***

Reid straightened his lab coat and flexed his muscles, loosening them. He entered his office, startling the girl who pretended to be unafraid. Clara Anne Warren.

“Clara?” he asked with a modicum of boredom. She stood and he waved her back into her seat as he walked around his desk and sat down. Her hands were clenched, holding a purse that had seen better days.

“Yes.”

She visibly swallowed and Reid opened up his wristcon to take notes. He didn't need to, but it always unnerved hopefuls when things were being written about them that they couldn’t see. Half the time he was filling out material requisition forms for the facility. The other half of the time it was Sudoku.

“Why are you here?” he asked without pleasantries.

He glanced up as Clara fumbled to find the right words. Her tongue slipped across her bottom lip. “For the same reason anyone would come here.”

Right. “You'd be surprised, Ms. Warren. Men and women have a lot of different reasons why they come here.”

“They do?”

“Yes. Shelter, protection, to have a child, to fuck a Cyborg,” Reid mused with a shrug, watching a blush spread across her cheeks. Why be subtle when the truth was there for all to hear?

“Oh... well, I want to have a child.”

“Good to know. We’re not a charity.” He brought up her file to double-check her answers. “Why?”

“Why?” she asked with a hint of confusion.

“Yes. Why do you want to have a child? Why do you want to have a cybernetic child? What brought you here?”

“I've always wanted to have a family. I never had one growing up and I love children. I've tried... before this,” she looked around the room briefly, “but it never worked out, it always failed. It's hard to explain.”

“Nothing is hard to explain. You’re choosing not to. If you can’t answer my questions fully and without reservation then there’s no reason to continue this conversation.”

Her blush deepened. “I have a history of choosing the wrong men and one of them hurt me pretty bad.” She swiped her fingers across her stomach. “I've tried over and over again. I guess I just really want a family. My own family. And right now I can't, so that's why I’m here.”

Reid steepled his fingers and stared at Clara, who twitched with nerves despite trying not to. She smelled good, she responded well, and although she was nervous he could hear the truth in her voice. Already, his need to delve deeper and provide protection slithered through him.

He needed to get Clara the hell out of his facility.

“You were stabbed,” he stated rather than questioned.

She blanched but recovered quickly.

“Yes.”

“In the abdomen?”

Clara nodded. “And below it...”

“It appears that's the reason why you can't get pregnant.”

“It would seem so,” she snapped.

“So, the real reason you're here is to get reconstructive surgery.” His voice hardened.

“Yes and no. I do need reconstructive surgery and I can't afford it, but I'm here to have a child, regardless of whether it’s human, Cyborg, or half-breed.”

“But you do need reconstructive surgery, right?”

Clara shuffled in her seat. “Yes. I do need the surgery, but the ability to have a child is the most important thing to me.”

Reid lowered his tablet and looked her directly in the eye. “Even if that child is cybernetic? You know what that means, don't you? It means that your child would have cells unlike any other human. They won't be wholly human, but half machine. And even though they won't have metal within their bodies, their cells would have technology fused within, making them nano-capable. Those nanoparticles belong to the government, which means...”

“I'd have to share parenting rights with the government,” she finished for him.

“Yes. If you were to get pregnant during your stay here, your child would be monitored for the rest of its life. Their free will they would retain, but they would always be accompanied by cybernetic scientists. You would be their mother, you would be their family, you would be free to offer your opinion on every decision, but that's all you would have. Do you understand? Your rights end there.”

Reid was being harsh. This was the point where every woman cowed and decided that they needed to think whether or not this program was for them. This is where the conversation always ended.

Clara pursed her lips and glanced up at her image on the wall beside him. Her pupils clouded and her face wavered, and her fingers twitched before she locked eyes with him again.

He was reminded of the way she had reacted to his beast. How, even though she was afraid and uncertain, she held her ground.

“I understand. When can we start?” Her countenance hardened.

I really need to get her out of here.

“That's good to know,” his voice strained. “Your file says you don't have a partner but you were recently engaged. What happened?”

“He broke it off.”

“Why?”

“He was an idiot.”

“... So you're single?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?” Clara ran her fingers through her hair and repositioned her sunglasses over her head. He tracked every single movement she made whether he liked it or not.

“Couples have a problem, typically, with the fact that another man's sperm would be within their wife... or partner. It’s caused issues in the past and so we only take single women now.” Were it his partner, he’d have that same problem too.

“Doesn't seem like you take anyone now,” she murmured.

Reid smiled. “Is that sarcasm?”

“No, no it's not. It's just very quiet here. What's your name again?”

He lazily pointed to the tag at the corner of his desk.

“Dr. Reid Canis?”

“Supposedly.”

The look on her face as she stared at his tag was unreadable. Suddenly, Clara wasn't really looking at his tag anymore and he found himself intrigued. Her gaze went far away, Reid noted, and far from him. Her pulse quickened to a beat in his eardrums. What’s wrong with my goddamn name?

“What is the likelihood of having a child here?” she asked.

His lips twitched. “Not high—not yet—but we’re always trying new things and improving our process. Artificial wombs—the ones used to create Cyborgs—are unbelievably expensive and as a result, Cyborgs are rarely created anymore. However, there is still a strong need for their services. Even with an artificial womb—which is what the process we use requires—the likelihood that the DNA involved has a one and twenty percent chance of success. The cells usually die.”

