Page 5 of Milk & Malice: Vadik
Day and night, I went over every bone, muscle, and tendon. From her skull to her toes. The schematics were a work of art, just like her mammary glands. My crude sketches made my dead heart sing. I ate, slept, and breathed Lena.
As for her health, she now took enhanced vitamins.
Planted in her drinks.
Moya milaya korova.
My sweet cow.
My brothers thought they had pets?
Once Lena was transformed, she would become the supreme pet.
More cow than human.
Chapter 2
Vadik
The extended versions of The Nutcracker and Swan Lake played on loop in the background. The Pakhan’s ruthless reputation for blood, torture, and mayhem had slowed the intake of patients for me.
Thekrolikpicked up the slack, providing me with men and women who sold children. Unfortunately, there weren’t that many women—but it gave me an opportunity to test two.
This one was old, but the hormone implant still made her mammary glands leak. At least her joints were healthy enough for the procedure. She didn’t appreciate being scalped, but that was the least of her worries. I was about to saw the top of her skull off to check the bone density and use the microscrews to see if my theory would work in practice.
I hummed over the saw as the music reached its crescendo.
Glad I had the hindsight to gag her.
Women’s screams were worse than the men’s—higher-pitched. Piercing.
Blood splattered on my mask.
I fucking loved my job.
I’d have done it all for free.
???
Three a.m. was the time I chose to whisk my milk cow away into the night.
It was the quietest hour—between the last drunk and the first commuter. The time when even the moon seemed disinterested in what might unfold beneath it. The security cameras had been painted earlier that week. Precision work. Not sloppy spray—brushed on slowly, layer by layer, until every lens blinked black.
My apartment was already emptied, sterilised. Wiped clean like a surgical tray. What few tools I needed were packed and waiting in the vehicle.
The crate was padded. Temperature-controlled. Humane.
Of course.
She drank it every night. Her sweet little indulgence. That overpriced, organic black cherry drink with the glass bottle and the gold lid. She liked how it tasted. She never once questioned the pills in it. Tonight’s dose was higher. Enough to quiet her, not kill her. I’d calculated every milligram.
Lena lay curled inside the laundry cart, limbs folded like laundry still warm from the dryer. Her skin had flushed from the sedative. Delicate. Breath light. Muscles loose and obedient.
I chuckled as I adjusted her arms, tucking them tight against her chest.
She looked peaceful—almost serene.
Soon, that wouldn’t be a problem.
