Cold.
The first thing she knew was cold. It seeped into her skin, sharp and deep.
She lay on something hard. So hard. Her cheek pressed against it. A floor. Yes, a floor. She blinked.
Dark. No, not dark. A dim light. It hummed, a low, steady sound that vibrated in her bones. Where was she?
Panic, thin and sharp like a needle, pricked her skin. She tried to push herself up. Her arms felt weak, shaky. Her whole body trembled. Bare skin. She was naked. The thought hit her like a punch to the stomach. Naked and cold.
She scrambled to sit, then to her knees, pulling her arms around herself. The floor was smooth. Too smooth. And still so cold. Her eyes darted around. Walls. White. Or maybe grey in the dim light. They rose up, seamless, curving into a ceiling she couldn't quite make out. No window. No door she could see. Just smooth, endless white. A small room. A box.
"Hello?" Her voice was a croak. A dry, rasping sound. She swallowed. Tried again. "Is anyone there?" Silence. Only the hum of the light. She touched her body. Her fingers, clumsy and trembling, brushed her hip. Smooth skin. Her stomach was flat. She pressed down. Empty. Her ribs showed, faint ridges under her skin. She felt the curve of one breast, small and soft. The nipple was a tight, hard point from the cold, or maybe from fear. Both.
Her hair. She reached up, touched her head. Short. It felt very short, like cut grass against her palm. She didn’t remember cutting her hair. She didn’t remember anything. Who was she? The panic grew, a tight band around her chest. She couldn’t breathe.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Think. Try to think. Nothing. A blank wall, like the ones around her. A name? Did she have a name? A soft click. Then a voice. Not a person. It came from everywhere and nowhere. Flat. Cold. Like the floor. A machine.
"Welcome, Breeding Unit Anya." Anya. Her name was Anya.
The word echoed in the small room. Breeding Unit Anya.
What did that mean? Her heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic drum.
"Where am I?" she whispered. Her voice shook so much.
"You are in the Genesis Facility," the machine voice said. No kindness in it. No anger. Just facts.
"Your purpose is procreation." Procreation? To make babies?
"No," she breathed. "No, I don't understand."
"You will help restart the population," the voice stated. Calm. Final.
Restart the population? What had happened? A thin whine cut through the air. Anya flinched, pressing herself back against the cold wall. A section of the opposite wall, a perfect, seamless square, slid sideways. Soundless.
A figure stood in the opening. Male. Tall. So tall. His shoulders were wide, filling the space. He wore a simple uniform, grey and tight, showing the lines of a body that was… perfect. Too perfect. Like a statue carved from stone. His skin was smooth, pale, with no marks, no hair she could see. His face was still, his eyes blank, looking at her but not seeing her. Not like a person saw.
The AI voice spoke again. "This is Unit 7. He will conduct your initial assessment." Unit 7. Not a name. A designation. Like her. Breeding Unit Anya.
He stepped into the room. His movements were fluid, graceful, but with no wasted motion. He moved towards her. Anya couldn't move. Fear held her frozen. Every muscle in her body screamed to run, to hide, but there was nowhere to go. He was big. So much bigger than her. His shadow fell over her. She had to crane her neck to look up at his still face. His eyes were a pale, empty blue.
His hand reached for her. Cold. His fingers closed around her arm, just above the elbow. His grip was strong, not tight enough to hurt, but firm. Unyielding. He pulled her up. Gently, but she had no choice. She stumbled to her feet, her legs weak. The cold of the floor bit into the soles of her feet. He began to guide her. Towards the center of the room. There was something there. She hadn’t seen it before. A slab. Raised off the floor. White, like everything else. Long enough for a person to lie on. Wide enough. Like a table. An altar. No. She tried to pull her arm away.
"Please," she whimpered. "Don't." Unit 7 didn't speak. His grip didn't change. He just kept moving, pulling her with him. He was so strong. She was like a leaf in a storm. He stopped beside the slab. He turned her to face it. Then, with one hand on her arm and the other on her shoulder, he pressed her down. Made her sit on the edge.
The surface was as cold as the floor. Then he pushed her back. Made her lie down. Anya stared up at the dim, humming light. Tears pricked her eyes. Hot tears. They spilled over, tracing cold paths down her temples, into her short hair. She felt so small. So helpless. Unit 7 stood over her.
His blank eyes looked down at her naked body. Shame. It burned her. A hot, crawling fire under her skin. She wanted to cover herself. To curl up. But she couldn’t. She was laid out before him, exposed. His hands. They were large. Long fingers. He reached down. His touch was cold. Clinical. His palm pressed against her breast. Her left one. He squeezed it gently, his fingers moving over the soft flesh, around her nipple. Her nipple was already hard, tight. Now it felt like it was on fire.
A tiny gasp escaped her lips. He moved to her other breast. The same cold, precise touch. He wasn’t rough. But he wasn’t gentle either. He was just… doing something. A task. Anya squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't watch. She couldn't bear to see his blank face, his knowing hands on her body. His hand moved lower, to her belly. Flat. He pressed down, his fingers exploring. She felt the muscles in her stomach clench tight. Then his hands were on her hips. Spanning them. Testing the bone. She felt a shiver run through her, a deep tremor that started in her core and spread out to her limbs. Her whole body was shaking now. Uncontrollably.
"Subject Anya initial assessment in progress," the AI voice said, calm and distant. "Vital signs are being monitored." She was just a subject. A thing to be examined. Unit 7’s hands moved from her hips.
For a second, she thought it was over. But then she felt his touch on her inner thighs. No. Oh, god, no. He was spreading her legs. She tried to clamp them shut. A small, desperate movement. But he was too strong. His hands, firm and relentless, pushed her knees apart. Wider. Wider still. Until she was completely open to him. Shame choked her. Hotter now. Burning her throat.
She bit her lip to stop from crying out. She could feel the cool air of the room on the most private part of her. Exposed. Vulnerable. Then his fingers. Cold. So cold. They touched her there. On her pussy.
Anya’s breath hitched. Her whole body went rigid. His fingers were clinical, probing lightly at first. He separated her outer lips. Then the inner ones. Touching her. Exploring her. She squeezed her eyes tighter. Tears streamed down her face. A sob tore from her throat, a raw, broken sound.
She felt a small, wet feeling start between her legs. A slickness. Not from want. No. Never from want. It was the fear. The coldness of his touch. The horror of what was happening. Her body was betraying her. Humiliating her. His finger pressed against her clit. Just a touch. But it sent a jolt through her. A confusing, awful jolt. Pain and something else. Something she didn't want to name. She bucked slightly on the slab, a small, involuntary movement. A whimper escaped her lips.
His fingers moved then, one sliding just a little way inside her. Cold. Invasive. Stretching her. Anya’s mind screamed. This couldn’t be happening. This was a nightmare. She could feel her heart hammering, like it wanted to break out of her chest. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps. The shame was a heavy blanket, smothering her. And under it, that awful, unwanted wetness. Growing.
Unit 7 removed his fingers. The absence of his touch was almost as shocking as its presence. Anya lay there, trembling, tears soaking her hair, her body aching with a cold dread and a deep, profound violation. Her legs were still spread. She didn’t have the strength to close them. The AI voice spoke again, its tone as flat and emotionless as ever. "Subject Anya initial assessment complete. Vital signs indicate readiness for Phase One." Phase One. A new wave of terror washed over Anya. This was only the beginning.
