Caught by the Mad Alpha King Chapter 6: Interesting

The doctor’s eyes flicked down the page, lips pressing into a line that wasn’t quite neutral. He humd under his breath, as if the results were a grocery list instead of a verdict that could alter the rest of Chris’s life.

"Well..." he began slowly, tapping the corner of the tablet against the desk. "Your markers are... interesting."

Chris arched a brow, forcing a lazy smirk. "Interesting’s not a classification."

The doctor gave a noncommittal chuckle, still scanning. "True enough. It’s just... hm. The system ran the comparison twice, actually. Which usually ans the calibration flagged an anomaly."

Chris leaned back, arms folding loosely across his chest to hide how his fingers twitched. "So I’m an anomaly now. Figures. Maybe the machine and I just have bad chemistry."

"You could say that." The doctor set the first page aside, picking up the data chip, turning it over between his fingers like he had all the ti in the world. "You did say you haven’t noticed anything unusual? No changes in scent sensitivity, no... shifts?"

Chris’s heart gave a violent kick. He forced a snort. "If by shifts you an still stuck in traffic every morning and putting up with my little sister’s new type of music blasting through the walls, then yeah. Nothing new."

The doctor’s mouth twitched, the faintest ghost of amusent. But his gaze, when it lifted, was steady in a way Chris didn’t like. "Hm." He set the chip down with a soft click. "Well, your bloodwork doesn’t agree."

Chris’s throat worked, but his smirk didn’t waver. "What? How so?"

The doctor didn’t answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, fingers laced loosely over his stomach, like he had all the ti in the world and Chris had nowhere to run.

"Your panel shows markers that don’t usually line up with a beta classification," he said at last, voice asured, as if each word was weighed before being released. "It isn’t definitive, not yet, but it’s... inconsistent with what we logged last ti."

Chris gave a low hum, tilting his head like it didn’t matter, even though his pulse was drumming in his ears. "Please doc, don’t give hope."

The doctor’s brow lifted slightly at Chris’s words, though his expression didn’t shift much beyond that faint crease of surprise. He regarded him for a mont, as though weighing whether the remark was a joke, a plea, or both.

"Hope isn’t the word I’d use," the doctor said evenly, tapping the edge of the tablet against the desk once before setting it down. "What I an is that your profile doesn’t quite fit where it should. That’s all. It’s a distinction, not a verdict."

Chris leaned back in the chair, shoulders tight, his knee bouncing once before he caught it with a hand. His smirk had vanished, leaving only the sharp lines of tension across his face. "So would I be monitored?" he asked, voice rougher than he ant, "or should I co another ti?"

The doctor’s gaze flicked up, lingering just long enough to take in the clenched jaw and the restless fingers tapping against the chair arm. He nodded slowly, as if the reaction made perfect sense. "It’s normal to be nervous. Most patients are when things don’t line up neatly. But no, this isn’t sothing you’ll be monitored for long-term. What we do is repeat the test, under stricter calibration, to rule out error. A third set of results usually resolves it."

He adjusted the tablet, the tone softening a fraction. "You’re not the first to sit in that chair and wonder what an anomaly ans. I’d advise waiting for certainty before worrying about possibilities."

Chris exhaled sharply, like it was just frustration, though his pulse was a thunder in his ears. He forced a nod, eyes fixed on the sterile floor tiles instead of the doctor.

The doctor slid the tablet aside and opened a narrow drawer, retrieving a small white blister pack. He pressed one pill through the foil, setting it neatly on a sterile square of paper.

"Standard protocol," he said matter-of-factly. "We administer a neutralizing agent, then run the panel again. It stabilizes hormone markers and rules out interference. Harmless, but it tells us more than a second blind draw would."

Chris stared at the pill like it was sothing alive, cold prickling down his spine. His fingers curled against his thigh, nails biting through fabric. "Now?"

"Yes. It’ll save you a return trip." The doctor’s tone was calm, like he’d said it a hundred tis before. "You’ll take it, we’ll wait fifteen minutes, then draw again. The lab will process imdiately. By the ti you leave, we’ll know if this was a machine’s mistake or sothing else."

Chris reached out, but his hand hovered a second too long before he finally pinched the pill between his fingers. His throat felt raw. "Right. No big deal."

The doctor noticed the hesitation, though he misread it, offering the sa reassurance he likely gave nervous kids and jittery adults alike. "It’s perfectly safe. No side effects beyond maybe a dry mouth. Think of it as clearing the chalkboard before writing again."

Chris forced a dry laugh, popped the pill onto his tongue, and swallowed without water. It lodged halfway down, bitter, and he coughed once, sharp, before leaning back again. His palms were damp where they pressed against his knees.

The doctor set a tir on his desk, its numbers glowing red. "Fifteen minutes. Try to relax."

Relax.

—

The pill sat heavy in his stomach, a foreign weight he couldn’t stop thinking about. Chris tapped his foot against the floor, fast and uneven, trying to bleed the nerves out through motion. His chest felt too tight, his breaths shallow even though he kept telling himself to slow down.

’It’s fine. It’s nothing. It’s just another dismissed error of the machine. It will say beta. It has to be.’

The tir ticked down, every second loud in his head. He pressed his palms flat against his thighs until they ached, trying to ground himself.

The door clicked open again, and the nurse returned, her expression brisk but not unkind. "Alright, round two. Nothing dramatic. Just a quick draw and then the lab will rerun it."

Chris nodded, too sharp, the movent jerky. His throat felt like sandpaper. "And if it..." He cut himself off and tried again. "If it cos up the sa?"

The nurse smiled faintly, snapping on gloves with practiced ease. "Then it usually ans the first test was a little off balance. Sotis the activating agent reacts stronger than it should or the sample sits too long before processing. These things happen. That’s why we redo it."

Her voice was calm, almost casual, like she was reciting a well-worn script. Chris clung to it, even as his pulse refused to slow.

He looked away as the band tightened around his arm again, the sting of the needle sharp but rcifully quick. Another tube filled, stoppered with a click.

"See?" she said, sliding the needle free, already pressing gauze against the spot. "Nothing big. Happens all the ti. Half the ti it’s the machine, not you."

Chris let out a sound that might have passed for a laugh if it hadn’t been too thin. "Yeah. Machine’s problem. Figures."

But his thoughts wouldn’t stop chasing themselves in circles; the word "dominant" burned too bright behind his eyes.