^Paolox3_

For Your Own Good

Chapter 1

Picture it – you're a boy. You're a criminal. Everyone is DONE with you. The IO Rehab Facility owns you now. Your cell mates are various types of eunuchs. You're not. Yet. The guards are former inmates. There's no way out, you're lost inside the complex. All you have to do is be a good boy…until you turn 18 and they MIGHT let you out.

Michael sat in his seat on the bus with his head pressed up against the glass, watching the shoulder of the highway and the brown, dead grass flying by in a blur. For him, it was not an uncommon passtime. In all his years of riding the school bus, he had done the same thing. Whenever the bus hit a bump, his head would bang on the glass and his teeth would rattle. No one talked to him then, just as no one was talking to him now. In fact, no one on the bus was talking at all. It was not a happy group; of course, they were not on a happy trip. Michael sighed. The boring shoulder scenery blurred by.

He wasn't looking forward to the end of the journey, though. As uncomfortable as the seat was, or as cold as the bus was, he was in no hurry to disembark once they arrived. He also imagined that no one else was either. Again, he sighed. This was no dumb field trip for school. It wasn't even the same dull ride to his own school. Michael and the others on the bus were all going to a new school, and wouldn't be going home for quite some time. His heart skipped a beat as he felt the driver let off the gas, but they still had some way to go – it was merely a busy intersection and red light. As the bus came to a stop, two men in uniform with weapons stood up, as did two at the back. The stoplight turned green, and Michael bent over to scratch at the manacle that was chaffing his ankle.

He then turned back to his own melancholy thoughts, staring out once more through the tight patterned chicken wire embedded in the glass of the window.

He closed his eyes after the blurring view began to make him nauseous. Thoughts of the fact that it might all be a bad dream kept coming to mind, but he knew better. He had been caught once too often – screwed up one too many times. He had run out of warnings, and his parents had had it with him. At the seasoned old age of 13, Michael was a convicted criminal. "It's not like I murdered anybody," he muttered under his breath, hoping that no one else heard him. He had stolen a few glances around the bus from time to time during the interminable ride, but had been met with only frightening, leering stares in return. Michael couldn't help but wonder – was the heavyset boy in the seat in front of him a rapist? Was the dark Latino boy behind him a murdering gang-banger? The looks inherent in those return stares spoke to him. He was the smallest boy on the bus, sitting alone.

Michael had been brought up in a poor family, and his upbringing had been a bit short on morals and ethics. He also realized that a small built, blond haired, gray eyed boy that hadn't even sprouted that first hair yet was a prime target – especially at an all boys' school. The stares from the other riders confirmed it. While not overburdened with morals, he was very well educated in street life. Those stares were telling him that he was in for a very rough time of it. And they had told him in court that it was all going to be for his own good…

It started out as petty thefts, candy from the convenience stores, then moved up to larger items like shoes, clothes, CD's and the like. For a while, Michael had had a pretty good run at it. The first time he had gotten caught, he had been let off with a warning. The second time he had been given probation and a fine as well. The fine had sent his father into a rage, and earned him an extraordinary beating. His mother, as usual, didn't seem to care. Over time, however, Michael's targets went from things he could use, such as shoes and clothes and food, over the line into things that he could sell. His friends, if one could call them that, turned into something little more than the gang of street thieves from a Dickensian novel. There were arrests and a few short stays in juvenile hall, but none of it had amounted to much more than a slap on the wrist. He didn't have any real friends, his parents didn't seem to care, so Michael was pretty much left to his own diversions and survival. Eventually, due to lack of interest on his parents' part, he had been taken into foster care. It was the truck caper that had landed him where he was now – sitting on a cold bus, in chains, on his way to his new school/home: The IO Long-term Rehab Center for Boys. Michael thought back to his probation officer, all of his warnings, and realized just a bit late that Mr. Donovan had been right.

Again, he sighed as the bus took an off-ramp. What the hell did 'IO' mean anyway?

He could still hear Donovan's soft voice, whispering at the table in court, "You've run out of options, Mikey." He HATED to be called Mikey, "You're in for it this time, little man. I've done all I can for you, and I'll be damned if I am going to stick my ass out for your sake again. Heisting that truck damn near cost ME my career, with you being out on MY word and all. You're out of appeals, you're out of time. Don't be surprised if that bitch on the bench up there sends you to 'IO' for this one. Your record stretches back seven years, boy! This is it. I can't help you anymore."

And indeed, he didn't. The Honorable Judge Ketty Garner had read over Michael's record, sighed, and stared at him over the rims of her glasses. "Do you think I'm stupid?" she had asked the boy. He hadn't answered. She had told him that that was a wise choice. Michael could still see her, hear her damning words. "It is the decision of this court that Michael Thomas Baines be taken from his foster home, the third one he's been in, and placed in the custody of the State. He will be taken to the 'IO' center to be schooled and boarded there until the age of 18, when at such time his progress and therapies will be reviewed to see if he is fit to return to society as peaceful, law respecting citizen. At such time, if he is found NOT to be, then he will remain in the 'IO' graduate ward and trained in a suitable career for the State – to make up for his crimes and until his salary pays off what he owes for his rehabilitation. His future beyond that point will be left up to his counselors at 'IO'." And then she had glared at him. He still shivered when remembered that harsh face. "It'll be for your own, good Michael."

Michael had heard rumors about IO. He had talked with his "friends" about it more than once, but what they had all heard was the stuff that urban legends were made of. Rumors of physical torture, mind control, and coming out like a zombie were only the finer points of the discussions. He could feel the bus slowing, and he raised his scruffy looking blonde head to see the fences rolling by. He watched in stunned amazement for a long time. The fences were silver and shiny, and stretched for miles. Behind the first tall fence was a strip of broken glass, glittering in the cold winter sunlight like some small river from a crazy nightmare – as if daring someone to imitate Jesus and to just try and walk across it. Beyond the glass was another fence, topped in curls of razor wire. There was a neatly mowed bit of lawn behind that fence, and behind the lawn was another fence. It had heavy looking insulators at each wooden post and a sign here and there that read "DANGER – HIGH VOLTAGE – DON'T ASK HOW HIGH."

"Punishment that fits the crime, huh?" he thought to himself, "Looks like a federal pen to me. God, all I did was steal a truck."

And then the sign came into view – tall and imposing, its letter painted dark red. Michael noted that there was run in the paint of the "I", and it looked as if the "I" were bleeding. A chill passed through his slight frame as the bus stopped at the front gate. A rather burly looking black man in a gray uniform stepped out from the guard shack to meet the bus. He was carrying a large gun and wore polished black leather boots that shone. His step was confident, almost military. He also wore a headset of some type, and a knit cap of the same shade of gray on his head. He touched the earpiece and nodded, speaking into the mic. Then he approached the bus. The driver handed him a clipboard, and one of the guards at the front of the bus got off. They spoke for a bit, then the bus pulled on in. More of the huge men came out from a building behind a high watchtower. All of them were dressed alike, in perfect uniform and armed to the teeth.

Michael began to get the feeling that this was no prison for little kids. He had visited an uncle in federal lockup once, and this place reminded him of that very well. He realized that he was sweating. He stole a quick glance around him, and the return leer fom the heavyset youth across the aisle made him quickly turn his head back to the line-up of guards. One of them was boarding the bus.

"OK kiddies, listen up," the muscular man shouted, "Welcome to your new home at IO. You will quietly, and in an ORDERLY fashion get off this limo and line up next to it. No talking. No leaning. No rubber-necking. You will face me at all times as I call out your names. When you recognize your own name, you will follow the guard who comes to you into the building just over there." He pointed across the parking lot. "You will listen, but not talk. You will conduct yourselves as gentlemen. Your escort will have you checked in, and then a Staff member will take you from there. Any deviation from this practice will result in swift kicks, hard slaps, and overall beatings. Any questions?"

Michael shook his head vigoruosly, beginning to tremble.

"And as a side light there, Mr. Goldylocks," the large black guard smiled, "You will all be given haircuts. I am sure you'll all grow to adore them." At that point, the guard touched his headset again and said, "New prisoners disembarking."

Behind him, someone laughed a short snicker.

Michael felt his stomach turn.

The guard moved faster than anyone he had ever seen before, especially for someone so big. He literally flew down the aisle of the bus. He stopped a few seats back from Michael and with one massive arm, lifted the boy who had laughed out of his seat. The boy's chained legs dangled underneath of him as the guard shook him. "What IS so funny, son?" he demanded.

The boy, obviously thinking that this was just another judicial system joke, sneered at the guard. "What? I laughed. So what? It was funny. Whatcha gonna do, kill me for it?" he asked defiantly.

The black man stared at the boy for a moment, then calmly replied, "No, white boy, I am not gonna kill you. You be wishin' I did when I get done, but I won't." And with that remark and one fluid and graceful movement of his shoulder, he brought the butt of his gun straight up into the boy's crotch. There was a terrible thudding sound and a muffled pop, and the guard unceremoniously dropped the gasping and choking boy to the floor of the bus. He promptly curled up into a ball and continued to gasp and sob.

"Now THAT be funny," the guard announced, "And all sighs and groans of compassion are hereby excused." His grammar seemed to swing from perfect English to street talk at the drop of a hat. Michael watched him, watched his bulk move smoothly, and thought of his own scrawny frame.

'Wish I was that big,' he thought silently.

They all disembarked slowly and lined up as told. No one wanted a repeat performance of the lead guard's neat nut cracking trick. Two of the other guards carried the boy, who had passed out, off of the bus and into a side building. The ankle chains made it a bit hard for them all to walk, and Michael had to take very small steps. The guards didn't seem to mind. When his name was called, Michael stepped forward, with his head down, and followed the guard who gestured to him. The man was also black, as most of the perimeter guards seem to be. He was also built, Michael thought, like a brick wall. His slow pace didn't seem to bother the guard, who followed along beside him patiently. "What'd YOU do, Golden boy?" the guard asked, tousseling Michaels unruly hair. Michael didn't answer.

"You have my permission, little boy," the mountain of a man replied in a rumbling baritone that spoke volumes.

"Stole a truck with my friends. Wrecked it. Hit a car. Hurt some lady real bad." Michael was amazed at how fast it came out. He also found himself thinking that since the lady had NOT been killed, that he didn't deserve this kind of treatment. The guard laughed.

"You must have a record a mile long, boy, to wind up here."

"Theft, curfew violations, and stuff," he murmured.

The guard nodded and laid a large, calloused hand on the boy's shoulder. Michael flinched, but kept walking.

"Jumpy, huh?" the guard asked, "Well you got reason to be."

Michael kept his head down and shrugged. His escort opened the door when they came to it, and pushed the boy through it. "Welcome to IO, Golden boy. Enjoy your stay. I'm sure somebody is gonna enjoy it!" And with that, he slammed the door. Michael heard the lock tumblers roll over, and the lights went dim.

"MICHAEL BAINES?" a voice called out in the dim light, "Proceed down the hall and turn left at the first open door. Do not look around, just go in and sit and wait." He did just that. The room was the only one open and lit. There was a small chair in the center of the room, and another closed door. The first door had an automated closer, and it closed behind the frightened boy and locked. "REMOVE YOUR CLOTHES AND SIT IN THE CHAIR," the disembodied voice ordered. Michael popped the snaps of his breakaway pants up the legs and removed them. He pulled his T-shirt off and kicked off his shoes. He then pulled his socks off and sat. The room was chilly. "EVERYTHING," the voice ordered.

Michael looked around, and hesitated. Slowly, he pulled off his briefs and sat, naked and humiliated, in the chair. He waited, staring at the short-chained manacles that bound his legs. And he waited.

The room was only about nine feet by nine feet [2.7 x 2.7 m] , and the walls were plain and gray. The floor and ceiling matched, with only the lines of the doorframes and the flat ceiling light for differences. There were no sounds, no drafts, but the room seemed to be getting colder. Michael put his hands over his small, undeveloped genitals and pulled his legs up under him. He flinched as the cold metal of the chain touched his skin, and he could feel his balls pulling up, seeking warmth. He waited. At some point, frightened and shivering, he fell asleep.

When he awoke, it was to a real voice that came from right behind him. Startled, he fell out his chair and landed in a heap on the plain, hard floor. The voice belonged to a man of average size, white, with a flattop haircut and wearing a set of green medical scrubs. He looked at his watch, then at his clipboard, and then at Michael. The boy, embarrassed at being frightened and at being seen naked, blushed to this hairline. The stranger paused and looked down at him. "Well, aren't you a scrawny one?" he asked.

Michael stared back, then remembering the insolent boy on the bus, looked away. The stranger laughed, and bent down to offer his hand. Michael got up slowly and clasped his hands behind his back, refusing to meet the stranger's gaze. "Come now, Michael – it says here – I'm not going to hurt you. Well, at least not yet until we examine you and the shots are going to hurt, but, in the meantime, if you'll follow me, please."

And with that, the stranger in the scrubs turned and opened the opposite door. He waited. Michael, still embarrassed, made his way slowly to the door and stepped through into a room that was much warmer and well lit. It looked like an ordinary doctor's office, complete with toilet facilities and a shower, all out in plain sight. Michael wondered at the lack of guard, after the ordeal on the bus. This man wasn't half as big as the guards had all been. He wondered if the other boys were in similar circumstances, and how the boy with the busted balls was doing. He was too afraid to ask, however.

"OK, Mikey, can I call you Mikey?" the man asked.

The boy hid his anger and shrugged. He hated that name.

"All right, my reticent young friend, let me inform you of some things before we start. My name is Ned. I am a physician's assistant, very nearly a real doctor, and I'll be examining and prepping you for your stay here. As you know by now, you are a ward of the State. For all practical purposes, IO owns you. I don't know what you've heard on the outside, but it's probably all true – maybe even worse. But for now, we're going to take off those manacles and you are going to take a shower."

Michael didn't move. Ned sighed and unlocked the chains, tossed them aside, and pushed the boy into the shower area. "Wash thoroughly, please. My, you ARE puny, aren't you?" he observed, making a few notes.

Michael continued to scrub himself, soaking up the hot water and steam. He slowly began to relax. He had his eyes closed washing his hair when he felt a sting in his butt.

"Owww!" he yelled.

He heard Ned laugh as the soap stung his eyes. The PA, as his scrubs indicated, was standing just out of the reach of the water spray and holding a spent needle. "You were overdue for a tetanus booster, it says here," he said urbanely.

Michael grunted and continued to wash his hair. He also realized that he was under threat of a haircut and that he also had to pee very badly. As if sensing this fact, or perhaps it was from experience, Ned threw him a towel and a cup. "Pee in the cup, you know the drill, finish your business in the drain hole. Dry off and hop up on the table. Oh, please," Ned continued in a lilting and pained voice, "I'm a doctor, or will be, and it's a routine exam, for Christs's sake. The horrific tortures don't start until much later and then only IF you're a bad boy. I HAVE to examine you and this is no time for modesty."

The boy sighed and did as he was told. Ned took his vitals, made notes, poked and felt here and there, checked for hernias, etc. Just as he had said, it was a routine exam. Michael began to relax a bit as Ned scribbled notes. He murmured to himself, "Boy seems to be a mute as well."

"I am not," Michael blurted without thinking, immediately looking around and tensing up in fear of reprisal.

"My God, it speaks," Ned observed. "Mikey, you can talk to me. You're going to be seeing a lot of me, and you have to talk in your classes and to your counselors. The front gate thing is different, chance of escape and all. The guards love to scare the new boys and rough them up a bit, but they haven't killed anyone yet, nor cut his tongue out, you know."

"They hit this boy in the balls," Michael replied in a whisper.

Ned nodded. "Yep. Had to castrate the poor kid a few hours ago. That's why I was late getting to you, sorry. Busted both of them, bloody mess. I hate castrations," he stated with a strange look on his face. He glanced at Michael, who had begun to get hard at the word 'castration.' Ned grinned. Michael blushed again. He then realized that he had been totally naked in front of this fellow, and Doctor or not, it bothered him.

"He got his balls cut off?" Michael asked in a choked voice.

Ned nodded. "Not the first, won't be the last. There wasn't much choice though, and really in the end it will be for his own good. Simple, routine procedure actually."

"Are we almost done, sir?" the boy asked, placing his hands over his crotch.

"No, Mikey, we're not. In fact, we're just getting started. This is the part you aren't going to like, I'm afraid," Ned replied in that same soft, flowing voice. He also scribbled some more notes. He then rolled his chair over to the desk area, and pulled out a small wristband of some type with coded data all over it. There was even a large UPC-type code on it, for scanning Michael assumed. "Hold out your arm," he said. Michael did that. The ID bracelet snapped onto his wrist, and fit snuggly. He couldn't make sense of what it said, all except for the letters 'MICHAELB_E-t-13pp'. The rest looked like gibberish. The bracelet felt heavy, and it was cold. It was obviously made out of metal inside and sealed over in some sort of clear shell.

"What does all this mean?" he asked, looking it all over and trying to read it.

"I'll explain it later, Mikey. Right now, we have to tend to the more unpleasant parts of your exam. Have you even had a rectal temp or exam, or an enema?"

The boy shook his head, his thick blonde hair falling damply in his eyes.

"You know what they are?" Ned asked.

Michael nodded and looked down. "Yea," he murmured, "Do we have to?"

Ned nodded back. "Yes, Mikey, we do. IO procedure. Everything checked. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. But, it's nothing we all haven't had done before. Now, roll over on your stomach," Ned ordered, putting on a pair of rubber gloves.

"You're not gonna castrate ME are you?" Michael asked, his voice pleading.

"No, Mikey, now roll over."

The thermometer, Michael thought, wasn't too bad. It felt cold and strange going in, but it didn't hurt. He was advised that his temperature was 97.3 degrees [36.3°C]. He agreed that it was cold. Ned turned the heat up. When he came back, he picked up a tube of lubricant and spread it over two of the fingers of his gloved left hand. Michael watched him, unsure of what to expect. Ned seemed to notice it.

"What I am going to do next is, well, to be blunt, I am going to stick a finger up your ass and check out what's in there. It won't feel too good, but it won't hurt, so to speak, but it WILL be uncomfortable. If it does hurt HURT, like really sharp pain, then let me know. That's a sign something's wrong. All right?"

