The morning sun was just beginning to stretch its golden fingers across the sky, touching the world with a gentle warmth as Evander led the boys on their customary run along the foreshore. His long, powerful strides cut through the thin, salty mist hanging low over the bay, and his breath came out in steady, controlled bursts.

Behind him, Darren and Lewis were in a lively conversation, their voices carrying in the still morning air. Their tale of last night's wilderness adventure had taken on an epic proportion, and the rest of the boys were hanging onto their every word. Their excitement was palpable, their voices overlapping and punctuating the dawn with youthful fervor.

Evander felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him as he listened to them chatter away. They've always been told that they were weak, that strength was not a trait they, as males, could possess. His heart swelled with pride at their enthusiasm about the male system. The prospect of gaining strength, of challenging the narrative they'd been sold their whole lives, was evidently enlightening to them.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the familiar shapes of boats bobbing in the near distance, close to the shoreline. There were always women on them, their eyes fixed on the horde of boys streaming by the bay, their hands waving desperately. The sight had become a regular fixture of their morning runs, a stark reminder of the world they lived in.

Arckit's words from the previous night echoed in his mind, Our morning runs are becoming quite the internet sensation. He allowed himself a small smile at the thought. The image of these boys, running along the shore, had unwittingly become a beacon of interest in this women-dominated world. The irony was not lost on him that the owners of the boats were capitalizing on their morning ritual, while Arckit, wasn't making a dime.

His heart pounded in sync with the rhythm of their footfalls on the sandy shore, the echoes of their excitement adding a certain intensity to the morning.

As the boys kept up with his brisk pace, their muscles straining against the resistance of the sand and the salty sea breeze whipping through their hair, Evander called out to them. His strong voice reverberated through the air, effortlessly rising above the rhythmic pounding of their footsteps and the distant lapping of the waves.

"Does anyone know what's happening today?" he questioned, turning his head slightly to see their reactions.

He was referring to the peculiar message they had all received, an order masquerading as an invitation. They had been summoned to meet at the complex at 10 AM, a command issued by none other than Director Ilyana herself. The content of the message was sparse, and its tone had a degree of imperiousness that ruffled the feathers of the boys.

Evander noticed the collective furrowing of eyebrows and the slight tightening of jaws among the boys as they recalled the brusque tone of the message. This kind of curt demand was new to them. They were accustomed to a world where they were treated with delicacy, where interactions with them were often steeped in politeness, almost verging on indulgence. But this situation was different, a break from the usual that had them understandably perturbed.

This message... it's not the usual courtesy we receive, he mused, his eyes scanning the faces of the boys running beside him. Their expressions ranged from mild annoyance to veiled anger, their young faces creased with a mix of apprehension and confusion. The stark departure from the norm had thrown them off balance.

The continuous rhythm of their running slowed slightly, a momentary lull as the boys took in Evander's query. After a beat, one young man, responded. He was panting slightly, his face flushed from the exertion, but his eyes sparkled with curiosity and a dash of apprehension.

"I've got no clue, but I did see a bunch of trucks and a lot of folks entering the complex early in the morning," he shared, a slight tremor in his voice betraying his nervousness. His words floated in the air, sowing seeds of intrigue among the group. The boys collectively turned their gazes towards the distant silhouette of the complex, curiosity tugging at their minds.

Evander heard the undercurrent of uncertainty in the lad's voice, mirrored in the murmurs of agreement from the others. His brows furrowed in contemplation as he considered their predicament. They were no longer just a bunch of individuals; they were beginning to function as a unit, a small community forged by shared experiences and a common goal.

"Let's all go together then, at 10am," he proposed, his voice carrying an unspoken promise of unity. He caught the gaze of the young man who had spoken earlier, offering him a nod of assurance. "We'll extend our morning run a bit. It will be good for us."

His words hung in the misty morning air, a palpable sense of camaraderie enveloping them. The boys exchanged glances, nodding their heads in agreement.

