Chapter 31

I'm clinging to my gown until one side is crumpled. Cleo leads the way to a separate elevator, with the Sentinels following closely behind us. We're heading to the basement level, and the lift screeches throughout its languid, halting descent. Heat swells inside the stuffy enclosure, the thickening anticipation becoming more palpable by the second. Kneading my fingers together, I busy my hands with the dried skin and the fresh callouses on my palms. I know that I won't like what's coming next.

"This is where we'll split you into the Paired and Unpaired. Those who've been assigned partners will be shipped out as soon as possible. The others will be reconstructed until you're ready to be Paired. Don't worry. Everyone will be given a partner eventually."

"What does it mean to be Unpaired?"

Cleo smiles. "That means your body isn't ready to accept a new partner, so we'll be making changes to all the Unpaired until you have what's best for you. Either way, you've already passed the Trials."

I force myself to look straight. My expression will betray the panic slowly rising in my chest.

The elevator doors slide open, letting in air-conditioning laden with the smell of rubbing alcohol and death. We take the long walkway to the Gene Bank. It's where the sperm and eggs will be stored for either fertilization or experimentation. I'm stuck to the floor, stiff and unmoving, until a Sentinel slaps my head with his gun.

Walking briskly to keep up with Cleo, I try not to think much about the sight sprawled around me. Preserved body parts are stored in glass containers, lining every inch of the wall like revered art pieces. Off to the side, there's a false immune morgue, with more corpses transported in body bags. After a while, I keep my eyes glued to the floor.

"In this next section, we'll monitor your brain activity for Pairing compatibility," Cleo says.

We make a few turns, stopping in front of the last room down the corridor. The Sentinels kick the door open, pushing me inside. I'm met with the curious stares of the other real immunes as I make my way through the crowd. There's hardly any space left, so I make my way to the back of the group. A heated argument is taking place just outside, and Cleo screams. Shots are fired. Then, there's silence. Every muscle in my body tightens, forcing me to stand straight and unmoving.

My gaze wanders to a bloodstain on the wall, vaguely aware that it's coming from my head where the Sentinel hit earlier. I gingerly touch my matted hair, staring absently at the crimson mess in my palm. It could've been worse. The door clicks open, and Cleo enters, flustered and red-faced. She sighs, signaling to the Sentinels. They rush in and drag us away further down the winding corridor. Outside, there are no traces of anything else on the floor. The tell-tale splatters on the wall are the only signs of the confrontation.

Someone brushes my shoulder, giving my hand a squeeze. A warmth surges through me, and I bite my lip to hide a smile. Jax keeps his gaze on the path ahead before turning me with a knowing grin. The group stops in front of an Experiment Room, the first of many. Inside, it's completely pitch-black. The only thing I can make out is a mirror reflecting the dim lights of the corridor. As more of us file inside, the lights illuminate the sophisticated equipment. It's complete with blades and knives ranging from small ones to butcher-style ones. Rows of operating tables fill the room, each one equipped with machines. Suddenly, I wish we'd never woken up.

"They're doing this here?" Jax whispers in my ear.

I nod.

Our group breaks up, and everyone is forced onto their respective tables. I'm quickly strapped in with ruthless belts. They dig into my skin, sending a ripping sensation where it meets my flesh. A researcher bundled up in a hazmat suit comes to me, holding a syringe of clear liquid. I remember that Meredith told us about this before. It gives us hallucinations and monitors our brain activity based on them. There's a sudden, punishing gleam of light that steals my consciousness. I feel the needle enter my arm, and gradually, the world begins to fade away.

When I wake up, I'm alone in the middle of the Experiment Room. I can't sit and try to take out the straps holding me. Instead, they melt away in my hands, and the metal supports rust over. This is a hallucination.

Someone pushes me down again, and I feel the metal chains around my hands and feet, spreading my body out. A cauldron boils beneath me, causing blisters to erupt on my back—the sickening, disturbing sound of bones breaking as I'm ripped apart. Even in the bottomless pit, I hear growls of creatures pulling hard at my arms and legs. Butcher knives come flying at me from above, landing on every part of my body. Blood spurts out, coagulating and frying over the flames.

