Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Waking up, you stretch your arms high above your head, the warmth of the sun soaking into your skin like a comforting hug. The golden rays filter through the scattered leaves of the trees above, dancing gently with the soft breeze. The weather couldn’t be more perfect—clear skies, a light breeze, and the rich scent of freshly cut grass filling the air.

You sit up, brushing away a strand of hair that’s fallen in your face, and take in the view around you. The park is alive with joy. Families are scattered across the open green space, their picnic blankets dotted with colorful baskets and coolers. Children giggle and squeal as they chase each other around, while dogs bound happily after frisbees, tails wagging furiously. A pair of joggers pass by on the path, their rhythmic footsteps blending with the sounds of chatter and birdsong. You find yourself grinning, the kind of carefree smile that comes effortlessly on days like this.

From the distance, a familiar voice breaks through the pleasant hum of activity, calling your name. You turn your head, squinting against the sunlight, and spot your mom and dad waving at you from a shaded spot under a big oak tree. They’ve laid out a checkered picnic blanket on a picnic table, a cooler, and plates that you know are filled with your favorite snacks.

“Come on, sweetie!” your mom calls with a laugh, shielding her eyes from the sun as she waves you over.

You spring to your feet, brushing bits of grass and dirt from the hem of your yellow sundress. The soft fabric sways as you skip across the lawn, your bare feet relishing the cool touch of the grass. Shoes lost to you, your mom probably picked them up when you took them off to run in the water of the pond. When you reach the picnic table, you plant your hands firmly on the edge, standing on tiptoes to peek at the spread.

Your little sister sits in her baby chair beside your mom, her chubby hands clutching a teething ring as she babbles happily. Your mom adjusts the brim of her sunhat and gently pats your sister’s head, keeping a watchful eye on her.

"Looks like someone’s ready to eat,” your dad jokes, grinning as he unpacks sandwiches from the cooler.

You giggle, your cheeks warming slightly. “I’m starving!” you declare dramatically, as if you hadn’t snuck a snack on the car ride here.

“Starving, huh?” your mom teases with a raised brow. “Well, good thing we brought enough to feed an army.”

You climb onto the bench, still a little too short to sit comfortably without a bit of effort. As you settle in, you can’t help but feel completely at peace.

You notice your dad giving you a playful grin. He tilts his head dramatically, pretending to size you up. “You sure you don’t need a booster seat there, kiddo?” he teases, a chuckle in his voice.

Your cheeks puff out as you cross your arms in mock indignation. “Dad!” you whine, “I’m almost 10! I’m a big girl!”

Your dad laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Whoa there, my bad! I must’ve missed the announcement.”

Your mom chuckles softly, cutting up some fruit for your sister. “Be careful, honey. She’s practically a grown-up now. Before we know it, she’ll be driving the car.”

You beam, latching onto the idea. “Yeah! I’ll be able to drive us all to the park next time!”

He leans back with a grin. “Oh, really? Guess I’d better start saving up for car insurance now.”

Your little sister babbles something unintelligible, waving her teething ring around like she’s joining the conversation. You lean over to tickle her foot, and she bursts into giggles, kicking happily in her chair.

Your mom wipes her hands on a napkin and reaches over to gently tug on your cheek. “Just don’t grow up too fast, okay? I kinda like having my little girl around.”

You huff but smile, leaning into her touch. “I’ll always be your little girl,” you promise, but quickly add, “Even when I’m a big girl, when I’m suuuper old!”

“Of course” your dad says with a wink, passing you a juice box. “Here’s a very grown-up drink for our big girl.”

You take the juice box, pretending to sip it with the utmost sophistication, which only makes your parents laugh harder. The sound of their laughter fills you with warmth, and you can’t help but grin.

As you all enjoy yourselves, a wide smile spreads across your face. You can’t help but wish this moment could last forever. The sun, the laughter, the warmth—it all feels perfect.

But then, a low rumble shakes the ground beneath you. You pause mid-sip of your juice box, glancing curiously at your parents. They don’t seem to notice anything amiss, so you shrug it off.

Just as you’re about to take another sip, the ground jolts violently. An earthquake strikes without warning, making you lose your balance. With a startled yelp, you tumble off the bench, landing on the ground with a soft thud. “Ouch…” you mumble, rubbing your elbow.