The silhouette of the complex loomed ahead, a monolith of pristine glass and polished steel, dwarfing the cityscape around it. An air of nostalgia wafted over Evander as he led his crew towards the entrance, the echo of their first introductory lecture ricocheting off his thoughts. It had been a mere week and some days, yet the boys...no, the lads, had changed. Their gaits were confident, strides synchronized, as if each step echoed their newfound unity and determination.

As they reached the massive gates of the complex, Evander brought the formation to a halt. He turned to the boys, his gaze sweeping over their flushed faces, the fire in their eyes burning brighter than it ever had. "Fall out," he ordered crisply, his voice ringing out in the early morning stillness.

The boys obeyed instantly, the formation breaking apart as they took a moment to catch their breaths, their chests heaving, drawing in the cool, morning air. Despite their fatigue, they stood tall and alert, their eyes shifting between Evander and the looming complex with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety.

The massive doors of the complex opened with an almost intimidating grandeur, revealing the vast expanse of the foyer, filled to the brim with bustling activity. At the heart of it all, Director Ilyana stood, a regal figure radiating authority and confidence. As they entered, her lips curled into a smile of satisfaction, her gaze sweeping over the group, taking in their transformed appearances.

"I told you, this program would do them good," she declared, not to the boys directly, but to the crowd of onlookers in the room. Her voice, polished and clear, carried throughout the hall, her words garnering murmurs of approval from the crowd.

In response, Evander simply rolled his eyes, a silent rebellion against the Director's self-congratulatory remarks. He could hear soft mutterings among the lads, their sentiments echoing his own: that if they had been left to their own devices, none of this would have happened.

Director Ilyana seemed to exist in a realm of her own, her attention held hostage by the buzzing activity of the complex. Without so much as acknowledging the men, she directed her orders to the staff, her voice echoing across the vast foyer, "You know what to do, let's get started with the tests and some photos so we can induct them. The others should be ready in a couple of hours."

On her command, a battalion of women, clad in pristine white coats that signified their medical expertise, broke away from the throng and disappeared through a massive door into an expansive area. Evander's curiosity piqued as he caught sight of what lay beyond. An array of medical bays, stretching out as far as the eye could see, each one meticulously set up with high-tech equipment. The sterile scent of disinfectant wafted from within, a scent oddly comforting and unnerving at the same time.

Just what exactly are they planning to do? The question loomed ominously in Evander's mind, nagging at his nerves.

For what felt like an eternity, they waited. The foyer was abuzz with conversation and commotion, yet no one bothered to address them. The lads stood there, not as individuals but as part of the scenery, unnoticed and unacknowledged, like mindless cattle waiting to be herded.

Then, at long last, staff members began to emerge from the medical bay, lists clutched in their hands. One by one, they called out names, their voices monotone and mechanical, the names spoken not with regard for the person, but merely as identifiers for the process.

Evander looked around at his lads. He could see the worry etched on their faces, their apprehension apparent. They had been summoned here without any explanation, treated like mere objects, and now, they were being summoned into a room full of medical bays.

"Evander!" the call reverberated in the air, slicing through the simmering tension. He glanced up, his gaze meeting the nurse's who had announced his name. She was strikingly attractive, with flowing auburn hair that curled at the ends and eyes that held a subtle curiosity.

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Her eyes roamed over him, a half-hidden smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. Her gaze felt oddly intrusive, yet distant, as if she were appraising a rare artifact rather than a living being. They must have seen a few of us by now, yet they look at us like we're...unique.

He followed her into the sprawling medical bay, his eyes taking in the perplexing blend of technology and magic. The sight of the equipment was simultaneously awe-inspiring and terrifying. Machines with glowing runes etched into their surfaces whirred alongside sleek, gleaming contraptions that hummed with an electric life of their own. An organized chaos of the arcane and the scientific.

Two women, unmistakably doctors by their demeanor and white coats, greeted him with an air of pleasant surprise. Their effusive welcome lacked personal warmth; it felt like an acknowledgement of an interesting test subject rather than a person.

"Alright, Evander, let's get started," the first doctor, a woman with fiery-red hair and glasses that magnified her keen, analytical eyes, began. "We'll need to take some samples first - blood and urine."

Her companion, a woman with an intense gaze and silver streaks running through her coal-black hair, nodded in agreement. She was already laying out the paraphernalia for the tests, her hands moving with the certainty and grace of a seasoned maestro.

