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the guardianship of your mother. With that said,
she has relinquished her custodial rights, and you are now under the care and
ownership of the State. Well,” he pauses, “the DSD to be more precise.”
    My eyes widen. The DSD. The
Department of Scientific Discoveries. A harmless enough name that ironically
coincides with the last place I could hope to find myself. This is where the
State conducts human experimentation—poorly hidden behind the guise of
research. Only the worst criminals are sent here, so what do they want with me?
    Am I a criminal?
    “This is your home for the
foreseeable future.”
    I stare at him, the terror
coursing through me faster than I can contain it.
    “I understand that what I’m
telling you must come as a surprise,” he continues. “But I assure you that you
are perfectly safe and will be treated with nothing but civility during your
stay.”
    “And how long will that be?” I growl.
    My mother gave me up to
these people. My own mother! I’m not only shocked but also disgusted. The
combination of more emotions than I can even begin to name is only made worse
when I remember the final words I heard her say.
    “Do what you must.”
    Suddenly, I don’t feel
well. The nausea from before was nothing compared to this, and it feels as if I
can’t breathe without potentially being sick. I squeeze my eyes shut to try to
calm myself down, but my head is spinning.
    “Do what you must,” she said.
    “I’d like to discuss what
you were doing prior to the incident.”
    My eyes snap open as the
sound of the doctor’s voice drags me back to the present. When I look up at
him, I realize that he never answered my question.
    “What incident?” I mumble.
    His eyes meet mine. “At W.
P. Headquarters,” he replies coolly.
    I shrink back from the
intensity of his gaze, and in a single moment, everything I’ve been wondering
about seems to come full circle. I wasn’t sure if what happened at the exam had
anything to do with this place. But now that he’s asked me, the way that
he’s asked me, it’s enough to tell me that my little breakdown was worse than I
thought.
    “Is that why I’m here?” I
whisper.
    He stares at me, his eyes
piercing as he seems to consider my question. “Yes.”
    He rests back in his chair
as that forced smile reappears. I lean forward in response, scrambling to find
an excuse that might get me out of this.
    “What happened was a
misunderstanding! I’m really sorry, and I promise to sit the exam again—” I
fumble my words, and I can feel my cheeks flush as I become increasingly
panicked.
    I stare at him in
desperation, hoping my plea will be enough to get me off the hook. But any
hopes I had are destroyed once I see the amused expression creeping across his
face.
    “That won’t be necessary,”
he says with a small laugh.
    My heart seems to drop into
the bottom of my feet. I swallow. The confusion and fear mold into one twisted
mess and contribute to the lump now rising in my throat. I watch Dr. Richter
carefully, trying to find something beneath the mask he’s worn since the moment
we met. Something about him seems off , and I can tell that his kindness
is insincere. It isn’t natural, despite how hard he tries to make it appear as
if it is.
    He breaks eye contact with
me and peers down at the tablet placed on the table in front of him. His
fingers tap against the screen three times. “Could you confirm the following,
please?” He looks back up at me and smiles. “Name?”
    “Wynter Reeves,” I answer,
wondering why he’s asking me when he already knows the answer.
    “Identification number and
date of birth?”
    “73956241. October 14,
2040.”
    He wavers for a moment to
look down at the tablet. “Blood type?” he asks.
    “O negative,” I murmur. But
as I say these words, I remember what that woman said before.
    “Her blood type. It’s . . .
changing.”
    Suddenly, I’m not so sure.
    Dr. Richter simply nods his
head and proceeds with his line