Your sister’s cries pierce the air, and the once-lively park falls eerily silent. The earthquake is fierce, shaking the trees and sending birds scattering into the sky, but it ends as abruptly as it began.

“Are you girls okay?” your mom asks urgently, leaning over to check on your baby sister, who’s still wailing in her chair. Your dad is at your side in seconds, kneeling down and gently helping you up.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, brushing dirt off your dress. His brow is furrowed with concern as he checks your arms and legs for scrapes.

“I’m okay, Daddy,” you reply softly, your voice a little shaky but steady enough. “Just fell off the bench…”

Your dad pulls you into a quick hug, ruffling your hair. “That’s my tough girl,” he says with a small smile, though his eyes dart around nervously, scanning the park for any signs of danger.

Dusting off your dress again, you glance at your dad, who is scanning the park with sharp, wary eyes. Around you, other families are doing the same—some parents clutch their children close, others hurriedly pack up their belongings, all wearing the same look of confusion and unease.

You open your mouth to ask your dad what’s happening, but before the words can form, a brilliant light shoots out from the ground in the distance, piercing the sky like a giant beacon. It comes from the mountain just across the way, its sheer brightness making you squint and shield your eyes.

Then, a shockwave of light bursts from the mountain’s base, rippling outward in all directions. The first signs of chaos erupt as it reaches the city below: car alarms blare in discordant unison, dogs bark wildly, and people shout in alarm.

When the wave rushes toward your family, your dad shouts, “Brace yourselves!” He throws his arms out to steady you, but the force is too strong.

The light hits like a tidal wave, its pressure knocking you off your feet. You cry out as you hit the ground, your small hands scraping against the rough dirt. A searing, burning sensation fills your lungs, making it hard to breathe. Your chest feels tight, like fire is clawing its way through your body.

Your eyes water as you squeeze them shut, the brilliance of the light too overwhelming to bear. Your ears ring, drowning out every other sound. Around you, the world feels like it’s collapsing into chaos, the once serene park now filled with frantic cries and the sharp wails of alarms in the distance.

Even as the light moves past, continuing its path through the world, the burning in your chest lingers. You clutch at your ribs, trying to suck in air, but it feels like something inside you has shifted.

When you finally open your eyes, the world around you feels slightly off, like you’re seeing it through a haze. Blinking to clear your vision, you glance up at your dad. He looks fine—unlike the strange sensation still lingering in your chest—but his expression is far from calm. Panic is etched across his face as he crouches down in front of you.

“Daddy?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes widen as he stares at you, shaking his head as though trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. “Honey… your eyes,” he says softly, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“They’re glowing green. Are you okay, my sweet girl? Does anything hurt?”

You blink rapidly, confused. “Glowing?” you mumble, reaching up to rub your eyes, but your dad gently takes your hands away, his touch careful and quick. His gaze shifts to your neck, and suddenly, he gasps.

“Sarah!” he shouts, his voice sharp with urgency. “Come here, quick!”

Your mom, who had been trying to calm your crying sister, looks up with alarm. She glances between the baby and you before hurrying over, concern written all over her face.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asks breathlessly, kneeling beside you.

Your dad doesn’t say anything at first, just points to your neck. Your mom’s eyes follow his gesture, and the moment she sees it, she gasps as well, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Oh no,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Then, forcing a shaky smile, she turns to you. “Sweetheart, um… you’re okay. You feel okay, right? Nothing hurts anymore?”

“I think so…” you answer hesitantly, the burning sensation in your chest finally fading away. “What’s going on? What’s on my neck?”

Your mom reaches out and brushes her fingers over the spot at the base of your neck, her touch light and cautious. “It’s… a mark,” she says carefully, her voice soft but unsteady.

“It’s a little green heart. Like it’s… engraved into your skin.”

“Engraved?” you echo, your hand flying up to touch the spot. But as soon as your fingers make contact, you feel nothing unusual—just smooth skin.

Your dad takes a deep breath, relief momentarily flashing in his eyes as he notices your glowing eyes dim and return to their normal color. “Okay,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back gently. “Okay, it’s gone now. Your eyes are back to normal.”

Your mom leans in close, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You don’t feel anything strange anymore? No burning?”

You shake your head, finally feeling like you can breathe again. “No… it’s gone.”

