9. Jersey
JERSEY
"Hold still," the nurse murmurs as she uncaps the needle and searches for a vein.
Her wrinkled hand trembles with every attempt, the tip stabbing everything but a vein. On the fifth try, I swear she hits bone.
"Ah," I hiss, jerking my arm back on instinct.
I hate needles– always have. There’s something seriously off-putting about how they look so long, then disappear completely beneath the skin.
My brain just refuses to accept that it’s not going to break off in there and float through my body, lodging itself into a vital organ and making me bleed out internally.
The Crypt Keeper lookalike presses her lips into a thin line, hollow cheeks puffing as she huffs out a breath. Like it's my fault her vision sucks and she can’t hit her target.
"If you would just hold still," she grumbles.
My molars grind together as I bite back every creative insult I can think of. After Kenzie's breakdown of the tiers last night, I know there are worse fates than becoming someone else's lapdog. Keeping my mouth shut and complying might be the best chance I have of avoiding them.
Her rubber gloves pinch my skin as she twists my arm in her grip. The tip pierces my skin with a sharp sting, my jaw clenching as she pushes it deeper. Then she attaches the collection tube, dark red blood flowing steadily into it.
One tube becomes two, the nurse scowling the entire time. I wonder what her story is. Is she here because she wants to be? Married to a Commander? Or is she a work duty tier?
By the fourth tube, a dull ache has formed around the puncture and my fingers have gone cold. Good god, how much do they need? The final tube clicks free, and with the same tender care she used to insert the needle, she yanks it out.
"Apply pressure," she instructs, pressing a wad of gauze to the inside of my elbow.
The nurse scribbles something across each vial before gathering them in a tray and pushing to her feet. "Stay here," she adds, swiping her badge to open the door.
Where the fuck would I go, Elizabeth? You just took half my blood and there isn't a door in this place I can open without a key card.
A hollow sensation spreads through me as I ease back against the vinyl chair and close my eyes.
Instead of sleeping last night, my brain decided it would be a great idea to agonize over everything I could've done while making my escape.
Every moment I should've been smarter, every word I shouldn't have said, every choice I should have made. It’s basically a highlight reel of every way I've screwed up over the past few days.
"A311," someone shouts, startling me awake.
The same Enforcer that brought me here looms above me as my eyes crack open. I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep.
"Time to move," he barks, kicking my chair.
I push to stand, swaying sideways as the room tilts. My hands scrabble for something to steady myself, but the Enforcer seizes my arm before I can face-plant on the floor, wrenching me upright.
"Walk," he spits, jerking me alongside him as he starts down the hall, my bare feet slapping against the tile as I struggle to match his pace.
Asshole.
I open my mouth to tell him to slow down, but clamp it shut again just as fast, remembering Kenzie’s warning. It’d be pretty stupid to talk myself into black tier for the sake of this dickhead.
My fingers curl into fists as I fight the urge to punch him in the kidneys. I have to play their game, move the pieces around the board, pass Go and collect two hundred dollars… or however chess works.
The electronic pad beeps as he swipes his badge over it, the light flashing green before he pulls open the door and motions me inside. I hesitate at the threshold of the exam room, blood draining from my face as I take in the three formidable men in white medical coats gathered around a computer.
Of course it's a group project.
Swallowing my unease, I square my shoulders and bury my fear behind a blank expression as I take a step forward. Apparently, it isn't fast enough for the Enforcer– his palm drives into my back, propelling me into the room.
The white coats’ heads snap up, each wearing their own unsettling version of a smile.
"A311," one of them says, pushing up his dark-rimmed glasses. "I'm Senior Appraiser Kelton, and these are my apprentices, Platt and Crawford."
Am I supposed to respond? What would I even say?
Hi, I'm Jersey, but since names are humanizing, you pricks can call me Registry Asset 311, or A311 for short.
…it's probably best I just don't say anything.
“Crawford, why don't you take the lead?” Kelton instructs. “Platt, record your observations for discussion at the debrief.”
Grabbing a set of gloves from the dispenser on the workstation, Crawford snaps them on as he approaches. "Undress, all the way."
