Chapter 3 Tests

The room was sterile, but not the kind of sterile Emily was used to at the clinic. This place had a cold, clinical precision that felt more like a lab than a hospital.

She sat on a narrow exam table, her jacket hanging on a hook nearby. The doctor, a woman with sharp eyes and a clipboard, spoke in a voice so calm it felt rehearsed.

"First, we'll run a full physical. Blood work, urine test, ultrasounds, everything."

Emily nodded, trying to steady her breath.

The nurse handed her a thin hospital gown. Emily slipped out of her clothes and into it, feeling exposed, more vulnerable than she had in a long time.

The blood draw hurt more than she expected. She clenched her fist and looked away, counting ceiling tiles.

The ultrasound was cold, the gel sticky against her skin, but when the tech asked if she wanted to see, she shook her head. Not ready to imagine a baby inside her yet.

Next came the psychological evaluation. She sat across from a man who smiled too easily, asking questions that felt designed to find cracks.

"Have you ever experienced trauma?" he asked.

She blinked, the memories rising unbidden-the nights alone, the eviction notices, the fear that never left.

"Who hasn't?" she said finally.

The questions dug deeper, about family, trust, fears, and hopes. She answered honestly, raw and unfiltered. The man nodded, scribbled notes.

Finally, the fertility test. It was invasive, embarrassing. Emily fought the urge to leave, reminding herself this was just a means to an end.

And then came the last test. The one no form or scan could capture.

The woman who had greeted her earlier reappeared, a faint smile on her lips.

"Emily," she said softly, "this is a test of will and character. The principal will see you now."

Emily's heart hammered.

She wasn't sure what to expect. But as the door opened, she knew that whatever came next, her life was about to change.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Emily stepped into a room darker than she expected. A single lamp cast long shadows across cold stone walls.

There was a chair-empty-facing away.

A voice broke the silence. Smooth. Controlled. With a sharp edge of arrogance.

"Subject Number 30," it said. "Step forward."

Emily froze. Her heart slammed.

"I'm here," she said, voice trembling, unsure if she wanted to sound braver or smaller.

"Good." The chair creaked as someone shifted. "You've made it this far. Impressive, given your... circumstances."

Emily swallowed hard, searching the shadows.

A tall figure stood before her, but his face was covered. A dark mask, glossy and angular, hiding everything. No eyes. No expression. Just that chill, detached presence.

"You understand why we do this?" The voice was almost amused. "Selection is about control, about certainty. You are not a person here. You are a subject. A vessel."

Emily's jaw clenched, but she forced herself to stay steady.

"Why do you call me that?" she asked, voice low.

"Because feelings are liabilities. And this arrangement is business, nothing more."

A laugh, dry and cold. "Yet here you are, hoping to survive the process. To be chosen."

She stepped forward, meeting the masked gaze as best as she could. "I'm not a subject. I'm just someone trying not to starve."

There was a pause. Then the voice said, "Honesty. Good. It will take you far-or it will get you discarded."

Emily's throat tightened.

"Your next step will be more personal," he continued. "Tests are over. Now comes the... evaluation of compatibility."

Her mind reeled, but her face was calm.

"Compatibility?" she echoed.

"Yes. Because if this is to work, it's not enough that you're capable. You must be willing."

Emily swallowed again. A knot formed in her stomach.

He stepped closer, but the mask stayed between them, a barrier that made the whole encounter feel less human and more like an experiment.

"Subject Number 30," he said, voice dropping to a near whisper, "do you understand what you are agreeing to?"

"Yes," Emily said. "I do."

The figure turned away, footsteps fading into the dark corridor.

And Emily was left alone-half scared, half defiant, and all too aware that this was just the beginning.