You were told not to talk to whoever was in there. It was just a quick programming job. That’s all the director told you. You walked into the psyops room, and there he was, just bound to a chair.

His green eyes followed you as you walked, eyeing the barcode on your neck. Lips stretched into a smirk. “You’re the first transgenic I’ve seen. They usually send up lab coats.” His voice was smug, and he sounded like he had a sharp tongue. “What’s your designation, sweetheart?”

You were told not to talk, but he didn’t seem hostile or unfriendly. But orders were orders, and you didn’t want to end up like 452, or Max as she called herself.

The guy’s eyes were locked on you, and he looked kind of irritated that he wasn’t being noticed. Then again, he hadn’t told you his designation and as far as you knew, he could be dangerous.

Damn his psycho twin traitor guy who blew up the DNA lab and forced him to have to copulate with an assigned female. Not yet, but he was almost at the end of his psychological onion-esque unpeeling.