Michael took a deep breath and nodded, tensing up.

"Don't DO that. Relax."

Michael tried, and failed. He gasped as Ned inserted a finger, and began to move it around. As he had said, it didn't hurt like a cut or a hit would, but it definitely didn't feel good. Michael groaned. "Just a bit more," Ned offered, almost there. Everything feels normal, nothing missing, no blood, that's good…" and then his finger hit the boy's prostate. He paused. He moved it around a bit and pressed.

The boy closed his eyes tightly, not understanding thesudden surge of pleasure he felt. He felt his penis getting hard, and didn't understand why. Of course he knew what an ass-fuck was, but he'd never had it done before. He'd also never understood why anyone would want one. Until then. Whatever Ned was touching felt good, in a strange way. And whatever it was, Ned seemed to be paying a great deal of attention to it.

"You OK?" he asked the boy.

"No," Michael whined softly, afraid to answer truthfully, and still not understanding.

"Liar," Ned replied, pulling out his finger. The sensation stopped, fading off slowly. "Well, feels normal to me. Fortunately for you, you only have to endure that every six months." And with that, he pulled his gloves off and began assaulting his computer. After a few minutes, as Michael watched him enter this and that at amazing speed, the computer beeped and shot out a print. Ned read over it and smiled. "Congratulations, Mikey, other than being a bit undernourished – which I'm sure you blood test will confirm – you're in perfect health. A bit small, but healthy. Have to make sure you get some extra vitamins and some HGH I think."

"What's that?" the boy asked timidly, unsure of what to expect next.

"Human growth hormone, perfectly safe. You just need a kick in the butt, so to say, I think. Speaking of which, head on over to the shower again. I hate to do this, but exam procedure says you have to be clean inside AND out before we proceed."

Michael sighed and got up and did as he was told. Ned seemed nice enough, and very professional, but he still remembered the guards, the bus, and the leering looks he had gotten. After the exam, however, he wasn't quite as scared as he had been of what might happen. That in itself scared him more, though. He had somewhat enjoyed what Ned had done to him, and he didn't understand why. As far as he knew, taking something up the ass and liking it made you gay, and he didn't want to be gay. Or at least he didn't think he did.

When he reached the shower area again, Ned told him to pull on the two black handles that were sticking out of the wall below the towel rack. He did that, and a waist level padded bench slid out from a slot in the wall. The legs folded down and it looked sturdy enough. "Lie down on your back and relax," Ned told him, rummaging through a cabinet. He did that. The bench was padded and quite comfortable. The heat was also rising, and felt better than he had since he had boarded the cold bus. He watched as Ned rooted around in the cabinet. Eventually he produced a bottle of something white, a box of salt, and two bright red rubber bags. He also had a length of plastic tubing.

"Make yourself useful and pull UP on the knob at the foot of the bench," Ned asked.

Michael sat up and did as he was told. The knob extended, in segments, into a metal pole that rose up about three feet [90 cm] above the bench. There was a small notch in the pole as well near the top. "You know what we're going to do?" Ned asked. The boy nodded.

Although he had never had an enema, he knew what they were. "Well?" Ned asked.

"You fill the bag full of hot soapy water and stick the tube up my butt. The water goes in me and makes me go," the boy replied.

"Right you are. As before, it isn't really painful. A few cramps maybe, but nothing too severe. You know this is going to take a while, right?"

The boy nodded and lay back down on the padded bench with a sigh. He wasn't looking forward to it, but he also remembered the prostate check. He didn't know what to expect. Ned had put on fresh gloves and had filled both bags with water. To one he added soap, to the other he added salt. He attached the tubing and hung the bag with the soap up on the pole. Then he carefully lubricated the nozzle, which Michael thought to be a bit large, and the boy's anus as well. He let a bit of water out of the tube, then clamped it shut again. "Roll over onto your left side," he said. Michael obeyed, and felt the nozzle being pushed against, and then into him. It didn't hurt as he'd expected. It felt slick and warm. Gently, Ned continued to insert it until it felt like it had fit into place. He then clicked the clamp open. "Here is comes," he said.

Michael was not ready for the sensation of being filled with warm water. At first it just felt like water, but then he felt like he had to go badly. He held it. "Good, hold it in," Ned said, pushing the tubing in a bit farther. Michael felt like he was blowing up like a balloon. He looked up and saw the bag flattening at the top. The warm, soapy water was filling him, and he found that it wasn't too unpleasant. He closed his eyes and tried his best to hold it. He didn't want it to last too long, though. "Almost halfway there," he hear Ned say. THAT got his attention.

"Halfway?" he asked in shock.

Ned laughed. "Yes, Mikey, halfway. That's a two-quart [1.9 liter] bag. And when it's all inside of you, you have to hold it for as long as you can. Then you can go, IF you make it for at least five minutes." The bag continued to flatten out. "Then," Ned continued, "you get a salt water rinse. Then another, then another. Until you're clean. This could have to be done up to five or six times, since it's your first." The bag was almost empty, and the first cramp hit him. Michael cried out and began to double up, but Ned pushed him back down and began to massage his distended stomach. The cramp subsided. "Just a bit longer," he said, pulling out the nozzle.

"I can't," the boy replied, "I have to go NOW!"

Ned sighed. "OK, ok, go. We'll just soap you again, I guess."

Michael just made it to the commode before he lost it. The cramps had hit again. But the relief he felt was wonderful. Then he thought of going through it again, five or six times as Ned had said. He sighed, explosively.

As he had promised, Ned repeated the procedure over and over. Each time, it became easier. Michael also found that it wasn't totally unpleasant. The sensation of that nozzle against his prostate and the warm water actually felt good. Finally, after his sixth salt-water fill, Ned pronounced the procedure done. Michael was made to shower again while Ned spoke to someone on the phone. He couldn't hear what Ned was saying over the sound of the running water, though. When he was done and dried off, Ned looked him over. "Puny," he muttered, "All right, let's go. Follow me. No chains this time."

"Uh, where we goin'?" Michael asked nervously, looking down at his small naked form.

"Out where we came in and across the hall to get you some clothes. Don't worry, no one will see you. Everyone else is probably busy undergoing the same thing you are, more or less," Ned replied. Michael wondered where the laughing boy who had gotten his balls busted was, but he assumed the boy was in the infirmary out cold. He didn't mention it though. The thought of having his balls cut off as well was still fresh in his mind. Ned was still talking as they exited the exam room and the waiting area. They crossed the hall and entered another room, somewhat larger than the first.

This room was also gray all around, but it had cabinet doors in one wall and a small bench. It also had a counter and a comptuer terminal. Ned motioned the naked boy to have a seat, and began rummaging through a cabinet. He produced a white T-shirt, a pair of ankle length white socks, and a white sweatsuit. The sweatshirt was hooded, with no string, and had a red IO emblem on the back. It also said "Mikey" in red letters over the left breast. Michael cringed. Ned handed him the clothing, piece by piece, scanning a UPC code not unlike the one on his bracelet. Then Ned scanned the bracelet. Michael dressed and sat back down, feeling much better to be clothed again.

"Welcome to IO, MICHAELB_E-t-13pp'," a mechanical sounding voice said, once the bracelet was scanned. "Please proceed to the door in this room marked G1 and wait there."

Michael looked around and at the door. Then he looked at Ned and shook his head.

Ned led him through the door marked G-1, pushing just a bit. "What about shoes?" Michael asked, "and underwear?"

"You don't need either one, Mikey. Especially not shoes. You won't be going outside for a very long time."

"So what now?" he asked, suddenly afraid to be left alone again.

Ned laughed. "You get a haircut, taken to your room, meet your roommates, AND, after what you've been through all day, you'll probably want to go to bed and sleep. Right?"

The boy nodded, still apprehensive as Ned sat him in the only chair in the room. It looked like a barber chair, but not quite.

"When do I see you again?" Michael asked quietly, trying to get comfortable in the strange chair.

Ned laughed, and somehow, that laugh made Michael feel better. "Every week, like clockwork, Mikey. It won't be as intense as it was today, but you get checked over and out every week. We record your stats and make observations, recommendations, etc. Every to keep you healthy and as happy as you can be in here. It's all for your own good you know." And with that, Ned exitted the room. Michael heard the lock tumblers click over.

He sat in the chair and waited.

Michael awoke with a start to find himself still in the chair. The room was warm enough, and wearing a sweatsuit helped. He looked around, saw no one else, and then suddenly realized that he couldn't get up. There was something holding him down to the chair. He glanced down to see padded restraints over his wrists and ankles, and a padded, thick strap at his waist. He could also feel a padded collar around his neck. He struggled a bit, but found that he was not going to get loose. "Idiot," he muttered to himself, feeling betrayed by Ned. He was also still grappling with the new feelings that Ned's exam had caused him. "This is nuts," he muttered, "It's not like I killed anyone."

"NO, but you've been a bad boy, haven't you Michael?" the automated voice said from everywhere. The boy flinched in his restraints. He also noted that he had a dull pain behind his eyes, like a headache coming on. "If you weren't a social misfit, and a danger to yourself and others, you wouldn't be here at IO, now, would you?"

Michael felt a sudden surge of defiance welling up within him. Since his arrival, he had been chained, terrorized, poked, prodded and violated in ways that he hadn't even imagined. He was alone, frightened, and helpless. The seeming injustice of it all made it suddenly explode. He began screaming and struggling, desperately trying to get out of the chair. He cursed and cried until his throat was hoarse. All the time, the pain behind his eyes grew worse. But the voice continued. "We'll cure you OR kill you, one or the other, Michael. You're going to be here for at least five years. You can't get out. You don't know where you are. You don't even know what time of day it is. It would be in your best interest to be a good boy and just do as you are told, follow the rules, and hope to graduate from IO as a fully rehabilitated member of society. Won't that be nice?"

He continued to struggle. There HAD to be a way out, there HAD to be. "LET ME UP!" he choked, tears streaming down his face. The pain in his head was growing worse. Finally, his vision began to blur. "Make it stop," he whimpered.

"Say 'please'," the automated voice replied.

"Please," the boy whispered.

"Disengaging ULF wave generator," the voice responded. The pain stopped.

Michael breathed an explosive sigh of relief as the pain suddenly ceased to exist.

"Pain is only one of the many ways to make you submit, Michael. You don't want to see the rest, now do you?"

Despite his collar, Michael shook his head. The voice could obviously 'see' as well as hear him. "Good boy," it replied. Then the opposite door opened.

The man that entered was portly, to say the least. More likely, he was as round as he was tall. He was bald, and wore glasses. He smiled at Michael and opened a small drawer in the recessed cabinet that the boy had overlooked. "Are you quite finished now?" he asked. Obviously he had heard it all.

"Yes sir," the boy whispered, half-afraid of what was going to be done to him next. He found that he couldn't take his mind off of the exam, and the boy whom he had told had been castrated. The boy who had laughed at him on the bus. He also realized that he had to urinate – badly.

"You're pale, Michael," the rotund gentleman said, "Relax." Everyone was telling him to relax. He couldn't do it.

"W-what are y-y-YOU gonna do to m-m-m-me?" the boy stammered, trying to sink back into the increasingly comfortable chair.

"My, ULF worked fast on you didn't it, son? Most boys are still struggling when it comes time for the initiative haircut." Michael then noticed that the man was holding only a set of rechargeable hair shears. He also noted that they didn't have a depth guide attached to them. "Haircuts don't hurt, boy," the man said.

He watched the man approach him with the clippers. "I'm sorry!" he blurted. The portly man smiled. "No offense taken," he replied, reaching back to get a cape from the drawer. He threw it over Michael's restrained body and smoothed it out.

And with that, he ran a thick-fingered hand through Michael's mass of dense, unruly blonde hair. "Wow, this is going to take a while, boy. How long's it been?" he asked, switching the clippers on. The buzzing sent a chill through Michael.

"Dunno," Michael replied as the clippers made their first pass. He could feel the bare metal blades on his scalp, and watched as clump after clump of his hair fell into his lap. He had never had a buzzcut before, but he had seen boys who had. He had felt the scalp of one boy he used to steal with, when he had had it shaved. The smooth and warm feel of the other boy's scalp he still remembered, and he was embarrassed and confused to feel himself getting erect again. That was becoming a problem. Still, the barber continued to mow his hair off, right down to the skin. "Please hurry," he suggested.

The barber paused, switching off the clippers. "Why?" he asked in a voice that was not unpleasant. His voice sounded a bit like Ned's had.

Flushing, Michael looked away. He still had long fringes at the sides of his head. "I have to GO, sir, BAD!" The barber laughed. He switched the clippers back on and quickly finished. He then put down the shears and hit a level at the base of the chair with his foot. The restraints all released, and Michael jumped up quickly, only to realize that he had no where to go. He held himself helplessly. The barber laughed.

"Sorry for the restraints, son, some boys flip out over the haircut. Nice 00000 job if I do say so myself. Follow me."

They exitted the opposited door through which the barber had come and started down another long hallway which seemed to slope down. When they reached the first door on Michael's right, he saw that it said BOYS. He rushed in. The barber laughed. "By the way you held it, you must still have one down there," he murmured to himself, his grin broad. Behind him, across the narrow hallway, was another door that Michael had not seen. It was labelled OTHERS.

He peed for what felt like forever. Then he turned and saw his reflection in the mirror. Michael stood with jaw hanging and ran a hand tentatively over his shaven scalp. The stubble, what he could feel of it, was very slight. He felt his eyes tear up again. "No," he said to himself, "no more crying. They like that. No more." He stared at his reflection for a long time. His head was, however, pleasantly round. He had the head for the bald look at least. He washed his hands, dried them with the electric blower, and returned to the hall. He certainly didn't want anyone looking for him. When he arrived, he saw the barber coming out of the door across the hallway. "Ready?" the fat man asked.

"For what?" the boy replied.

"Time for you to meet your floor attendant, or super, and your new roomies in dorms."

For some reason, that sent a chill through Michael, but he said nothing. He simply follwed the man who had shaved his head, and thoroughly humiliated him, down the sloping hallway until they reached the end. There were doors up and down both sides of this hallway, and an increasing number of pipes hanging from the ceiling. The light grew dimmer, and Michael was reminded of a scene from a low budget slasher flick. They stopped at the apparent of the hall in front of two sliding double doors. It was an elevator. The doors popped open with no customary 'ding', nor were there any buttons, inside or out. The rotund barber pushed Michael in, rather hard, and the slight boy fell to the floor as the doors slid shut.

Nothing happened.

He waited. After a few moments and a brief search that turned up not even an emergency hatch, Michael heard the auto-voice, as he had begun to call it. "DESTINATION, MICHAELB?" it asked. Somehow it knew him. He didn't know what to do or say. Then he felt the bracelet on his wrist. "VERIFY," the auto-voice said calmly. He jumped as a hidden panel opened to reveal a small laser-scanning device. Nervously, he let it look over his bracelet. "DESTINATION, MICHAELB_E-t-13pp?" it asked again. Michael looked at the device, his bracelet, and the sealed doors. At least the thing wasn't moving yet, but there was no apparent way out. He waited for a few moments, until the auto-voice responded with "3 SECONDS TO ULF THERAPY."

"The barber said I was going to my new dorm room," he cried, pressing himself into a corner and beginning to shiver. The last time he had word "ULF" he had been subjected to the intense headache. He didn't care to repeat it.

The elevator began to move, quickly. He felt his stomach lurch, and assumed that he was going down – rapidly. Then the descent slowed. He almost fell as the cab jerked sideways, several times and plunged again. Then it stopped. The doors popped open and the boy tentatively stuck his shaven head out to peer around the corner. He was seriously thinking of getting back in when a large black hand siezed him around the neck and pulled him the rest of the way out into the hallway. "The hell happened to yo' nice shaggy blonde doo, there Golden Boy?" a rough voice asked.

It was the same guard who had brought him in. His grin was broad, and he ran that large hand over Michael's shaven scalp with some gusto. "Now you just c'mon wit me here, son, and we'll get you fixed up at the desk and you can meet your new roomies. I wouldn't call 'em friends – yet – but you gotta be checked in. Don't want a headache do ya?" He then put his huge arm about the boy's narrow shoulders and half dragged, half threw him towards a desk where sat another scanning device. Fearing what might happen if he stalled, Michael immediately let the machine read his ID bracelet. "WELCOME TO DORM neg23," the auto-voice said, "REGISTERING MICHAELB_E-t-13pp." Then a green light came on next to the scanner.

"Let's go, little Mr. Used-to-be-blonde boy," the guard said jovially.

Michael decided that he did NOT like this man. Not in the least. He led the boy down the hallway, which was very well lit and had several plain white doors marked by a single letter. At the end of the hallway was a door that said, simply, 'B'. The guard opened the door, which seemed to click and unlock at the touch of his hand, and invited Michael to enter first. Warily, he stepped in.

The first thing he noticed was soft carpetting under his socks, since they had not given him shoes. The room was done in white, and there were no windows. The walls and ceiling were solid white, as was the rug. There were four beds, twin sized, two on each side of the room. Three of them were occupied. Next to each bed was a small nightstand, and on the far end of the room was a doorway that led to the bathroom. It was also white, and had no door. It looked like a public bathroom, from what part of it Michael could see. The only break in the white décor was the mirrored globe in the ceiling, which he assumed contained a camera. In each occupied bed was a boy. All three of them looked up as Michael entered, their eyes widening as the large black guard followed him in. "Meet yo' new roomie, kiddies," he bellowed, "This is Mikey. Be nice. He just arrived too-day!"

The three boys looked up in unison, each one lowering the book he was reading to wave a brief to Michael. Then they all went back to what they were doing. The first boy, and closest to the door was black, although not as black as the guard. Michael guessed him to be fourteen or fifteen. His eyes were jet black as well. Having had somewhat of a racist upbringing, Michael's preset notions of others defined the boy as what the rap stars referred to in their albums, affectionately among themselves, as "Niggaz." The boy looked to be the oldest and largest. His all white attired accentuated his dark skin even more, and his hood was pulled up. Michael guessed that his head was smooth razor shaven. He later found he was right. The boy in the bed opposite was white. Very white.