I'm lowered into the pot. I hear laughter and jeering from beasts overhead. The net beneath me starts snapping under the heat, fraying until only a few short strings are left. I fall into endless oblivion. The heat reaches my core, consuming me. In the darkness, someone reaches out and offers me poison. I don't react. Their hands work methodically, emptying the wretched thing into a syringe. The temptation comes again to kick or slap it away, but I can't even feel my legs or arms, much less move them. The gleaming needle comes at me, bruising my arm as it plunges deep into my skin.

The hallucination dissipates into clouds. Electricity courses through my veins as I feel my body being hauled up. The fog clears, and the room comes into view again. Discreetly, I turn my head, realizing that the mirror I saw earlier is an observation panel. Proxy officials crowd the area. Squinting my eyes, I see President Finley observing quietly from the back, surrounded by his bodyguards. President Wright folds her arms and watches on.

As the sensation gradually returns to my body, I lift my neck, gulping as I take in the sight before me. I'm immersed in a tub of cloudy solution. Somehow, my body moves better than it ever has. While the doctors are preoccupied with the others, I adjust myself slightly. Then, I see the scars peeking through the holes in my gown. They're in the exact positions where the knives landed. I sigh, seeing how awfully noticeable they are under certain angles. The injection mark on my arm has turned blue-black. I focus on the waning light.

Scalpels, clamps, scissors, needles, and sutures are laid out on a towel. They're thoroughly stained crimson.

One of the researchers comes by to check on me, helping me out of the tub. She hands me a new gown leading to a changing room. There's a small mirror hanging from a nail in the wall, but it does little to make the cramped space look any larger. Her eyes dart around nervously as she fidgets with her pockets, and that's when I realize that she'll be watching me change. Cringing, I take the medicated cloth and wipe my wounds and scars. There aren't many more open wounds except those across my chest from the electricity.

I clean my whole body, taking occasional glances at the mirror. Surgical staples extend from one end of my stomach to another, like a C-Section. More stitches cover my shoulders, arms, and neck. I can't bear to look at myself for much longer. None of these could've been done by a doctor of the old world, and for some reason, they're not letting the other Healers close us up.

I tear my eyes away from the reflection and slip on the new gown. Drawing back the curtains, I find her waiting a few steps away. She doesn't look me in the eye as she takes the old dress, throwing it into the trash. By the time I'm back, more people have come out of their hallucinations. They sit at their tables, wearing dazed expressions—Jax waves at me from his table. I wish I could hug him and tell him everything's alright. But we all know that it's a lie.

Soon, we're forced off the table in handcuffs again. Cleo comes in and surveys us impassively. Her face betrays no emotion. She bites down hard on her lip and shows the way to the next venue. It's only about three rooms away. There are tables and chairs, just like a huge dining room. So far, it's pretty normal, but I have a nagging feeling at the back of my mind. Normal is dangerous.

Once the room is unlocked, we're shoved inside, and the speaker crackles to life. Cleo clears her throat. "After this final assessment, you'll be added to the Gene Bank in time for the Pairing Ceremony tomorrow. Proxy thanks you for your service." Her words cause a stir, and everyone shifts uncomfortably. I stay close to Jax, twining my fingers with his. He wraps an arm around me, pulling me close.

The door locks. I know that escaping will remain nothing more than a dream. Overhead, I can hear machines starting up. Hissing noises can be heard from the ventilation system. A gas is released into the room. It's white at first but gradually becomes transparent.

For now, everyone settles into the chairs. I choose to sit on the floor in silent rebellion, and Jax joins me. I hear hacking coughs and labored breathing from one side of the room. My new wounds are starting to split open, starting with my wrists. I pull the sleeves of my gown over them. Blood continues to drip from my temple, where the guard hit me. Jax's skin is turning pinkish, and sores start forming on my skin.

This room offers no sympathy for us, and all it provides is a window between this room and the next. Even then, it's smudged in dirt and oily fingerprints, so the view isn't the clearest.

