Chapter 3: Mandatory Documentation
The heavy glass door to Karn’s office hissed shut, sealing Pete inside the unnerving quiet. The city sprawled far below the panoramic window, a glittering, indifferent grid. Karn moved with brisk efficiency to a sleek, low cabinet, pulling out a professional camera mounted on a tripod. Its black lens looked like a cold, unblinking eye.
"Anya’s being a real stickler," Karn sighed, setting the tripod down with a soft click on the polished concrete floor. "Paperwork nightmare. Apparently, the reports about the incident need visual documentation attached. Full body. Clothed. And... well, unclothed. All angles." He flashed Pete a quick, apologetic grimace as he adjusted the camera’s height. "Standard procedure for hygiene violation follow-ups, apparently. Ridiculous bureaucracy, but what can you do? If we don’t comply, the whole report gets kicked back. You really don't want that dragging out."
Pete’s stomach clenched. He stood rooted near the door, the lingering chill from the screening room still ghosting over his skin. The scent of Karn’s expensive cologne, usually comforting, now felt cloying. "All... all angles?" His voice sounded small in the vast, minimalist space.
"Front, back, sides," Karn confirmed, his tone matter-of-fact, almost bored, as he peered through the viewfinder. He gestured towards the center of the room, away from the desk, bathed in the harsh, natural light from the window. "Stand there, Pete. Best light. Clothed first. Just… try to relax. It’s just procedure. A few quick snaps and we’re done." He offered another reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Think of the roof."
Pete mechanically shuffled to the spot Karn indicated. The cool floor bit into his socked feet. He stared past Karn at the gleaming towers outside, thinking of the leak over his mother’s bed, the damp patch spreading on the ceiling back home. Head down. Survive. Karn lifted the camera. The shutter clicked, loud and sharp. Flash. Pete blinked, spots dancing before his eyes.
"Turn to your left," Karn instructed, his voice steady, professional. Click. Flash. "Now right." Click. Flash. Pete obeyed, each pivot feeling stiff, robotic. Karn circled him slightly, the camera whirring softly. "Good. Okay. Now…" Karn lowered the camera, his expression turning sympathetic, regretful. "The other part, Pete. You know the drill. Just like they wanted in HR. It’s just us here. Faster we get it done, faster it’s over." He gestured vaguely towards Pete’s red-tagged uniform.
Pete’s fingers felt numb. He looked at Karn, his friend, the only one who’d ever stepped into the breach for him. The one who mentioned the roof. The camera lens waited. He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, the cheap fabric rough under his trembling fingers. Dropped it. Unzipped his trousers. Stepped out of them. Stood in his briefs, the vastness of the city at his back making him feel impossibly small and exposed. Karn watched, the camera ready.
"Those too, buddy," Karn murmured, his voice low. "All angles, remember? Anya’s orders." He raised the camera again.
Pete closed his eyes for a second, the fluorescent buzz of HR replaced by the oppressive silence of Karn’s domain. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and pushed them down, stepping out. The air conditioning whispered over his bare skin. He stood naked under Karn’s gaze and the camera’s unfeeling lens, the glass wall reflecting a fractured, vulnerable image back at him. Karn’s reflection showed only focused concentration.
"Arms down by your sides. Look straight ahead." Karn’s voice was calm, detached. Click. The flash seared Pete’s retinas, burning the humiliation deeper than any coffee stain ever could. "Turn. Show me your back." Pete pivoted slowly, presenting his bare back to the lens, to Karn, to the indifferent city beyond. Click. Flash. Karn moved closer, the expensive scent of his cologne enveloping Pete as his fingers, cool and deliberate, adjusted Pete’s shoulder blade. "Just need the angle right," Karn murmured, his breath a whisper near Pete’s ear, his touch lingering a fraction too long on Pete’s bare skin. Click. Flash. "Good. Side profile now." Pete turned again, his gaze fixed on a distant skyscraper, anything but the camera or Karn’s watchful eyes. Click. Flash. Each burst of light felt like a brand. Karn circled, capturing every angle with meticulous, clinical precision, the shutter snapping relentlessly, etching Pete’s vulnerability onto a digital file for Anya Rostova’s cold compliance.
Karn finally lowered the camera, the relentless clicking replaced by the soft electronic chirp as he reviewed the images on the small screen. "There," he declared, his voice regaining its usual smooth confidence as he tapped rapidly, sending the files. "All done. Sent to Anya. Should satisfy the compliance beasts." He offered Pete a tight, dismissive smile. "Procedure box ticked."
Pete, still standing naked and exposed under the city view, felt a shuddering wave of relief. He sank onto the cold, polished glass edge of Karn’s desk, the chill shocking against his bare skin. "Thanks, Karn," he mumbled, his voice thick with genuine, weary gratitude. He rubbed his arms, trying to generate warmth, avoiding Karn’s direct gaze. "Seriously. If you hadn't stepped in... back there... those pictures..." He trailed off, unable to articulate the horror of Anya’s screening room recording being official record. "They'd be everywhere."