I blow out a breath and tug my grey shirt off over my head.
My breasts spill free, nipples stiffening as the cool air skates across my exposed skin.
Hooking my thumbs around the waistband of my sweats, I shove them down and carefully step out.
All the while, I can feel three sets of eyes raking over me.
Somewhere along the way, the embarrassment of being stripped bare faded into detachment. My body isn't mine anyway. It hasn't been for a long time.
Crawford clears his throat, his arm stretching toward me with an upturned palm. "Panties."
My brow furrows. "Huh?"
"Your underwear, Asset," Kelton cuts in.
No shit. I heard him, I just can't fathom why he wants them.
I pluck my panties from the floor and place them into his waiting hand.
"Natural lubrication present," Crawford dictates as he inspects them. "Asset is inherently receptive. Note that under sexual responsiveness."
My jaw tightens.
That's discharge, you medically licensed pervert, not an invitation.
"Stand up here," he directs, pointing to the biometric scanner in front of their workstation. "Legs shoulder width apart, arms at your sides in a relaxed posture."
The scanner hums beneath my feet as I step onto the cool metal surface of the platform, the faint tingle of electricity traveling up my legs.
"Class two," Platt reads from the computer screen. "Slightly underweight with no significant muscle deterioration."
Swiping a hand over his chin, Crawford slowly circles around me, making note of each flaw he finds as his eyes rake over every inch of my naked body.
"Small laceration on the left bicep, a few on each wrist along with friction abrasions. No medical action needed, but have her switched to an antiseptic body wash to prevent the need for costly interventions."
"Left breast appears slightly larger than the right, though the nipples are uniform in color and size."
"Keratosis Pilaris is visible on the upper arms. Do we want to submit for possible cosmetic correction?"
It'd look less angry if you'd let me shower without my hands being bound together and gave me a decent body wash.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
Breathe Jersey. He probably sits in his mom's basement picking at his butt acne. His opinion doesn't count. None of theirs do.
"Just make note and we'll review non-essential procedures with profit potential at the debriefing," Kelton instructs.
"Uneven shoulders, tilted waist… appears the spine has a slight curvature. Should be able to improve with a basic adjustment."
He pauses on my right side, fingers grazing over the scar on my stomach before turning towards Platt and Kelton. "Is there mention of this scar in her file?"
Platt's fingers fly across the keyboard, eyes narrowing as he reads from the computer screen.
"Looks like she was shot by a Repo Man contracted to deliver her seven years ago.
At that time she hadn't been flagged as an Asset, let alone labeled for Auction tier, so they only allotted for a field bullet retrieval and wound closure.”
"Well," Kelton starts, adjusting his glasses as he rounds the workstation. "I suppose it could be surgically revised if deemed a necessity for tier classification." Pausing, he leans down as he studies my scar closer. "Though she was previously purchased with the defect."
"If she does get classified as auction tier, her new guardian could request it be revised at the time of ownership transfer," Crawford suggests.
"There are some buyers who like scars," Platt chimes in. "Heck, some of them even carve some themselves."
"Oh yeah," Crawford rushes out, snapping his fingers. "What's his name, Harris? He really loves to whittle his Assets. Remember when his last Asset was in here for reappraisal and his name was carved into her lower stomach?"
"Yeah, there's something wrong with that guy," Platt grumbles, shaking his head.
Kelton murmurs in agreement as he swipes a hand across his chin. "Note the scar, but remove it from the weighted score."
"Yes sir," Platt responds, returning his attention to the computer.
I go somewhere else in my mind, their voices fading to background noise.
"Now, gentleman," Kelton says, folding his arms over his chest as he faces them. "In appraisal, it's always important to consider what lies past the surface. Why some base value around physical appearance and others value physical attributes."
"Oh, like breeders!" Crawford adds, a little too enthusiastically. "Breeders prioritize fertility before vanity."
Bile creeps up the back of my throat. It's one thing to be auctioned like chattel, but to be bought solely to be bred seems like a whole new nightmare.
Are they trying to get the Assets pregnant? Is it one and done? What happens to the Assets after? Or the kids?
I force a swallow, the acrid taste still coating my tongue.