"It's exactly like what happened when we found the radiation core," Jax stretches out his arms, examining them.

I watch the pus stain my sleeves, winding through the fabric. His eyes widen as he grabs my arm to him, fingers lightly brushing against my wrists where the handcuffs electrocuted me. I wince and try pulling back. Jax doesn't let me. Gently, he parts my hair, revealing the tender spot that still hurts from the Sentinel's rifle. The area is bleeding more now, each drop absorbing into my white gown. "I'm fine." I smile and pull my hair over my face, trying to ignore the hammering sensation.

Jax was about to say something when we heard a loud thud from the far end of the room. Someone collapsed in a seizure. His skin is ruddy, with some purplish bruises on his feet. It spreads up his leg, eventually climbing up his arms to his throat. As near to death as he looks, he's still breathing. The Sentinels pour in. They haul him on a stretcher and carry him out.

One by one, more of us fall to the ground. They all have different symptoms. Some clutch their throats, shivering. Others have leaking welts spreading all over their bodies. They're still alive, but barely. We're not doing too well, either. Jax has started getting more bumps on his skin. They're appearing and popping fast. My chest wound has flaked open, making the area itch and burn at the same time.

Sentinels come in, carrying the bodies to the same room. Jax scrambles to the window, observing the activity next door. In the chaos, no one notices us. I watch a researcher injects an antidote into them. It instantly clears up their skin. Then, they're wheeled outside. It bothers me why they'd be so generous with a drug, even using it on the dead.

Jax furrows his brows. "I'm willing to bet they have tons of those in the labs."

Now, it's my turn to frown.

He points to the heavy metal door that seals us inside. "I think we get out there and find the serum. Bring it back and give it out to whoever needs it," he shrugs, "anyway, if we come back empty-handed, it was still worth a shot."

Those who remain are coping, but it won't stay that way for long. Once the gas is inhaled, only a drug can reverse it. We wait until the Sentinels re-enter to take out another body. Then, we sneak out. Jax leads me the other way, down the other direction, and I understand that neither of us knows where we're going. I'm about to question him, but I'll save that for later.

We stop in front of a room for Invalids. I've never heard of this before.

"If we want to live, this is the only way to the other side." Jax sighs and opens the door. A foul smell of decaying flesh threatens to smother me. He holds my hand tight as we step in.

Bodies litter the floor. All of them are amputees. A few of them are even thrown in there with their wheelchairs. Several injection wounds mar their arms and legs, all in the name of Science. Liquid seeps from the bodies, pooling on the floor. This is what they are to Proxy; dispensable and useless. Conflicted emotions rise within me, and I'm careful to keep them buried in the deepest corners of my heart. Jax tightens his grip around my hand, gently nudging me to press on.

When we get there, my heart sinks. All that's left is an empty storehouse.

"Aria, I think you should see this," Jax waves me over. I tip-toe, dismayed that my feet make tapping noises between the empty cardboard boxes, light filters between the small gaps between each one. We lower each one gently until we have a good enough view of the room. It's not a room; it's a laboratory with small vials of a purple liquid locked away in a glass cabinet.

That was the reversal drug to ease radiation symptoms, but we haven't used it since the last false immune died in the snow.

There's a keypad at the side, and Jax reaches toward it. I quickly swat his hand away, pointing to the ceiling. He nods, smiling sheepishly. There are trip lasers from the top, evident from the blinking lights above that mark their position. I remember Meredith telling me about the research stations that had the same thing installed. If we try too many times, the lasers will be activated. We won't make it past the first step before we're burned.

I pull out the access key, relieved that it's survived with just a few scratches. By now, Cleo would've realized that she had lost it. If she'd reset the system already, there's no way we're getting in. Jax tries the card, and we wait anxiously. The keypad doesn't glow green, and I'm getting worried. But soon, I hear the locks disengage from the inside, getting louder until the doors finally swing open.