"It’s nothing, Pete," Karn waved a hand, leaning back against his desk, looking every inch the benevolent protector, the purple lanyard catching the light. "Just looking out for my guy. You know I always—" His sleek device buzzed sharply on the glass surface, cutting him off. Karn glanced at the screen, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features before he schooled them back into concern. "Anya," he announced, pressing the speaker button.
Anya Rostova’s crisp, impersonal voice filled the minimalist office, utterly devoid of warmth. "Karn. The photographs are insufficient." Karn’s eyebrows shot up in apparent surprise. "Insufficient? They show everything required. Front, back, profiles. Clear as day."
"Not the angles," Anya replied, her tone clipped and clinical. "The subject's state is non-compliant. Section 7.4b: Verification of physiological response requires full demonstration." A beat of icy silence hung. "The cock isn't fully erect. The images are rejected. He needs to be fully erect."
Pete froze, the blood draining from his face, the cold glass beneath him suddenly feeling like ice. Karn sighed theatrically, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, his eyes meeting Pete’s with a look that was part sympathy, part weary resignation. "You heard her, Pete," he said quietly, gesturing towards the speakerphone as if it were Anya herself standing there. "You know what to do. We need this approved." The unspoken threat about the roof, about compliance, about Security, hung heavier than ever in the silent, exposed room. The camera’s lens, still pointing towards the center of the floor, seemed to pulse with waiting malice. Pete stared at Karn, then at the indifferent cityscape, the weight of the demand crushing him. He pushed himself off the cold glass desk.
He pushed himself off the cold glass desk. The polished surface reflected his pale, vulnerable shape back at him. Anya’s demand echoed, sharp and impossible. "Fully erect." Pete stood frozen, naked under the panoramic city view, the air conditioning raising goosebumps on his skin. His gaze darted from Karn’s waiting face to the camera’s unblinking lens. The shame was a physical weight, pressing down, making it hard to breathe. He couldn’t. Not like this. Not on command.
Karn sighed, a soft, sympathetic sound that didn't match the calculation in his grey eyes. "Look, Pete," he murmured, stepping closer, his expensive cologne suddenly thick in the air. "Don't make this harder than it is. Anya won't budge." He placed a hand lightly, almost reassuringly, on Pete’s bare shoulder; the touch was cool, deliberate. "I know it's... awkward. But it's just biology. Let me help you get this over with." His voice was low, conspiratorial, the voice of the friend who'd always pulled him out of trouble. "Think of the farmhouse. Think of your mom."
Pete flinched at the mention of home, the familiar pressure point Karn knew so well. He squeezed his eyes shut, the image of the spreading damp patch on the farmhouse ceiling vivid. Karn was right. It was just a stupid procedure. Just get it done. Head down. Survive. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, his jaw clenched tight. "Okay," he whispered, the word scraping his throat raw. "Just… okay."
"Good man," Karn said, his tone warm with approval. He didn't hesitate. His other hand moved with smooth, practiced efficiency, wrapping firmly around Pete’s soft cock. Pete gasped, a sharp intake of breath that caught in his chest. Karn’s grip was impersonal, firm, his movements methodical strokes, utterly devoid of warmth or intimacy. Pete stared straight ahead, fixating on a distant antenna spire on the skyline, his face burning, his body rigid. He dissociated, floating somewhere outside himself, watching the scene unfold from a distance – the gleaming office, the powerful friend, the humiliating violation masked as aid.
Karn worked silently, efficiently, his focus clinical. Pete felt nothing but the mechanical friction, the rising, unwelcome physiological response he couldn't control. The betrayal was a deeper ache than the physical act. It felt endless, measured only by the sound of Karn’s measured breaths and the frantic pulse in Pete’s own ears. Eventually, inevitably, the unwanted hardness arrived. Karn gave a final, firm squeeze. "There. See?" he said lightly, stepping back instantly. "Done. Easy." He picked up the camera again, the lens clicking rapidly from every angle: front, back, sides, the harsh flash strobing against Pete’s flushed skin. Pete remained utterly still, a statue of shame, unable to look down at himself. Karn reviewed the images swiftly, thumbs flying over the screen. "Sending them now."
His sleek communicator chimed almost immediately. Karn put it on speaker without preamble. "Anya? You have the new set." Pete held his breath, suspended in dread. Anya’s brittle voice crackled through. "Adequate. Compliance is now verified. Record updated." The line clicked dead. Relief, sudden and dizzying, washed over Pete, a sickening wave that made his knees feel weak. It was over. For now. He sagged slightly, the rigid tension draining, leaving him hollow.
Karn flashed him a brilliant smile, the perfect picture of a supportive friend. "Told you we'd get through it. See? Just a bump in the road." He gestured towards Pete’s crumpled uniform on the floor. "Go ahead and get dressed. Quick smoke break after this, yeah? You've earned it." He clapped Pete lightly on the back, the touch jarring. Pete moved mechanically, bending to retrieve his clothes, his movements sluggish. He pulled on the cheap fabric, avoiding Karn’s eyes, the familiar red nylon feeling like a shroud. "Thanks, Karn," he mumbled, the words tasting like ash. "Really." He didn't look back as he pushed open the heavy glass door, escaping into the sterile corridor beyond. Karn watched him go, the satisfied ghost of a smirk finally touching his lips as he turned back to his panoramic view.