But as the two of them exchange uneasy glances, you can tell they’re not convinced that everything is okay. And deep down, neither are you.

As you glance around, you start to notice other kids in the same strange predicament. Some are clutching their necks, just like you, while others seem to be staring at the marks with wide, confused eyes. A mother near you is practically hysterical, her voice shaky as she tries to calm her child. “You have an orange heart, sweetie!” she says, her words coming out in a frantic rush.

The child, no older than you, rubes at his neck and then bursts into a wide grin, seemingly unfazed by the situation. “Awesome!” he shouts, pumping his fist in the air, his carefree attitude in sharp contrast to his mother’s panic.

You blink in confusion, but before you can make sense of what’s happening, you notice other children—some with orange hearts, some with blue, and even red. Each of them looks just as confused as the last, each with a different variety of emotion on their faces.

Why? Why is this happening? And why are there so many different colors?

You try not to dwell on it too much, but the questions swirl in your head, making everything feel more unsettling. Just as you’re about to ask your parents what’s going on, your dad gently picks you up, lifting you with ease. His grip is firm but comforting, as though he’s trying to keep you safe.

He sets you down next to your baby sister on the picnic table, her little hands reaching for you instinctively. As your parents begin to pack everything up—folding the picnic blanket, gathering the food, and loading the cooler—you can sense their worry, even though they try to keep it hidden from you. They’re trying to stay calm, not wanting to make you panic. But you can see it in their eyes: something is wrong.

Turning to your sister, you take a moment to look her over. She’s calm, her usual bright, innocent smile still on her face. But when you glance at her neck, your breath catches in your throat.

Just like you, she has a mark—a heart. But it’s not green like yours. Hers is purple, small and delicate, sitting just beneath her collarbone. The sight of it makes your heart race a little faster.

What does it all mean?

Your eyes flick back to your parents, but they’re busy with their own tasks, barely sparing a glance in your direction. It seems like they’re trying to hold everything together, but it’s becoming harder for you to ignore the questions bubbling inside.

As you sit there, your mind starts to race. The one weird thing about everything you’ve noticed—why is it only kids with the marks? Why aren’t any of the adults showing signs of these strange, hearts? You glance around again, but the answer remains the same: the marks seem to be reserved for the younger ones.

You see mothers and fathers frantic over their children, eyes wide with fear as they try to figure out what’s happening, but none of them have the marks themselves. No hearts on their skin. Just their children.

Why?

The thought lingers, gnawing at the back of your mind. You’d expect the adults to be affected too, right? If it’s some kind of explosion or wave of energy, shouldn’t it be spreading to everyone? But no, it’s only the kids.

You look at the other children around you—each of them with a different color heart, all of them varying in size and shape. It’s as if some invisible line was drawn between the adults and the kids, and the adults were left untouched.

The more you think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense. You can feel your heart race again, the unease creeping up your spine.

What’s the connection?

Your sister, still blissfully unaware of your growing anxiety, continues to play with her toy as your parents quietly finish packing up. But you can’t help the nagging questions that swirl in your mind.

And yet, no one seems to have an answer, not even your parents.

Before you can really let yourself panic, your mom quickly swoops your baby sister up from in front of you. She cradles her in her arms, hurrying toward the car with quick, practiced movements. Your dad, just as fast, grabs you gently and lifts you up, placing you securely into your car seat.

“It’s okay, honey,” he says, his voice softer than usual but still trying to reassure you. “Maybe the news will know what’s going on. We’ll figure this out.”

He gives you a strained smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You nod, though your heart is still racing, and watch as he shuts the door behind you. He walks around to the driver’s side, and you catch a glimpse of his tense shoulders, the way he glances around the park one last time before slipping into the front seat.

Your mom is already in the passenger seat, fastening her seatbelt with a quick flick of her wrist. She doesn’t speak, but her eyes are filled with that same worried glint. The kind that only comes when something isn’t right.

The car doors close, and your dad starts the engine. The hum of the car fills the silence, but it does nothing to ease the tight knot in your stomach.

As the car pulls away from the park, you watch the familiar sight of the picnic area fading in the rearview mirror.

As the car drives further down the street, you sit up straighter in your seat, trying to stretch your neck to peer out the window. You watch as people walk along the sidewalks, some of them looking just like the people at the park—kids with glowing hearts on their necks.

