and location. It pulled him along. He had to get out, before everything went black once again. His memory held. His push to the end had become his only desire. And there it was, the end, the way out. With a last push of mind and body he was out of that maze and stared at two large forms, one grabbed him in both hands and he felt a long pain in his rump. A needle, he knew. A dizziness. Everything went black. He woke without pain, without hunger, without thirst. The gray cells had grown, they held all that they had learned. His body, however, had no flesh—-no instinctual desires. The experiment had worked in that labyrinth of digital trenches. Now that manufactured brain was held in the newest alloy. NewTimes Bionics had found, the best mixture of man and metal. He was in charge for search and rescue out on that military plain. He would help those wounded, those who were just remains, to find a way out—-a way back so they could be used again. Those splitting gray cells, now held in his artificial head, were found in scores more. They all hoped with determination they would win this Third World War.