“You understand what you are signing up for? As soon as your application is processed, there will be no return to your former life.”
No return to your former life.
Dead, cold, gone, burned… His former life had already been taken from him.
“I understand.” He gave a curt nod. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
The doctor’s lips spread into a firm line. “Very well. My role in this is to make sure you are physically and mentally prepared for what is to come. If you’ll step out of your clothes and pull on the gown I’ve laid on the bed for you, we can begin. If at any moment you wish to discontinue, Mr. Hudson, please just say so. There is time.”
No shit. Although Vincent highly doubted the doctor would release him if he did back out at the last minute. He’d come so far. There was no way the city council would toss away a willing participant of Project Caine.
He had entered Sanctuary Hope.
There was no going back now.
As Vincent straightened from his chair and began tugging his sweater over his head, the doctor cleared his throat.
“But I would like to reiterate when I send your application to the Procurement Center,” he said, pulling the white cubicle curtain around them, “any desire to discontinue shall henceforth be declined. Once accepted into this program, your fate is absolute. I trust you are already aware of that.”
Vincent swallowed the bile gathering in his throat and gritted his teeth. “I understand. Can we just get on with it?” The sooner his examination was over with, the better.
At thirty-six and a senior Dusk Hunter, Vincent was not unaware of how Project Caine worked. People didn’t sign up for the program unless they were desperate. And Vincent was. He’d fallen to such desperate means to protect his group he was willing to piss away his future.
It wasn’t like he had a reason to live anymore.
Once his group caught wind of Vincent’s decision, they would undoubtedly disown him. But at least they would not starve to death or waste away in the slums. Unlike Vincent, they would have a life worth living.
“Then please continue removing your outdoor clothing. I’ll wait outside. When you’re ready to begin, please press the alarm on your bedside table.”
He waited until Dr. Asher left the private ward before dropping his sweater to the floor and unbuckling at his leather belt. He caressed the faded material, sand-stained and tattered pockets as though he would never see them again. Deep down, he knew he wouldn’t.
As shabby as his belongings were, they were all he had left of his existence. The holes in his pockets had been stitched by Bella not two weeks ago. Noah had tried on his belt, proving he had put on weight and was growing exceptionally taller, just like his father had done.
Such sentimentalities would be frowned upon by his new sponsor. Vincent had to be erased because, once the doctor began his examination, his rights as a free man would cease to exist. His fate would be placed into the hands of his sponsor.
Or, rather accurately, his owner.
The media had all lied. Vincent would become little more than a pet. A slave. A dog. And there was not a damn thing he could do.
With his family gone, did he even want to?
He bit back his grief and continued undressing. His boots, clothes, and pocket belongings puddled around his ankles. He turned to the hospital bed where a plastic gown had been draped over the pillow. He dragged the gown over his shoulders, the material plastering to him like wet paper, and when he tied the material around his waist, he felt like he’d just zipped himself into a body bag. His skin broke out into a cold sweat, and he could no longer conceal it, his pores weeping.
As proud as he was, the thought of erasing his life terrified him.
He punched the alarm on the bedside table, and half a second later, Asher stepped inside. He brought with him a handful of transparent tubes, each of them containing cotton swabs.
“Splendid. Now, if you’ll sit on the bed for me and open your mouth nice and wide. I’ll begin by taking your DNA, a blood sample, then all the remaining necessities. We shouldn’t take very long, I don’t think, then I can send away your application. Up you get now, onto the bed.”
Vincent clenched his jaw. The doctor had addressed him as though he were a child or someone incapable of understanding a simple word he said. Not a leader who had been fighting for the human race since before he could recall. Probably since before the doctor was born. If they had been outside Sanctuary Hope, Vincent would have struck him.
But tolerating the city’s superiority bullshit would soon become second nature to him. He’d have to accept their treatment sooner or later.
He sat on the edge of the bed and parted his lips, his indigo eyes turned toward the gray ceiling. The florescent lights were blinding and gave him a shooting headache, as the shelter had done, but anything was better than looking at the doctor.
Asher slapped on a pair of latex gloves and popped the lid off an evidence tube. Once he’d swabbed the inside of Vincent’s mouth, he sealed the evidence and repeated the process with his finger and toenails. After Vincent’s blood was drawn and six of the tubes completed, the doctor straightened.
“Now for the part nearly everyone dreads.” Asher placed the tubes on a nearby countertop and shot Vincent an apologetic smile. “Again, if you wish to stop, please just say.”
Vincent nearly spat a spiteful retort, but he quickly checked himself. If he wanted to be accepted into the program, attacking the examiner was not going to win him any favors. Not least when it was the doctor’s decision that would decide his fate. His entire group’s fate, for that matter.
Violet, Abraham, Emory, Joseph, Claire, Old Lady Waters, and the rest…as few as they now were.
Yet he would have preferred the medical examination not to be so…invasive. Perhaps it was because Vincent hadn’t undergone one since he was a child and health checks were mandatory. When doctors were still obtainable. But even then, the practitioner hadn’t groped his body in ways he’d rather have done without. He certainly hadn’t positioned his legs like a toad, while he swabbed his cock, balls, and ass for any signs of infection or wear and tear.
The fact he was being swabbed there in the first place meant one thing. He really would be used like some lewd slut.
