I'm Trapped in the Block

Martin looked at the wealthy woman in disbelief.

The wrinkles on her face had mostly vanished, her skin had become exceptionally supple and smooth, and the dull age spots were completely gone.

Even the dark circles under her eyes, a result of long-term exhaustion, had disappeared, replaced by the faint, alluring swell of youthful skin.

"Mr. Martin, are you testing the results of my procedure?" the wealthy woman asked teasingly, feeling his hand stroking her cheek.

But Martin ignored her, walking around to her side and lifting a lock of her hair.

Her previously white hair was gone, replaced entirely by a brown shade similar to Anna’s. Even her roots, once blonde, were slowly turning brown.

"This shade of brown is actually quite lovely. I’ve always wanted to try this color," the wealthy woman said with a smile.

Martin reined in his shock and asked, "What happened to your white hair?"

"It all fell out the day after the procedure. I was worried, but then it grew back the very next day—all brown. The results are pretty great, don’t you think?"

The more the wealthy woman spoke, the more excited she became. She began to gush, telling Martin all about the changes she’d experienced over the past few days and praising the wonders of the Blood Exchange Therapy.

As she spoke, she grabbed Martin’s hand again and whispered, "Mr. Martin, I’ve been feeling a bit... lonely the past couple of days. Is that normal?"

She gave Martin a sultry look, her body slowly leaning in until her smooth pajamas pressed against his lab coat.

"The procedure was just completed, ma’am. You need to rest," Martin said, carefully pushing her away. "This feeling just means you’re recovering very well."

"I’ll be back to check on you in a few days. Please get some rest."

After offering a few more words of advice, Martin beat a hasty retreat from the wealthy woman’s room. He hurriedly exchanged pleasantries with the other socialites before escaping back to his office.

Once the door was closed, he could no longer control his trembling.

His hands trembling, Martin lit a cigarette and sank into his chair, his mind a chaotic mess.

’The Blood Exchange Therapy... it actually worked?’

He simply couldn’t comprehend it.

Martin knew what a massive scam his so-called "high-tech therapy" was. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

He might be a con man, but he wasn’t so delusional as to believe his own lies.

Yet the changes in Anna and the wealthy woman defied all logical explanation.

After a long time, Martin still couldn’t come up with a rational explanation.

He forced down his anxiety, telling himself it had to be a coincidence.

’Maybe it’s really just the diet and routine at the health retreat.’

’But what about Anna?’

As he was agonizing over it, a subordinate knocked on his door.

"Boss, a new client is here."

"Right."

...

Martin tried to put the matter out of his mind. ’It’s a scam anyway,’ he thought. ’Better results are just icing on the cake.’

But that evening, he found himself walking to the laboratory.

The security guard was startled to see him, but quickly straightened up. "Mr. Martin! Can I help you with anything?"

"It’s nothing. I’m just running an experiment."

Martin replied nonchalantly and walked into the laboratory.

The place hadn’t been used in a long time. It used to be where they’d show clients the various lab mice to sell them on the dream.

But as the reputation of the Blood Exchange Therapy grew, there was no need to bring clients here anymore. Still, the lab was kept operational, just in case.

Martin went inside, found two lab mice, and began the blood exchange procedure.

Once the procedure was finished, he sat nearby and waited to see if there would be any changes in the mice.

As expected, aside from being a little weak, the mice showed no unusual changes.

Martin felt like an idiot. He’d run this experiment countless times, and the result was always the same.

’What am I even doing?’

He cursed himself under his breath.

Martin gathered his things, ready to leave. But just as he stood up, he saw something appear on the white mouse.

It was a tuft of rapidly growing black fur.

That’s right. Martin had chosen one black mouse and one white one. He just wanted to see if their fur colors would swap.

And now, just as he’d suspected, it was happening.

He watched in astonishment as the white mouse’s fur began to fall out in clumps, replaced by fine black hairs that spread across its body like spilled ink.

The change was incredibly rapid. In the blink of an eye, the white mouse had turned completely jet-black.

He looked at the other mouse. The originally black one was now covered in white fur.

"They really swapped!"

Martin stood stunned in the laboratory, reeling. In that instant, his entire understanding of medicine had been shattered.

After he calmed down slightly, he repeated the experiment several times, each with the same result.

But he also discovered something else: the exchange could only be done once.

If he tried to repeat the procedure on the same subjects, the two mice would have no reaction at all.

’It can’t be just the fur.’

Remembering the changes in Anna and the wealthy woman, Martin began another experiment.

He took an elderly mouse and a young one from the lab’s enclosures and performed the blood exchange procedure.

The expected happened. The old mouse quickly became lively and energetic, while the young mouse seemed to have had its time stolen, aging rapidly before his eyes.

Martin couldn’t believe his eyes.

This was the real Blood Exchange Therapy! The scam he’d been peddling had actually come true!

At that moment, Martin didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified. He felt his own heart pounding in his chest as an unknown dread washed over him.

Just then, another thought occurred to him, and he began another procedure.

This time, he selected mice with incompatible blood types.

After the procedure, he waited quietly for the inevitable hemolytic reaction from the mismatched blood.

But the two mice remained perfectly lively. After a short while, their fur colors swapped.

No hemolytic reaction!

"No, that’s not how it should be."

Martin’s gaze fell on a nearby hamster cage. A daring idea formed in his mind.

Some time later, he stared in a daze at the two animals on the lab bench, taking an involuntary step backward.

One was a hamster that had once been a mouse.

The other was a mouse that had once been a hamster.

"How can this be happening? How?!"

With a surge of manic resolve, Martin rushed to the blood bank, grabbed a bag of human blood used for experiments, and injected it into a mouse. He then used a syringe to draw out the mouse’s original blood.

He was like a man possessed, his eyes shot with blood, his hands trembling uncontrollably as he worked.

The procedure was over in moments.

Leaning over the glass tank, Martin stared intently at the mouse, which was now barely breathing from his rough handling.

The mouse was curled up, like an infant.

Its eyes migrated to the front of its face. Its forehead began to bulge, its head enlarged, its ears visibly shrank, and its limbs elongated.

A moment later, as if seeing something that pushed him over the edge, Martin tore the lid off the tank. He plunged his hand inside, grabbed the creature, and squeezed.

Blood and flesh splattered.

Gore coated the glass walls of the tank, and his hands were slick with blood.

Martin gasped for air, his eyes vacant. The shock reverberated endlessly through his mind.

He staggered back, collapsing into his chair, which tipped over from the force, sending him crashing to the floor.

Dawn was breaking, and a gentle ray of sunlight pierced the laboratory gloom.

But Martin just sat there on the floor, a pathetic heap, his hands caked in filthy blood.