He also wore the seeming white uniform, and seemed to be struggling with whatever he was reading, taking notes with a small tray over his lap for support of his pad. He looked like every hoodlum Michael had ever hung out with. His hair was dark, and buzzed closely, perhaps ¼" [6 mm], but not shaven. The bed next to him was empty. Michael assumed that that one was his.

Next to the black boy was a boy who appeared to be of slight Asian descent. His black hair was cut in a short flat top style, with the center strip shaved out. His eyes were slanted and very green. His face had a very pale yellow cast to it, and he read whatever he was studying intently. He was the only one to give Michael a second look, and he smiled. He then winced as he turned his gaze back to his book, a hand going to his temple and rubbing at it. That was it for the room.

Michael looked up at the guard, who in turn gestured towards the bed. "OK, kiddies, bedtime in 5. Strip off, laundry in the hall, then goodnight!" Michael, who had been sleeping off and on since his arrival, didn't feel at all tired. He nonetheless obeyed and went to his bed and sat. He watched as each of the three boys pulled his hooded shirt off and then stood up. Each in turn pulled his white sweatpants off, and none of them – just as Michael didn't – had underwear. Each then pulled his socks off and gathered it all up. In turn, they stepped to the door and tossed their garments, embroidered with their names, into the hall in a heap. "You too, Mr. Goldy-buzz," Michael heard the guard bellow, "Mr. Ames be in in just a few to tuck you in." He was afraid to find out who Ames was, by this time. Obviously modesty was NOT in high priority in his new home. Or perhaps it was to further humiliate them. Michael opted for this reason. Afraid of some punishment, however, he pulled his clothing off as well and walked, naked, to the door. The guard laughed and rubbed his head again. "You soooooo puny," he said, laughing. Michael felt his face flush. He was totally unprepared for what happened next, though.

Each of the other boys, all naked by this time, had turned to go back into the room. As they walked by him, out of instinct, Michael's eyes went to the crotch of each one of them. He gasped. The first to turn was the pale white boy, and Michael thought that he was missing his balls, but he glanced away only to find his gaze on the Asian boy. His heart began to pound.

There was no doubt of it – between the Asian boy's legs, there was nothing. No dick, no balls, nothing! Michael shook his head. He looked again, and the Asian eunuch looked away from him. The black boy was still in the hall, talking with the guard in a fast chat that Michael recognized from the streets. He started back for his own bed, but before he was halfway there, he heard, "Hey, full-boy!" Michael froze. "Yea, buzz boy, you wit' all yo' parts down there still THERE! You dint give ME no look yet!" It was the black boy, and his voice was deep, fully changed. It was commanding, and carried a threat. Michael slowly turned. His white and Asian roomies had already gotten into bed and were watching him. He felt suddenly very self-conscious, standing there with his nudity in full view. His gaze met the black boy's, but instead of finding the look that told him to fight or run, as he was used to, he saw general humor. He blinked. Standing before him was a very well-muscled boy with dark skin. His shoulders were well defined, and he held his head shiny bald head high. His eyes and teeth literally glowed, and his smiled was even warm, not malicious. Michael let his eyes wander down the boy's sparsely hairy chest, past his flat and hard-looking stomach to his groin. There was hair there, tight, black and curly. His balls were large and hung down a ways, his scrotum warm and loose. He looked every inch a well-made young man, except for one thing: he had no penis.

Michael stared. His momentary flicker of jealously over the boy's nice body went out. All he could do was stare. The other two boys said nothing, but the black boy broke the awkward silence. "You getting' hard, newbie," he laughed. Michael looked down at his own embarrassingly small penis and saw that he was right. He then looked back at the black boy. "Name's Sam," he began, "pale one 'der is Joey and the Jap's Cheng."

"I'm not Japanese," the Asian eunuch replied.

Joey snorted, a suppressed laugh. Sam was grinning broadly. "Samuel L. Prescott III, pistol whipper and former gang-banger and future IO staff member Guard, at your service," he stated with that same smile, holding out his hand for Michael to shake. Michael did that, and Sam's grip felt crushing. He couldn't pull his eyes away from the black boy's groin area, however. He also desperately wished that Sam would release his hand.

"Let him go 'fo he creams on the rug," the guard advised, laughing from the doorway.

"You gonn' do dat?" Sam asked. Michael vigorously shook his head, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. His throat was dry. "N-no," he squeaked.

They all laughed. "Voice ain't broke," the pale boy murmured, in a voice that was also unbroken. "Bald as a baby," Cheng piped up. Sam released Michael's hand, and rubbed it with his other. "Nice grip," he choked.

Sam's eyes sparkled with delight. "Just remember who run da room, BOY," he stressed, "While you STILL a boy, dat is."

Then Michael remembered what Ned had said during his exam. "'I hate castrations.'"

He couldn't help but look again. Sams' dark skin was paler where his penis should have been, and there was a thin pale line running down his scrotum. There was no hole either, only smoothed over skin. His hair looked trim, and his large balls looked very out of place with no dick above them. Sam was still smiling as Michael looked up. "I also be in h'yeer for rape, too, and boy, if I had still had a dick, it'd be up yo' ass right NOW!"

Michael shuddered and took a step back, unsure of what to do. He sat down heavily on his bed, all eyes on him. Then they all laughed again. "It WAS fo' yo' own good, you know, Sam," the guard said.

A momentary look of regret passed over Sam's face as he leered at Michael. "Yea, I know. I'm glad I had 'em cut it off. Got me in trouble a lot," he admitted.

"I'm sorry," Michael whispered, looking down at his feet.

Although the room was warm, he had goosebumps all over.

Then something clicked over his mind. 'Future IO staff member', he thought to himself, 'that's what he said. He's black. He's built. He seems friends with the guard…' and with that Michael came to a conclusion that all of the black guards he had seen and met were former IO inmates, now employees, and he was certain that none of them had a penis. Balls, yes, and lots of hormones running through them from their unused and unrelieved balls, but no penis. The reality of it hit him hard. His own small penis stiffened, and felt their gazes upon him. No jacking off. No sex. No peeing while standing; in fact, how did Sam pee? Michael found that he wanted to know. He was deep in this thought, his brow creased, when a new voice spoke.

"Hello boys," it said.

"Hello Mr. Ames," the three of them said in unison.

Michael jerked his eyes up to see for the first time, the man who was going to be running his life for the next five long years.

Chapter 2

Bewildered and lost in prison, Michael is befriended by Sam – a penectomized inmate in training for a guard position.

Mr. Ames was a very tall, very muscular looking man. His auburn hair was cut in a short brush style, and his hazel eyes were penetrating. He looked to Michael like someone who had at one time played professional football. He also wore a look on his chiselled face that appeared as if it would tolerate no foolishness. He carried a small briefcase in one hand and rested the other on his hip. He looked the room over, top to bottom. He looked the boys up and down, nodding. His gaze settled on Michael. The boy shiverred. Ames cleared his throat, loudly. They all stared down at their bare feet.

"Do I frighten you, Mikey?" he asked in a hoarse baritone voice.

"Yes," the boy whispered.

"WHAT?!" Ames bellowed at him.

"Yes, sir?" Michael choked out, not looking up and taking a step back.

"Good. Next time sound off like you've got a pair, while you still DO have a pair, that is. And step forward."

Michael did that. He took one small, nervous step forward. His gaze didn't leave his bare feet on the bright white rug. It felt so soft. Suddenly he saw Ames' polished black loafers right at the end of his toes. He jerked his head up and gasped. "I'm sorry," he croaked, suddenly frightened to the point of trembling. He also had no idea why. He really didn't think he'd behaved badly since his arrival. He also still thought that he didn't deserve to be there. Yet he was afraid. Very afraid.

He watched, as Ames looked him over. He took the small boy's chin in his huge hand and lifted Michael's head to stare into his eyes. Then he impulsively rubbed his shaven scalp. "Nice haircut, Mikey," he commented, "My aren't WE a puny one? Is Ned going to fix that?"

"He said he could, sir," Michael replied, wishing everyone would stop reminding him of how small and fragile he was. He also couldn't take his eyes off of that hard face. There was something about it that held his gaze. He felt his eyes drifting, and Ames went out of focus. He was suddenly very tired. He felt his knees twitch and weaken.

"Tired already?" Ames asked.

"Yea, y-yes, sirrr," Michael's voice slurred, sounding like someone else was saying it.

"Why don't you lie down, then?" Ames suggested.

What a great idea! He felt as if he had been up for days, although he wasn't sure. He knew he had fallen asleep twice while waiting, but he was unsure in the artificially lit dorm of what time it was. There were no clocks.

Michael's eyes were heavy as Ames gently pushed him backwards. He felt his bare butt come into contact with the bed, which was warm. "I guess sleeping for 12 hours so close together, two times, wore you out," he commented. Through the fog that was filling his mind, the boy listened to this man who was literally in control of his life now. "I-I-I thought I j-jus-s-t got here?" he asked, mumbling, his lips feeling numb. He realized that Ames' hands were on his bare skin, moving him. He was pulling back the blanket and tucking him in. He positioned the boy's shaven head on the pillow. It was so soft. Michael heard a soft beep sound, and eyes fell shut.

"You slept for 12 hours in the waiting room and for 12 hours in the barber chair, boy," he heard Ames say. You've been here a whole day. It's bedtime again."

"No…" Michael tried to say, but he only succeeded in moving his lips.

"Rest, Mikey. You'll grow to like it here. Trust me, I'm your friend. We won't hurt you unless YOU make us hurt you."

Michael sighed and drifted off. Somewhere in IO's mainframe, a data stream loaded up and began to course through the transmitter in Michael's pillow.

Ames pulled his hand from the back of Michael's stubbly scalp. He turned to the three eunuchs who stood, watching him. "Bedtime, kids," he stated softly, as if afraid he would wake Michael. "Goodnight, sir," they all said in unison, and climbed into bed. Ames walked to each one and laid a large hand on their foreheads. Cheng whimpered as Ames touched him. "Headache?" he asked the Asian eunuch.

"Yes, sir," Cheng whispered, "bad one. Had it all day."

"Have you been good?" Ames asked.

"Yes, sir," Cheng replied, tears filling his eyes, "I was. Really. Please make it stop!" he begged.

"Guard!" Ames said, trying not to shout. It was obvious that shouting was in his nature. "Bring Cheng some Nalfon-D. He sounds stuffy and has a headache. Cheng," he said, turning back to the eunuch, "did it occur to you that if you WERE good all day that you might have a REAL headache?"

The eunuch shook his head, and the tears rolled. He groaned.

By the time the guard returned, Sam and Joey were asleep, their breathing even and slow. Ames held Cheng's head up, and got the little eunuch to swallow the pills. He laid his briefcase on a nightstand, and opened it. It contained a slim laptop computer. He then pulled a key out of his pocket and opened a panel on the stand near the floor. There was a soft beep sound as Cheng lay his head back onto the pillow. His eyes closed, but the tears continued. Ames shook his head. He quickly powered up the computer and plugged it into one of several exposed jacks in the secret panel. "Mainframe," he spoke into the condenser mic. "MAINFRAME," the auto-voice replied from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Recognize Ames, authorization 'Pi-101-R'. Report on inmate Cheng, this outlet." Then he waited.

"BEHAVIOR 99%, ULF TRANS ZERO. NEXT SCHEDULED CHECK-UP IN 13 HOURS."

"Verify ULF at zero," Ames demanded. Cheng whimpered. He was not asleep.

"ULF AT ZERO," the auto-voice replied.

"Real headache, son. You might be getting sick," Ames told the moaning eunuch.

Cheng sighed and choked, then coughed. Ames gave him a drink of water, then eased his head back down onto the pillow. He hit a few keys on his computer and called up a menu with Cheng's picture on it. There was another soft beep as Ames ordered up a few commands on the keyboard. The beep sounded again. Somewhere deep in the mainframe, another data stream came to life and flooded into the transceiver in Cheng's pillow. Ames stepped back. "Sleep, son," he said softly. Cheng's facial features relaxed and he sighed heavily. In seconds he was sound asleep. "Mainframe," Ames spoke to the computer again, "keep his wave cycle up so he stays in deep sleep for the next 12 hours. Make sure he feels happy when he awakens."

"CONFIRMED," the auto-voice agreed.

Ames looked at the guard, who had come up behind him. "Bad?" the large black man asked, his voice sounding worried.

Ames sighed. "You know what headaches mean, bad ones, when there's no ULF hitting them?"

The guard nodded and sighed. "He WAS good all day long, sir. He even turned in his math assignment early and read aloud in history, they said. Can you believe that?"

Ames looked back at the sleeping eunuch and reached over to wipe the tears from his face. "Tenderness," he said softly, "is the last thing anyone expects. Hell, for the longest time, I didn't think he COULD talk. He always has been good. I feel for him, I tell you, and I know I shouldn't. If anyone shouldn't, Cheng shouldn't be here. And he certainly shouldn't die here."

"It's the first bad one he's let on about, sir," the guard replied.

"I know." Ames typed some data into the laptop and sent it off to the mainframe. It, in turn, emailed Ned to let him know something was wrong with Cheng. Schedules were rewritten instantly, and an MRI was scheduled for Cheng in the morning. Printouts shot out of printers for everyone on staff concerned. The headers on all of those memos read "Possible ULF Disaster" and carried Cheng's ID number. In moments, an entire day at IO was rewritten. Ames sighed and packed up his computer. "I've got other wards to check on, carry on."

He left the dorm guard standing there, watching his four young charges sleep. None of them stirred, not even an eye movement. The guard knew that none of them would so much as twitch all night long, not with the frequencies running through the transceivers hidden in their pillows. He pulled up a chair beside Cheng's bed, then closed the door. He fell asleep later, in the chair, his gaze shifting between Sam and Cheng. He wondered, as he felt himself drifting off, how much longer Cheng had. He remembered his own time in IO as an inmate, and the boy who died of ULF treatment. It hadn't been pretty. He also wondered how Sam's future would unfold – if the penectomized boy would in fact get his early graduation as planned. He drifted off remembering his own positioning as an IO staffer, thinking of how Sam reminded him so much of himself at that age. In a way, he was proud of his oldest charge; it was for his own good, after all.

Michael awoke to the sound of a steady, pulsing beep. He opened his eyes, and stared up at the white ceiling. It took him a moment, but then he realized where he was. He sighed and rolled over, wanting to go back to sleep. He didn't recall any dreams. His action got him a rather sharp stab of pain through the head after a minute, and he bolted out of bed. The pain stopped immediately. Sam was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, laughing at him. "What the fuck was that?" he demanded, not at all bothered by the fact that he was naked. Sam laughed again. "One hellacious alarm clock, buddy!" he replied, "C'mon, you got fifteen minutes to shower and get dressed," he advised, gesturing towards the bathroom. Joey was already showering, and Michael joined them. The fact that he was an intact boy and they were different forms of eunuchs made him start to get hard again when he looked at them. He turned his back to them and washed. He muttered a rather rancid curse when he did his head. Sam laughed again, shaking his head. "You got a cute butt, white boy," he said. Michael didn't reply. Joey turned off his water and grabbed a towel from the rack. He said nothing. Cheng was still asleep.

"Why's HE still in bed?" Michael asked.

"Sick," Joey replied, walking bad to his bed after hanging up his towel. Joey, Michael noticed, didn't say much. He also didn't make eye contact. Michael glanced around the corner at the sleeping Asian eunuch. He was lying on his back, his chest rising and falling very slowly. "Ned can fix it," Sam said, "Whatever it is." They finished showering, Michael stealing an occassional glance at Sam. The fact that the boy was missing his penis was startling. He was also confused as to why it was making him hard to think about it. Looking back at Sam's comments, however, Michael was very glad that Sam didn't have a penis.

He found his white sweatsuit and socks on the end of his bed. Someone had brought them in during the night. They were clean and smelled fresh. Michael looked around. "What time is it?" he asked. Sam shrugged.

"No way to know. No clocks, no windows. I dunno what time it is or what day it is. If it wasn't for my ID bracelet, I wouldn't even know how old I am. They don't want you to know anything in here. Nothin' on the outside world, Mikey. Hell, you lost a whole day already. I dunno how long we even sleep. The lights never go out."

"So what do we do now?" Michael asked.

"We go to breakfast, we go to four classes, we eat lunch, we go to three classes, we get a rec break, we eat supper and then we come back here. We sleep, we shower, we do it all again the next time," Sam summarized.

"Every day, in and out," Joey added, not looking up the floor. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed, with a somber look on his face. Cheng was still asleep.

"You'd think we'd have woke him up by now," Michael observed.

"He CAN'T wake up until they let him wake up," Sam said.

"Huh?" Michael asked.

"When you lay down in that bed, Mikey, a wave of some kind starts running through your head. It knocks you out. You don't dream, you can't move, and you don't wake up. It makes it easier to control the inmates. It makes you feel good 'n rested when you DO wake up, but you CAN'T wake up until the machine wants you to." It was Joey who said this, still not looking up. He sat cross-legged on his bed, now staring at the door. It opened, and Mr.

Ames walked in. He looked a bit groggy, but still imposing. In one hand was the briefcase, and in the other was a rather strong-smelling cup of coffee.

"Sam," he began, "I want you to take Mikey in hand and show him around. Classes and such. Get him into the routine, keep him in line. I won't be available for most of the day, I'll be with Ned and Cheng." His gaze spoke volumes. Michael looked away.

"C'mon, white boy," Sam said.

Michael obediently followed Sam and Joey out of the room and into the hall. Sam led them to a door labelled "M" and allowed it to scan his ID. Joey did the same, as did Michael. The door slid open and they passed into a large room that was obviously a dining hall. The door slid shut behind them. It was crowded.

Michael looked around, feeling Sam's hand on his shoulder. Don't be getting' lost, Mikey. You a little shit and you might get in trouble. You're new, stay close. I been here a while, so watch me." Michael nodded. Joey said nothing. The dining hall was a sea of white sweats, with several guards in gray here and there, milling about. A line was forming, and Sam led them to it. It was just like the school cafeteria that Michael was used to, except that the food was an unattractive oatmeal-like substance that had little odor and even less taste. He ate two bites and put down his fork. "What IS this?" he asked.