They worked in harmony, a perfectly synchronized duo. The redhead drew blood with a swift, expert precision, causing him minimal discomfort. Meanwhile, her counterpart handed him a sterile container for the urine sample with a crisp nod.

"Now, if you would follow me, Evander," the silver-haired doctor began, her voice bouncing around the room's sterile silence, "we're going to do a full body scan. This machine," she pointed at a massive, cylindrical device with glowing lights, "will help us visualize your internal organs, muscles, and bone structure in detail."

As Evander stepped into the contraption, a symphony of mechanical hums, beeps, and clicks filled the room. The machines whirred and hummed around him, throwing strange shadows on the white tiled floors. Each of them with a specific purpose, each designed to reveal a piece of his biological puzzle.

The doctors watched the output screens, their eyes wide with fascination as they murmured back and forth. "Look at the bone density... fascinating..." the redhead started, the end of her sentence drowned out by the hum of machinery.

"And the muscle fiber structure!" the other chimed in, her voice carrying a hint of awe. "This level of athleticism isn't common among the subjects we've seen before. The aerobic capacity too, it's exceptional..."

Throughout their commentary, there was a detached curiosity that colored their tones. They weren't talking about Evander, the man, but about a fascinating specimen on display. He was an object under their microscopic scrutiny, a puzzle to be analyzed and discussed. They were scientists in their element, and he was the fascinating anomaly that had wandered into their midst.

Well, this is it. I am a lab rat now. The thought stirred a bitter taste in his mouth. He continued to follow their instructions, his gaze hardening as he let himself become a subject for their examination.

Feeling like he had just emerged from a two-hour stint as a human pincushion, Evander strode out of the medical bay. His body was an orchestra of complaints, punctuated by the lingering sting of needles and the invasive memories of unfamiliar instruments. A thin veil of perspiration clung to his forehead, and he felt a slight trembling in his legs, a residual echo of his nerves.

So, this is what it feels like to be turned inside out, he mused, a note of bitter irony in his mental voice. The cool hallway air nipped at his skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. It was a stark contrast to the clinical heat of the medical bay, and he relished the chill, the mundane discomfort - a reminder that he was more than just a subject in a sterile, white room.

As he walked down the corridor, a blush crept onto his face, staining his cheeks with an uncharacteristic show of embarrassment. He could still feel the intrusive gaze of the doctors as they carried out the fertility examination. The discomfort of the procedure was one thing, but the clinical detachment, the complete loss of privacy – that's what rankled. The invasion of his personal space still left a sour taste in his mouth.

They handled me like a prize bull at a livestock auction, he thought, a flare of indignation burning within him. The reduction of his being to a set of physiological variables and reproductive capabilities felt dehumanizing, stripping away layers of dignity and self-respect.

The experience in the medical bay was barely behind him when Evander found himself thrust into another alien scenario. He was steered by a brisk assistant, her hands firm on his shoulders, guiding him to a plush seat in front of a large vanity mirror. Around him, the world was a whirl of activity as a team of stylists flitted about, armed with brushes, cosmetics, and an air of utmost professionalism.

The mirror offered Evander a window into the controlled chaos around him. Darren was in the chair next to him, his face a mask of resigned acceptance. A stylist was running a comb through Darren's hair, her eyes focused on her task with a laser-sharp intensity.

This is utterly bizarre, he thought, his eyes darting from one face to another, each absorbed in their respective tasks. I feel like I've landed in the middle of a fashion show.

Leaning slightly towards Darren, Evander voiced his confusion. "Is this normal?"

His friend gave him a nod, his expression a strange mix of amusement and resignation. "Whenever we get professional attention, we're usually ignored. They speak to our guardians, not us."

The comment brought a new perspective to Evander's observation of the bustling room. It made sense in a way, the indifference and the focused professionalism. They are here for a job, not for a chat, he mused. Yet, it was still unsettling, the stark depersonalization, the feeling of being little more than a mannequin for these people.

