What does it feel like to be woken up by hunger?
It's like having your stomach clamped by iron pliers, twisted 360 degrees, then again to 720, repeating endlessly. The pain is sharp, persistent, almost torturous. It forces you to grit your teeth, clutch your stomach, and curl up like a boiled shrimp.
In that moment, no one ever thinks they're "lucky" to be woken up by hunger.
Instead, they instinctively notice the unfamiliar environment—the different bed, the unfamiliar room. But there's no time for deep reflection. It's all instinct: see, feel, respond.
"You're awake, stranger."
The hoarse voice belonged to a frail old man with white hair. His only well-maintained feature was a neatly combed mustache. The rest of him wasn't exactly messy, but he certainly wasn't meticulous.
He sat beside an unlit fireplace, holding a clear glass of cheap, amber-colored whiskey. So, was he the one who had just spoken?
The reconnected thoughts triggered a stabbing pain in the man's head—so sharp that it nearly eclipsed the hunger cramps. But now, the once chaotic mind felt more composed, almost normal. Maybe he was adapting. Or perhaps his powers had temporarily shut down.
He began to truly observe his surroundings.
Wait—was the old man no longer speaking Russian? Had he switched to English?
As a product of exam-oriented education, the man had learned English in school. Not well, admittedly. He struggled with conversations, often catching only one out of ten words. So why could he understand now?
Was the old man just asking if he was awake?
Strangely, he understood it perfectly.
As his thoughts twisted down that path, another jolt of pain struck his brain, causing his jaw to clench.
The old man, having received no reply, merely observed the strange expressions play across the stranger's face—a dumbfounded stare, then a pain-contorted grimace, then a dazed scan of the room, filled with confusion and surprise. Finally, the man's face froze in a constipated wince.
This bizarre series of expressions made the old man suspect he had picked up someone mentally unstable. And these days, the mentally ill—aside from the clearly inhuman anomalies—were the most unpredictable.
He subtly reached for the shotgun hidden beside the chair, just in case this stranger decided to attack.
Then, the awakened man remembered something vital: he was starving. He looked to the side and saw a plate with a few round pieces of bread and cold fries. Without hesitation, he grabbed a handful and shoved them into his mouth.
Ordinary stomachs, after prolonged hunger, can barely handle solid food. Liquids are preferred, or the stomach may reject everything. But his "steel stomach" could digest metal, let alone fries and bread.
There wasn't much food, and he devoured it quickly. But even eating was unpleasant.
From the moment the food touched his tongue, every organ and cell of his digestive system began upgrading under the influence of his super senses. If they hadn't, the overwhelming stimulation might have caused them to collapse.
Simultaneously, the upgrade process, combined with the intense taste and internal changes, flooded his brain with an avalanche of data. Fortunately, the now-stable mind processed it all without shutting down. Instead of losing control, his brain simply became overwhelmed with chaotic noise.
It took deliberate effort to sort through the confusion.
It was like every second of eating was dissected into high-definition still frames, each one annotated with exhaustive detail. Even irrelevant data forced its way into his consciousness.
The information felt redundant—and yet there were frustrating blind spots.
For example, when chewing the fries, he immediately identified the starch content. But many other flavors and ingredients remained unknown. Not because the world lacked this knowledge—he simply didn't have the memories.
It was like trying to complete a puzzle with key pieces missing, leaving glaring gaps.
The unknowns irritated him. But oddly, that emotion became a stabilizer, like a grounding wire. It stopped his thoughts from spiraling and helped form a consistent mental framework—a set of thinking rules. He could finally reason instead of drift.
Back in the real world, all of this happened in less than a second in the old man's eyes. He saw the strange man eat, freeze, then seem to settle down with regained composure.
And that's when the man realized—he wasn't wearing anything.
Instantly, he recoiled like a startled schoolgirl, yanking the bedsheet to cover his chest.
The old man was stunned by the gesture. He couldn't stay silent forever, so he began to explain.
"Yesterday, I found you naked, lying on the beach, getting washed by the waves. Figured no sane man would bathe that way. Took all my strength to drag you to my car and bring you here. Dried you off, warmed you up—nearly hypothermic, you were. Then tossed you onto my only bed. Don't expect a dying old man to dress you."
With that, he tossed a set of clothes onto the bed.
"I didn't find any luggage on you, so just wear this set. Best I've got."
Strangely, even though his previous self could barely understand a line of spoken English without subtitles, he now grasped every word the old man said.
Without speaking, he reached for the shirt. But his strength was still hard to control. As he pulled it over his head, the fabric tore into strips like tissue paper.
Both the man and the old-timer stared at the hanging cloth pieces in mutual embarrassment.
The old man, unfazed, pulled another piece of clothing from a nearby pile—who knows if they were clean—and tossed it over. Judging by the smell, they had been washed, just not folded.
This time, the man exercised caution and adjusted his strength. He carefully dressed himself, then slipped on the pants beneath the sheets. There was no underwear, but that couldn't be helped.
The clothes, being the old man's, were a size too small. But the man's body was so thin that he could manage. The only issue was the cuffs and pants legs riding up slightly.
Still, he was clothed now.
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