Clara finally looked up from his tag to turn her gaze back to him. The lumpy hobo bag in her lap spilled over to one side. He wanted to know what was in it.

“Natural wombs,” she balled her hands into her shirt, “wouldn't up the chance if it's the cells that are failing?”

“True,” he said. “Unless we use the mother's DNA to create the Cyborg.”

“I don’t understand. I thought that Cyborgs were only created with perfected DNA. I don't think the average woman has perfect DNA. I don’t have perfect DNA.”

“And why we don’t take human candidates, usually.” He smiled and she sat back as her focus lowered to his mouth. “So you know something about us.”

Reid enjoyed watching his words sink in.

For one moment, Clara Anne Warren had achieved a sense of calm, but as the realization of what he said struck her, her mouth parted and her heart rate skyrocketed. That tiny reprieve of calmness evaporated.

“You're a Cyborg?”

Reid pressed his thumb over his lips. “Yes.”

She took him in, checked him over while he did the same.

“It's not obvious, is it?”

She didn’t answer him.

Her hair tumbled from behind her sunglasses to dance around her shoulders, blonde like a fading sun. The tart smell of berries reached his nose. Shell-shocked was the only way to describe her expression.

“I suppose it wouldn't be. Part of the idea is being able to blend in,” he continued. “For my model, at least.”

Clara licked her lips and he wondered if they would taste like the tart fruit she smelled of. Reid stiffened. Where did that thought come from? He wasn't surprised by her reaction. Cyborgs were fucking rare, practically myths to some people, and legends to others. The likelihood of encountering one was minuscule; the likelihood of encountering one near or on Earth was even smaller.

“Am I supposed to have sex with you?”

Reid choked.

***

HER BAG SPILLED ONTO the floor. The man across from her opened and closed his mouth like a guppy and the intimidation she felt before was replaced with horrified embarrassment.

“No,” he cleared his throat. “You won’t be touched... by me, or anyone else.”

Clara leaned over and picked her purse up off the floor. Her eyes remained on the man—Cyborg—who suddenly couldn’t stop moving. “So, I’m part of the program?”

“No—”

“But you said no one would touch me.” Her resolve hardened.

He scowled at her but she held her ground. Clara didn't know the rules for candidacy for the program and she knew she was definitely not the ideal candidate by a long shot. That didn’t matter to her.

She shuddered to think what would happen if she left the facility without a contract.

Dr. Canis clasped his hands and put his elbows on the desk, leaning toward her. “It's not that easy.”

“But... you said—”

“I know what I said.” His face went dark, and she her breath caught in her throat. “There is a lot to consider when joining this program. Both from my perspective as an administrator and yours as a potential candidate.” Reid seemed to grow more imposing as he talked. How did I ever see him as just a man? “If you sign the contract, it’s for three months. Three tries. You'll be monitored constantly. You’ll have no privacy.”

“Why?”

“We would have to make sure that you did nothing to harm yourself or jeopardize the process.” He made a show of flicking through some digital paperwork that she couldn't see. It made her angry how cavalier he was being. She knew all this going in and she understood the lack of privacy, but she didn't like it.

“Who would be watching me?”

He looked up and pinned her with his black eyes. She barely held back a shiver and it wasn't from the frigid atmosphere of the room. Would he be watching her?

“A.I. mainly. Your doctor will have access but only under certain protocols would he observe. But if you do something that has negative effects on the process, the A.I. and I will be notified. But, you should know that there will be daily checkups and your health would be completely in our hands.”

“What does that mean?” You better not be serious, asshole.

“You won't be able to leave once you've signed, at least not the grounds. Your diet and your daily activities will be monitored as well as your vitamin intake, chemicals, and mental stability. Any personal freedoms will be surrendered for the duration of your contract.”

It's worth it. She told herself. If I'm able to get the surgery and gain the ability to have children for three months of captivity... it’s more than worth it. Hell, she'd resigned herself to a lot longer if it meant that she would get what she wanted. It wasn't like she hadn't been a captive before. At least this time she stood to benefit from it.

“What happens when the three months are up?”

“That depends. If you're pregnant, you'll have to remain here for the entire cycle and the months following.”

Clara looked away and to her image projected onto the wall.

She had been happy then, at that moment, with her fiancé. He was a good man—unlike Santino—a decent one and she would've been happy with him, happy living a quiet, normal life even if she would never be able to have children. At least she would've had somebody to care for. Someone to care for her.

Could she do it?

I could be beholden, my child could be beholden to the government for years to come.

If she were able to get pregnant here, her child would be strong, be healthy, have access to a great education, and would never have to deal with the slums and the wasteland that remained of Middle America.

She could do it. Her child would have the world at its fingertips and technology in its body that would outlive this age and the next.

She looked back at the man across from her. I could deal with this asshole too. If it meant reaching her goal, she could. But she couldn't deny the hollow feeling in her gut and the intimidation she felt under his gaze.

He really is a Cyborg...

“Where do I sign?”

The Cyborg rose from his seat with a scowl.