Darren continued to explain the situation. "There are two reasons, I reckon. Firstly, they want to appear professional to their paying clients. We're never the ones footing the bill, so we don't matter. Secondly, an accusation of harassment from a man could spell the end of their career. That's why there are always a few women around us, and we're never left alone in professional settings."

Evander mulled over Darren's words, the reality of their situation sinking in. The world they inhabited was indeed a curious one, steeped in protocols and boundaries that dictated every interaction. It was a dance of professionalism and careful distance, a dance that required them to move to the tune while remaining largely invisible.

The smell of hairspray hung thick in the air as Evander and the other boys were ushered into the next phase of their unusual morning. The atmosphere in the photo studio was electric, buzzing with the energy of professionals at work and the uncertainty of novices thrust into the spotlight.

Wide-eyed and feeling vastly out of place, the boys stood huddled together, their unfamiliar surroundings rendering them mute. They were a gaggle of awkward teenagers, suddenly the center of attention, their faces reflecting a spectrum of emotions, ranging from Darren's resigned acceptance to the outright panic visible on the other ones.

Well, this is a circus, Evander mused internally as he surveyed the scene. He himself felt like a fish out of water, caught in the headlights of this strange new world.

Around them, the studio came alive with the frantic pace of the professionals. Photographers adjusting their equipment, makeup artists retouching faces, stylists fussing over their clothing, and the loud clatter of conversations filled the room. Amid the flurry of activity, they were the odd ones out, a group of boys in a woman's world.

"Alright, boys, line up! Let's get this show on the road," came the brisk command of the lead photographer, a tall woman with a no-nonsense air about her. She began positioning them, her directions sharp and precise, a stark contrast to their hesitant compliance.

Evander watched as one of the boys was guided to a stool, bright lights focused on him. The photographer circled, her camera clicking away, the incessant noise an oddly comforting reminder of normality amidst the whirlwind.

"Chin up. Look at me. Smile. No, not like that, a natural smile. Yes, good. Now, hold it," she barked, her tone indicating she was accustomed to obedience.

The boys shuffled and adjusted, trying their best to follow the rapid-fire instructions. Some attempted to mask their nervousness with bravado, others simply looked lost. All of them shared one commonality - they were navigating uncharted waters.

The photo shoot continued in the same vein, a strange dance of demands and compliance. The boys were maneuvered like puppets, their awkwardness laid bare under the harsh studio lights.

As Evander took his turn on the stool, the stark white lights blinding him, he could feel the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. He felt exposed, vulnerable. The woman behind the lens was a mere stranger, yet, for that brief moment, he was at her mercy.

The photo shoot eventually wound down, the frenetic energy slowly dissipating as equipment was packed away and makeup artists began to clean their brushes. Stripped of the bustling activity, the studio felt almost eerie in its silence.

Herded towards a nondescript waiting area, the boys were left to their own devices. Their stomachs grumbled in protest at the lack of food, the familiar pangs of hunger setting in.

Just another reminder that we're nothing more than commodities in their eyes, Evander mused cynically, the cold metallic seat beneath him doing nothing to improve his mood. Their well-being, it seemed, was secondary to the day's agenda.

Idle chatter filled the space, the boys discussing the morning's events, their voices infused with a mixture of awe, disbelief, and no small measure of trepidation.

Among the hum of voices, Lewis approached Evander, his usually cheerful face now furrowed in uncertainty. "Evander," he began hesitantly, "I overheard some of the women talking. They said...they said we're being put with the women this afternoon."

Evander felt his brow knit together at this news. Isn't it too soon? They had been led to believe that such arrangements were still weeks away. The premature announcement, if true, left him disconcerted.

From the corner of the room, a voice piped up, "They're probably messing with us again. You know how it is, they love keeping us in the dark. Most times, the info they do give us is wrong, just to keep us off-balance."

The sentiment echoed throughout the room, a wave of knowing nods greeting the statement. Their shared experiences had created a mutual understanding of the treatment they often faced. Information was doled out sparingly, if at all, and the men had learned to take every detail with a grain of salt.

"They don't care about us, we're just pieces on their chessboard," a voice grumbled from the back of the group, the bitterness in his tone cutting through the low hum of conversation.