"I think it wanted to be oatmeal at one time," Joey mumbled, eating his food and not looking up.

"Food here ain't got much goin' for it, Mikey," Sam added. "No jollies in eatin', but you gotta eat it."

Michael did that, not commenting. He was suddenly amazed at how hungry he was, and even the bland oatmeal tasted good. When they were finished, they simply left their bowls on the table. Sam explained that someone would clean them up as a bell sounded. The crowd made its way to a set of large double doors marked "S". Michael followed Sam and Joey. Each inmate had to stop to allow the scanner to read his ID bracelet. The first class was English. Next came Math. Then Science. Then History. Michael rather liked history. There were guards in every room, but the teachers looked to be outside employees instead of IO staffers. They all wore dress clothes, and didn't act like the IO staffers that Michael had so far seen. After history came lunch.

Lunch was no better than breakfast. It consisted of something that had tried to be a pork fritter and failed. There was an apple, some kind of boiled vegetable, and a thick drink that might or might not have been some sort of energy drink. They ate in silence, until Michael felt a smack across the back of his head. It wasn't a hard smack, but it startled him. He jumped and choked, spitting mystery drink all over Joey.

"Thanks terribly," Joey muttered, wiping himself off with a napkin.

Michael turned to see a somewhat fat and overall large boy with closely buzzed red hair standing behind him. He was grinning. He was also large enough to break Michael in half without popping a sweat. His shirt said "Harvey."

"So how'd'ja get stuck with this little shit?" he asked Sam, staring at Michael's small form with a look that said 'I'd love to hurt you.'

"Luck," Sam replied, "And wha's wit you? You wantin' punished or somethin'?"

"Felt like it," Harvey replied, rubbing Michael's stubbly scalp. "Newbie, huh?"

Michael nodded, afraid to say anything. He looked at Sam with mute appeal in his eyes. The look that Sam returned to Harvey was cold. "Don't make me," he warned.

"Or what?" the fat boy jibed, "You call Ames? Over this little piece of crap?"

"I like him," Sam replied.

"Lotta good that'll do YOU, dickhead … uh, I mean dickless!" Harvey laughed.

Michael had never seen a black person flush before. It was very interesting. Sam's face paled a bit, then became dark. Then it became a redder tint of brown. "Stupid, fat, white eunuchs all being brain dead, is that it? You just wantin' yo fat head blowed off, Harvey? At least I got the balls to do something wit you." Sam replied, his eyes flashing.

"For all the good they'll do ya," Harvey retorted.

Joey coughed and looked away. Sam sighed.

"I betcha wanna fuck him, don'tcha, Sam?" Harvey asked.

"Mikey," Sam replied, "You be makin' a mental note here. This is what happens when they cut your balls off and all you do is sit and eat and be stupid."

Joey cleared his throat and looked up at Harvey. "Back off, man. You know what happens in fights in here. Don't blow your behavior rating."

By then, Michael noticed that several guards had taken notice, but were not moving to head anything off. Sam turned to look at one of them, and some kind of recognition passed between them. The large black man (as most of the guards were) nodded. He calmly walked over to a panel on the wall, inserted a key, and pulled it down to reveal a control panel of some kind. He punched a few keys, and Michael noticed Harvey put a hand to his temple. His other hand moved quickly to Michael's upper arm, though, and the boy pulled him up out of his seat. "You're gonna pay for that, shrimp."

"One more time, Harvey. Leave him alone. I'll do it. I swear I will. I've had it with you. You got this attitude, man. You no better than anyone else in here. You closer to graduation than anyone, and you act like an asshole. You think you gonna get away with it? Go ahead, hit him. Do what you gonna do, and see what I do. I know what I'm gonna do, and I don't wanna be here past 18. I don't wanna be dead, either."

Harvey released his grip on Michael's arm. "See ya at rec break, shrimp," he threatened, walking away. Michael noticed he was rubbing at his left temple.

"What WAS that?" he asked Sam.

But Sam was grinning. "Harvey not be likin' me all that much. He's an idiot, Mikey. So close to getting' out and he does this shit. Me and him were both up for early grad consideration, and I won. They like big black guys as guards, case you didn't notice that yet. I could have had him killed, you know."

Joey spoke up then, noting Michael's confusion. "Sam's gonna be a guard, early graduation program. He's sorta like a monitor. That's why they put us with him. He's been here a while and most guys know not to fuck with him. That and he's been known to kick ass from time to time."

One of the guards came over to the table where they sat. "You handled that well, Sam," he said. "Thanks," Sam replied.

"But would you have done it?" the guard asked.

Sam looked at Michael and then back at the guard. "If he'd hurt Mikey, I'd 'a had you blow his fat fuckin' head all da way off!"

"I think Harvey's going to have a headache for the rest of the day," the guard mused.

"Good," Michael muttered, returning to his mystery meat sandwich.

After lunch came the remaining three classes, one of which was recreation or PE and the other was a sort of counselling session. The next class was, ironically, called Current Events. There was no hint given of day or time, just carefully editted bits of news and discussion. The PE class, which came last in the day, provided the day's excitement. It was almost more than Michael could take, and it struck a chill in his heart. He had never seen anyone die before, and the reality of death was far worse than anything he had ever seen in a movie. Of course, it was Harvey that died, in a most spectacular way.

PE took place in a rather common looking gymnasium. There were the usual guards here and there as they filed into the gym. Sam led his new charge to the locker room, where they changed into snug fitting white T-shirts and white gym shorts. There were no shoes, but rather thicker socks with a sort of traction gripping rubberized sole. Michael followed Joey and Sam's examples, and undressed to change. Before he could get his shorts up, Harvey had seen him. He heard the word "bullshit" before he felt a hard blow to his balls which sent him to the floor, curling up into a ball and crying and gasping. Michael had taken hits to the balls before, but Harvey had nailed him hard enough to pop the knuckle joints of his own hand. Sam's reaction was swift. The guard in the locker room had only watched, a broad grin on his face.

Through his tears, Michael looked up to see Sam slamming Harvey up against the lockers. His eyes were wild and Harvey's teeth were clenched. "Yo ass is MINE, white trash!" he heard Sam scream, "I told you to leave Mikey alone!"

"Fuck you," Harvey replied, taking a swing at Sam's head. But Sam was too fast for the sluggish, overweight boy. He ducked his shaven head and brought his fist up into Harvey's belly. Michael heard the wind whoosh out of the white boy's lungs as he doubled over. Joey was suddenly on Michael then, pulling him to his feet and dragging him aside as the two fighters shoved each other apart. There was murder flashing in each of their eyes. "Why's HE still got his balls?" Harvey demanded.

"Do I look like the administration to you?" Sam retorted, aiming a swing at Harvey's face. Distracted just a bit, Harvey didn't dodge the blow in time. Although meant for his mouth, it caught him in the jawline. His head snapped back and slammed into the lockers. He shot a foot out towards Sam, and connected with his knee. Sam went down, and Harvey fell on him. The guard called in a fight in progress, but oddly enough, ended his message with "Sam calls it, authorization 'GRAD-e.'"

Sam got his feet under Harvey's vast bulk, and with a grunt, kicked him off. Harvey landed in a heap a few feet away, his head striking the floor hard. He got up, shook himself, and charged at Sam. His eyes, however, were locked on Michael. Oddly enough, Joey stepped in front of him, pushing him back into the corner. "Pull your pants up, Mikey," was all he said. Michael did that as Sam sidestepped the charging boy and smoothly tripped him. Once again, Harvey went down. The rest of the class had melted back out of the way to give the fighters room. There was an occassional comment, but none of the wild playground cheering to which Michael was accustomed.

Harvey regained his feet again and glared at Sam. "Have you told him yet, Mr. Bigshot? Does he know?"

"Shut up, Harvey. I'm getting tired of dancin' around your fat ass," Sam replied.

"Does he know what they're gonna do to him? Or what you're gonna tell him they outta do to him? You gonna do him like you did Cheng?"

"Enough!" Sam shouted.

"No, it's never gonna be enough, Sam. Just because you had your dick cut off doesn't mean it's right!" Harvey screamed at him.

"You had yo chance and blew it, whiteass," Sam shouted back.

The blow was so fast that, even years later, Michael would look back and not recall seeing it coming. Sam's arm lashed out smoothly and connected squarely with Harvey's nose. Then the other hand came up and firmly met with the fat boy's mouth. Blood and teeth spewed from Harvey's hands, cupped over his already swelling face. He bent down, moaning and crying. "Damn you, you dickless nig…" he started to say, but he never got the word out. There was no doubt that Sam, so very well muscled and stronger than Harvey was, would take him. Instead, Sam looked towards the guard. The guard nodded and smiled. Sam looked up at the mirrored globe in the ceiling and spoke three words – "ULF detonate Harvey." There was a loud buzz, and then a silence. And with that, Harvey's head exploded. Literally. He had time for one shrill howl of pain and one last look at the powerful black boy who had killed him. Michael heard the gasps run through the crowd, and then lockers, floor, walls, guard, and all boys present were sprayed with blood and worse.

"Dumbass," Sam said to the still-twitching corpse.

"Well done, Sam," the guard said softly.

Chapter 3

Michael finds out what he's in for, and what kind of friend Sam really is.

Harvey was dead.

Quite dead.

The implications of his death were spinning through Michael's head as he finished his shower and put his bloody gym clothes into a laundry chute. He wasn't even aware of the fact that he was the only intact boy in the dividerless gym showers, nor did he care. He didn't even sneak any glances around at his classmates to see who had balls, or lack thereof, or who had a penis and who didn't. He put his white sweatsuit back on, and feeling very self-conscious about his closely buzzed head, pulled the hood up. There were no strings to tighten it, so pulled it as close as could and kept looking down at the floor. There were specks of red here and there, and his stomach was turning.

He felt something touch his shoulder.

Michael came up off of the bench between the rows of lockers and screamed. He made for the door, not bothering to try and dodge the puddles of water on the floor. When one of the burly black guards who were helping to clean up the mess caught him, his socks were very wet. "Put him down, man," he heard someone say. It was Sam.

Sam, his roommate whose order had killed Harvey.

Sam, the very strong, well built black kid who thought he was a cute, if not puny, white boy.

Sam, who, thankfully, didn't have a penis.

Michael stared at the slightly hairy and dark legs in front of his downward gaze. A bit of water dripped now and then, and his socks were uncomfortably wet. He felt the strong hands holding him up off of the floor begin to release him, and felt another hand on the back of his neck. "Mikey," he heard Sam say softly, "you OK, man?"

The next thing he knew, Michael was in Sam's arms which held him tightly against the muscular youth's wet body. He drew in a sharp breath, and then his slight body was wracked by painful sobs. Suddenly he felt himself spun around as Sam pushed his head towards a trashcan, pulling his hood back at the same time. Somehow Sam had sensed that Michael's mystery lunch was about to make an encore appearance.

"C'mon, get up," he heard Sam say when he was finally done vomitting, "Lemme get dressed and we'll go."

Michael felt Sam's arm tighten around his slight shoulders. He obediently followed Sam back to the bench, keeping his eyes closed. After what felt like forever, he heard Sam say, "C'mon" again and felt the pull of his strong arm. He kept his eyes shut as they walked, his wet socks leaving small footprints on the polished hardwood floor. He let Sam lead him, not trusting himself. It was too much to believe.

"All I did was steal some stuff," he choked.

They stopped. "What?" Sam asked.

"Why'd they put me in here?" Michael sobbed. Then he pulled away from Sam's grip. "I stole stuff. I didn't rape anyone, I didn't really hurt anyone, all I did was steal 'cause no one would take care of me. And I sure as HELL didn't KILL anybody!" And with that, Michael broke and ran. He had no idea where he was going, he simply ran. His mind raced from image to thought to idea. There probably was no way over the fences. If a door were locked, it would have to scan his ID. But he didn't know where anything was. He wasn't even sure he could find his room. Suddenly he wanted to be in his bed, where it was warm and safe and behind a locked door and he wouldn't have to know anything. Then he heard him again.

"Goddammit, Mikey!"

It was Sam.

Sam, whom he thought, would protect him.

Sam, who had just killed Harvey. Michael froze.

What if Sam told the Mainframe to detonate him?

Then he was there. Right in front of him. There was a familiar guard behind him as well, the guard who had duty in their dorm. They were both looking at him. Sam's face was pained. They stared at each other. Sam reached out a hand, but Michael took a step back. A stab of pain shot through his forehead, driving the slight boy to his knees. His hands were on him then, pulling him up and into a tight embrace. "N-n-no," Michael choked, as Sam pulled him close again, "Don't hurt me. P-p-lease don't b-blow my head off too!"

"It's alright, man, I got 'im now," Sam said to the guard. The guard nodded and said something unintelligible to his handheld radio. The pain stopped. Michael's knees buckled, and Sam swept him up in his arms. "Let's get you somethin' and put you to bed, Mikey." Michael didn't answer. "Where's he gonn' go anyway?"

"True," the guard agreed.

When they arrived back at the dorm room, Ned was there waiting. Michael opened his eyes as Sam placed him on his feet. He stumbled over to his bed, and Ned began to undress him. "I hear you had a bit of excitement," the physician's assistant bantered, "a run in with Harvey. Asshole. I won't miss HIM. Now then…" But Michael pulled back as Ned absently folded the white sweatshirt and handed it to Sam. "What give, Mikey?" he asked.

Did they not know? How could Ned not know, if they'd summoned him here? Then Michael heard a small sound. He turned and saw Cheng, sitting up in his bed. His eyes were bright, and looked happy. His short, black flat-topped hair was a bit smashed down, but there was a definite sparkle to his strangely colored eyes. "Didja really SEE it?!" the Asian eunuch suddenly piped up. Michael began to tremble. He looked back and saw Ned filling a hypodermic with something from a small bottle. He took a step back, and yelped as Sam's strong hands closed on his bare shoulders. "Did Sam really do him in?" Cheng demanded, with a broad grin on his face.

Michael nodded. He couldn't find his voice.

He felt as if he were dreaming. Sam pushed him gently back towards Ned, who caught his wrist and pulled him back to the bed where he sat. He could hear Cheng chattering about Harvey, but he couldn't make it out. He felt dizzy and his stomach was churning again. Fast as it came on, Ned was faster. The needle fell to the bed and in an instant, Michael's head was in a small bucket. He retched for quite some time.

"Always be prepared," Ned muttered, pulling the badly shaking boy back up into a sitting position. But he then pushed Michael back over onto his back and rolled him. He pulled Michael's white sweats down and stuck the needle into his left butt cheek. A strange feeling of warmth and relaxation spread quickly through the boy, and he felt himself going limp. Ned continued to strip him, then tucked him into bed. He found that he couldn't move, but that his head seemed to be clearing a bit.

"You can talk about it tomorrow, Mikey," Ned said, absently rubbing a hand over his stubbly scalp.

"Mikey," Sam offered, "You don't know the WHY on why I did it. Harvey had it comin'. Been comin' a long time." There was anguish on the black youth's face, and his eyes were sincere. "Before you judge me, hear it out."

Michael nodded, feeling his bed warm under his skin. He was relaxed. The trembling had stopped, and Ned offered him a drink of water. "Why, then?" he asked.

Sam sighed and sat down on his bed. He glanced at Cheng. "It all started when me and Harvey got here," he began, "We came at the same time. You know what I did, well, Harvey did more. See, he didn't use to be like he was. He got put in here for rape. He liked boys – a LOT. After a while, we got to be buddies. The problems started when they told us about our cuttin' options." Sam paused and wrung his hands. He was beginning to sweat. "Anyway, I was better built. Harvey was solid, but he wasn't as strong as me. We had a while, we did some tests, took some exams. I qualified for guard training and early graduation, Harvey didn't. That pissed him off, but, when he found out that he was gonna get castrated, he freaked out. Guess he didn't believe the stories. He wanted the early graduation thing bad, but then when I told him what they were gonna do to me, he really lost it. See, Mikey, that's why I don't have a penis. To stay strong and grow up into a big man like they wanted, and the docs said I would, I had to keep my balls. Harvey kept his cock, for all the good it did him. I got a penectomy, Harvey got castrated." Sam paused again. He glanced from Michael to Cheng then back down at the floor. Michael noticed that the guard had left the room and closed the door.

"Go on," Cheng added anxiously.

"It took me and Harvey a while to heal up. I mean, once you get your cock cut off, it's pretty much over. No sex, no matter how bad you want it. Like I said, it used to get me in a lot of trouble. But Harvey had just lost his balls, and the effects of that weren't right off, you know. He healed up fast, but he could still get it up and all. You know, he liked boys. For a while he could still whack off. He got caught fuckin' other guys a few times, got punished, but it didn't seem to phase him. Then, 'bout two months or so later, he started havin' hot flashes. He couldn't get it up good very often, and he got mean."

Ned's laughter interrupted Sam's story.

Michael felt himself beginning to drift, but he forced his eyes open. He wanted to hear it all. A terrible suspiscion was beginning to dawn on him.

Sam continued. "He couldn't understand why I'd wanna get out early, since my sex life was over. He was jealous of that, but pissed 'cause no one warned HIM. He could have been in the same way, and that really got to him. But when his cock started to fail him, he got even harder to get along with. The flashes got worse, and he started gaining weight. You loose your balls at our age, and things start to go backwards, man. He lost a lot of his body hair. He started to get fat after a few more months. He was always lookin' for a fight, it seemed. He was always reminding me that I didn't have a penis, I think, 'cause he was jealous of my body." Sam flexed his biceps, and Cheng laughed.

"I gotta pee," he added, climbing out of bed. To Michael, he looked a bit unsteady as he made his way to the bathroom. His eyes sought out the Asian eunuch's smooth and empty groin, and looked back at Sam. He also caught the haunted look in his eyes, as Sam watched Cheng as well. Ned placed a hand on the blanket over Michael's chest. They waited until Cheng had come back and settled in, then Sam continued.

