Celisar Kael
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Chapter 12 | Medical Samples
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 12:12:01 +0000 UTC"Medical assessment through that doorway. Don't worry about the results. We need bodies regardless." The officer gestured toward a door on the left side of the hallway.
Leon stepped through the door, immediately struck by the stark white brilliance that assaulted his vision. After the dim, soft light of the recruitment processing area, the medical wing's lighting felt like walking into a solar flare.
He squinted, holding his hand up instinctively to shield his eyes.
The space stretched before him in clinical sterility; white walls, white floors, medical technicians in white uniform, and white ceiling panels with recessed lighting that left no corner in shadow.
Transparent partitions created a honeycomb of examination cells, each identical to the next. There was something unnervingly perfect about the symmetry, as if the room had been designed to erase any hint of human irregularity.
Technicians in white uniforms moved between stations with precision. Their movements lacked the natural hesitation of human motion; each step and turn optimized for maximum efficiency. Light pulsed in faint blue along their uniforms' seams, tracking across joints and vertebrae in rhythmic patterns.
"Next standard recruit," called a female voice.
Leon approached the indicated cell where a technician waited, her expression blank as polished marble. Her dark hair was pulled into a severe knot that emphasized sharp cheekbones and eyes that reflected the room's harsh light without absorbing any of it.
"Remove outer garments and sit." Her commands came without eye contact, her attention already on the monitoring equipment she was preparing. Each movement of her fingers had the precise quality of programmed behavior.
The examination table felt ice-cold against Leon's skin as he sat. Without warning, her hands were at his temples, securing monitoring devices with clinical indifference. Her fingers pressed against his skin, not hard enough to cause pain but completely devoid of the instinctive gentleness most people employed when touching others.
"Standard recruitment medical assessment will commence," she stated, attaching more sensors to his chest.
"Remain still and compliance will be noted in your file."
The monitoring devices activated with a series of soft chirps. Data streams appeared on the transparent display beside the examination table and his vital signs resolving into numeric values that meant nothing to him.
"Blood pressure elevated. Heart rate elevated. Stress indicators within expected parameters for Nullari recruits," she recited, reviewing his readings with the detachment of someone listing cargo inventory.
Leon cleared his throat. "What exactly are you testing for?"
She continued preparing an extraction device without acknowledging his question. When she finally spoke, it sounded like a rehearsed response.
"Genetic compatibility determines your service track," she explained, pressing a blood extraction device against his arm.
The needle slid into his vein painfully. It was noticeably larger than necessary for standard blood collection. Leon winced, a small sound escaping before he could stop it.
"Higher compatibility equals advanced training opportunities and enhancement eligibility. Lower compatibility means standard combat deployment."
She delivered this life-altering information with the same inflection someone might use to read a weather report. The extraction device filled with dark red, the amount significantly more than required for routine blood work.
Through the transparent partition separating his cell from the next, Leon caught glimpses of another assessment in progress. A young man with athletic build and perfectly maintained appearance was receiving an entirely different experience.
"Domain Archon Sinclair's son," the technician noted, following Leon's gaze without pausing her work. "Protocol dictates specialized handling for elite recruits."
Leon watched as two medical personnel attended the Archon's son. One technician was carefully explaining a procedure, gesturing to equipment while waiting for acknowledgment before proceeding.
Another monitored displays with focused attention and maked adjustments based on subtle reactions.
"Jake Sinclair," Leon read from the display visible through the partition. The name floated above a dazzling array of biometric readings, all glowing in optimized green ranges.
The female technician surprised with his observation under his condition.
"They're checking existing enhancement levels for integration with military-grade augmentation," she explained. There was subtle satisfaction in her voice, a hint of personality breaking through. "Elite recruits require elite protocols, but sometimes equality of pain is unavoidable."
For a fleeting moment, she seemed almost human. The moment vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"Remain still," she instructed, extracting the needle.
A second technician approached, male, with the same blank expression.
He carried equipment Leon didn't recognize. Devices that featured gleaming metal components arranged around what appeared to be extraction points.
Without explanation, the male technician pressed the device against Leon's shoulder. A sharp pain shot through his muscle as the tool penetrated deep, extracting tissue without the courtesy of anesthetic.
"Muscle density and fiber composition assessment," he explained as Leon inhaled sharply.
Leon's knuckles whitened against the examination table's edge, his jaw clenched so tightly he could hear his teeth grinding.
"Samples will be compared to historic data and determine preliminary rank. F-rank mana absorption is the lowest," the male technician recited while preparing the next device. This one featured neural probes and scanning components.
"E-rank is common for Nullari. D-rank can qualify for partial augmentation."
