ELIANO #5
"We host bonding events like dance, couple activities, group games, and we provide sparring areas for alphas. Alpha-to-alpha competition helps maintain elevated hormone levels among our participants."
Frustration surges through me. "Wait, we have to fight?"
I ran away from that kind of life. Was I really going to be forced back into fighting again?
Gomez chuckles, looking a bit abashed.
"Those activities are entirely optional. No one is forced. We simply encourage participation. It is all recreational. We also offer other forms of interaction, such as bingo, barbecues, and—"
"And how’s that supposed to stimulate hormones? Bingo? Barbecues? That sounds like something for grandpas," Salt mutters.
Gomez remains cheerful and unfazed.
"It is about group interaction. When alphas and betas remain in close proximity, they may experience a certain degree of… mutual jealousy. That also stimulates increased hormone production."
"Sounds like a stretch to me. Hard to believe it’s effective," I mutter, leaning back against the chair, unimpressed.
A hint of unease crosses Gomez’s face. He glances aside, his heart rate picking up slightly, which can sometimes signal a lie.
"And yet it works. We have a high success rate," he assures, his tone suddenly firm, as if he wants to close the subject.
I glance at Salt and catch his gaze lingering on my face for a brief moment. I notice the faint twitch of his brow. Was he also unconvinced by what Gomez just said? We do not press the issue right now, but I am almost certain Mr. Gomez has not given us the full picture.
Then he adds, more conciliatory, "We have efficient programs, trust me.
We offer a range of daily bonding activities, and also make sure evenings are free for couples, encouraging intimacy as early as possible.
" Gomez finishes in a sugary tone, but neither Salt nor I respond. Salt’s cheeks are slightly flushed.
A moment of silence passes.
"How many of your participants undergo a full transition to beta with omega characteristics?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
Gomez immediately brightens, swipes across the screen, and pulls up a chart.
"Take a look here. As many as 34 percent of our participants become pregnant within the first two years, but it’s very possible that within four years we will reach a rate of 43 percent."
"Wow," Salt says, genuine surprise written all over his face. "That’s an incredible statistic." He’s studying the screen. "In the general population, betas get pregnant in only around 2 percent of cases."
"Oh, I see you’ve done some reading," Mr. Gomez says in a tone that sounds like praise directed at a particularly promising student.
"That’s exactly right. Many couples are now entering their third year, and we’ve observed that the longer couples remain in close contact, the more often success occurs. That’s why our program is designed as a long-term commitment. We slowly build pheromonal compatibility and increase stimulation."
Neither Salt nor I comment.
Mr. Gomez slides his finger across the tablet again and shows us something that looks like a hospital or medical clinic.
"The hormone levels are tested regularly. We monitor every fluctuation and try to understand its cause." He shows us a photo of an examination room. "You will be coming here for regular visits twice a week."
"What do those visits involve besides blood tests?" Salt asks hesitantly.
"We do blood tests, sperm viability tests, and check the condition of cervical mucus in betas, since it is often the first indicator of gradual hormonal changes in their bodies."
I notice a sudden flush creep up Salt’s face, almost shy. He bites his lip. "So… internal exams?"
"Yes. Rectal examinations."
Salt’s cheeks are bright red now. "I hope that won’t be a problem?" Gomez raises his eyebrows.
"No…" Salt mutters, but I can tell immediately this won’t be easy for him.
"Have you ever had an exam like that before?" I ask quietly.
He clenches his teeth. "Not your business!"
Gomez raises his eyebrows, surprised by this intense reaction.
Salt snorts and adds with an eye roll, "But no, I hadn’t."
I almost say something like, Don’t worry, I’ll be there for you, but his energy is so prickly that I know he wouldn’t take it well. Instead, I just murmur, "It’ll be okay."
Gomez doesn’t comment on the exchange.
"Okay. What else should we know about life on the island, especially when it comes to security?" Salt asks. It’s obvious he wants to shut down the previous subject.
"Security in what sense?" Gomez asks.
