"Yes," the professor said. "I definitely need to extract this reproductive organ for more thorough study in my personal laboratory at the dacha!"

  ?"Petro Grigorovych, I require additional resources!"

  ?"I need a three-liter jar and alcohol to preserve the biomaterial!"

  ?Lieutenant Colonel Grafinov replied in surprise: "We only have a liter of alcohol left, and even that is currently held as evidence."

  ?"Bring the alcohol quickly! We’ll fill the rest of the space in the jar with beer! In this solution, biomaterial can be preserved for practically centuries! I discovered this formula back in my student years as an applicant at the Koryatsky National University of Biochemistry!"

  ?"I was young and foolish and didn't patent it! Now the whole world uses my discovery!"

  ?"Your 'evidence' is a trifle compared to the discoveries that will take place in this cell!"

  ?Lieutenant Colonel Grafinov gave the order, and after a while, a three-liter jar, a liter of alcohol, and four bottles of beer stood on the table.

  ?"Well now, I see the improvised laboratory is fully equipped," the professor continued. "I am proceeding to action!"

  ?"Beginning the extirpation of the biomaterial!" the professor announced his actions, reaching the pliers toward the stranger's enormous organ, accompanied by the clatter of typewriter keys.

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  ?A sharp, drawing pain in the groin area forced Vasyl Butylkin to snap his eyes wide open.

  ?He lifted his trembling head, mangled by the multicooker.

  ?Taking in the scene: some humanoid is pulling his foreskin with pliers, brandishing a kitchen knife over him.

  ?In a pained voice, he groaned: "Don't touch me, you barbarian! I didn't travel trillions of gigaparsecs just to have my cock cut off!"

  ?Professor Probirkin dropped the pliers in horror and recoiled from the table.

  ?The sergeant, holding the electric plug in his hands, practically froze in the pose of a mummy.

  ?Lieutenant Colonel Grafinov reached for his holster, while the secretary Anastasia dove under the table with her eyes squeezed shut.

  ?Behind the door, Ivan Ivanovych Kuvalda and Grigory Reshotkin were thumping and shouting.

  ?Feeling bold after his previous internal disinfection, the Professor declared: "He has already adapted to our language, I believe, on a subconscious level!"

  ?Suddenly the sergeant, coming to his senses and following the direct order, shoved the plug into the socket.

  ?The crumpled multicooker sparked and smoked. Vaska, fueled by adrenaline and pain, instantly ripped it off his head, revealing his natural face to civilization. His hair, smeared with manure and clay, stuck out like antennas in different directions. His teeth were missing in a checkerboard pattern, and two crimson bruises shone under his eyes.

  ?"Stop! Electrical influence!" the Professor shouted.

  ?"Stand down!" Colonel Grafinov added.

  ?The pale sergeant, with trembling hands, yanked the plug out of the socket.

  ?"Nastya!" the Professor yelled. "Take notes!"

  ?The secretary's shaky hand reached out from under the table and dragged the typewriter down with a clatter. By the light of a lighter, right there under the table, she began selectively clicking the keys.