But then, something catches your eye. You spot a group of kids, and to your surprise, none of them have the marks. They look just like normal kids, going about their day, without any signs of the strange event that just happened.

You squint, trying to make sense of it. Maybe it’s just because the car is moving too fast? But you’re not sure. It doesn’t feel right.

Why do some kids have the marks, and others don’t? What’s the difference?

Your stomach churns with a new sense of unease. If the marks are tied to something—something that only affects certain kids—then what does that mean for the rest of them? Why are some children left untouched?

The questions swirl in your mind, each one more confusing than the last. And yet, your parents remain silent, both of them focused on the road ahead. Maybe they don’t have the answers either, but there’s a heaviness in the air—like everyone is just waiting for something to happen.

You turn your gaze back to the window, your heart still racing. Something isn’t adding up, and the uncertainty of it all weighs heavily on you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you arrive home. The car comes to a stop in the driveway, and your parents quickly get to work unloading the car. Your dad pops the trunk, gathering the picnic basket and bags, while your mom gently lifts your baby sister from her car seat. Her arms cradle Lilly carefully, the soft cooing sounds from the baby calming her as she walks toward the door.

"It’s okay, my sweet. It’s okay, Lilly," your mom murmurs to your sister, her voice tender but laced with something else—something you can’t quite place.

Your dad is already making quick work of getting you out of your car seat. He undoes the straps and lifts you gently, setting you down on the driveway. You watch your mom, holding Lilly close as she hums quietly, trying to soothe her despite the clear tension in her movements.

Everything feels too quiet, and you’re left standing there, eyes fixed on them. The air is thick with an unspoken worry that no one seems to want to voice. Your heart still pounds in your chest, but for now, at least, you’re safe—home.

Finally, inside the house, your family moves quickly, putting everything away. The quiet hum of the house feels oddly out of place after the chaos you just witnessed. You watch your parents, their faces drawn with concern, as they move around the house, trying to keep busy. But the tension in the air is palpable—no one knows what’s going on, and it’s starting to make you feel uneasy.

You know what to do when you don’t understand something. You get answers.

Without a second thought, you make your way to the living room, your small feet padding softly across the floor. Reaching for the remote, you turn on the TV, hoping that the news will have some explanation for all of this.

The screen flickers to life, and you immediately flip through the channels, searching for anything about what happened at the park, or the strange event that hit the city. The static fades, replaced by scenes of chaos: people standing outside, confused looks on their faces, emergency vehicles parked along the streets. No one seems to know what’s going on, but some images catch your attention—kids, just like you, with glowing hearts, standing in clusters.

Your heart skips a beat. The reporters seem as clueless as everyone else, speaking in hushed tones, as if they’re afraid of what this could mean. A sense of dread builds up inside you, but you can’t look away.

“...and reports are coming in from all over the city of strange energy surges, affecting only children. Authorities are asking for calm while they investigate...”

The words float in the air, but they do little to calm your racing mind. What is happening? You glance over your shoulder at your parents, who are now standing behind you, watching the screen with wide eyes. Neither of them says a word.

As you continue to watch, time seems to stretch unbearably. The minutes feel like hours as the news drags on with images of confused crowds, interviews with witnesses, and speculation from so-called experts who all seem as clueless as anyone else. You grip the edge of the couch, your heart pounding, waiting for something—anything—that makes sense.

Finally, the screen shifts back to the main reporter, her face unusually pale. She stares at something off-camera, her eyes wide, and for a moment, she says nothing. The silence is deafening.

When she finally speaks, her voice trembles, and she seems almost reluctant to continue. “We’re getting breaking news from local scientists,” she says, her gaze dropping to the desk in front of her as if she’s reading the words for the first time. There’s another pause as she clears her throat, visibly shaken.

“I’m getting word from local scientists,” she repeats, her voice steadier now but still tinged with disbelief, “that any child who possesses a colored heart mark on their neck... has the ability to wield magic.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. You feel a shiver run down your spine, and your eyes dart to your parents, who exchange a glance but remain frozen in place.

The reporter continues, taking a shaky breath. “This phenomenon is being actively studied, and we currently do not have enough information to fully understand its implications.

