"Be careful." His voice, as always, was smooth ice - calm, too calm, as if coming from the void. "This sample is the most valuable thing in this body." He seemed completely unconcerned about the fate of the barely alive man under the mask, whose ragged breathing hissed in time with the machine.

Your gaze slid to what lay on the table: glassy eyes staring at the ceiling, fingers, thin and lifeless, only occasionally trembling under anesthesia. And between the spread rib arches... there was something alive, wet pulsating. The heart. The lungs.

The organs still working in the open chest, obeying some of their own, invisible commands. An eerie machine of life in the palm of death. "Keep an eye on the numbers," he added, his tone lacking any excitement, just a cold statement.

"Was he worried about my performance?" the thought flashed through your mind. The heart monitor beeped frantically as you gritted your teeth, trying to pull out a rib fragment with tweezers that suddenly... crunched. The sharp tip remained stuck in the wound. Damn.