"Over time, he got fatter and weaker. And frustrated. I got frustrated, bad, but I had other things to vent on. Harvey just got fat and stupid. It was, I dunno – a few more months – hell, you can't keep track 'o time in here. I'm just goin' on what Ned told me. I was thinkin' about going into medicine, and spendin' time with him. That's when Cheng showed up. After he'd been here a while, his time came up." Sam paused. It was almost as if he couldn't go on.

"Then what?" Michael murmured, forcing himself to stay awake.

"Ned checked me over after I'd been here a while and told me I had to be castrated," Cheng supplied, "And Sam was studying with him. He helped Ned castrate me."

THAT got Michael's attention. Sam was now looking down at the floor. He felt his head growing fuzzy again, but he had to hear more. What all was Sam into?

"So, we castrated Cheng. He didn't say anything, but it turned out that on Harvey's good days, he was – uh – FOND of Cheng. He went wild when he found out what I'd talked Cheng into later, after he healed up." Again, Sam paused, and rested his head in his hands.

"And?" Michael probed.

"Sam was my roommate," Cheng supplied, "and he wanted me to get 'finished.' You know, cut it all off. He said I wouldn't ever be able to use it, so why keep it? So I let him."

Michael's mouth dropped open. He stared at Sam. Ned placed a firm hand on his chest, but Michael found that even though he wanted to, he couldn't sit up. He was too limp, and the bed was so warm and soft. He thought of how Cheng looked down there, with only very light and small scars. The Asian eunuch had nothing. "You let him? And you didn't have to?"

Cheng nodded.

"He was young, he didn't know. Hell, 'I' didn't know. I did most of the job after he healed up from his castration. Ned let me do most of the cutting. I took care of Cheng while he healed up. I worked out, studied, but Harvey just got more and more mean. We got in one hell of a fight when he saw Cheng after I cut his cock off. Harvey got demerits, punished, and I got higher marks and more credit. He couldn't take it. I guess he saw the same thing comin' wit you, white boy, and he just went over the edge."

"But you killed him," Michael choked, shocked to the core that Cheng had surrendered his genitals so calmly, AND even now he didn't seem to mind.

"YES!" Cheng said fervently, "and none too soon. I HATED Harvey. I wish I'd seen it!"

"No, you don't," Sam said softly, "It was awful."

"I don't get it," Michael admitted, fearing what they were going to tell him, "Sam, you got your penis cut off, not your balls, so you could go into early release as a guard?"

Sam nodded.

"But Cheng, you got castrated. They didn't MAKE you get your penis cut off, but you LET Sam do it anyway?"

Cheng nodded.

"WHY?"

"Because I talked him into it," Sam admitted. "I told him he wouldn't even hit puberty, he'd never have a sex drive, and no one was ever going to let him have HRT after they found out he was an x-IO boy. He was marked for life by his record. What I didn't know was why he was here." Sam sighed, and paused. Perhaps subconsciously, a hand went to his own crotch.

It was Ned who concluded the story. "Cheng was placed here because he was an orphan. No one wanted him, but he was up for adoption. Oh, he had some petty theft and curfew violations, but nothing too severe. Somehow, an error in records put him in this ward and we couldn't straighten it out fast enough. We knew he was in danger from some of the other boys, so Sam was supposed to protect him. Cheng got into some trouble here, but nothing too serious. His castration order came via regular channels, since he had spent so much time here already. BUT, unlike Harvey and most of the boys here, Cheng would have been eligible for release and specialized adoption anytime. Even though he had to be castrated, he would have been allowed HRT qualification in later life. He could have been released and had a relatively normal sex life, just no children of his own. He wasn't really dangerous or anything, you understand, just a victim of circumstance. If we'd gotten it straightened out in time, it's also possible that he wouldn't have had to be castrated. Then he and Sam got close…"

"And you talked him into it?" Michael asked Sam.

The black boy didn't look up, but nodded. "I didn't know."

"Then Harvey found out and he said the same thing," Ned finished, "and he flipped. He spent a lot of time asleep and undergoing some – uh – shall we call it 'therapy.' He just couldn't stand the fact that someone other than him would have been allowed to develop normally, be adopted, and leave. Cheng's choice on a full nullification made him crazy, especially since Harvey was impotent then and couldn't do him any more. He made it a point to remind Sam what he had done every chance he got. I guess he figured Sam would try the same with you, Mikey."

Michael was stunned. Cheng had had it ALL cut off. Sam had not only talked him into it, but he had helped to do it as well. And Cheng didn't HAVE to. That was what confused Michael. Sam had befriended him in much the same way. It was because Michael was still intact that had set Harvey off. In a way, as the fog in his head grew thicker, Michael realized that he was somewhat responsible for Harvey's death as well.

"I won't hurt YOU, Mikey," Sam said, "I promise. Man, Cheng, I didn't know. I really didn't. I thought you were like everyone else."

"It's OK, Sam, I don't mind," the Asian eunuch replied.

"You know I think about it every time I see you," Sam retorted, his voice full of shame, "I guess since I didn't have a penis anymore, I thought you shouldn't either. I … I dunno, maybe I figured if you were a total eunuch and not a … a real boy no one would want to adopt you, ever. I … I di'n't want you to leave."

"And it took you this long to admit it, Sam?" Ned asked.

But Sam didn't reply.

"It's alright, Sam," Michael heard Cheng say, "It doesn't matter. You don't miss what you never had. I'm OK with it, really."

"Ned," Michael whispered, his eyes falling shut, "am I gonna be castrated too?" It was a struggle to stay awake, but he had to know.

He had to hear it.

"Yes, Mikey, you are," he heard Ned reply from far away, "Very soon, in fact. It'll be for your own good, you know. Now go to sleep like a good boy. You've had a rough day."

And then the darkness took him and Michael knew no more.

Chapter 4

Michael receives stunning news and finds that things at IO aren't what they appear to be.

Michael awoke with very little memory of what had happened the previous day. His head felt stuffed with sand, and he was groggy as he sat naked on the edge of his bed. He had a morning erection, which he usually did, and he had to urinate badly. He wasn't sure he could make it to the bathroom, however. His legs didn't seem very responsive, and his fingertips were tingling. His head didn't hurt, but his ears were ringing. He could hear the water running, which meant that someone was up and showering. Remembering the electic jolt that he taken a few days before, he stood up, swaying, and fell over – flat on his face. "Shit," he murmured.

Confused images of Harvey's head exploding spun through his mind. There were also images of flight down dim corridors filled with doors and pipes. He thought he heard screams, hoarse voices crying out, nonstop, for help that never came. Brief flashes of exam rooms, knives, and boys with various parts of their genitalia missing came to him, yet fled as soon as he tried to focus on them. He thought he heard Ned's voice, and rolled onto his back. But Ned wasn't there. Instead, Joey was standing over him, naked and dripping wet. Michael tried to focus on the young eunuch's groin, trying to remember who had been castrated, who had no penis, and who had nothing at all. He found he couldn't remember, and he couldn't focus as well. He could see a penis, however, small and unerect – and remembered that he had to GO and go NOW.

"Mikey? You OK?" Joey asked softly.

He tried to answer – recognizing Joey's voice but not his face – but found that his mouth wasn't really working either.

Joey stared down at the semi-incoherent Michael and yelled at Sam, who had a head and face full of soap. "Shit, man, I can't see … get the guard!"

Michael felt hands under his neck as Joey tried to haul him into a sitting position. "Go get the guard, Cheng," Joey ordered. Cheng – the name sounded familiar, but Michael couldn't place it. He saw a blurry form go by, carrying a towel. There was a beep and a child's voice, calling for help. "Medical emergency!" Michael heard the voice say, but it didn't seem to mean anything. Then the biggest black man that he had ever seen in his life was standing over him, gently slapping his cheeks. "C'mon, boy, snap out of it," the man said. But it didn't mean anything. He'd seen black people before, but where?

"Huh?" was about all Michael could manage.

"Fuck!" he heard a new voice say, as he saw another blurry form approaching him. He focussed as best he could. It was a black guy, shorter, more like a boy just a bit older than he. He was wet and naked, and bald. He had muscles that rippled and knotted as he moved, with only slight hair here and there on his dark brown skin. His nose wasn't as large as the man who was still shaking him and slapping his face, and his lips were a bit thinner. The black boy bent down to stare into his eyes. He could see himself in those eyes, large and shiny black. The whites were very white, and a bit bloodshot. His vision was clearing up. He turned and looked at the white boy with a short buzzcut sitting next to him. "J-j-joey?" he asked, but it sounded abstracted. It was as if someone else were controlling his mouth.

The white boy nodded.

The black boy, however, said "Fuck" again. "Damn nigh total wipeout. Shit." His voice was getting excited, and suddenly Michael was very afraid of him. The black boy stood up, and Michael saw that above his large and low hanging balls, he had no penis. Michael screamed and tried to claw his way backwards, but the nightstand stopped him.

For some reason, this black boy with no penis frightened him. His heart began to pound, and he felt warmth under him as his overtaxed bladder let go. "Mikey!" he heard the black youth yell at him … he was yelling. He didn't like yelling. It scared him. He just wanted to get away; he wanted to go … but where? Where was he anyway?

"My room," he said half aloud.

"Godammit," the black boy said, "Medical Emergency, psychotic episode! Ames, Ned, respond!"

There was another voice, coming from the ceiling. He couldn't understand it. Michael was shaking. The black boy's hands were on him, hauling him up to his knees. He stared at him. "Mikey, it's me, Sam." He shook him. "Mikey, it's Sam. Talk to me. Ned, Ames, Mikey's freakin' out. Hurry!"

Sam.

The name frightened him even more.

He saw a face flash before him, a fat face with short red hair. Then the face exploded. He looked down at his naked body, ashamed that he wasn't dressed. There was blood. Blood all over him. He held up his hands. Blood was dripping off of his hands. There were bits of flesh and gore and worse stuck to him. He was kneeling in a puddle of blood. "Mikey?" he heard a tentative, softer voice answering him. He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. Their hands were still on him. They were wet, all of them, but the black man, the big man – he was dressed in gray and dry. He didn't like them. Then a softer, warmer hand was on him. He felt cloth. He opened his eyes and saw a boy with a slight frame and slanted eyes looking at him. His hair was black and cut in a flat top that went off in every direction. He was offering him a towel. Gratefully, Michael took it and tried to wipe the blood off of himself. "Jap-p-en…" he stuttered, but was interrupted.

"I'm NOT Japanese, Mikey," the boy said.

He heard a laugh. The white boy was smiling. That seemed odd, but he didn't know why. Why was he here, naked, on the floor, with three other naked boys and a big black guy watching him? "Where the hell am I?" he cried, his body shaking badly. "Mikey," he heard – it was the black boy again, the one with no penis. The one whose voice brought death. He remembered.

His name was Sam and he had killed Harvey with his voice.

Michael screamed again and struggled to rise, but they all held him. Each one had a leg and an ankle as the door burst open. Michael was thrashing wildly in their grip, but try as he might, he couldn't get away. He stared at them in horror. The white boy was missing his balls. The boy who wasn't Japanese had nothing at all between his legs except for a small hole, and the black boy had large balls but no penis. Suddenly he looked down at his own crotch, relieved to find that his erection was back and that everything was still there. He heard more voices.

Two men had entered the room, one carrying a black RX bag and one carrying a briefcase and a large cup of coffee. Michael noticed that the coffee was steaming and that the man who looked like a football player had a cigarette in his mouth. He frightened him almost more than the black boy who could kill with a word. The black boy, Sam, who could order his head to explode. The black boy, whose hands were still on him – his bloody hands. Michael screamed again, and the other man with the black medical bag knelt beside him.

"Michael," the man said, his voice oddly soothing, "Michael, listen to me. It's Ned. You know me?"

He thought about it. He stared at the man who called himself Ned. He remembered a shot in the butt. He remembered his hands, warm and soft, doing things to him. Examining him. He hadn't really hurt him, though. He checked him over. He was a doctor. Slowly, Michael nodded. "Good," Ned said, "Now listen to me. No one is going to hurt you. You might think they are, but they aren't. These are your roomies, Michael. You share a dorm room with Joey, Cheng and Sam. You have for several weeks now. You know where you are?"

His eyes teared up and he shook his head. Ned sighed and turned to the smoking man with the coffee. "It's bad," he said.

"How fuckin' bad is bad, Ned?" the harsh sounding man asked.

"I think we need to take him to ICU now, soon as he gets a bath, that is," Ned replied.

"How bad a level would you rate him, Ned?" the man called 'Ames' asked.

Ned looked into Michael's eyes and rubbed his stubbly scalp.

"Haircut," Michael murmurmed.

"I'd say 7 of 10, maybe 6 if we're lucky," Ned replied calmly.

"Son," the harsh man said, sipping his coffee, "I want you to look at everyone here and say their names. Then I want you to say your name. Can you do that?"

Michael's eyes moved from person to person. "Joey. Cheng. Sam. Mr. Ames. Ned. Mr. Bolton, the guard. I'm Michael."

The others had let him loose, and backed off. The boys sat on the edge of the bed next to his. He remembered the bed, warm and soft. He wanted to be back in it, covered so one would see him naked. "Good," Ned encouraged him. "Now, can you stand up?"

He did that.

"Now, can you follow me into the bathroom and take a shower?"

"Everyone's watching me," Michael whispered.

"That's OK, Michael." He wasn't calling him Mikey. He hated to be called Mikey.

"Go and take a shower. Can you walk by yourself?" Ned asked him in a soft voice.

Michael stood up and found he had feeling in his feet again. He stumbled to the bathroom, embarrassed at having peed himself. He showered, although his gaze, even when the soap got into his eyes and stung them, never left the group that was watching him. He dried off, put his towel in a laundry chute, and stared back at them. He began to feel another erection building, and turned his back on them. He was afraid, but he was also embarrassed.

"Boys, get dressed and go the rec room for a while," he heard Ames say.

He watched as they all put on white sweatsuits and allowed the scanning device at the door to scan their ID bracelets. He looked at his left wrist, and saw that he had one as well. It had letters and numbers all over it. All he could understand of it was 'MICHAEL' and the number 13. There were some 'p's and an 'e' but it meant nothing to him. It also looked like it had no clasp and couldn't be taken off. He rubbed his head, remembering that he should have longer hair. In fact, he was used to shaking it out of his eyes. His head was beginning to hurt.

"Increase 10%" he heard a disembodied voice say. His headache worsened.

"Increase 20%" he heard, after the boys had left.

He watched them. Ames and Ned were staring at him, and the guard, Bolton, had followed them out. Bolton liked Sam, he thought. Why did he know that? What did it mean? His head hurt worse. He sighed and went back to his bed and sat down. He didn't see any clothes to put on. "Can I please get dresssed?" he asked Ned, but Ned shook his head.

"You have to come with me, Michael. I think you're sick."

"You're the doctor," Michael said.

Ned nodded. "Physician's Asst., actually," he corrected.

For some reason, that frightened him even more. He remembered Cheng being sick. He felt a chill as his headache worsened. "My head hurts," he whined, closing his eyes.

"Mainframe, 75% spike and discontinue," Ames said to the mirrored globe on the ceiling. A white-hot stab of pain shot through Michael's head, and he remembered Harvey. He saw the fat boy's head explode again, and he screamed. He fell backwards onto the bed, unable to see or move. His whole head felt as if it were on fire. He tried to jump up and run, but his muscles wouldn't obey him. "Make it stop!" he begged. And it did.

"See if that worked," Ames said.

"I hate it when you do that," Ned replied, filling a hypodermic with something from his bag. "Now, would you be so kind as to get me a wheelchair for Michael, and try to remember what that did to Cheng?"

Ames grunted and went to fetch it, seeming as if he had been greatly offended.

Michael opened his eyes and looked at Ned, who rolled him gently onto his stomach and plunged the needle into his right butt cheek. "Variety," he murmured.

Michael yelped. "What was that for? You gave me a shot the other day, dammit!"

"Well, maybe that ULF spike did work. What's your name?"

"Michael."

"Not Mikey?"

"I hate that name."

"Who's the Jap?"

"Cheng, and he isn't Japanese."

"Who's the black kid?"

"Sam."

"What's he going to do?"

"Be a guard when he graduates."

"And where are you?"

"Locked up in IO Rehab."

"Why?"

"Because I stole stuff and got in trouble and stole a truck and hit someone's car with it. No one wanted me cause I was bad."

"How long have you been here?"

"I don't know. There's no clocks or windows."

They played 20 questions for a while, until Ames returned with the wheelchair. It seemed to Ned that the episode was past, but he wasn't taking any chances. He carefully avoided questions involving castration or Harvey or Sam. He gestured at the chair.

"What's that for?" Michael asked.

"You," Ames replied.

Michael suddenly was afraid again. Ames wouldn't take anything, he knew. He could banter with Ned, the doctor, but Ames… "I can walk, sir," he replied, averting his eyes.

"You couldn't a while ago while you were down on the floor peeing on the rug," Ames replied.

Michael looked at him, not having any idea what the rough sounding man was talking about. He felt a twinge of pain behind his left eye, and immediately got up and sat in the wheelchair. Ned latched the "seatbelt" across his waist. He noticed that Michael had an erection again. "We're going to have to do something about that," he commented.

"What?" Michael asked.

"Never mind," Ames answered, "You'll find out soon enough. Can you handle this?" he asked Ned. Ned nodded. "Very well." And with that, Ames turned and left, muttering and waving his coffee cup around.

Ned pushed Michael in the wheelchair down the hallway and through a red door that required some serious talking and scanning to open. Michael had seen the door before, but had never asked what it was. It opened into another dim hallway. It seemed to slope down and stretch forever, lined with doors on both sides. Far in the distance, a door opened and someone in white pushed someone in a wheelchair across the hallway and into another doorway. The hall wasn't as warm as his room, and Michael, naked and strapped in the chair, was beginning to shiver. The shot that Ned had given him was relaxing him, although his head was totally clear. He was confused, however. One moment he was getting out of bed – the next he was on his bed playing 20 questions with Ned. None of it made sense.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Ned sighed. "You had a psychotic episode brought on by stress and not adapting to the ULF hits very well. Those are the things that cause the headaches as punishment. Tell me, Michael, what do you remember?"