I can see Salt trying to keep his tone calm and neutral, but his heart gives him away, beating a little faster again.
"General safety on the island. There are different sectors, after all."
"Yes." Mr. Gomez brings up a full view of the island again. It doesn’t look particularly large and vaguely resembles a starfish in shape.
"Each peninsula of the island contains one sector.
There are five in total." He traces them on the map.
"Each sector has its own entrance and gate.
In the center, as you can see here, is the main administrative and medical complex.
Five wings were built around the central structure.
These are smaller, elongated buildings with recreational halls and dining areas, each with its own entrance opening into a separate sector. "
"How many couples are in our sector?" Salt asks.
"In total, there are forty couples."
Neither Salt nor I comment.
"A typical daily schedule looks like this. Breakfast is served from 8:30 to 9:30. Lunch is at 12:00 in the cafeteria. Then at 3:30 pm we have something we call obed."
"What’s that?" Salt raises an eyebrow.
Gomez chuckles. "Our warden, Mr. Sidorov, is of Russian descent. He introduced a main meal called ‘obed’, but the dinners are lighter for that reason. He considers it a healthier option," Mr. Gomez adds with a wink.
"I actually get that. I’m Sicilian, and for us, pranzo around 2:00 pm is a very important meal of the day. Thanks to that, we can eat less at dinner, which is healthier."
After a short pause, Salt asks,
"Who works on the island, only betas?"
"Of course. There are no omegas on our grounds, so as not to distract alphas, and participants are generally expected to remain within the facility."
"Wait. So even alphas and betas who aren’t part of Second Chance aren’t allowed to leave?" I raise my eyebrows.
"Of course they can leave. But we do ask that visits outside the facility be kept to a minimum, as they can significantly disrupt both the bonding process and hormonal balance."
"How often do they leave, then?" Salt presses.
"It depends. Not that often. Mainly around holidays. The ferry generally runs once a week, and that is sufficient. Once a week, it also transports supplies."
"Oh," Salt says, lightly rubbing his chin. His heart rate picks up again, which catches my attention.
"But people from Second Chance don’t take part in that? They don’t leave the island?" he presses. I narrow my eyes and watch him closely. His body seems a bit tense.
"Alphas can; they don’t have sentences, after all.
They are free individuals. That said, we still strongly encourage limiting it.
Upon arrival, participants sign an agreement committing to a minimum of three years, with a strong recommendation to extend to five, and they understand that obligation very clearly. "
Silence settles again. Salt looks thoughtful, staring toward the horizon and the ocean, while I stare at the tablet screen, where the aerial view of the island is still displayed.
Some of Salt’s questions strike me as odd. I wonder what’s behind them, but I hope we’ll have plenty of time to talk about it later.
"What happens once we arrive on the island?" I ask.
"Your unit is already being prepared and will be available immediately. You can drop off your luggage and take a shower." Mr. Gomez checks his watch. "We’ll be there in about half an hour, and lunch starts at two, so you’ll have time to freshen up and join everyone in the cafeteria. After that, you’ll be invited to a brief welcome meeting with our warden.
It’s purely a formality, just signing the facility regulations. "
"Okay."
I finish the last sandwich on my plate.
"Do you have any other questions? I’ll be happy to clarify anything if there are doubts," Mr. Gomez says with a friendly smile.
"I have one," Salt says. "Is there internet access?"
"Of course," Mr. Gomez replies, his tone almost offended by the question. "Many of our residents work remotely. A lot of them are programmers, writers, marketers. Some are even influencers. They live perfectly normal lives."
"Good to hear," I murmur.
We would need something to fill our time, aside from whatever the program coordinators have planned for us. Quietly, I hope I’ll be able to keep developing my journalism career here.
Gomez lifts his gaze. "Ah, here we are," he says cheerfully.
On the horizon, a green, rocky shape of an island comes into view. From a distance, a small private harbor is already visible.
Both Salt and I fix our eyes on it, on the place that represents our shared future.
We are both tense, though I suspect our reasons for that tension are not quite the same.