NOVEL WEB 0015 – The Smell of Blood
"Almost there, almost there. The new book will be out soon."
"This time, I won’t evade my responsibilities as an author anymore. It will be updated in a couple of days! Please believe me, just one last time, I beg you!" Zoe Carter implored, her voice tinged with a sincerity that didn’t quite reach her editor, Lucas.
Despite her fervent assurances, Lucas remained unconvinced. After finally convincing him that she would make an earnest effort to outline something within two days, Zoe managed to placate him—barely. She closed the shaky video app on her smartphone with a sigh.
Rising from her bed, she opened her writer’s assistant app in the enclosed room, glancing at the outline she had hastily scrawled a year ago. The document was dishearteningly sparse, boasting only a title with one half of the quotation marks included; the other half remained absent, an unintentional symbol of her procrastination.
As she noted the last edited time of the document, a pang of frustration hit her; it had been several days before the looming deadline, yet urgency seemed to elude her. What had begun as a delightful hobby had morphed into a strenuous obligation—a means of survival that now felt more like an arduous climb toward an unattainable summit.
Her savings were adequate for the moment, rendering the act of writing a distant necessity. But after a moment's reflection, she realized that living off her dwindling reserves was not sustainable. With a sense of resolve, Zoe added a new item to her short-term plan, refining it into a more structured list:
[Short-term Plan:]
- Morning run at seven.
- Leisure and entertainment at eight.
- Explore personal changes in the afternoon and verify related hypotheses. (Rest and entertain when hypotheses run dry.)
- Deep exercise at nine in the evening (pushing physical limits for testing).
- Record changes and summarize the day at eleven-thirty.
- Begin training the sense of smell after completing the summary at midnight.
- Stop training the sense of smell after four in the morning, then start writing web novels.
- To be added.
Writing web novels had officially made its way into her short-term plan.
After a brief review, Zoe found no issues with her new agenda. Glancing at her phone, she noted it was January 23rd, 9:45 AM.
“It seems it’s almost time to meet Benny for lunch,” she mused, recalling their conversation on January 21st when she had requested sleeping pills. They had agreed to meet for lunch at eleven that day.
Her reasons for inviting Benny were twofold: firstly, her recent experiment involving controlled eating and subsequent vomiting made going out seem like a clever way to hide her current habits. Secondly, there was their tacit agreement—every time Benny assisted her, she would treat him to lunch in return.
After all, she had little else to offer him. Having visited Benny's house countless times, she had seen his eclectic collection of questionable artworks and antiques. Although she couldn’t identify their worth, she was certain of one thing: the several gold coins he had given her from the ancient Umayyad Kingdom were indeed real gold.
Thus, Zoe suspected Benny had a remarkable past, one that made her wary of offering him money as a token of gratitude. This seemingly carefree man, who appeared to have renounced all responsibility, certainly wasn’t short on funds, but his passion for food was undeniable.
With just over an hour until their meeting, Zoe hadn’t yet mapped out the day’s itinerary. Living in accordance with her short-term plan had kept her occupied, leaving little room for frivolity. Now seemed the perfect moment to plan.
Opening her map and review apps, she began searching for new trendy restaurants nearby. Benny had discerning taste, often indulging in wines from esteemed vineyards, making it challenging to please him. However, choosing a recently popular spot known for its unique flair might satisfy his appetite for critique.
Zoe vividly recalled the fervent rants he had delivered the last time they visited a trendy establishment. A few quick searches revealed several well-regarded options, and after a simple comparison of distances, she settled on one.
With her decision made, she knocked on the door next door. A moment later, Benny emerged, study materials in one hand and a pen in the other. Zoe could faintly hear the sounds of a video call echoing from his room, suggesting he had recently taken on a tutoring job. While skeptical of Benny’s newfound diligence, she opted not to pry.
“Shall we go for lunch?” Zoe asked, showing him the introduction to the trendy restaurant on her phone.