"I was in class. We went to PE. Sam ordered the ULF thing to blow up Harvey, and it did. I freaked out. Shit, man, his fuckin' head blew OFF! I ran. I was scared. Sam brought me back to my room, and we all talked. You were there. We talked about Sam's future job, when he graduates. We talked about how he talked Cheng into cuttin' his dick off, and how Cheng wasn't supposed to be here. What's with him anyway?"

Ned sighed again. "Keep going. Cheng's sick, let's leave it at that. Go on."

"We talked it over, Sam said he wouldn't hurt me. You gave me a shot, put me to bed, said I had a bad day and to be a good boy. The usual," Michael said with chagrin. "I TRY to be good, you know. I hate headaches."

"I know," Ned replied, "What else?"

"Next day we went to class. We came back to the room. We did homework. We went to the rec room. We went to bed. Same thing, day in day out. Why?"

"Because that isn't right, Michael," Ned said. "How long have you been in here at IO?"

Michael thought. The days all blurred together. He realized that he didn't know.

He didn't reply. "I thought as much," Ned said. "Anyway, you need a checkup. AND a full head CT and some blood tests. You've got an erection again," he noted.

Michael looked down, glad that his penis was still there. "Sorry," he said.

"We'll fix that," Ned replied.

Then he remembered something. "You're gonna castrate me, aren't you? Everyone here gets it, don't they?"

"Yes," Ned said flatly, stopping Michael's wheelchair at an unmarked door.

"Let it scan you," he ordered.

Michael did that, and they entered. It was antoher exam room. He remembered his initial exam. "All that again?" he asked, looking around the room.

"I'm afraid so," Ned agreed, "and after all that, the CT, then more. You're not well, Mikey. This might take time. Your episode this morning prooved that."

The door slid shut and locked as Ned unlocked Michael's seatbelt. "Up on the table," he said, rummaging around in a cabinet. Michael did that.

"Ned, don't call me Mikey, please," he asked.

"Why?"

Michael hung his head. "Because my old buddies did. The ones, who I ran with, stole with. I don't like it. It sounds … well, it sounds like I'm a little boy or something."

"You ARE a little boy, Mikey," Ned replied, snapping on some rubber gloves, "and a bad one at that. That's why you're here." He saw the tears welling up in the boy's eyes.

"But I didn't DO anything THAT bad. Why'd they put me in HERE?"

"Because the laws changed, Michael," Ned answered, reverting to his fuller name, "Crime and punishment. No more slaps on the wrist these days."

"They put me in here with rapists and killers, man. I'm a thief, OK? A thief and a liar and a runaway!"

"That's a great start, Michael. You should be as open with your counselors. Now, roll over."

"Ned," Michael asked as he was being pushed and poked at, "You said I was wrong. What happened to make you bring me here? I don't remember it. What's a psycho episode?"

"'Psychotic,'" Ned corrected. "You had a royal fit this morning when you woke up. You were having a hard time dealing with what Sam did to Harvey. You were scared about Harvey, or someone else in the future, attacking you. You don't think you should be in here, and the genital mutilation thing frightens you to pieces. Right?"

Michael nodded. He listened as Ned recounted the episode to him. He couldn't believe it. "What caused it, you think?" he asked quietly.

"We did a bit of extra sleep therapy on you. You know about that, right? The transceivers in the pillows?"

Michael nodded, intently listening.

"We thought it would help you to deal with the stress and make you more open to the idea of your castration," Ned supplied, "But sometimes it doesn't work right."

"You really HAVE to cut my balls off?" he asked.

Ned sighed. "Yes, Michael, I do. I don't want to. I hate doing it, but it's my job. It's also the law. Maybe if you're good enough and your grades stay high enough, you'll qualify for HRT when you graduate. Then you can grow up to be a man instead of a plain old eunuch – you just won't be having any little 'Mikey's'."

"There's something else, though, right? I mean, if you went to all that trouble…" but he broke off as he realized something. Cheng was sick. He'd missed class. He'd spent a lot of time in bed.

"What?" Ned asked, putting a blood pressure cuff on his arm.

"Cheng's messed up like me, isn't he?"

Ned nodded, pumping up the cuff. "Normal," he said.

"It's that ULF and therapy crap, isn't it?" Michael demanded.

"Yes, Michael," Ned said thoughtfully, sighing again. "We've done extensive memory overhaul on Cheng. He truly believes that he doesn't mind being a fully emasculated eunuch. That was one goal. The other was near-total wipeout. He knows he hated Harvey, but he doesn't really know why. He knows Harvey molested him. He knows Sam talked him into full emasculation. He knows he isn't really a bad kid, and he thinks that someone is coming to take him into adoption. He knows he won't be here until he's 18. Unfortunately, he's right. He won't be here."

There was an awkward silence.

"You're messing with my head, too, aren't you?" Michael asked.

Ned nodded, turning to pick up a rectal thermometer. "Roll over again," he ordered.

Michael felt the cool thermometer slide into his rectum. It didn't bother him. He felt himself getting hard again. "Are we gonna do the enema thing too?"

"No," Ned replied, "You didn't get dinner last night after the Harvey-thing and you aren't getting breakfast so we don't need to."

"Good," Michael said, but then he tensed up as he realized something else. "Hey, that was a while ago! Shit, it's been, I dunno, weeks?"

"No, Michael," Ned disagreed, "It was yesterday. That's why you're here. The past few weeks, to be vague, aren't real. What you remember since Harvey's head blew off his shoulders isn't real. It's implanted, like Cheng's memory is. What we took out, we had to replace. And it's not working."

It was like someone had stepped on his grave. He had heard that saying before. He remembered hearing "Go to sleep, be a good boy … it's for your own good…" He sat up, but Ned firmly pushed him back down. He had picked up another needle and was holding it in his steady hand. Michael stared back up at him.

"I want this CT and blood test done, fast, Michael. Moving around isnt' good for you right now, at least not until we know for sure. Now lie still. You're going to be down for a while and there's some stuff I have to do to you that you won't like much."

Michael sighed, resigning himself to the facts. He had no idea how long he'd been there. Now he had no clue what was real and what wasn't. That's why there were no clocks, he realized, only bells and beepers. No windows, and he couldn't go outside. No outside Internet or TV, either. It was all designed to make them loose track of time, so that the things they did to their minds would 'take' easier. Michael realized that he was in for a barrage of tests and examinations. And there was the look on Ned's face. His eyes were haunted, speaking silently of things to come.

"You said Cheng wouldn't be here," he plied, as Ned stuck the IV needle into his arm, "Where's he gonna be?"

"Dead," Ned replied, as the darkness began to close in again.

Chapter 5

Ned begins to have his own doubts, and discovers something shocking about Michael that he's seen before.

Ned sat at his desk in the ICU muttering a fairly foul string of various curses. When he had exhausted his vocabulary of profanities, he went back and started over. By the third time that he realized that he was repeating himself, he began to extemporize and wax grammatical. His swearing gave whole new meanings to the words "foul mouth." Fortunately, all four of his charges were either heavily sedated or just plain unconscious due to mental trauma. He turned back to his notes with a sigh. His computer had just performed the notorious "Illegal Operation" and shut down on him. "Fuckin' Bill Gates MW Word macros bullshit…" he muttered, "Wish you and your MS team were in here with me right now, Mister, damn ME edition…" and at that point he began to get verbally creative again.

He paused after another good rant, looking around at the four beds in the warm room. Like most of the other rooms at IO Rehab for Boys, it was painted white with a few small slits here and there in the walls that held things only he or a guard could access. There was, of course, the mirrored spy globe in the ceiling – which he realized had no doubt recorded his every word and gesticulation. Just for good measure, he flipped his middle finger at the shiny, uncaring globe and continued with his work; lately he was finding little joy in that work.

It had seemed like a good idea, taking this position. He was studying urology as a specialty area at med school, and the IO posting had offered him free room and board and 50% tuition assistance. All that he had to do in return, his contract said, was to "medically service the inmates as required by IO standards and remain on campus as scheduled for duty." He had had no idea that that had meant that he would spend his days cutting off the genitalia of young men, most of them hardly into puberty. He had thought that he would be getting more practice in the GP area as well. Certainly he had that. Routine exams, checkups, shots and such. What really annoyed him were the castrations. The tedious paperwork or the seemingly endless stream of maintenance exams and enema therapy didn't bother him. But every time he took a young man's testicles, or cut off the penis of a restrained and unwilling patient, a small part of him seemed to die.

At first he had thought that he could compromise his principles in the matter, but of late he was wondering.

He let his gaze drift around the room. In the bed nearest him was Thomas, the chart said. There were so many of them. So many boys, so many faces, and most – he thought – that were certainly being punished far beyond that which they deserved. Thomas was an average white boy, aged 15, average build … average … average … average … the chart said. He was on the mend from several broken ribs and a concussion that he had sustained in a rec room brawl. He was slated to return to his dorm the next day, bandaged and suitably punished. Ned shivered as he recalled the hours that the boy had spent locked up in the padded 'cooling' room, screaming, and his injuries unattended, while the ULF generators relentlessly tore at his brain. It was the standard punishment – theoretically infinite, unbearable pain with no tissue damage. It worked well – most of the time. Too well, in some cases.

In the next bed was Scott, another average boy. "Average," Ned snorted half aloud, glancing at the IV that was feeding Scott not only nutrients but painkillers and sedatives as well. For Scott, Ned felt little to no sympathy however. He had read Scott's record upon his arrival for treatment. If anyone should have been in IO, it was Scott. At the age of 16, Scott's record stretched back to the age of 5. It started with fights, disturbing the peace, etc., the usual – then progressed to more violent crimes such as rape and assault with a deadly weapon with intent by 16. Scott's only claim to fame was that his records stated that he was 'suffering' from Superman Syndrome – meaning that he had two 'Y' Chromosomes instead of one. He also had, predictably, higher than normal testosterone levels. For Ned, Scott had been an interesting case study and it was the paper that he was writing about Scott and his extra 'Y' chromosome that had crashed his computer.

Ned carefully pulled back the sheet and checked Scott's bandages and catheter. The total emasculation procedure had gone well, and Ned expected this boy to heal up with only minimal scarring. Of course there would be nothing left of Scott's already overactive sex drive and sex life, but to that Ned had no sympathy. His records stated that Scott had already fathered at least three children that were proven, and the several angry fathers whose daughters the boy had deflowered were just as happy to learn that Scott's sowing of his oats – so to speak – were over. Scott was listed as 'HRT Denied', and would live out the rest of his days as a full eunuch, IF he made it to 18 and graduated. It was the boys like Joey and Cheng that bothered him. Ned didn't always agree that it was for their own good, but in Scott's case he made an exception.

In the bed next to Scott was André, a boy of some racially mixed descent that was so mixed up that the term "Heinz 57" or "mutt" came to mind. André had just arrived, committed to IO for one year on the orders of his family. Ned snorted as he looked over André's chart. Father unknown, no brothers, two sisters, being raised by his mother and her sister – and her sister's significant other. "Significant other? What the hell is that?" Ned wondered aloud. From what his records and admission notes said, André hadn't done anything wrong other than be born as a boy. It was as simple as that. At 14, his family had claimed that he was delinquent, and acting oddly. Puberty wasn't going well for him, and something had to be done before his "bad habits" got out of control. He was disrupting his families' lives, and needed help. His help had come in the form of low-security boarding at IO, counselling and classes, and – of course – testicular castration.

Ned checked André over, and moved on. The standard castration appeared to be healing up normally, with nothing to worry about. Ned decided to release him the following day, another boy robbed of his impending manhood. André was labelled as "HRT Pending," meaning – so Ned thought – that the final say in that matter would be left up to André's family. "Don't hold your breath waiting for that first shot," he mumbled to the unconscious boy, "Your family thinks it's for your own good, you know."

Then he stopped. In the last bed was Michael.

Ned didn't fully understand Michael's case. They had placed the boy under his care, but beyond Michael's recent, simple castration, removal of his small testicles only, this boy was out of Ned's league. Of course his supervisors and teachers were handling Michael's other problems, such as the psychotic episode a few days before and his memory recoding. That was far beyond Ned's field of expertise. They had said that they wanted Ned to be there with the boy, since he seemed to trust Ned more than anyone. "There's just something about YOU that he likes," they had told him, "You get through to him where others don't."

"Why me?" Ned mumbled, running a hand softly over Michael's head, which had already grown out, to almost ¼" [6 mm] from the 00000- initiation cut he had been give upon arrival. "Why did it HAVE to me ME?" He remembered with considerable regrets the question the boy had asked during his admission physical – "Are you gonna castrate ME?"

"And I told you 'no'," he whispered to the still, slight form in the bed, "And I lied. I'm sorry, Mikey. God, I'm in over my head here."

Ned's thoughts were scattered as he checked Michael's catheter and wounds. The two small stitches on each side of his tight, small scrotum were holding. But how was he going to feel when he awakened to find his balls gone? There was only minimal swelling and quite a bit of bruising, but all in all it had been routine. But the boy had been lied to. Open the sac, pull one out, ligature the cords, cut and cauterize, dispose of the uneeded testicle, close the wound – repeat for other side. Michael had been placed in his care with Foley catheter and IV and NG-feeing tube already installed. But what would happen when he finally awakend to discover that he was a eunuch? Everything was running just as it was supposed to run, no kinks, no clogs. It had been two, almost three weeks since his psychotic episode and exam thereafter. Everything had seemed to be going fine. The exam was routine, Michael had said that he felt fine. He had been returned to the dorms. Good marks in class, good reports from his counselors, no behavioral problems. Ned remembered the first initial exam, and the brutal shot of ULF that Ames had given the boy to shock his brain back into some semblance of working order just before. He sighed again, wondering what it was about THIS boy that was different. They had sent him down to Ned after a second barrage of tests some weeks later, and added that his vitals were stable enough for the routine castration. Ned had objected, on grounds of the other trauma. To him, it had looked like they had very nearly killed the slight boy. But he had been overruled. He could only wonder to what kind of testing they had subjected the poor boy. Aside from the IV, the NG and the catheter, there were two angry red welts on the sides of Michael's head and what looked like a large mosquito bite just under his left ear. It was the NG, however, that bothered Ned the most. If the boy needed it to be fed, it meant that he had been – and probably would be – unconscious for some time to come.

He read over the chart. Michael had been a bad kid, into a lot of trouble, but nothing really violent or sexual. He had just hit puberty, according to his bloodwork results and physical reactions. Of course he was slated for routine castration, just as all the other boys in IO were – that was standard procedure. There hadn't really been any noticeable onset of secondary sexual characteristics, however, and this really annoyed Ned. He hated cutting prepubescent boys, but even the boys like André – who were in for only short periods of time – were automatically castrated. He thought of all the things that were now forever denied to Michael. True, he might qualify for HRT, but it wouldn't be the same. If indeed the boy survived the next five years and whatever the hell they were doing to his brain, for reasons unknown, he could have HRT and grow up into a man and lead an active sex life. Ned thought about it. He had read that the orgasms were harder to reach, and felt different, but were entirely possible. Of course, Michael didn't yet know what an orgasm was, so he wouldn't really know a typical one, or even miss it.

And Michael would have no children of his own.

Ned thought about it. 'He's a thief. A neglected, malnourished, unloved little thief who was trying to survive. Big crime. Yea, that's genetic all right. Let's deny him the right to have children, lead a normal life, and lock him up with rapists and murderers and let him see someone whom he trusts – the first one he calls a friend – in this hellish place – kill another inmate. He's gonna learn all kinds of new things. GREAT therapy in MY book. Really a great way to make a reformed citizen of him." Ned thought, half aloud.

But he still didn't understand. Michael seemed to be adapting well enough, until Sam had killed Harvey. True, Harvey deserved what he got, or so Ned thought. He just thought that Sam could have done it at a more tactful time. He also didn't understand the ULF punishments that the boy had been given, even for seemingly minor transgressions. He couldn't understand why, or to what end, they were tampering with his memory either. He wondered about Ames and his cronies in administration. He was sure, that given time, the boy would have gotten over the shock of Harvey's death. Hell, by the next hour he was trusting Sam again. And he certainly didn't understand – or even know – what kind of therapy the boys were getting while they were asleep, via the pillow transceivers. All Ned knew was that once in bed, the boys slept deeply and couldn't move, OR wake up without an electronic pulse that let them wake up. All he knew was that Michael was getting "too much" as they had said. A mistake, they had said. An oversight, they had said. And as for the memory tampering, well – they had said that from what he had seen so soon after arriving at IO that it was really for his own good.

Ned continued to read and absently stroke Michael's head. The chart read with terms that Ned only partially understood.

- serotonin levels decreasing – dopamine levels increasing – overall neurotransmission levels too high – EEG abnormal – CAT scan inconclusive – ULF reactions bad – Erratic activity in temporal lobes – Decreasing activity across Corpus Callosum

What the hell did it all mean? Ned had his own ideas about it as he poured over graphs and figures that he didn't totally comprehend. "I'm studying urology and GP, not brain surgery, dammit," he muttered. But he'd seen this list before. He had read over the same data many times when he had been overseeing the aftercare of another boy's total emasculation surgery. He thought back and began to draw some conclusions. It didn't take a genius to realize that 2+2=4, unless you were in some obscure form of modern math. That was one plus to his job in the castration department – he got to read ALL of the patient's data files. He just didn't understand them all. The last time he had seen a chart like Michael's was for a boy who had willingly and even happily volunteered to become a complete and total eunuch. In light of his impending castration, this other boy had asked for a penectomy as well, leaving no traces between his legs that he had even been a boy in the first place.