However, authorities are urging anyone—parents or guardians of children with these marks—to cooperate with scientists in the area.”

She pauses again, her hand gripping the edge of the desk, before finishing, “Specialized trucks labeled for this purpose will be driving through local neighborhoods. If your child possesses a colored heart, please visit one of these stations for evaluation. Officials stress that this is for everyone’s safety.”

Your eyes widen as you instinctively reach for the base of your neck, feeling the faint imprint of your green heart. Magic? You? The word feels too big, too impossible to comprehend. You glance at your baby sister, who is snug in your mom’s arms, blissfully unaware of the revelation. Her little purple heart, once a mystery, now carries a weight you can’t fully grasp.

Your dad kneels beside you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he says, but his voice is strained, his usual calm replaced by uncertainty.

Your mom swallows hard, clutching Lilly a little closer. “What does this mean? Magic? How can they even know that?” she mutters, more to herself than anyone else.

You sit there, frozen, as the news continues in the background, detailing where the trucks might be and urging calm. But how could anyone be calm after hearing this?

As the reporter continues, the screen suddenly cuts to a shaky video clip recorded on someone’s home camera. The quality isn’t great, but the scene it shows is unmistakable—and shocking.

In the footage, a child stands in a backyard, their small frame trembling with effort. Their parents hover several feet above the ground, flailing their arms in disbelief. The heart on the child’s neck glows a deep blue, pulsing faintly with energy. The camera zooms in closer, and you can see the child’s wide eyes, their expression a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

The clip freezes, and the feed returns to the newsroom, where the reporter stares into the camera, her expression grim. “We’ve just received this footage, and it’s one of many examples coming in from across the city—and beyond. Children with these marks are displaying what can only be described as impossible abilities. Levitation, bursts of light, even the manipulation of objects at a distance. It’s... unprecedented.”

She glances at her notes, clearly struggling to stay composed. “While these abilities may seem extraordinary, local scientists and authorities stress the need for caution. We don’t yet know if this magic poses a risk—to the children themselves or to others around them.”

The camera pans to another clip, this time showing a child in a park surrounded by swirling flames that don’t seem to burn anything. The child looks as surprised as everyone else, their orange heart glowing brightly as onlookers scream and back away.

The reporter’s voice continues, layered over the clip. “These powers, while extraordinary, need to be studied. The public is urged to cooperate with scientists conducting evaluations in designated neighborhoods. This is for the safety of everyone involved.”

You feel your stomach twist. The idea of magic sounds amazing—like something out of a storybook—but the tone of the reporter’s voice makes it feel more like a nightmare. You glance at your parents again. Your dad’s jaw is clenched tight, and your mom has stopped rocking Lilly, her eyes glued to the screen.

“Daddy,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Am I going to start doing that too?”

Your dad crouches beside you, meeting your gaze. His face softens, but there’s still worry in his eyes. “I don’t know, sweetie,” he says honestly, his voice low. “But whatever happens, we’re going to figure it out together. Okay?”

You nod slowly, but your mind races. What if you did start floating people? Or making fire like the kids on TV? Was this a gift—or something dangerous? You reach up to touch the faint heart on your neck, feeling its presence like a weight you hadn’t noticed before.

The news continues in the background, but your focus is elsewhere now. Questions bubble up in your mind, each more overwhelming than the last. Why is this happening? Why only to kids? And what does it mean for you and Lilly?

Before you can fully process what you’ve just seen, the screen flickers and shifts to a new feed. The words “Breaking News” flash across the bottom in bold red letters, and the sound of hurried voices fills the room. A different reporter appears on screen, standing outside, her hair whipping in the wind as helicopters buzz overhead.

Her voice is urgent, almost frantic. “We have an emergency update. What appears to be... monsters... are descending from the mountains!” She gestures toward a blurry image behind her. The camera zooms in, revealing shapes moving in the distance. They’re tall, some towering, with strange, almost otherworldly features. Dark shadows blur their forms, but you can make out glowing eyes and shimmering, almost translucent appendages.

The reporter presses a hand to her earpiece, pausing as if listening to someone. Her face pales slightly before she turns back to the camera. “Officials are reporting that these creatures—these monsters—may be connected to the strange phenomenon affecting children. It’s unclear what their intentions are, but early indications suggest they may pose a threat. The government is mobilizing forces to intercept them before they reach the town. Negotiations and talks are reportedly underway.”

