短文生成结果

Dr. Aris Thorne’s clinic, *New Dawn Genetics*, smelled of antiseptic and a **pungent** floral air-freshener that never quite won the battle. His life’s work was **Insemination**, a perfected art of placing perfect embryos into carefully selected surrogate **wombs**. But his latest project, Project Regurgitation, was different. It wasn’t about creation, but extraction—a forced, violent reversal of the natural order. His test subject, known only as **I-7**, lay on the table. She was a donor, yes, but not a willing one. Aris believed great minds could be physically reborn, and he needed the biological material to do it. The machine hummed, a grotesque parody of life. **Regurgitation** wasn’t gentle. It was a brutal, physical **abomination**. As the process began, I-7’s body rebelled. The sharp scent of **urination** mixed with the **pungent** cream pie a careless intern had left in the lab. The air grew thick with the smell of bile and betrayal. Aris watched the monitors, not the woman. “Almost there,” he whispered. But what the machine retrieved wasn’t pure genius. His scans had missed something. Tiny, twisted **parasites** of thought—not just knowledge, but the subject’s own terror and rage—came flooding back into him through a faulty feedback valve. He stumbled back, clutching his head. I-7’s memories, her pain, her furious will to live, **inseminated** his own mind. He saw his work through her eyes: the cold metal, the violation, the profound **abomination** of it all. Her final, defiant thought echoed in his skull, not as a word, but as a pure, clear command. He looked at the machine, then at the woman, now peacefully still. The **cream pie** on the side table seemed idiotic, a relic of a world that no longer existed for him. With a sudden, decisive movement, Aris picked up a heavy wrench. He didn’t think of his funding, his reputation, or his god-complex. He only thought one thing, her gift to him, the perfect verb for the ending she demanded. He swung the wrench into the machine’s core, sparks flying. “Yeah,” he grunted to the empty room, to the ghost in his mind. “**Fuck** this.” And for the first time, he was finally curing something.