His mind began to wander. Ned had certainly not understood that one, but had found some justification for it later that had cleared up some of the mystery. His reasoning had been that if he didn't have any balls, he wouldn't have a sex life and he didn't need a penis and that it would be just as well to have off with it all at once. So, Ned had asked him again and again. Each time, the boy had said, yes, he wanted it all gone. And so he had done it. It was only after the operation was completed and the boy was made a total eunuch, did he find out that his own student trainee was the boy's friend who had talked him into it. This trainee had assisted Ned in the surgery, passed his class and moved to the next, and secured himself a better academic marking in the process. In addition to all the other time he had spent training and aiming at early graduation, working with Ned had given him another career opportunity. It was after that that Ned made sure he knew which boy was bunking with whom and what was going on. When he had finally learned that Sam had talked Cheng into nullification – when Cheng was there by mistake and up for adoption – he had shown Sam the data and what he had actually done. They had, at that point, secretly agreed to be shocked and apalled together and NOT to mention it to Cheng. This boy was the first one that he had encountered that didn't seem to mind – in fact – WANTED to be fully 'nullified' as some called it. He was certainly the only one who had been happy about it when he had awakened to find nothing but bandages and a latex tube between his legs. Ned grinned in spite of his feelings in the matter. He still had the image in his mind of young Cheng standing naked in front of the mirror in the exam room when the last of the bandages had come off and the cathater had come out. The Asian eunuch had been so proud of his new look. However, most of them were so humilitated and depressed that they usually withdrew, hardly even speaking to anyone for months. Still, it bothered him. Joey came readily to mind.

Ned leafed through the notes again, called up the nullified boy's records on the computer, then Michael's, and compared them. With the exception that Michael still had a penis, they were identical. He slumped in his chair in shock. The stats didn't lie to him. The others in the room were routine urological surgeries and minor injuries, but not Michael. Sickened a bit, Ned stared helplessly at the smiling Asian face on the high-resolution screen. "It's so detailed," he said aloud, "even that funny haircut of his…he just can't make it stand up right…"

Michael was headed straight down the same course as Cheng, and Cheng was sick.

In fact, Ned knew for certain, Cheng was dying.

Chapter 6

Michael discovers a VCD of Sam's penectomy and finds his own sexual desires beginning to awaken immediately after his own castration.

Michael stuggled towards consciousness, vaguely aware that he felt as if he were swimming. The surface seemed far away, however, and no matter how he struggled he could not seem to reach it. He heard voices. He felt what he thought to be pain. Still, he labored. It was as if he were deep underwater and continuing to swim upwards. He could see that surface, but try as he might, he couldn't reach it. He had no idea of how long he had been trying, but he couldn't quit. Only one thought burned in his mind as he continued to stuggle – and that thought was, "I don't belong here and I have to make someone believe me."

All of this went on and on in Michael's mind, although his body lay in a bed in the ICU under Ned's watchful eye. He seemed to hear that voice, among many, but he couldn't be sure. If anyone would believe him, Ned would. Michael continued to climb, his mind's eye fixed on that shiny surface to high above him.

Ned sighed and turned off his computer, coming to the decision that his paper on the pros and cons of adolescent castration could wait. He checked over the remaining two boys in the unit, then sat down heavily in the chair next to Michael's bed. The boy hadn't so much as twitched in three weeks, and Ned was beginning to worry about bedsores and muscular atrophy on top of everything else. The small incisions in Michael's scrotum had healed over into bright pink and fine lines, and the angry red welts that had been so evident on the sides of his buzzed head were faded away. Only a small bump remained under his left ear, and it too was healing. Once again, as he become accustomed to doing so often, Ned ran a hand absently over Michael's blonde head. The boy's 00000 initiation buzzcut had grown back out surpisingly fast, and was out to almost ½ of an inch [12 mm]. He figured that as soon as the boy was on his feet, he'd be paying the staff barber another visit. Ned looked over the various tubes and lines that were tending to the comatose boy's bodily functions, then rose to double-check the others. The three boys who had been in the ICU when Michael had arrived had since been discharged and replaced by two new ones. One of them, however, was a recurring customer.

The first was an older boy, who, according to his chart, was 16 and very healthy. He was also very black. Although Ned was not by nature or upbringing a racist, he shivered at the thought of the forced penectomy the teen had made to endure. He was reminded of Sam as he checked the wound and the catheter. Seeing that everything was going normally above the untouched and rather large balls, Ned moved on. In the next bed was the case that really bothered him.

Cheng had arrived a week before, soon after the boy with the other boy who had undergone a full genital emasculation had been discharged. Although under the care of neurologist and several others, Cheng had been placed near Michael and Ned for the familiarity. He was merely asleep and not unconscious, so Ned moved carefully. He checked his watch, and decided that it was time for the boy to wake up. In the ICU, there were no transceivers in the pillows, no ULF generators, and no 'therapy' of any kind taking place. "At least they can sleep and heal up naturally," he muttered. But Cheng, as Ned knew well, wasn't healing up. He was only getting worse. Slowly but surely, the Asian eunuch was losing his ability to function on his own. There were gaps forming in his memory, his motor skills were degrading, and his speech was beginning to slur. Ned gently shook the sleeping boy by the shoulder, remembering with stark clarity the screens he had seen detailing the condition. In the past few weeks, he had read everything he could find on what was happening and the symptoms he could see. Although not a neurologist by any means, he understood enough. He had seen the effects of the 'therapy' and the ULF punishments go wrong before, but never this fast or this severe. Cheng was going to die a slow and painful death, and Michael – if something were not done and done soon – was going to be right behind him.

"Good morning," Ned said as Cheng slowly opened his eyes, not realizing where he was. "Do you know where you are, Cheng?"

The young eunuch looked around the room slowly, then his gaze fell upon Michael. "Yhes," he replied softly.

"Headache or anything?" Ned asked.

Cheng shook his head. "Nho, bhut I-I-I g-ghotta p-pee bahd."

Ned noticed the slur and the pronounced exhaling "H" sound immediately. The stutter was also getting worse. He pulled Cheng into a sitting position, then watched as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was naked, and Ned gestured to his robe at the foot of the bed. "N-nho t-t-thhime," Cheng replied, shakily making a run for the bathroom. Ned shook his head. In spite of what was happening to him, Cheng didn't seem to be the least bit upset about it. When he returned from the bathroom, Ned noticed that his gait was uneven and jerky. The eunuch paused by Michael's bed and absently slipped into the white terrycloth robe that Ned handed him. "Hhas h-he bheen uh-whake yhu-et?" the eunuch stammered, "I muhean s-s-shince I ghot h-here?"

Ned shook his head. "He hasn't regained consciousness since you had that last episode that you don't remember."

Cheng sighed and sat down on Michael's bed, taking the unconscious boy's hand in his. A lump rose up in Ned's throat, and he had to look away. It just wasn't right. Looking at these two, he kept thinking how the punishment certainly did not fit the crime. Cheng – emasculated and dying, and Michael – not much better off; castrated while still unconscious from the 'treatment' he had received for his second psychotic episode. He wondered what it was about these two. Such serious side effects were uncommon; that was why the ULF punishments worked so well. He also wondered how Sam and Joey were getting along, with two of their roommates gone.

There was a chime sounding, dragging Ned from his reverie. The door opened, and one of Cheng's neurologists entered with a wheelchair. "Time for today's testing session," he said flatly. Ned watched as Cheng sighed and patted Michael's hand before releasing it. Obediently, he sat in the chair and allowed the doctor to fasten the seatbelt. "B-bhe bhack ihn uh f-fhew," Cheng said via way of goodbye. Ned watched as the young eunuch let the door terminal scan his ID, and then they were gone.

There was a face beyond the surface. Michael could see it as he journeyed slowly upwards. He could hear a voice as well – a small and unbroken voice calling to him. "Cuh-mon," it said, "c-cuhm bhack." He realized that is was Cheng. Then he noticed the feeling – his hand was warm. He tried to look at it, but he couldn't see it. All he could see was the surface. Then the voice was leaving, fading off. His ascent speeded up. The surface was approaching faster now. He would break it at any time, he knew. He also knew something else – they had hurt him. He wasn't sure how, but he knew that he was hurt. Badly. There was also something wrong with Cheng's voice. It wouldn't be long, he knew…

Ned left to go in search of breakfast once a guard arrived to take over for him. He was off for the rest of the day and that night, but he didn't want to go home. For some reason, despite his clinical detachement, he wanted to be there when Michael awoke. The cafeteria was just emptying out when he arrived. One of the last boys leaving turned and saw him, and spoke briefly to the guard at the door. The huge black man nodded as the boy pointed at Ned. He followed to where Ned has sat down. It was Bolton, with Joey in tow. "How's Mikey?" the pale boy asked softly, his eyes betraying the pain that voice didn't. Ned nodded to Bolton and looked down at his plate, carefully avoiding Joey's gaze. "Still out," he replied curtly.

"'k," Joey replied, turning to go.

"Dammit anyway," Ned heard Bolton say as the both headed for the door.

Ned picked at his breakfast, not really having any appetite for it. He hadn't meant to be harsh with Joey; in fact, Joey was the last inmate he would have spoken to in such a manner. Although he had experienced no ill effects, Ned could tell that Joey had been completely and totally broken. He didn't look for the boy to remain incarcerated for much longer, although he didn't know how long the boy's sentence was for. Joey was so self-effacing, so meek and quiet, that he was very easy to overlook. Even when he was subjected to his routine physical exams, he never complained or offered any resistance. He never even made more than a whimper during the more intimate parts of the exams. Most boys, Ned thought with a wry grin, hated the exams and usually bitched the whole time. Of course, they knew that they could get away with it. One had to agree, also, that the exams weren't the high point of anyone's day. He pulled out his small planner pad and checked the date. "Damn, Thursday already," he complained to himself. He also noted that he'd be seeing Joey later in the day. He sighed again and gave up on breakfast. Slowly, with his head down, he walked back to the ICU.

His hand was warm again and the surface was nearer. He felt something brush his head. The surface was shining brighter now, and he almost felt as if he were being pulled towards it. Closer it came. It was almost tangible. Eternity could have passed for all he knew; time itself was meaningless. And then suddenly he was there. He broke through the insubstantial barrier which held him with an explosive intake of breath as his real eyes popped open. The light was blinding. He closed his eyes and groaned. His entire body was screaming in pain, each and every muscle feeling like it was knotting up. He remembered the aches and pains from the last time he had had the flu; this was ten times worse. But through the pain, he felt the warmth on his hand and head. He forced his eyes open again. Slowly they focused on the round and slightly yellow face staring down at him. Cheng was sitting on the edge of his bed, one hand on his head and the other holding his left hand tightly. His teeth were shining white, and all of them were showing. "H-he's uh-uh-whake!" the eunuch shouted.

The sound cut through Michael's ears like a hot knife. "Not so loud," he whispered, his throat thick and his voice struggling. "Why I think you're right," Michael heard a familiar voice reply. It was one of Bolton's relief guards, who was heading for the intercom to page someone.

"Yh-uu ghon' l-lhiiive?" Cheng asked, his smile still flashing.

"What's wrong with you're mouth?" Michael groaned, desperately wanting a drink.

The Asian eunuch shook his head. "D-dhunno," he replied.

Michael could hear the guard paging Ned and someone else whose name he didn't recognize. With a shudder, he also heard the name 'Ames.' He also heard the coarse voice reply – "Keep him in bed, give him some water, and send for a nurse. Ned's off duty and I'm busy with something." That voice that would tolerate no foolishness. Ames' voice. Michael thought that he heard a whimper in the background. A few moments later, the nurse arrived. It was a male nurse, but he looked to very capable of handling any trouble that might come his way. Michael suspected, as the man adjusted his IV and shot something else into it, that the nurse also could double as a bullyboy or guard if need be.

"That better?" he asked as the new medicine his Michael's system.

The howling pain in his muscles began to subside. "Thank you," Michael breathed with a sigh of relief.

The nurse smiled and offered him a glass of water, via Cheng, who had seemed to have taken up residence on the edge of Michael's bed. Michael took it with his free hand and drank it down. Cheng passed him another, which he drank. "Nhot s-s-hhooo fhast," he stammered.

"Good advice," the nurse agreed, hefting Cheng up by the arms and redepositing him on his own bed, "and more good advice is that YOU take a nap."

Cheng, still smiling, disrobed. His emasculated state was, for him, obviously not a cause for embarrassment. Michael winced, however, as he felt himself getting hard as he glanced at the Asian eunuch's smooth and empty crotch out of habit. Something wasn't right down there and his blood ran cold. With his arm that didn't have the IV hooked to it, he pulled back his cover. His small penis was standing upright, and there was a tube coming out of the end of it. Michael let out an explosive sigh of relief. The nurse and guard both laughed. "What'd you think they did, cut it off while you was out cold?" the guard asked. "You never know in this place," Michael replied, his head clearing and the pain subsiding. Satisfied and relieved that his penis was still there, Michael had overlooked the fact that his scrotum was empty. His nurse and the guard exchanged a look, but neither of them said a thing.

"How you feelin'?" the nurse asked.

"OK, I think," the boy replied, "Other than everything hurt before YOU showed up."

The guard was jotting notes. "No headache, nothin'?"

Michael shook his head. "My fingers and toes are kinda numb, but I think I feel alright."

Then he sneezed.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, his free hand going to his face to feel the NG tube and tape on his cheek.

"Feeding tube is all," the nurse replied, "We should probably take that out soon."

Michael thought for a moment. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"Can't tell ya that," the guard replied, "but it was a long time. Just ask yo' little buddy here."

Michael looked over at Cheng, who had since covered up and was leaning his head up on one arm to stare at him. His grin was like the sun coming up. "L-lhong t-t-thiime," he replied.

"What IS wrong with your mouth?" Michael asked again, but the nurse answered for him.

"Cheng's got a small speech problem. His last sleep time stuff didn't agree with his brain too well and messed something up. They're trying to find out why and that's why he's here in ICU with you."

Michael nodded. "I'm sorry," he said.

Cheng shrugged, still smiling, and laid his head down. He sighed, and fell asleep.

"Now," the nurse said softly, "I CAN tell you that your little friend isn't in too good a shape and I'm not talkin' about his lack 'o parts down there. It's in the common database, so you could read about it in class, I'd think. Something isn't right with him. One too many of those ULF shocks or something, but it messed up his brain and he's been getting worse since you've been in here. I've been in and out with Ned and the other doctors while you've been out, taking turns taking care of you and him and the others who come and go. You know what I'm sayin'?"

Michael nodded. "Side effects, they told us in health class. Is he that bad?"

The guard was nodding and Michael turned his gaze to him. "He's dying."

Ned was angry when he arrived home and found a message on his answering machine. It was from Ames. "Mikey's awake and you forgot about Joey. Can you come back in, Ned?" BEEP. Rewind.

"Shit!" Ned articulated, running back out to his car. It seemed the demands of the Institute for Organized-Thinking and Rehabilitation, or IO for short, never left him alone. Fortunately for him, it was spring and his classes at school were nearly out. He sped back to the Institute with the hints of a plan forming in his mind.

When Ned arrived, he found Michael sitting up in bed with a box of Kleenex at this side. The boy was vigrously blowing his nose and digging at the nostril where the NG tube had been inserted. There was also a tray on the table next to his bed, bearing evidence that he was eating solid food again. His IV was still inserted in his back of his hand, and the slight glaze to his eyes gave mute testimony to the fact that almost nothing would bother him at that point in time. Ned sighed with relief. Michael looked up over his Kleenex and his eyes widened. "You're back among the living, I see," he offered.

Michael nodded.

"So what do you remember?" Ned asked, sitting at his desk and turning on his computer.

The boy thought for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I had that first episode you told me about. I got checked out. I went back to the dorm and class for a few weeks, and they told me I had another one. Then I woke up here and nobody will tell me how long I was out."

Ned entered Michael's statement and thought for a moment. "Nothing else?"

The boy shook his head. "What's wrong with me, Ned?" he asked in a pleading tone of voice.

"You aren't responding well to the therapy and conditioning your brain's been getting. They say they've got it straightened out, but we'll have to wait and see," the soon-to-be doctor replied, gesturing at Cheng, who was still asleep.

Michael caught the look and glanced over at the sleeping eunuch, who had been still for most of the day since his return from his latest tests. "He can't talk right, Ned, and he isn't moving around too good."

Ned nodded. "He's in bad shape, Mikey. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go look in on Joey and give him his usual exam."

"Him and Sam ok?"

"They've missed you. Joey was asking about you the other day," Ned replied. "And," he added, as he got up to leave, "you might not want to, but I think you need to try and get some real sleep. It looks like you just ate a big meal, and now would be a good time. Being unconscious isn't the same as just getting some good, REAL sleep – if you know what I mean?"

Michael nodded. "One thing before you go?" he asked.

Ned turned back and cocked his head.

"Why are you going to take this tube out of my penis? I don't like it."

Michael fell asleep shortly after Ned left. There was a music CD playing in the computer, which had been left on. From what Michael had learned in class, he doubted that the version of Windows 2000 it was running would let him into anything, and the catheter was anchored to a collection bottle on his bed so he couldn't go far from it anyway. He fell asleep listening to the soundtrack from 1492 – Conquest of Paradise.

When Ned entered the exam room, he turned on the computer terminal that was networked to the one in the ICU ward and took a peek at Michael and Cheng through the webcam. Although it was late afternoon, both boys were asleep. He worried about leaving the PC on, wondering if Michael would find it, but dismissed it for his duty at hand. Joey was sitting naked on the exam table, and even though the room was very warm, he was shaking. "I'm sorry, Joey, but you know it has to be done, right?" Joey nodded, looking down at his bare feet. Joey didn't talk unless he just had to, and almost never made eye contact. Ned worried about him a great deal, despite the fact that he tried hard not to become attached to these boys who were obviously incarerated for a reason. He couldn't remember what Joey had done, though, and made a mental note to find out. He glanced back the screen from time to time as he went over Joey as he did all the boys in his care every other week, but found nothing wrong. For that he was grateful. Joey flinched and tried to pull back when Ned began his exam of the young eunuch's nether regions, however. It was obviously a very large source of embarrassment for him.

Ned paused to glance at the monitor again, and saw Michael stirring in the small window that was open to the webcam. He wasn't awake, however. He turned his attention back to Joey. As he examined him, he noted how the eunuch's scrotum has shrank up to almost nothing and the scars were very nearly gone. He noted the boy's penis size vs. age, and asked Joey some very intimate questions, all of which the boy answered with a flaming face and shake of his head. Joey said nothing, and never made eye contact. He gently did the rectal check, noting that Joey showed only very slight signs of arousal. When he was finished, he glanced back at the screen then told Joey to head for the bench in the shower area. Joey didn't move. He just sat there staring at the floor.

