“Hey, let go of me!”

Ethan’s voice cracked as two burly, expressionless bodyguards gripped him by the arms, their silence more intimidating than any words could be. Without a struggle, they tossed him like a ragdoll in front of Ms. Ramaya LaMaya.

“Choose,” Ramaya's voice was cold and methodical, her eyes cutting through Ethan as if she could see beneath his skin. “Internal or external fertilization.”

Ethan blinked, disoriented, his mind scrambling to grasp her words. Fertilization? He looked down at his torn shirt, clumsily tugging at the shredded fabric as if it could shield him from the absurdity. "What... fertilization? What are you talking about?"

Ramaya’s lips curled in a faint, bitter smile, like a predator amused by the confusion of its prey. One of the bodyguards leaned down, his whisper barely audible. “This one’s new. Codename 324.”

Ramaya sighed, visibly annoyed. “Let me explain. You've been selected for a pregnancy opportunity,” she said, her words clinical, devoid of emotion. “External fertilization means we implant a test-tube embryo in your body. Internal means you’ll pick a woman for artificial copulation.”

The room felt smaller now. The fluorescent lights above buzzed with an irritating hum, making the silence that followed unbearable. Ethan stared at her, mouth agape, feeling a wave of nausea creep up his throat. “But… I’m a man!” he protested, his voice rising. “How can I get pregnant?” The words sounded ridiculous, even to him, as if spoken in a surreal dream.

In truth, Ethan had no idea where he was. The Omega Fortress, nestled deep in the scorched heart of Death Valley, had no windows, no clocks—just endless white corridors that swallowed time. Who am I? The question flashed in his mind for the briefest moment before panic seized him. No memories. Nothing. Just this nightmare.

"You can refuse," Ramaya continued, arms crossing over her chest as she leaned back in her chair, her voice dripping with icy indifference. "But if you do, I’ll make sure you regret it."

Ethan swallowed hard, every inch of his body screaming to run, to fight, but he sat back down heavily, his shoulders sagging in defeat. The weight of it all—his confusion, the looming threats—was too much. “Fine, I’ll choose.” His voice was barely a whisper. "External fertilization, I guess."

Ramaya didn’t respond. She just handed him a sleek, glass selector without looking up. With a dismissive flick of her hand, she gestured towards the screen in front of him, where an array of faces stared back at him—some frozen in fear, others blank and vacant, like dolls awaiting activation.

Ethan’s fingers swiped through the images, his mind still reeling. This is insane. His hands trembled as he muttered under his breath, "Too fat, too old..." His voice was shaky, forced, like a bad actor delivering a scripted line. He barely realized what he was saying, just trying to keep his mind from unraveling completely. Then his finger stopped. One image caught his eye—a woman, slim, long lashes, with a body sculpted to perfection. Elia Wells, the name blinked beneath her profile.

“This one,” Ethan said, half in a daze. His voice was detached, mechanical.

Ramaya raised her head slightly, a flicker of something—curiosity, suspicion?—passing through her icy demeanor. “You’re certain?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Ethan replied, handing back the selector, his voice flat.

“Alright then,” she said, her tone businesslike once again. “You have thirty minutes.” Her words echoed as the bodyguards roughly grabbed him by the arms again, leading him down the hallway. The sound of their heavy boots against the linoleum floor reverberated in Ethan's ears, each step pulling him deeper into this twisted reality.

They shoved him into a small, sterile room—white walls, white bed, and a timer above the door. 30:00. It blinked, taunting him, the countdown beginning immediately. What the hell is this place? Ethan’s mind raced. His breath quickened as he noticed a camera in the corner, its red light blinking. Watching. Always watching.

“Are they recording this? Broadcasting it?” he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom, trying futilely to cover the lens. “I’m not some goddamn experiment!” he shouted, but no one answered.

Then the door opened. Ethan froze.

The clicking of heels on the tiled floor was the only sound as Elia Wells entered, her long, silky hair cascading down to her waist. She wore a tight V-neck uniform, barely covering her curves. Ethan swallowed, feeling a mixture of fear and absurd attraction.

"Hey, I’m Ethan Black," he blurted, trying to break the tension, his voice high-pitched, desperate. His palms were sweating.

Elia didn’t even look at him. “I don’t care who you are,” she snapped, her voice raspy, impatient. “Just shut up and let’s get this over with.”

Ethan’s heart raced. The timer on the wall blinked again—28:00. Time was slipping away, but his body wasn’t responding. It was like he was paralyzed, caught between fight or flight. “I—uh, give me a minute…” He could hear his voice shaking, feel the sweat gathering at his temples.

Elia scoffed, pulling off her stockings without a second thought, her movements quick and mechanical. She sat on the edge of the bed, glaring at him. “Are you gonna do this or not?”

Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest, his hands shaking. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. His legs felt like lead. His mind was racing, but his body was betraying him.

The timer blinked again—25:00.

“Come on,” Elia growled, standing and pushing him onto the bed with a sudden burst of strength. Ethan barely had time to react before she was on top of him, her hands gripping his shoulders, her breath heavy and impatient.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real, Ethan’s mind repeated over and over as Elia moved. The red light of the camera blinked relentlessly, capturing every moment.

As the clock hit 0:00, Ethan’s body gave in, not to passion, but to defeat. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling the coldness settle in his bones.

“Wait… does this mean I’m pregnant now?” he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

Elia, already dressing, shot him a final glare. “You’d better be.”

Ethan watched her leave, his body heavy with a mixture of shame, confusion, and the realization that he was trapped. Trapped in a world where the roles had flipped, where nothing made sense.

“This place is insane,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’ve got to get out of here. Before I lose everything.”