This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This work contains mature themes, including violence and sexually explicit content, and may not be suitable for all audiences. It is only intended for readers 18 years and older. Reader discretion advised.

TW: self-harm, blood

Alexei’s eyes burned like they’d been rubbed full of hot sand as he tried to open them. Around him was nothing but eerie silence. The discordant screams from the gate could no longer be heard, and for a moment, he wondered if he was dead. He sat up, shocked to feel the familiar squish of a mattress beneath him. Was he home? He rubbed his eyes again, begging them to adjust to the dim light, but when they did, he wished he was still asleep. He was without a doubt, not home.

Scrambling forward, his legs tangled in the thin sheets and he slipped off the edge of the bed, landing sharply on his knees. He was up again before he could even acknowledge the throbbing pain that had started to bloom, and he rushed forward toward the only door in sight. When he threw it open, he was met with another unfamiliar room of equal starkness. Letting go of the bedroom doorknob, something jingled around his wrist and he lifted his arm to examine the silver bracelet. 

Lamb Center for the Awakened

Guide: Alexei Lastra

Class: S

Alexei froze, reading the words over and over until they started to lose all meaning. There was no fucking way. Noticing he was wearing a grey sweatsuit emblazoned with the Center’s insignia, he ran back into the bedroom to search for his things. He absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, had to get out of here. After a few frantic minutes of searching, Alexei gave up hope of finding any of his belongings and made his way back into the living area of the small apartment. Was it even an apartment? It did have the layout of a small one-bedroom, but an unnatural sterility caused it to feel more like a hospital room than a permanent residence, or even a hotel. Where his clothes were did not matter, there was nothing on this earth that was worth staying here to find. He turned the handle on what he assumed was the front door and felt the color leech from his face as he discovered that it would not budge. 

For close to an hour he banged on the door, throwing out progressively more desperate pleas and curses to anyone on the other side who might be close enough to hear them. He wailed with his fists til he could no longer stand, then sank to the floor a defeated wreck. Exhausted, he had no choice but to accept that he’d always know this was a possibility. He’d never taken an official blood test, only a cheap at-home swab to test his status. Among the many who wanted to be awakened, Alexei could not count himself as one of their numbers. This was for him, a worst case scenario. 

He slapped a weak palm against the door and called out once more in frustration, “Open the door. Please, I’m begging you.” For a few moments he heard nothing, save for the harsh sound of his own exasperated breaths, then a placid voice replied from the other side. “Are you going to beat me up if I open the door? Until I am convinced that you will not hurt yourself or others, I am unable to fulfill your request.”

Alexei jumped up, so lightheaded from the sudden rush that he almost felt high, and he pressed his face against the door. A voice, finally a real human voice. “Yes,” he said hastily, “I mean no– no, I’m not going to beat you up. Please, I’m begging you to open the door.” The person on the other side of the door made a small sound, as if pondering his truthfulness. Moments later, the sound of what Alexei assumed was a code being entered into a keypad could be heard, and he shuffled back from the door unsure of what to expect. He considered for a moment that maybe they were here to take him to jail for failing to properly test himself and then enlist, as was the law, but right now he didn’t care. All he wanted was an opportunity to get out of this room.

The man on the other side of the door was nonplussed as he strode into the room with an elegant gait. He was slender in form and his mousy brown hair was pulled back in a neat bun at the nape of his neck. On his nose were a pair of half-rimmed glasses that sat so low they allowed for an unobstructed view of the man’s grey eyes and long lashes. Alexei said nothing as he took him in. He was also wearing grey, like Alexei, though it wasn’t the same light shade, or anywhere close to the casual comfort of a sweatsuit. The charcoal suit was almost certainly bespoke, and as the man surveyed the room he slipped off a pair of stark white gloves, tucking them into his pocket. 

“Well,” he said calmly, “You didn’t destroy the room, at least. I think that should give us plenty goodwill to start with.” He dropped a folder onto the coffee table and gestured for Alexei to join him. “Come, you were out for several days and we have much to cover.” Alexei continued to stare from where he sat on the floor, mouth bordering on agape. “Ah yes,” the man continued, softening his tone, “this must be very overwhelming for you, Alexei. I am Butler #4 and I am here to help you get acclimated with your new role. Please consider me your encyclopedia on all things Center-related.” 

Forget being dead, Alexei reasoned that he must actually be in hell. He didn't care about a single thing that could be considered "Center-related," nor did he want to spend any additional time with this strangely-handsome, yet unsettling, butler of a man. Once seated, he flipped open the folder, scanning a few of the pages before closing it and tossing it back on to the coffee table. “Butler #4, was it?” he asked, “Do I really have to call you that? Don’t you have a real name?” The man standing before him simply smiled and picked up the folder, dropping it back into his lap with a trained look of cool indifference. “My name is not important. What is important is that I am the butler in charge of your orientation and that you are a guide who is in need of training.” The man took a few paces down the length of the room and turned back to face him, his arms clasped neatly behind his back. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but the Center is currently debating whether or not you illegally withheld your status, as it was quite plain from your blood test that you did not recently awaken. Should you refuse to comply they will be moving forward with a formal investigation.” 