"Please, Joey, just go," he said.

Slowly the young eunuch rose and pulled out the bench, then came back to dig the red bags and tubing out of the drawer as Ned sent a message to the terminal in the ICU. Unbeknownst to anyone, the 1492 soundtrack that was playing dropped in volume and a small window opened that said "MIKEY – CLICK HERE, NOWHERE ELSE." Then he went through the job of filling the bags and mixing the cleansing solutions. When he was ready to proceed, Joey had stretched out on the padded bench on his left side. Ned noted that his eyes were shut tightly, but brimming. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Joey didn't answer immediately. He only sighed. "I HATE this," he murmured, as if afraid to say it too loudly.

"Well it isn't the high point of my day, either you know," Ned replied.

"I dunno why my dad put me in here. I wasn't THAT bad."

Ned sighed and lubed the nozzle and hung up the red bag on the pole. He gently inserted the nozzle as Joey whimpered. "Everyone says that. Michael says that a LOT, you know," he answered, releasing the clamp in the line and letting the hot soapy water flow into Joey's colon.

"My dad just hates me, is all," Joey said, and then closed his mouth. He didn't say another word throughout the entire procedure, even when Ned made him endure a fourth rinse of salt water.

In the ICU down the hall, as Ned and Bolton were seeing Joey and Sam to bed, Michael awoke. He was a bit groggy at first, but then heard the soft beeping. He saw the screen of the PC flashing and squinted to read it. "Shit," he muttered, looking at his IV and his catheter, "Now how the hell do I GET over there?"

Ned left the dorm area with hopes that Michael would see the screen before the psuedo-virus one of his technical friends has written for him reformatted the CD that contained what he wanted the boy to see. Halfway home, he thought about the catheter, and swore. Realizing that that would probably get Michael to looking at his crotch, not to mention keeping him by the bed, Ned swore again. Michael would probably discover very soon what had been done to him without seeing the movie on the CD. Then he realized that Cheng was there, and would no doubt have to go the bathroom and awaken shortly. That was some comfort, although he wasn't sure he wanted sure he wanted Cheng in on the act. However, since Cheng was already loosing the ability to speak clearly, he didn't think it would matter. Not in the end.

Michael's curiosity was aflame. The PC was inviting him to click on it – there was something to see, but the IV and the catheter wouldn't allow him to get more than a foot [30 cm] away from his bed. Then Cheng rolled over and began to snore softly. Michael reached out and shook him awake, a bit embarrassed to be seen tubed and naked, but then realized that Cheng was a fully emasculated eunuch and probably wouldn't mind. There were still enough painkillers floating around in his system, and the ache in his own groin was still subdued. He didn't like the feeling of the tube, however, but had yet to look below it. He was also afraid to touch it.

Cheng rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly. He looked around, nodded to himself, then stumbled to the bathroom. He stuttered a reply of some kind to Michael's request about the computer, but obviously had pressing business in the bathroom. Michael wondered if Cheng's lack of a penis had something to do with having to go so badly when it hit him. He thought that that might complicate things; after all, there was nothing there to hold when you had to go bad. After a few minutes, the Asian eunuch stumbled back, tripped once, and clicked the box that was blinking. He then put on his robe and confronted the problem of Michael's restrictions. His brow was creased, and it was quite obviously taking everything he had between his ears to figure it out. He was also mumbling.

"Dude, I can't understand a thing you're saying," Michael advised him, "Just help me think of a way to get loose."

Cheng growled and then went to the cabinets. Unlike the rest of the complex, there seemed to be no locks or hidden panels in this room. It had obviously been designed with the idea that whoever was to be occupying it would be in too bad of a shape to get into mischief. When he came back, he had a syringe-like device in one hand. He bent down to Michael's crotch, lifted the catheter up a bit, and then paused. His sharp intake of breath told Michael that something was wrong. Cheng looked up at him and tried to say something, and Michael made out the word "castrated" after much stuttering. His hand immediately went to his penis, pushing it to one side. He was getting an erection, which didn't feel all that good considering the catheter and pressed his hand against his sac. He pressed harder. His stomach rolled and it seemed as if the floor had fallen out from under his feet. He pressed harder, then probed with his fingertips up into the canals. His scrotum was pressed flat, and it was empty. There were two very small, bright pink scars, one to each side. Cheng was right. At some point in his unconsciousness, Michael had been castrated. He sank back down onto the bed as Cheng inserted the syringe into the second port of the catheter to drain the balloon that was holding it in his bladder. "P-phuysh," Cheng mumbled, "Iht – uhll shhlide owt." It did that, and it burned. Michael moaned, but his erection didn't falter. He touched his empty scrotum again, his penis so erect that it hurt.

"He lied to me," Michael breathed.

"Uhl whell, dhey c-c-chut ahwll…" but Michael interrupted him.

"I know, everyone gets cut up some way, Sam told me," he snapped. More than anything, Michael was angry. He remembered reading in some countries where they took a thief and cut off his hand. "No, but in MY case they cut off my balls instead," he said, still staring at the screen. The catheter had fallen to the floor, and Michael pulled the IV out in a rage. He jerked on his robe and sat heavily in the chair. The PC mouse bore the brunt of his wrath as he clicked on the dialouge box marked "MICHAEL – CLICK AGAIN." Two more boxes came up and the music stopped. Then a voice came through the speakers. It was Ned. Ned the betrayer, Michael thought, as Cheng stumbled over to stand behind him.

"Mikey," the voice began, "You don't have much time. There's a virus running off of this CD that is temporarily disabling the viewers in the ICU and making it possible for you to view this CD. You will see three boxes come up soon, labelled MIKEY, SAM, and DONE/NUKE. When you view the first two, it's imperative that you click the NUKE box when done. This will reformat the CD and destroy the movies. You must watch this, Mikey. I know you've been put through a lot and you think you don't deserve to be in here. I agree. Please understand that I didn't have any choice when I castrated you. I know I told you I wasn't going to. I don't know why, but I didn't want to do it to you. I've done a lot of boys and young men since I started here, and I have to find a way out. I just can't stand it anymore. Please forgive me, I had no choice. There's a lot they aren't telling us. For one thing, rub your head. You've got hair again. I know that's small comfort but I'm working on it. View the files. Be good. Ned."

Michael clicked on the box marked SAM first. The media player came up, and the movie began.

On the screen, the two eunuchs watched as Sam was escorted into the ICU ward by two large guards. Ames was there, sitting in a chair next to a converted exam bench. It was padded, looked comfortable, but at the same time looked like a torture device of some kind. Sam was also naked. Michael stared at the image, hit full-screen, and looked at Sam's uncut genitals. Even at the age when he had been admitted – all of thirteen at the very most, Sam was very well endowed. Michael was reminded of what some people said about black men, and the image of Sam before his penectomy made him believe it. Sam's penis was semi-erect, and looked to come up to meet his navel. His balls were low hangers, and quite good sized. Michael felt himself flush, his hand going unconsciously to his own crotch where his own small balls had until so recently been. Michael guessed Sam at over 7 inches [18 cm], with a great deal of growing still left to do. The guards placed him on the bench, and strapped him down. Oddly enough, he wasn't struggling. He only looked confused. Then Ames began to speak as a doctor began to shave Sam's nether regions.

"Ok, Sam, here's the deal," Ames rasped, "you are in here until the age of 21 it says. Possible early release at 18 or 19 with chance at early graduation and guard training program aimed at age 16.5. What do you think?"

"You want ME to train to be a guard?"

Ames nodded. "There are some minor stipulations, you understand. Qualifications, but IF you keep your grades up, behave, and pass the guard training program, you can get out early. You can work off your debt to society in this way, and have a career and good pay too. What do you think?" "Sounds good to me," Sam nodded, "But what qualifications?" The doctor had almost finished shaving him by then, with Sam shooting him a quick look now and then. It was obvious that he didn't get it yet. Then the doctor began to go over him again as Ames continued to talk.

"Most of the guards are former inmates, Sam. They took the chance you are being offered. They realized that is was for their own good, so they did it. A few regret it, but most don't really. Says here in your record you did some rapes, assorted other sex crimes … hmm – you seem to like other boys, don't you?"

Sam flushed and nodded. "Yea," he admitted, his penis becoming fully erect.

"That's a real problem, now, Sam. You like to fuck other boys and whack off, don't you?"

Sam nodded. The doctor was done shaving him and was rubbing his genitals down with betadyne, which blended in with his dark skin tones.

"When was the last time you had sex or jerked off, Sam?" Ames asked bluntly.

"Not here. Not chance. And before, like in juvenile, waiting on trial, I was there 3 months. They made all of us wear these jock things that locked, and you couldn't even scratch it, man. I dunno how long I been here, but it's been a while. Last fuck I had was like a month or so before I got busted."

"So, a total of six months, give or take," Ames noted. "Well, the good news is you don't have to worry about chastity devices or your sex life anymore, Sam. We'll cure that for you. You've got a nice set of stuff hanging there, shame you cant' use it anymore then. BUT you did say you wanted to go in for the guard training and early release program, so we have no choice."

"What you be talkin' 'bout?" Sam demanded, seeing the doctor approaching him with a metal tray. The doctor had masked, and was wearing gloves. He was also holding up a long, semi-flexible tube onto which he was applying some sort of clear lubricant.

"Oh, didn't I mention it?" Ames asked innocently.

Sam shook his head, but Ames reached over to secure a padded strap over his forehead. "So sorry. Anyway, that's why you're here, Sam. The doctor here is going to make sure you qualify fully. To do that, he has to cut off your penis."

Cheng gasped and Michael shivered as they watched. Michael's penis was so erect that it hurt. He could feel Cheng shaking as the smaller eunuch leaned on the chair. "Dude, get a wheelchair before you fall down." They turned back to the screen.

Sam was struggling against his straps, but he couldn't move. He had been tightly secured. Ames had a cold look on his face, totally devoid of sympathy. The doctor was saying something, still holding the catheter.

"Really now, Sam," Ames said, "Let's get on with it. You can't get away, and if you think about it, you'll understand why you can't be allowed to keep that disgusting thing anyway. I mean, hell, by the time you hit 18, it's liable to be over 12 inches [30 cm] long, and what are you going to use that on? Oh, you're going to guarding a reform school for young boys and men. Bad idea, yes. The penis has to go. It's gotten you into a lot of trouble anyway over time, hasn't it? Won't it be for your own good to lose it?"

"NO!" Sam screamed, but Ames shoved a ball gag into his mouth and tightened it. Sam began to sob, trying to shake his head. The doctor was injecting some lube up into his urethra, and preparing to insert the catheter. Sam's struggles ceased as the catheter went in. His large and uncircumcised penis throbbed as the tube went in, up to the neck of his bladder. As the doctor held it by the shaft, Sam wished desperately that he could whack off. He looked to Ames with mute appeal in his eyes.

He seemed to understand. "You wanna jerk off one last time, don't you, Sam?" he asked

"Mmm hmm," Sam whined through his gag.

"No," Ames replied. "Doctor, get the tube in and let's proceed. The sooner it's cut off the better."

Michael and Cheng watched as the screen zoomed up a bit to show the doctor's hand inserting the tube. Sam's erection didn't falter in the least, and the doctor forced the tip up into Sam's bladder. The tube filled with urine as he inflated the securing bulb. Then he released Sam's erect penis. Michael stared at it. It was so large. He couldn't imagine the horror of it though. He was suddenly glad that he had been unconscious when he had been castrated.

They continued to watch as Sam, on the screen, stared at his doomed organ. What they couldn't know was what Sam had been thinking. How would one feel – tricked into agreeing to his own penectomy? He couldn't move, he couldn't call for help. Ames had told him that in the long run, it would be for his own good. He thought about it. He liked sex. He liked it a lot. He enjoyed masturbating and feeling he had when he shot his load, be it into his own hand or into someone else. And he was never going to be able to do that again. He wondered how he could ever get off again, with no penis to do it with. He didn't know. And what about his balls? His forced chastity while incarcerated had almost driven him mad, and now he was being consigned to a lifetime of frustration.

The doctor moved in closer, and injected something into Sam's groin. He made a few more injections, and Sam felt the feeling slowly going out of his organ. It began to droop a bit. He couldn't help but stare as the doctor picked up a scalpel and waited. He glanced at Ames, who was smiling. "Don't take it so hard," Ames said, laying a large hand on Sam's stomach, "You surely won't miss it all THAT much."

Finally, after what seemed like eternity, the doctor began to cut. Sam's erection had dropped somewhat, but that didn't seem to matter. The doctor began to slowly cut into Sam's penis. Some blood began to spill, but Ames – who had since donned a mask and some sponges – was there to clean it up. The scalpel cut in deeper, and Sam watched in horror as the blade made its way in deeper. It moved up and around, cutting through what had been Sam's favorite thing in life. The boy thought of all the times he had jacked off. He thought of his first time and the teen from a rival gang that he had fucked. He remembered that teen's screams of pain as he had entered him. The blade dug in deeper, finally reaching the top. The doctor pulled it back, and began the cut up the other side. He was being careful of the tube, Sam noticed. He was moving so slowly. Still, he couldn't pry his eyes away from the blood spilling from the cut open base of his penis.

Once the blade had fully encircled his numbed organ, Ames slightly released the pressure on one of Sam's arm straps. He leaned back. "Go ahead, Sam. Touch it. You know you want to. You can reach it now, but only that."

Sam did as he was told. He reached down and grasped his shaft, but there was no feeling in it. He was bleeding. He pulled on his penis as is to stoke it, and watched in sheer amazement as it slid off down the catheter. He was holding onto his own severed cock, and didn't know what to do. Ames then pulled his arm back as the doctor began the procedure of the rest of the amputation. "He has to take out the core now, Sam. We can't have you walking around getting hard and having an annoying stump or a hard core in there wanting attention. When we're done, your balls will still be down there making all the hormones you'll need to grow up into a healthy and strong man and a better person, really. You'll just be sitting down to pee when we're all done and you'll have that new urethral opening to get used to. Now, why don't you take a nap? I don't think you want to see your sac slit open and everything pushed out of the way to get the core out. Besides, it's going to take a while. And with that, Ames picked up a needle and injected something into Sam's right butt cheek. He felt himself relax and his eyes begin to droop. The last thing he saw before he passed out was the doctor beginning to excise the core and the catheter coming out the bloody hole where his penis had once been.

Sam moaned once as he went under.

On the screen, Ames was telling him, "Don't worry, Sam, you're really still a man you know, your balls are going to be there when you wake up."

The movie ended and the media player went black. Michael noticed a strange feeling welling up inside of him, and there was a thin clear discharge coming from his throbbing penis when he opened his robe to check. His empty scrotum had pulled up tightly against him, painfully reminding him that he was a eunuch. He turned to look at Cheng, who had taken a seat in a wheelchair beside him. Michael's hand felt good on his penis, and he stood up, stroking it gently. He wondered at the clear fluid at the tip. He felt himself tightening inside, and his hand began to move. Cheng, who had no genitals – and by choice, Michael remembered – was shaking his head. "What?" Michael asked.

"N-n-nho, w-w-hay-t," Cheng stammered, rolling up to the cabinet to fish around in the drawer. He was trying so hard to talk clearly, but he couldn't. Michael made out the words "do it right" and "while you CAN do it" as Cheng handed him a tube of KY Jelly. The Asian eunuch made a few gestures that looked like jacking off while handing the tube to Michael. He took it and applied the lubricant, glad that the room was so warm. Beads of sweat formed up on his head, and he remembered that he had to watch the file behind his own name as well. But at the moment, all he could think about was his erection. He had heard that once you were castrated, the urges passed and after time you couldn't get hard anymore. And then there was Cheng, fully emasculated – no balls OR penis. Just smooth, empty skin where his manhood should have been. Michael wondered if he had been lied to on that point as well. They had castrated him. They had kept him unconscious. Would they be back to penectomize him as well, leaving him like Cheng? And what if he got out someday? Unbeknownst to Michael, he was labelled as HRT pending. But, not knowing this, all Michael could do was wonder if he could get hormones someday to make up for his lack of balls. He lubed his hand and began to masturbate.

He had never done it before, but seeing Sam's penectomy had aroused him even more than seeing the other eunuchs. Even though he was one of them now, the very thought made him so hot that he gasped and shook. He moved his hand faster, a bit more of the clear fluid coming from the tip of his rock hard 3.5 inches [9 cm] or erection. Then suddenly, Cheng's hand was on his arm, staying it. "WHAT NOW?" Michael demanded.

Cheng stuttered and stammerred as best he could, tears in his eyes. Michael understood the parts that sounded like "I wanted it gone" and "know you don't" and "while you can". He also made out the phrase "Harvey did it to me" and "you can if you want." He watched as Cheng slowly made his way back to his bed, and disrobed. He stood there, nude, facing Michael. Then he got into the bed, rolling onto his stomach. He was trembling.

Michael knew that Harvey had taken advantage of Cheng in the past, and that that was part of the reason why Sam had killed him. A million thoughts spun through Michael's brain as he continued to grip his penis. He walked over to the bed, the trip seeming to take hours. He didn't think he was gay. He didn't want to be gay, but here he was. And here was Cheng, who wasn't really a boy anymore; that made it feel somehow as if not to be homosexual, since Cheng technically was gender neutral and Michael still considered himself to be male. He let his own robe fall, his mind filled with doubts. He had never had sex before, not with a boy nor a girl. He had never even masturbated before his castration. How would it feel? He had heard it felt different. BUT he hadn't felt anything up to that point.

Finally, he reached the bed and admitted to himself that it would feel good. He had to try before they ran out of time, before someone caught them and punished them. Before he became an impotent eunuch. Before the small amounts of testosterone that his small balls had been able to give him were spent by time. He got up on the bed with the Asian eunuch and reached down with his free hand to touch the trembling eunuch's face. He let Cheng lead the way, as he wasn't sure what to do. There wasn't much time left for either of them.

It began, surprisingly, with a long kiss on the mouth …

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