Specimen(107)

“It’s all right,” she says softly. “You’re safe.”

I twist my hand around so it’s palm up, trying to grasp something to hold onto, but there’s nothing there until I feel her hand in mine. I thread my fingers through hers and hold on tightly.

“Not too hard now.” Her quiet voice calms me, and I loosen my grip.

I look her over. She’s tall, athletically built, and dressed in a white lab coat with a medical insignia on the left breast. Her light brown hair is coiled around the back of her head in a simple bun, though there are a few stray wisps around her ears and neck. There’s a tiny white scar behind her right ear, just barely visible under her hair.

“What happened to you?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“That scar on your head.”

“Oh, that.” She touches the spot with her fingertips. “It’s just a childhood injury. I fell out of a tree and conked my head pretty hard. I don’t remember it very clearly.”

I think about her being young, hurt, and afraid. An overwhelming desire to wrap her up in my arms and keep her safe permeates my skin, my muscles, my very being. I stare at her as she takes my vital signs and taps them into a tablet computer.

Her skin looks soft, and I want to raise my hand to stroke the side of her face, but I can’t move. I want to kiss the scar on her head and promise her no more harm will ever come to her.

“I’m sorry you were hurt.”

“It’s all right,” she says, chuckling softly. “Like I said, I barely remember it.”

“I don’t remember anything,” I tell her. “Nothing at all. I don’t know who I am.”

“It’s all right. That’s normal.”

“It is?” I don’t understand how that can possibly be normal under any circumstances. “Normal for what?”

“Considering what you’ve been through.”

“Was I in an accident?” A brief flash in my brain brings forth a series of loud bangs and the scent of something burning. “Was I attacked?”

“No.” She shakes her head and runs her fingers over my arm again. “Nothing like that.”

“What, then?”

“You’re a volunteer for a special project.” She gives me a huge, breathtaking smile that goes straight to my dick. “There are only a few of you who were able to withstand the process, but you’re doing just fine. I’m really happy with your results.”

The throbbing of my cock is distracting, and it takes me a second to comprehend her words.

“Results?”

“I’m sorry,” she says with a shake of her head. “Let me start a little slower.”

She pulls a rolling chair to the side of the bed, sits and leans close to me.

“We live in dangerous times,” she says. “A war that has been fought for decades isn’t going well for our side. You’re a soldier in that war. You volunteered to be a part of a project—a project that has made you faster and stronger than anyone else.”

I consider her words. Something about them fits into my head; round peg, round hole.

“What’s my name?” I ask.

“You are designated number seventy-two of eighty-nine. I thought I’d call you Sten for short. Seven, two, eight, nine—S-T-E-N. Sten. Get it?”

I nod, but I can’t say that I understand it. It feels oddly familiar to me though I have no idea why that would be. Like the idea of being a soldier, the name just seems to fit.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“My name is Doctor Riley Grace,” the beautiful woman says. “You can call me Riley.”

“Riley.” I like her name. I can practically feel the syllables vibrating through my skin. I like how it sounds in my ear and the way it feels on my tongue.

I’d like to feel her on my tongue.

“Relax now,” Riley says. “I’m going to give you an injection.”

I focus on her face as she prepares a hypodermic needle and presses it to the inside of my arm. As she presses down on the plunger, I feel a surge radiating from the injection site through the rest of my body like a low-level electrical pulse.

My body stiffens at the sensation, and Riley discards the needle and strokes the inside of my left arm until I calm. She keeps her hand against my skin, rubbing gently, but the calm in my body doesn’t reflect the turmoil in my head.

I have no memories of my past, yet everything around me feels familiar. The lab, the equipment around me—even the sharp sting as the needle punctures my skin seems like a reoccurring condition. It’s not a comforting feeling but familiar all the same.

This isn’t right. None of this is right.