At this, Alexei looked up, locking eyes with the elegant man now gazing down at him with a mix of irritation and pity. With a sigh, he opened the folder and leaned back on the couch, crossing his legs. “Fine,” he said bluntly, “Let’s hear it.”

Once Butler #4 started his lesson, he did not stop talking for close to two hours. Alexei, to his credit, sat like a model student, though his mind did wander on a number of occasions. He was not particularly interested in learning the ins and outs of Center protocol as he did not intend to be here for very much longer. It wasn’t until the topic of guiding was introduced that he started to struggle. “The Center believes that the bond between guide and esper is ordained by God, and therefore any guiding outside your matched partner is strictly forbidden. If you feel compelled or are instructed to guide another person, be they esper or layman, please only do so through non-mucosal guiding, such as through the laying on of hands.” 

At that, Alexei jerked his head up. “I’m sorry, what?” He was familiar with the concept of laying on hands, he’d prayed over people countless times in his time as a priest, but he was taken aback by the rest. “Matched partner,” “ordained by God,” these things sounded almost matrimonial. Just what on earth was the Center asking him to do? 

“I was told you may be unfamiliar with how relationships work between guides and espers.” Butler #4 replied, leaning forward to turn to the next page in Alexei’s orientation folder. “Here,” he said, tapping the illustration, “areas with moist, membrane-like linings typically provide the most efficient method of guiding.” Alexei almost choked as he realized what the butler was pointing at. There, in a black and white illustration was an unmistakable depiction of sexual intercourse. He laughed, shaking his head and tossing the folder to the side. “Very funny,” he said, standing up to pace behind the couch. “You know, I would not have pegged you as a comedian– your uptight, goody-two-shoes style doesn’t really paint that picture, but that said, you really are quite funny.”

Butler #4 smiled, and for a moment it appeared to Alexei like he might burst into a fit of laughter. As if this rigid Butler persona was truly just a ruse, rather than his normal demeanor. Something about it unsettled him to his core. “I’m a priest,” Alexei said defensively. “I took a vow of celibacy and I won’t break it.” It was an obvious lie, one that could be easily fact-checked, but it was his only play, even if it was a losing hand. 

“You were a priest,” the man across the couch replied coldly, “and from what I’ve been told, you abandoned your vows years ago.” At this, Alexei could no longer hold his tongue, “Who do you think you are? “You’ve been told.” Who is telling you about me? The Center? My records? The Church? Just who exactly are you choosing to believe over me, the person who you’re speaking about?”  This uptight prick had some nerve speaking to him like this. It was perfectly rational to decline unwanted sexual intercourse. More than rational, it was his RIGHT as an independent citizen. Hadn’t he just sat on a jury where a man was being tried, in part, for coercion? “Whether or not I am still a priest has nothing to do with the vow of celibacy I made before God. If I must be paired with an esper, then so be it, but I will simply find one who is not driven by some sort of lecherous impulse!” 

Butler #4 stood perfectly still as Alexei raged from across the room, taking it all in. Whatever slip Alexei thought he had seen in the man’s cold mask was gone now, replaced only by a chilling stillness. “Are you finished?” he asked once Alexei had stopped speaking. Alexei gripped the back of the couch with both hands and leaned forward, glaring daggers into the man who was now reaching into his inside jacket pocket. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, Alexei,” the man continued, pulling out a thin blade no larger than a letter opener. Before Alexei could react, Butler #4 pressed the sharp edge of the blade against the tender skin of his wrist and drew it across in an elegant motion. Blood lept from the gash, staining his fair skin red as he quickly turned the slender blade toward his throat. Alexei was frozen in shock, unsure of what exactly this was supposed to mean. If this insufferable man died, would he be charged with his murder? Or worse, forced to stay imprisoned here in some sort of indentured servitude to pay off his spiritual debt? 

“Stop it,” Alexei yelled, putting his hands up in surrender. His eyes could not help but follow the crimson droplets as they fell into a dark red stain on the floor. With each second the horrific shape appeared to grow wider and wider. “Why are you doing this?” His voice was raw from the combination of poor sleep and shattered nerves. None of this made any sense, and what little he could piece together was a horror show at best.

Butler #4, knife still pressed against his pale, elegant throat, simply sighed. “Oh, Alexei, you’re a guide. I want you to do what guides do. I want you to heal me.” And with that, he pressed in with the blade and drew back his arm like a virtuoso with a bow, showering them both in a crescendo of blood.