The Doctor closed the door behind them.

Juzo turned to watch the man in the liquor-stained lab coat turning the keys in the two locks and putting all three latches, with a speed and agility not common in someone who had clearly been drinking.

“Okay.” The guy sighed quietly and leaned against the door; then he cast a hostile glance at Juzo. “Every second I keep the door open is a second that I risk being discovered,” he said.

Correction, Juzo thought, in that raspy voice there were traces of alcohol, but also paranoia. And just as the little dots of liquor on the lab coat exposed the drinking, what was next to the door exposed his fear of being caught.

Attached to the yellowish wall with screws, as if it were an eccentric decorative painting, hung an electronic board full of tiny circuits and capacitors, much like a microchip, but huge; with little lights that flashed on and off.

“This is—” Juzo muttered.

“An eight-frequency neutralizer,” Malin confirmed. “It must be over fifty years old.”

“Fifty-two to be exact,” the Doctor said.

“Since seven-frequency came into use, equipment like this is no longer built,” Juzo said, observing the electronic board. His green eyes roamed the labyrinthine web of long chains of circuits. He leaned his ear close and listened to the barely perceptible hum of the working capacitors. It was wonderful. “If someone finds out that you have this…”

Like a child wary of his most precious toy, the Doctor grabbed him by the arm and led him away from the neutralizer.

“If anyone found out about this, all it would do would be to press more charges against me,” the man said. “My lab is full of illegal equipment that, if I were a model citizen, I should have got rid of them ten years ago, when the new legislative regulation of the Empire came into force. Now, you want to follow me? I had enough with your little scene there in the hallway.”

Juzo didn’t apologize. After all, he felt he had been brought against his will.

“Calm down,” he said to the Doctor. “The eight-frequency must have already intercepted any tracking signal they’re using to find you. If anyone is trying to find you, that is. It seems to me that your paranoia only reflects your bombastic self-esteem.”

The man stopped short and turned to him with his little eyes wide and wild, brimming with liquor and wounded pride.

Juzo forced himself to smile with cynicism, faking a satisfaction he didn’t feel just to enhance his pedantry. He wanted the Doctor to get mad and throw them out. He was intrigued to know what other artifacts besides the neutralizer the man was hiding in his office, which was behind a second door, but his desire to leave was even greater than his curiosity.

“Look, I didn’t force you to come!” the man growled, and the veins of his narrow neck leaped out like swollen wires. “If you’re gonna insult me in my office, leave right now! I’m not interested in your money.”

Jackpot! Juzo thought, enduring the Doctor’s abrasive alcohol breath with a smile.

Malin chimed in with a smile more fake than Juzo’s.

“My friend apologizes for his words,” she told the Doctor.

“I don’t,” Juzo said.

Malin shot daggers at him.

“Yes, Juzo,” she said. “You’ll submit to this, whether you want to or not.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Juzo and Malin looked at each other, and she managed to match the hardness in his eyes. Her determination was strong, Juzo had to admit it; not every day someone would bend him that way.

“Fine,” he accepted, at last, and ignoring the Doctor’s sign asking them to leave, he passed by him and went to the second door.

With a grunt, the Doctor led them into his office.

There, a chair similar to the one used by dentists was waiting for them. A steel and rubber examination chair with instruments orbiting around it; sliding trays, monitors, and a huge lamp that made it even more intimidating than it already was. The upholstery was battered from use, and the paint on the metal arms showed signs of wear. Indeed, it seemed like an eccentric, and very illegal, dental office.

In a corner, there were two drum-shaped power capacitors, tall as a person and wide as a beer keg, connected to a computer. The metal cover of the capacitors had rust stains and many scratches, but in both, one could still read an engraving that said: ‘Property of the Markabian Imperial Army,’ along with the rhomboid coat of arms of the Empire with the image of the winged horse in the center.

The four walls, the ceiling, and even the floor, were covered with a foam rubber sheet responsible for absorbing noises, though it was eroded by the years and the lack of cleaning.

“Take off your shirt, and sit down,” the Doctor ordered, closing the door.

Juzo took off his shirt and handed it to Malin. His physique was thin, though well-defined, and his chest was covered with brown hairs.

“It would have been better if you shaved before coming,” the man said, activating the equipment.

Juzo shrugged.

The Doctor answered him with a grimace as if to say that it was too late now. “It’s for the electrodes to stick better, that’s all,” he said. “It’s okay.”

Juzo leaned back in the chair, which was cold to the touch, but comfortable despite his battered appearance. How many people had sat in that same place? How many people had passed by that same day?

Malin was looking at him with a neutral expression. That little she-devil! She should be smiling; after all, he was doing it for her.

The Doctor threw back the flaps of his lab coat, and taking a seat on a small rolling stool, faced Juzo. He lit a cigarette and gave it a long puff. He exhaled slowly and frowned to keep the smoke from entering his eyes. He noticed Juzo, who was a few inches below, gazing at him, so he touched the lines that age had marked on his face.

“I know, I know. Bad habits will put me down,” he excused himself. The cigarette danced, glued to his mouth. “We must die someday, right?”

The person who had opened the corridor door a few minutes ago, and the person who was now sitting next to Juzo—showing no care for him, who might not like having someone smoking on top of him—were completely different. While the Doctor still had a cheap liquor smell, the idea that the guy was drunk had vanished from Juzo’s mind.

“Relax,” the Doctor said. “It’ll be better for both of us, I assure you.”

From one cabinet, he took four self-adhesive electrodes and distributed them on Juzo’s chest.

The generators started working, and the foam rubber muffled their hum.

Juzo took a deep breath. The chair reclined, transforming into an examination table, leaving him in a horizontal position. The surrounding screens lit up, showing his vital signs and other graphics that he couldn’t decipher. He wanted to know what they meant. But no. It’d be better not to know. It’d be better to ask the Doctor after the ordeal was over; because, according to what they had told him, that was what would happen now: torture.

The lamplight dazzled him, and he had to close his eyes. Now he depended on his other senses to follow the action. He focused on the Doctor’s voice, which, having a cigarette swinging between his lips, was a little more than a babbling sound. The stench of liquor was strong, but the stench of burning tobacco was even stronger.

“You have the money?” the Doctor asked.

“I’ve already transferred half the sum to your account,” Malin replied. “The other half will be there when the procedure is complete.”

“You know there’s a good chance your friend won’t make it, don’t you?”

Juzo and Malin shared a glance. Don’t you dare mention a word about DNA tests or chances of survival, her eyes warned him.

“We know the risks,” she said then. “And rest assured, I’ll pay the full payment as agreed.”

“Well, kid,” the man addressed Juzo. “You’ll feel a slight—” Juzo felt a needle piercing his right elbow pit. “—Prick!”

Son of a bitch, Juzo snarled, and in a reflex, he opened his eyes despite the brightness of the lamp. He needed to see what they were going to do with him. That pricking thing had been a mischief on the part of the doctor, yes. That guy should have warned him before that…

No. It’s all right. He tried to relax until the anesthesia took effect… The anesthesia took… took… effect. Yes. It was already doing it.

His muscles were numb, and suddenly his eyelids weighed a ton. He tried to look at the doctor one last time before falling asleep, fearing he would not wake up again, but the lamp was above him and filled everything with that terrible yellow light.

He didn’t see anything. Everything was blurry and yellow, and then white.

“So, kid…” He heard the Doctor’s voice speaking to him from far away. “Are you ready to become a Grenadier?”