“The body is the capital of revolution; skipping a meal really makes one hungry,” Benny replied, offering a wry grin.
“Give me five minutes,” he added, a mishmash of phrases escaping his lips. He retreated into his room to stow away his materials.
After a brief exchange on the video call, Benny shut down his computer, and they descended the elevator together. Their journey continued to the nearby subway station, where they boarded Line Four, following the directions displayed on the navigation app.
As they rode in silence, each engrossed in their phones, the announcement of their approaching station chimed through the speakers.
"If you don’t eat chillies, drink cold drinks instead. Sun City Metro reminds you, the next station is City of Hamsterpragg…"
Emerging from the station, Zoe and Benny arrived at a charcoal-grilled barbecue restaurant nestled within a bustling shopping mall. The decor and atmosphere seemed promising for a trendy venue.
After they settled at a table and began ordering, Zoe’s focus shifted as the myriad scents enveloped her. Her heightened sense of smell felt almost overwhelming, as though her auditory perception was being drowned out.
In this barbecue restaurant, the odors swirled chaotically, filled with the greasy scent of grilled meats, the acrid smoke of charcoal, and the heady aroma of numerous spices. It was an experience entirely new to her.
While most would find the overpowering combination of cumin and chili powder suffocating, Zoe, with her canine-like nose, had trained herself to adapt. Fortunately, her body had changed remarkably; her control over her senses had vastly improved over the past few days.
Taking a moment to breathe, she reined in the cacophony of scents, letting them blend into a manageable symphony. The world around her, once muted, came roaring back to life.
Before them lay two portions of grilled Australian Wagyu beef. Benny sampled a piece, his brow furrowing in discontent as he set down his knife and fork, launching into an animated critique.
“This is merely cow’s knee, costing about thirty euros per pound! It pales in comparison to the Australian M7 Wagyu, worth at least three hundred!” he exclaimed, gesticulating wildly.
“The audacity of merchants to substitute inferior goods for superior ones is a common trick!” He continued, the exasperation bubbling over. “Even after deducting costs, the profit margins here are astronomical—more than three hundred percent! It’s capitalism at its worst!”
Zoe listened with amusement, taking a careful bite of the beef, masking her inability to taste anything. “I’m not as talented as you; I can’t discern the flavors,” she replied, sipping her water to settle her stomach.
“When profits reach ten percent, some get restless; at fifty, some take risks; at a hundred, they flout the law; and at three hundred, they fear nothing, not even the gallows! Carl Heinrich knew it all.”
“Shall we head downstairs to that place we like later?” Zoe suggested, referring to another restaurant in the vicinity.
“The one downstairs? Absolutely.” Benny nodded, then opened his phone to look up the restaurant’s enterprise codes, readying to file a complaint against their current dining experience.
Watching him, Zoe shook her head, bemused. Benny's propensity for complaints was well-known to her; she had witnessed it time and again. His reluctance to use his real identity online had become a curious quirk—only "Benny" felt like the truth amidst a tangle of fabricated personas.
“Go on ahead; I’ll be right back,” Zoe said, rising to excuse herself.
With that, she strolled toward the women’s restroom, fully aware she had no real need to go. Ever since she had discovered her peculiar lack of appetite, she had found her physical needs dwindling. Whether from the experimental food she had consumed or the plain water that brought her no nausea, her body had adjusted to this strange new reality.
As she moved through the throng of diners, a profound sense of alienation washed over her. Though her personality remained intact, an inexplicable distance had formed between her and those around her. This was not merely a product of isolation; Zoe understood that she was fundamentally different now.
Pausing mid-step, she inhaled deeply, suddenly aware of an unsettling scent emanating from the restroom—a smell that didn’t belong. With her acute sensitivity, she recognized it instantly: blood. Not the menstrual variety, which she had learned to identify, but fresh and unsettling, as though something had just occurred.