Page 70 of Redemption
“Ah... Well, I guess I’ll be the person to inform you that your sperm count is off the charts. Very virile young man, if I do say so myself.”
“What the fuck would you need my sperm count for?” And then it hits me... how the hell did he get my sperm in the first place? “What the fuck did you do to me?”
“Your initial sample was taken when you were unconscious. A moment made itself known, and we took advantage of the situation, not wanting to let the sample go unused and untested. You understand, I’m sure.”
What the fuck? How? He said they did all this while I was unconscious?
Think...
Think. Think. Think....
I was dreaming.... I was dreaming about Aly... About us and Cole and Jax.... We were... Holy shit... Did they?
“The ends justify the means, my boy,” Forge says, the pompous arrogance in his voice betraying the smile I might not be able to see, but know is proudly showcased on his despicable face.
Despite my lack of sight, I see red. Blood-drenched, psychotic, rain down fire, RED. “You... You fucking bastards. I’ll fucking kill you. All of you.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonishes. “None of that. Now, let’s get you fixed up and presentable for initiation. The Ascension unit should be ready in about a week, as should you now that you’re able to rest and rehabilitate uninhibited.”
He pats my leg a couple of times, ignoring my disdain at his unwanted touch, before he walks out, his steps echoing throughout the room.
My anger surrounds me, pressing down on me like a weighted blanket. Comforting and unyielding. Those fucking bastards. As soon as I’m free of these goddamn restraints,they’re dead. They’re all dead. I’ll end every fucking one of them for taking what wasn’t theirs to take.
The ends justify the means.What Machiavellian bullshit did we end up getting ourselves into? Regardless of how it presents itself, this isn’t some simple town. It’s a farce. A living play, acted out in real time to lure in unsuspecting survivors. And to do what? What did that guy say he wanted me for?
Ascension? Regeneration?
What the fuck does that even mean? Is it a code for something?Regrowth? Rebirth? Renewing something after it’s been damaged or lost?
But what is it they lost? Their livelihood? The future they saw for themselves before the virus? Their friends and family? But they can’t bring them back no matter how much they want to. Once they’re gone, they’re gone. What the fuck does this guy intend to do with me? And what the hell does it have to do with my fucking sperm count?!
My mind spins with different scenarios, each new situation worse than the previous and adding to my unstable state. I can feel the restraints creak and pull under my fury, but they’re thick and durable, withstanding my anger while forcing me to stew in it. Or maybe I’m simply too weak to put up a fight against them.
Hours seem to pass as I lose track of time. Occasionally, someone goes past the closed door, their footsteps causing my pulse to jump before the sound recedes in the distance. It’s not until a while later, after the swelling in my ice-packed-covered eyes finally reduces, that the last person I thought I would see enters the room.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cole
“Alright, Casey. Or, I guess I should say, Lazarus, now,” a middle-aged gentleman, who introduced himself as Locke earlier, says as he enters the room I’ve been kept in for the evening as I waited out my quarantine. “Your tests came back just fine. Happy to report you are immune to the virus. So, you’ll be able to start your duties immediately. That is, if you’re feeling up to it. Could always use another hand or two in this facility, as I’m sure you understand.”
Not wanting to linger in this cage of a room a second longer, I nod in response. “Absolutely, I’d love to join in and help. The sooner, the better.”
I start to climb out of the bed as he takes a closer look at my paperwork, narrowing his eyes at the very bottom of the document. “Huh. It shows you didn’t submit a semen sample. May I ask why?”
I thought someone might notice that. I also thought it was shady as fuck that they asked me to jizz into a cup with absolutely no explanation as to why. They just shoved me and the plastic collection container into the nearest restroom and said to fill it. I refused, telling them I was cursed with erectile dysfunction due to a nasty bit of shrapnel I managed to catch overseas. It’s not true, of course. But the last thing I need is forthem to obtain a sample for something I have no fucking idea about.
The blood tests were consensual, however. Locke informed me they were used to test for blood type and a certain type of antibody related to potential immunity to the current contagion. I had no problem with that, eager to find out my results and equally impressed someone managed to decode the viral components in order to create such a test.
But the lack of transparency was blatantly obvious when it came to a semen analysis. When I asked for more information, they simply said it was routine and to just do it. No questions allowed.
To which I said to myself, “Hell to the fuck no.” And to them, “My dick’s busted and I can’t get it up, sorry not sorry.”
I tell the same to Locke, albeit in more savory terms, and he nods with a wince, giving his condolences to my nonexistent loss. “Well then, since there’s nothing more for me to do, let’s get you out there and making some rounds, shall we?”
We step out of the makeshift medical room and into the belly of the Infirmary. It’s nothing much, just a long hallway with rooms on either side. A desk sits just in front of the doors—a welcome stop for each new visitor to the building. Locke leads me to the desk and to a stack of clipboards on the left. He lifts one from the very top and thumbs through the contents before turning back to me.
“Stitch said you were prior medical. That correct?”