The camera cuts to a live aerial shot of the mountains. From above, you can see the creatures moving in clusters, some lumbering while others glide effortlessly over the rocky terrain. Bright lights flicker intermittently among the group, resembling the glowing marks you’ve seen on the children.

Your breath catches in your throat. Monsters? This wasn’t just about magic anymore. This was something bigger, something dangerous.

“Daddy, what’s going on?” you whisper, clutching his sleeve.

He doesn’t answer right away, his eyes glued to the TV. Your mom, still holding Lilly tightly, mutters under her breath, “Monsters? This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.”

The reporter’s voice cuts back in, her tone growing more urgent. “Residents are advised to stay indoors and remain calm. Military units are being deployed to secure the area.

Parents, if your child has one of these marks, it’s crucial to remain vigilant. We don’t yet know how—or if—these children are connected to what’s happening in the mountains.”

A loud thud echoes in the distance, and the camera jolts slightly. The reporter looks off to the side, fear flashing across her face. “We’re hearing explosions coming from the mountain base... we’ll provide updates as soon as we know more.”

The feed cuts abruptly, leaving the room in tense silence.

Your dad finally speaks, his voice firm but shaken. “We need to stay safe. No one’s going outside until we figure out what’s happening.” He glances at your mom, who nods, clutching Lilly closer.

You stare at the now-blank screen, your mind spinning. Monsters? A connection to kids like you? The weight of everything crashes down, and for the first time, you start to feel the edges of panic creeping in. What did all of this mean—and what would happen next?

Your mom clutches Lilly tightly to her chest, her grip firm as if she’s shielding her from the world. “I can’t just give up my babies!” she exclaims, her voice trembling with emotion. Her free hand darts out, grabbing the back of your shirt as if afraid you might vanish. You glance up at her, startled by the intensity in her eyes.

Your dad hesitates, his gaze shifting from her to the window, then back again. He takes a deep breath, his voice calm but strained. “Honey, we need to at least make sure our children are safe.”

“Safe?” Your mom turns to him, her tone sharp and incredulous. Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step toward him, still holding you and Lilly close. “You don’t think my babies are safe?”

Your dad raises his hands in a placating gesture, his own frustration barely hidden. “Of course, I do! But we don’t know what’s going on—what these marks mean. If they’re connected to... to those monsters.” He gestures vaguely toward the window, his voice breaking slightly. “The scientists might have answers. They might be able to help.”

Your mom shakes her head, her grip on you tightening. “Help? By taking them away? By treating them like experiments?” Her voice cracks, and tears brim in her eyes. “They’re our babies, John. Not theirs. I won’t let anyone take them from me!”

The tension in the room feels suffocating, the air heavy with unspoken fears. You look between your parents, unsure what to say. Lilly, sensing the stress, begins to fuss in your mom’s arms, her tiny whimpers breaking the silence.

Your dad runs a hand through his hair, his expression conflicted. “I’m not saying we hand them over,” he says softly, his voice more gentle now. “But if there’s something we need to know—something that could protect them—we can’t just ignore it.”

Your mom doesn’t respond right away, her jaw tight as she looks at you, then Lilly, then back at your dad. Finally, she whispers, “I just want them safe, John. I just want them to be okay.”

He steps closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know. I do too. That’s why we need to be smart about this.”

You watch as your mom closes her eyes for a moment, taking a deep, shaky breath. When she opens them, she looks at you, her expression softening slightly. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asks, brushing your hair back from your face.

You nod slowly, unsure of how to answer. Your chest feels tight, the weight of everything pressing down on you. “I’m okay, Mommy,” you whisper, though the words feel fragile, like they might shatter at any moment.

Your dad exhales deeply, his hand still on your mom’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out,” he says firmly, though whether he’s saying it to you, your mom, or himself, you’re not sure. “We’ll keep them safe. No matter what.”

Your dad crouches in front of you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. His voice is soft, almost playful, as he says, “Honey, I want you to pretend we’re going to Disney, okay? Go grab your favorite things and put them in a bag.”

Your eyes light up at the mention of Disney. “Really?!” you squeal, already imagining all the fun you might have.