Shame pounded through Vincent’s veins. I have to do this. I have no other choice. This is my last chance. Despite that Vincent would be used in ways he’d never, in his wildest dreams, thought himself capable, he would endure it.
There wasn’t a sacrifice he wasn’t willing to make…
Asher’s voice murmured from the gap between Vincent’s muscular thighs. “I must say, you are in perfect condition, Mr. Hudson. You are heterosexual, yes?”
“Why does it matter?” Vincent spat, though he already knew the answer.
“On your application form, I noticed you ticked ‘rather not say’. But taking into account how pristine your passage is, I can only assume you have never been touched by another man. Your sponsor will be pleased. Such is a sad rarity these days.”
What was the fucking doctor talking about? Of course he’d never taken a cock up the ass. Some of his brothers swung that way, but Vincent sure as fuck hadn’t. Bella had been the only one for him.
More pressingly, what did Asher mean by his ‘sponsor would be pleased’? Did they like virgin holes, eh? Make them feel more superior or some shit?
“I ain’t-a cocksucker, all right. But what does it matter? It’s not like I have a say in anything. I’m just a slave to them.”
Vincent hissed when the doctor yanked the swab out from his ass. He stored the evidence into the last remaining tube, then peeled off his gloves and slapped them into the trash can. When Asher turned to face him, Vincent’s heart stuttered at the dark expression eclipsing his gaze. His hazel eyes had turned sinister.
“Indeed. You do not. That is, however, for me to decide once I put forward your application.” Gathering the many evidence tubes into his hands, Asher made his way to the door. “But I’d watch who you go throwing that word in front of, Mr. Hudson. Especially those who can either improve or ruin your future.”
The door slammed shut, leaving Vincent alone on the bed.
He must have waited there for hours. He had read every medical poster on the wall, counted each tile on the floor and panel on the ceiling. Still, the doctor did not return. The clock on the wall had been stuck on five-thirty for the past two hours, but Vincent felt as if he’d been waiting longer.
The throbbing in his ass had come and gone intermittently. But when he squirmed on the bed, he could still feel the doctor’s swabs invading him. He would have to get used to more than a swab up the ass.
He prayed, with a small shadow of hope, his sponsor wouldn’t fuck him. He had heard stories from Sanctuary Hope, of how those enlisted were treated like exotic pets. Yet he hoped they would acknowledge he had more to offer than just his ass. But that was all depending on who ‘sponsored’ him. His world would become theirs, and in the end, it mattered not what the dog desired, only that the beast obeyed its owner’s command.
Vincent started at the door cracking open. This time, the doctor had come bearing a pile of documents.
The contract.
“You’ll be pleased to know your application was sent to the Procurement Center. I apologize for the delay, but a rather…unexpected encounter deferred your outcome, shall we say.”
He watched Asher with wide eyes, sweat clinging to his bones and beading down his spine. The gown felt like cling film wrapped around his body. Vincent no longer cared how long he had been waiting for. He simply wanted to know if his one and only hope had been accepted or refused. Would he walk away with nothing? No salvation for his group, no supplies to see them through the winter, or proper accommodation other than their makeshift tents in the Wastelands?
Would he return as the leader who had damned them all?
“Your offer and terms were accepted,” Asher resumed, “and will take effect immediately. Your sponsor has stipulated their own conditions and wishes to discuss them with you right away.”
“Discuss them?” Vincent repeated, his voice incredulous. “You said I had no say. That we were slaves.”
Asher’s eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Did I ever say you were a slave, Mr. Hudson? What you’re doing is a selfless and noble act of bravery. Your sponsor commends you for sacrificing yourself in order to save your family. Off the record, I’ll confess that most people come here for materialistic purposes. Money. Greed. Power. You, on the other hand, enlisted to protect your loved ones. You know yourself nobody forced you to come here today. No one made you complete the application form and step into my office. Step into Sanctuary Hope. You did so on your own terms.”
Vincent digested every syllable as if tasting them, then he found himself nodding. He ran a hand through his week-old stubble. “They agreed to help my group? They were quarantined this morning when… My friend, Abraham, he needs medical treatment, and my niece, she’s blind. Do I have their word that all survivors will be looked after? For as long as I’m enlisted? That I am their volunteer, no one else?”
Asher dipped his gaze. “You have their, and my, word. Once you sign this…” He placed the contract on the nightstand and extended a pen. “…each and every member of your group shall be welcomed into Sanctuary Hope with open arms. Of course, additional care and supplies will also be provided as necessary. Your sponsor pledges they will want for nothing so long as you obey his rules.”
His rules?
“Just…just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Will I get to see them before I…?”
The doctor shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid not. As of this moment, Vincent Hudson no longer exists. Your sponsor may even give you a new identity.” He might as well have been telling him the time of day.
Vincent’s eyes lingered on the contract. Above where he would sign his name, the last sponsorship rule, outlined in bold, held his attention.
I must always obey my sponsor.
With a flick of his wrist, Vincent scribbled his name and signed away his future.
He had thrown his future to the wind, and now, there was truly no going back.
“My sponsor,” Vincent breathed, his voice barely a whisper. His hands trembled on his lap. “Who is he?”
The corner of Asher’s lips upturned into a smile. “Sir Maddox Caine himself.”