Page 34 of Reclaimed

My fingers curl in beneath my sleeve, thumbnail picking at the ragged skin around my cuticles as I will my pulse to slow and this seemingly endless evaluation to be over.

Breathe out, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. In, two, three, four.

I startle when Evaluator Phillips suddenly hums to himself, slamming his laptop shut and reaching for the phone on his desk. The corners of his mouth lift into a cryptic grin that offers exactly zero fucking context clues about what’s coming next for me.

He murmurs into the receiver, answering whatever questions being posed with mostly 'yes’ and a few ‘refer to my reports’ before hanging up.

“Good luck out there, A311,” he says with a curt nod as he pushes to his feet, rounding his desk.

Wait, what?

My face screws up in confusion, but I quickly force my expression back to neutral as my head cranes to follow him across the room. He never bothers to look back as he pulls the door open, disappearing into the hall without another word.

Soo… do I just stay here?

“A311,” Miller barks, my head snapping to see his large form crowding the doorway.

“Are you lazy or just stupid?” he spits, his narrowed gaze carrying more contempt than I’ve ever found waiting for me in the mirror.

I know it’s aimed as an insult, but that’s not even what annoys me– it’s that I don’t know what the fuck he’s even talking about. I wasn’t given any instructions or orders.

Is it a prerequisite to be a shitty as fuck communicator in order to work in this place or what?

My lips part, prepared to ask what the hell his malfunction is, but I quickly think better of it. This is not the hill I die on. Instead, I exhale a sigh and wait for him to continue gaslighting me.

“Fucking worthless,” he murmurs. “Let’s go.” He pivots on a heel and stalks out the door, leaving me to scramble to my feet and hurry after him.

“Where are we going?” I ask as I follow him through the biomedical unit, unease skittering up my spine as he takes a right at the end of the hall– the opposite way from where we came. “I thought that was my last evaluation?”

“Shut the fuck up and keep walking,” he growls over his shoulder.

A set of stainless steel doors swing viciously towards me as he shoves through them before stopping in front of a second set of doors. These are frosted glass, ‘Procedure Room 1’ emblazoned across them in big block letters. He swipes his badge over a keypad affixed to the wall and the doors whoosh apart. My eyes narrow as the overly bright lights click on, refracting off of every white and stainless steel surface in the medical suite.

A door across the room opens, a doctor stepping inside. White coat, middle-aged, and unremarkable in every way. Apparently, The Registry has a type.

“Is this the implant or Buyer’s Stitch?” the doctor asks, maneuvering a silver table beside the white padded chair in the center of the room.

My whole body goes rigid.

“Implant,” Miller states.

The doctor nods, turning his attention to me. “Remove your shirt,” he instructs, pulling a sterile tray from a cabinet.

My breath stalls, eyes flicking between the medical tools on the table as the doctor snaps on a pair of latex gloves.

“Shirt off and take a seat,” he repeats, irritation bleeding into his words

I hesitate, my mouth running dry and my shoulders curling inward on instinct.

“Now, Asset,” Miller growls, shoving me.

I pitch forward, stumbling to catch myself on the cold vinyl chair before reluctantly lowering down to sit on it. My fingers curl around the hem of my sweatshirt, pausing in reluctance, but the sound of Miller’s gun shifting has me quickly pulling it off overhead.

Goosebumps pebble on my arms as cold air skates over my exposed skin. Then, without warning, the back of the chair abruptly lowers. The doctor looms over me, grabbing my arm and yanking it above my head. Metal clinks as he fastens my wrist into place, then swipes something wet and cold over my inner bicep. Settling on a chair beside me, he lifts a syringe into the air, my eyes squeezing shut while my heart lurches into my throat.

If I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist, right?

I inhale sharply at the initial pinch as he implants god-knows-what into my arm.