^Paolox3_

For Your Own Good

Chapters 4-6

Chapter 4

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 3; 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 3; he was yelling. He didn't like yelling. It scared him. He just wanted to get away; he wanted to go 3; 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 3;" 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 3; "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 3; 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 3;" 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 3; it's for your own good 3;" 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 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 3;" he muttered, "Wish you and your MS team were in here with me right now, Mister, damn ME edition 3;" 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 3; average 3; average 3; average 3; 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 3;he just can't make it stand up right 3;"

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 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 3;

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 3;" 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 3; 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 3;

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