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Sitting upright in the hospital bed, Andre glanced around the sterile room, then down at his bare legs—both covered in coarse black hair. His left calf was wrapped in a thick bandage.
This body… twenty-three years old, wasn't it? He gave a half-laugh. "The Soviets really don't do things halfway," he muttered to himself. Hairy, strong, and built like a tank. It was like evolution hadn't quite finished its job.
With a grim smile, he resigned himself to his new form. If he had to be a 'hairy brute,' he'd be the most infamous one around. He'd fly a steel warbird to the edge of space, strike fear into the skies, and make NATO sweat bullets every time his callsign lit up a radar screen.
Thinking back on the last two days of flight and combat, Andre felt a surge of pride—and a flicker of uncertainty about what came next.
"Coo, coo."
A soft sound interrupted his thoughts. A white dove flapped to the windowsill, landing gently on the frame. It cocked its head at him, as if offering a greeting.
Curious, Andre shifted, testing his leg. It still held weight. Slowly, leaning against the wall, he made his way to the window.
Outside, green grass swayed under the breeze, and birch trees lined a peaceful garden. In the distance, he could see the silhouette of a tall church spire and the orderly sprawl of city blocks. It looked like a proper Soviet city—large, structured, and stoic.
If he had to guess, this was likely Vladivostok—the capital of Primorsky Krai and the biggest city in the Soviet Far East. He had likely been airlifted here from Qiuguyevka after his rough landing. Given the organization of Soviet military medical facilities, this could only be an air defense hospital.
The dove took a few confident hops toward Andre's hand, clearly expecting a snack. Its eyes sparkled with expectation. It must've made a habit of visiting patients.
Just then, the door swung open behind him with a loud creak.
"Captain Andre! What are you doing?!"
He turned his head.
A woman in a white coat had entered the room, alarmed. Despite the lab coat covering her form, her sharp blue eyes and the golden curls spilling from under her medical cap gave her an elegant air. Her voice carried the authority of someone used to giving orders—and being obeyed.
She crossed the room briskly. "Your leg is still healing. You shouldn't be standing, let alone leaning out a window! You're a pilot. Think about your career… and your future."
Andre managed a sheepish grin, but before he could respond, his leg gave out. The pain shot up his calf like a bolt of lightning.
At the same moment, the disappointed pigeon gave a peck to his hand and fluttered away. Andre's arms, which had been supporting him against the window, slipped free. He lost balance completely.
The female doctor reacted on instinct, stepping forward to catch him, but Andre's weight barreled into her with more force than she expected. She stumbled, about to fall backwards.
Realizing what would happen, Andre twisted his body mid-fall and caught her around the waist, attempting to keep her upright.
His hands landed… lower than intended.
Soft fabric. Warmth. Too close.
The collision knocked the doctor off her feet anyway, but Andre's grip stopped her from hitting the ground directly. Instead, she landed upright—just as he hit the floor with a loud thud.
Pain radiated from his wrist. A sharp crack. His face twisted in agony.
If you touch something you shouldn't, the universe makes sure you pay for it, he thought bitterly.
The whole episode lasted barely a second, but for Andre, it felt like time had slowed. The doctor had closed her eyes during the fall, expecting the worst, only to open them and find herself still standing—thanks to him.
Blushing slightly beneath her surgical mask, she looked down at him with a complex mix of concern and disbelief.
"You okay?" she asked, crouching beside him.
"My hand…" Andre winced, flexing his right wrist. "Dislocated, I think. Nothing too bad."
She took his arm gently and began to examine it with practiced hands.
As she adjusted the joint, Andre's eyes—purely by accident—caught the soft glow of light reflecting off her neckline beneath the coat. He immediately turned his gaze away, embarrassed.
"Crack."
A jolt of pain surged through his wrist. The joint popped back into place. His back broke out in sweat.
"You know how to fix bones too?" he muttered, half impressed, half in pain.
"Of course. I'm a doctor, not just a nurse," she replied calmly. "Come on, let's get an X-ray just in case."
"I think it's fine now, honestly. Your technique's pretty solid. But… I am starving."
At the sound of his stomach growling, the doctor laughed softly.
"Fine. Let's get you back to bed first. Then we'll see about food."
With some effort, she helped him up and guided him back toward the bed. Andre could hear her breath quicken slightly from the strain. As they moved, he found himself oddly comforted by her presence. For the first time in days, something felt… normal.
And maybe, just maybe, this place—this time—wouldn't be so unbearable after all.
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