The second checkpoint did not pretend to be polite.
If the first was ant to put you into small boxes, the second was to beat you down until you realized that your body was no longer yours.
The space beyond the first barricade opened into a wide concrete yard bordered by temporary fencing and portable floodlights. The lights were unnecessary in daylight, which made them all that much worse.
They were there to remind people that darkness would not protect them later.
Long folding tables had been arranged in rows. Behind them stood n and won in dical scrubs that were too clean and boots that were not. Clipboards were everywhere. So were the blue dical gloves he never wanted to see again.
Lachlan clocked the sll before anything else.
Disinfectant layered over sweat. Old blood that had been scrubbed but not erased. Sothing faintly chemical that stung the back of his throat when he breathed too deeply.
"Well," he murmured, keeping his voice light as they were herded forward, "at least they’ve committed to the aesthetic. Nothing says ’safe haven’ like industrial lighting and public humiliation."
No one laughed.
Not even him, really.
A voice barked from ahead. "Bags down. Clothing off. Everything has to be removed."
The line stalled.
A woman two groups ahead froze outright. Her hands clenched around the straps of her pack as if she thought it might anchor her to the ground.
"I—" she started.
A soldier stepped closer. He didn’t raise his weapon. He didn’t need to.
"Everything," he repeated.
People began to comply.
Slowly. Unevenly. Jackets first. Then shirts. Boots kicked off and lined up in crooked rows. Pants followed. Underwear after that, hesitation stretching until the pressure beca unbearable.
There were no curtains. No screens. No attempt at separation by gender or age.
Lachlan felt his creature stir, low and irritated. This didn’t have anything to do with dical clearance. This was ownership.
He swallowed and rolled his shoulders once, loosening tension that had nowhere to go.
"Guess we’re doing trust falls the hard way," he muttered as he unzipped his jacket.
Zubair shot him a look. It wasn’t anger. It was warning.
Lachlan sobered imdiately.
They stripped.
Not hurried. Not defiant. Just enough to avoid attention.
Cold air slid over Lachlan’s skin as he stepped forward barefoot onto concrete that had not been ward by the sun. It felt deliberate. Everything here did.
Doctors moved down the line with practiced efficiency.
"Turn."
"Arms up."
"Open your mouth."
Gloved fingers pressed and prodded. Eyes flicked over scars with interest that didn’t feel clinical. Blood pressure cuffs tightened until Lachlan’s fingers tingled.
One doctor paused at a scar on his ribs.
"Cause?"
"Lightning," Lachlan replied easily.
The doctor nodded and made a note. "Self-inflicted or external?"
Lachlan blinked. "Excuse ?"
"Were you injured by your own discharge or soone else’s?"
He stared at her for half a second, then smiled. "Buddy, if I could hit myself with lightning on purpose, I’d be charging admission."
She did not smile back.
"Temperature’s normal," another voice said. "Pulse elevated but within acceptable range."
Zubair stood rigid beside him, eyes forward, jaw locked. A doctor pressed fingers against his abdon, lingering just long enough to feel intrusive.
"Scarring," she said. "Burn pattern. Combat?"
"Yes," Zubair replied evenly.
"Voluntary?"
That made Lachlan turn his head.
Zubair did not. "Yes."
The doctor nodded, satisfied, and moved on.
Psycho in Alexei’s skin was next.
The mont the doctor’s hand brushed his skin, frost blood instinctively beneath the surface.
The doctor jerked her hand back. "Control," she snapped.
Psycho inclined his head. "Of course."
The frost receded.
The doctor hesitated, then continued, this ti wearing thicker gloves.
"Body temperature is low," she noted.
Alexei smiled faintly. "I run cold."
"Noted."
Aerenxy passed without comnt. No scars. No visible signs of infection. The doctor lingered longer than necessary, eyes sharp.
"You’ll be reassigned," she said eventually. "Healing assets are monitored closely and are used in dical."
Aerenxy nodded.
Then it was Sera.
Lachlan felt the shift in the air before anyone else reacted.
Sera stepped forward without hesitation. Her movents were smooth, unbothered, as if she were doing nothing more than changing clothes in a room that didn’t matter.
Her shirt ca off.
The murmurs started imdiately.
Not loud. Not overt. Just the subtle intake of breath. The flicker of attention that slid her way and stuck.
Scars mapped her skin in a way that made Lachlan’s stomach twist. Old ones. All had to be done before her creature took over. Their patterns that didn’t belong to any clean narrative, but they still spoke volus.
A doctor stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
"Turn," she said.
Sera did.
The doctor’s fingers traced one scar along her spine, pressing gently. "Cause?"
"An experint," Sera replied lightly.
The doctor paused. "Details?"
"No."
That earned a look.
Another doctor stepped in, checking vitals. Pulse. Pressure. Temperature.
"Normal," he said, sounding faintly disappointed.
The woman frowned. "No bites?"
"No."
"No infections?"
"No."
"No enhancents?" she pressed.
Sera smiled. "Wouldn’t you like to know."
The doctor stiffened. "This isn’t a joke."
Sera tilted her head. "Neither am I."
For a heartbeat, Lachlan thought that might be it. That this was the mont everything broke.
Then the doctor straightened.
"Clear," she said sharply. "Next."
Sera dressed without hurry, as if reclaiming each layer was a private victory.
Lachlan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Behind them, soone sobbed quietly.
A child cried until a hand clamped over their mouth.
A man protested and was removed from the line entirely, dragged away without ceremony.
Lachlan pulled his shirt back on and leaned slightly toward Sera. "You doing okay?"
She nodded. "I’m fine."
Her creature spoke softly inside her, and Lachlan saw the way her shoulders eased just a fraction.
Zubair moved closer to her without touching, heat settling subtly into the air around them.
Checkpoint Two cleared them with stamped papers and clipped instructions.
No privacy. No dignity. No apologies.
As they were waved toward the next holding area, Lachlan glanced back once.
People were still stripping.
Doctors were still asuring.
And whatever Hope Sanctuary claid to offer, Lachlan was very sure of one thing.
No one ca out of this place untouched.
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