He nods with a warm smile. “Really. Just pick a few things you’d want to take with you.”

Without hesitation, you bolt toward your room, excitement bubbling over. “Oh, wow! Like Disney!” you giggle to yourself, imagining all the amazing things your newfound magic could do. “Maybe my magic can make people feel better!” you muse aloud, pulling open drawers and tossing your favorite toys and clothes into a small bag.

Back in the living room, the mood is far from lighthearted. Your mom glares at your dad, her voice low and sharp as she hisses, “She’s not leaving me. Why did you tell her to pack?”

Your dad sighs, rubbing his temples. “I’m just trying to be prepared,” he mutters. “If they need her for testing—or observation—maybe they’ll only need her for a day or two. Isn’t that how long it takes to figure out if someone has a disease?”

Your mom’s eyes widen, a mix of anger and fear flashing across her face. “A disease? John, this isn’t a cold. This is our daughter! They’re talking about magic and monsters! You think they’ll just... just keep her for two days and send her back like nothing happened?”

He holds up his hands defensively. “I don’t know, okay? I’m trying to stay calm, but we need to think about this rationally. If she’s different now—if these marks mean something—how do we protect her if we don’t even know what’s happening?”

Your mom shakes her head, clutching Lilly tighter. “I don’t trust them. I don’t trust anyone to take care of her the way we can.”

Your dad softens, stepping closer. “I don’t trust them either,” he admits quietly. “But if there’s a way to keep her safe, to understand what’s going on, shouldn’t we at least find out? We’re her parents, Sarah. We’re supposed to protect her, no matter what.”

Your mom’s lips tremble, and she looks away, her resolve wavering. “I just... I can’t lose her, John. I can’t lose either of them.”

“You won’t,” he says firmly, placing a hand on her arm. “We won’t let that happen.”

As the tension thickens between them, your voice calls out from your room, cheerful and unaware. “I’m ready, Daddy! I packed my Mickey ears!”

Your mom closes her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “Let’s hope we’re making the right choice,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your dad nods, glancing toward the door. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Before more plans could be made, the TV flickered again, pulling your parents’ attention back to the screen. The news reporter appeared, looking visibly drained and overwhelmed. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and her hands trembled as she clutched the microphone. Behind her stood a line of military personnel, their stoic faces framed against the silhouettes of tall, shadowy figures—monsters.

“Breaking news,” the reporter began, her voice shaky but determined to deliver the message. “It seems... it seems these monsters—these beings—have come down from the mountain with a surprising message.” She glanced nervously over her shoulder at the towering creatures, then back to the camera.

“They claim they mean no harm,” she continued, her voice faltering briefly. “In fact, they say they want to help with the magic that has, as they put it, ‘consumed the world.’ They believe the children with the colored hearts are key to understanding this phenomenon.”

The camera shifted slightly, capturing a clearer view of one of the monsters—a tall, skeletal figure with hollow eyes that glowed faintly. Its presence was unsettling yet oddly composed. The reporter’s voice trembled as she continued, “They’re proposing a partnership with the scientists already investigating this new magic. The monsters insist that by working together, they can teach us how to manage the children’s newfound abilities.”

Your mom gasped, clutching Lilly even tighter. “This... this can’t be real,” she whispered.

Your dad leaned forward, his brows knit in a mix of disbelief and cautious curiosity. “They’re saying they want to help?” he muttered under his breath, his tone filled with skepticism.

The reporter on-screen hesitated, then added, “They’ve assured us they have no intention of harming the children or anyone else. However, they’re urging parents to cooperate by allowing the children with these marks to join the scientists in their research efforts.”

Your stomach twisted as you looked between your parents, trying to piece together what all this meant. The monsters wanted to help? To teach about the magic? You could see the unease written all over your mom’s face, and even your dad, who was usually calm, seemed deeply troubled.

The reporter concluded, “For now, the government is considering their proposal. Neighborhood checkpoints will be established for parents to bring their children forward for evaluation. This is... unprecedented, to say the least. We’ll bring more updates as the situation develops.”

The screen shifted back to the newsroom, but neither of your parents moved. The room was heavy with silence, the weight of the decision looming over your family. Finally, your dad spoke, his voice quiet but firm.

“We need to figure out what to do,” he said, glancing toward your mom. “If this is real... if they’re telling the truth... what’s the safest choice for our girls?”