He positioned Leon to access his spine, methodically inserting neural probes at precise intervals along the vertebrae. Each connection sent electric jolts through Leon's nervous system, making his vision blur with silver-white static.
"C-rank might qualify for specialization and full augmentation. B-rank doesn't happen for Nullari."
The neural mapping continued, each probe connection worse than the last.
Leon's muscles spasmed involuntarily as the device measured conductivity through increasingly invasive methods.
"Maintain stillness," the technician repeated, though Leon's body was betraying the command with every jolting connection.
While he gritted his teeth through the nerve conductivity readings, the female technician observed his reactions with clinical interest, making notes on a transparent tablet. Her eyes tracked between his physical responses and the data readouts.
“Is it painful?” she asked.
What do you think? Leon scowled in her direction.
She caught the pain etched across his face and didn’t wait for a reply.
"Pain responses provide valuable data," she noted, speaking more to her tablet than to Leon. "Nullari with higher pain thresholds often demonstrate improved adaptation potential during enhancement procedures."
Her gaze held something like scientific curiosity rather than empathy. The look of a researcher observing an interesting specimen.
After what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than minutes, they removed the neural probes. The relief was so intense Leon nearly collapsed forward, catching himself at the last moment.
The male technician had already moved to prepare the next procedure. This one featured a device with an extraction needle so large it seemed designed for veterinary use rather than human medicine.
"This assessment identifies mana compatibility at the cellular level," he explained, positioning the device against Leon's hip bone. "Marrow composition indicates potential resonance capacity."
The pain as the needle penetrated bone was excruciating. A primal sound escaped Leon's throat despite his determination to remain stoic. His vision tunneled, black edges creeping inward as his body processed the shock.
Through wavering consciousness, he glimpsed Jake's procedure. The Archon's son looked relaxed, his eyes closed, and a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as technicians carefully monitored his comfort level.
"Pain management is counterproductive for baseline assessment," the female technician commented, noting Leon's involuntary reaction with academic interest. "Nullari recruits must demonstrate natural resilience. Enhancement procedures are considerably more uncomfortable than diagnostic testing."
Her clinical tone carried the message beneath, this suffering is merely the beginning.
The bone marrow needle burrowed deep, extracting not just cells but what felt like the very core of his being.
When it finally ended, Leon found himself drenched in cold sweat, trembling uncontrollably. Before he could recover, they prepared for the final procedure.
"Cerebrospinal fluid provides the most accurate mana resonance reading," the male technician stated, positioning Leon forward with clinical hands. "Accuracy requirements necessitate direct collection."
The needle slid between vertebrae with precision that did nothing to mitigate the searing pain that followed. Leon's world collapsed to a pinpoint of agony, his consciousness wavering as they extracted the clear fluid that protected his nervous system.
By the time they finished, Leon was barely conscious, nausea washing over him in waves. Cold sweat beaded across his forehead as he fought to remain upright.
The technicians compared notes with the detached interest of scientists.
"Vitals still within acceptable parameters," the female technician declared after consulting her readings. "Subject stable. Cleared to remove monitoring devices."
The pronouncement of his stability felt less like medical care and more like quality assurance for Imperial property. Leon struggled to focus as they removed the sensors and monitoring equipment, their motions as methodical in breakdown as they had been in setup.
Through blurred vision, he watched his biological material—blood, tissue, marrow, spinal fluid—disappear into automated analysis systems. Labeled vials containing parts of him were sorted and transported via embedded delivery tubes.
"Report to holding area six for further genetic assessment," the female technician instructed after leaving a set of medical garments beside him, already turning toward her next assignment. The dismissal was as efficient as everything else about her, a perfect conclusion to a perfectly calculated process.
Leon slid from the examination table, legs nearly buckling beneath him. His body felt hollowed out, processed rather than examined. Every system from his nervous network to his bone marrow had been probed, sampled, and evaluated.
As he steadied himself against the partition as he put the medical garment on. He caught Jake Sinclair's eye through the transparent divider. The Archon's son regarded him with brief curiosity; not unkind but utterly removed, like someone observing an interesting insect.
Their gazes held for a moment before Jake turned away, responding to something his medical technician had said. The interaction lasted seconds but crystallized everything about the system Leon had entered, a world where even pain was experienced differently depending on your birth and status.
He followed the illuminated pathway toward holding area six, each step sending fresh waves of discomfort through his body.
As he walked, Leon couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the tests showed nothing exceptional.
Would he be cannon fodder after all, debt-free but expendable? Or did the recruitment officer's interest suggest something more?
The holding area door slid open, revealing rows of standard recruits in various states of recovery. All of them bore the same hollow-eyed look of having been processed rather than evaluated.