"Precisely," he nods before turning to Platt. "Be sure that is noted. Do we have the results of her blood test yet?"
"Let's see," he hums as he clicks the mouse. "Looks like the blood panel is negative for pregnancy. Fertility is marked for further review. No diseases are evident, though."
"Anything on prophylactics?"
"Uhm, it doesn't say."
Kelton pivots around. "Are you on contraceptives, A311?"
I bite back a scoff. Shouldn't this be something these idiots have in their records?
"She can't comprehend that," Crawford snorts, turning to face me. "Did you pleasure your guardian?"
It wasn't pleasure. It was compliance.
Snide remarks about my body and arbitrary values being assigned to each part are one thing, but having the sheer audacity to suggest I enjoyed what he did to me is fucking despicable.
Every vicious response I can think of crowds my tongue, but the last of my restraint keeps them there.
I draw in a deep breath and close my eyes, slowly releasing it as I count to eight.
"A311?" he barks.
My eyes crack open, annoyance flaring as my gaze locks onto him. His patronizing smirk lifts the pathetic strip of reddish hair on his upper lip that he's trying to pass off as a mustache.
Crawford chuckles under his breath. "Make note that her hearing is intact. Whether she possesses the intelligence to understand us remains unclear."
Heat blazes beneath my skin, my nails biting into my palms as my fingers clench into fists at my sides.
Keep your mouth shut, Jersey.
"Do you want me to order a remedial evaluation along with the fertility profiling?" Platt asks, glancing at Kelton from around the monitor.
"N–," Kelton starts, Crawford interrupting him with a snort.
"Why waste the resources on either? It's one thing to be stupid, but stupid and unable to–"
"Pleasure?" I spit.
Their heads whip toward me, surprise coloring their features.
"If him coming in whatever hole he forced himself into is pleasure, then yes,” I sneer. “Yes, I pleasured him daily for five years.”
Crawford arches a brow at me before turning towards Platt. "Flag her profile for signs of defiance."
"No, just for an evaluation," Kelton states.
"But she's at risk for rebellion and definitely not suited for auction."
My stomach churns in trepidation. Unfortunately, my stupid fucking temper seems to have the same audacity as these men.
"Easy there," Kelton sighs. "Not every appraisal is a textbook one, boys. The longer you do this, you will learn that female assets tend to be highly emotional. Some are able to manage it better, but they all will have a mood swing sooner or later."
Let's see who's emotional after I kick you in the nuts.
"That's why we have practical assessments after the theory portion," he continues, closing the distance between us before reaching out to cup my pussy. "You learn so much more with your hands."
I want to jerk away, to scream at him to back the fuck up, to do anything besides just standing here like the docile bimbo they want me to be.
"Watch closely, boys."
They do as they're told, their attention shifting from my face to Kelton's hand.
My skin prickles beneath his touch, like the finger he drags along my seam is dipped in acid.
I sink my teeth into the inside of my cheek, biting harder and harder into the shredded skin until blood coats my tongue, focusing on the metallic taste instead of his finger pressing inside me.
After several unnecessary and invasive strokes, he withdraws his hand and pats my mound. "Much better, Asset."
Kelton whirls around to face his colleagues. "So, what'd we learn?"
"That their words may be reactionary, but their bodies tell the truth?" Platt asks.
"Very close," he replies, nodding in approval. "Obedience is a learned behavior. In heightened emotional states, Assets may resort to defiance as a means of provoking the touch they really want."
Not all men, but somehow always a man...
Kelton raises the finger that was just inside me to his nose, inhaling deeply before exhaling with a smile. "She's ripe and receptive. Why don't you each give it a try?"
Fucking sicko.
My jaw locks, chest heaving as Crawford adjusts himself and steps forward. His palm is clammy as it slides hesitantly between my legs, Platt bumping into the desk in his hurry to get around it for his own turn.
I stare up at the faceted tiles lining the ceiling and trace each sharp triangle, recessed lights blurring between them as my gaze flicks from one point to the next. Their voices grow distant, the sensation of their touches fading as I retreat into the pattern until my mind peels away from my body.
I wonder if Retrograde is still making music?