We're finally in. I spend my time taking in the injectors and the full range of drugs in the room. They're mostly pharmaceutical ones, and there's nothing special so far. Immediately, we split up. Jax takes the room's far end while I tackle loads of boxes blocking the middle section. I start from the bottom and work my way up the towering pile. Still, there's nothing. I'm moving quickly, examining every nook and cranny, tapping the walls lightly to feel for hidden compartments. Then, I hear it. There's a hollow section in the wall somewhere close to the floor.

I punch it in. The whitewashed wall crumbles, revealing a metal box. There's a high-security lock needing an impossibly long password to decode. Jax hands me a crowbar, nearly tripping as he navigates through the sea of boxes I went through earlier. I try the bar, slowly working at the lock. We take turns working at it, making steady progress. I pause every time I hear someone coming, though it's a false alarm so far.

Then, Jax freezes and presses a finger to his lips, the silence revealing a slow, monotonous cadence that seems to fill the room. Pressing my ear to the wall, I strain to make out what it is under the machine's loud hum. It's footsteps. This time, I'm sure of it. Jax drags me to the corner and switches off the light. We settle next to the boxes with our backs plastered against the wall. A few silent moments pass by, each minute feeling more stifling. I forget to breathe, and I'm starting to feel restless.

My brain shorts out as a beam of light filters through the window. The light sweeps through the area, lingering on every inch of the floor, scrutinizing every corner and speck of dirt. Jax holds me close while the boils on his arm continue dripping pus, soaking my gown. Blood continues to trickle down my face and landing on the floor, just shy of the dreaded beam. When the ray of light crawls away, I take a little step forward, using the hem of my gown to absorb the droplets. Slowly, I slink away and wait.

More people are jogging on over. My palms are growing sweaty as I hear more voices outside. The metal box lies beneath one of the boxes at the other end of the room, exposing its corner. Jax plucks it out. It's safer with us. On his way back to me, he almost knocks an ultraviolet lamp over. I catch it just before it hits the ground. Someone presses the keypad, and I hear an unfamiliar chime. The door locks up again, and they leave.

I dare to breathe again when I hear the retreating footsteps. We have samples of the reversal drug. The storage vials are so small that I doubt they even make one dosage. At the most, it'll make half.

Stumbling over to the storage area where the syringes are, I grab one of them, quickly drawing the precious liquid inside. Jax watches my trembling hands with concern but doesn't say a word. The needle goes straight into his arm. He knows better than to argue with me. Once I'm done, I take another peek outside and try the door. I knew it. Cleo must've reset the lock since she lost her access card. Now, I can only rely on the override circuit in the keypad. It automatically resets the door regularly until a new key is made. Our only hope is to make it out of here at the next reset.

I stay near the door, noticing the keypad's blinking glow. I strain to focus as my vision blurs. My head pounds. Blood tangles in my hair, clumping the strands together. The chime of the keypad fades as my hearing gradually fades. I don't move as I focus on the lights, making mental notes of the number of seconds between each flicker before a green light comes on. After a while, I begin to pick up on a pattern. The seconds between each blink increase, then collapse back again.

Jax tugs at my arm, prying me from the door. Tilting my face to meet his, he kisses me hard until the wooden boxes shift behind me. I feel a jabbing sensation in my arm.

"What are you—"

"Just trust me," his words are barely audible. When he releases me, I see him holding an emptied syringe. A crimson stream rolls down his face. His arms are scalded from the safe he busted open, one that contains numerous vials of the reversal drug. Then, the wall in front of us goes transparent. People dressed in white coats watch us, taking notes on their tablets. They speak in hushed voices, their stare calculating and clinical in every possible way.

Cleo steps forth, stopping short of where the glass divides us. She folds her arms and stares straight at us. "You've found it."

"What's the meaning of all this?" Jax demands.

"All this is an evaluation of your tendencies. You wouldn't get this far without anyone noticing," she scoffs. "The Proxy leaders requested this scenario. They wanted to know what kind of citizen you are when we eventually send you to be Paired. We have special programs for your deviant behavior for those like you."

"But I thought we would die if we didn't do anything," I huff.

Cleo shakes her head and presses a button on the console. "People like you cost us too much. In time to come, you'll see what I mean. You need to trust us to make the best decision for you."