Your mom shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. “I don’t trust them, John. Monsters? Magic? None of this makes sense! How can we just hand over our children?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, watching the tension between them build. The idea of monsters helping with magic sounded like something out of a bedtime story—only this wasn’t a story. It was real. Too real.

Before the tension in the room could boil over, a sharp knock echoed through the house, shattering the uneasy silence. Your dad froze mid-step, his gaze darting to your mom, who clutched Lilly closer to her chest. She looked terrified, her knuckles white as she gripped the fabric of the baby’s blanket. You, still seated on the couch, stared wide-eyed at the door.

After a moment’s hesitation, your dad sighed, squared his shoulders, and walked toward the door. He glanced back at all of you before slowly opening it. Standing on the porch was a man with neatly combed dark hair, thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and a sharp, calculating gaze. His expression was unreadable, but something about him felt cold and unsettling.

The man adjusted his white lab coat, his hands clasped neatly behind his back as he looked your dad up and down. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said smoothly, his voice polite but devoid of warmth. “Lovely day, isn’t it? I apologize for the intrusion, but I’m here on urgent business.”

Your dad narrowed his eyes slightly but nodded. “What kind of business?”

The man smiled thinly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you have any children in this household, sir? And if so, do they happen to bear... a heart on their neck?”

Your dad’s body stiffened at the question, his hand tightening on the doorframe. “Why are you asking?” he said cautiously, not giving anything away.

The man tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the hesitation. “I’m with the research team tasked with studying this... magical phenomenon. The government has partnered with us to ensure the safety of your children—and the public at large. I assure you, this is purely a precautionary measure.”

From where you were sitting, you could see your dad’s jaw tighten. “And what happens if they do?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

The man’s sharp gaze flickered briefly past your dad, as though he could see through the walls and knew exactly who was inside. “If your children bear the mark, we’ll need to document their abilities and run a few basic tests. Nothing invasive, of course.” He smiled again, but there was something unsettling about the way his glasses reflected the light. “It’s for their safety—and yours.”

Your mom suddenly appeared behind your dad, her voice trembling but firm. “What if we say no?”

The man’s smile faltered, his hands tightening slightly behind his back. “I would advise against that, ma’am. Cooperation is in everyone’s best interest.”

Your dad stepped partially in front of your mom, shielding her and the baby. “We’ll need time to think about this,” he said, his tone final.

The man straightened his posture, his expression hardening. “Very well. But don’t wait too long. We’ll be visiting the neighborhood again tomorrow, and I expect your cooperation then.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked back toward a plain, unmarked van parked at the curb. As the door clicked shut, your dad exhaled slowly, glancing back at your mom.

“We need to figure out what to do—fast,” he said, his voice low.

Your mom nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. She held Lilly close, and you couldn’t help but scoot closer to them, your small hands clutching the edge of the couch. Whatever was happening, you knew one thing for sure: things were about to change.

Your mom gently places Lily into her crib, smoothing the blanket over her small form as she begins to coo softly in her sleep. Turning to you, she kneels down to your level, her expression strained but tender. “Honey,” she says softly, brushing a stray hair from your face, “would you want to go with that man? To find out more about that heart?” Her voice wavers slightly, but she keeps her tone as steady as she can manage.

You tilt your head, blinking curiously. “Go with him? To find out about the magic?”

She nods, biting her lip nervously. “Yes. He said they want to help you understand it, and... maybe they can. Would you want that?”

Your face lights up with excitement. “Yes! Maybe I can help everyone! Maybe those monsters are friendly, and they just want to make friends!” You giggle, throwing your arms around her.

Your mom freezes for a moment, her hands hovering in the air, and then she pulls you into a tight hug. “You’re such a brave girl,” she whispers, her voice breaking slightly.
When she pulls back, her eyes are glistening with unshed tears. “Okay,” she says, brushing your cheek with her thumb. “Me and your daddy are going to talk. But if we decide this is what’s best, I need you to promise me something.”

You tilt your head again, curious. “What is it, Mommy?”

She places her hands on your shoulders, looking you firmly in the eye. “You’ll take care of your baby sister, right? If we go, I’ll need you to look after her. I showed you how to do it, after all.”

You puff out your chest proudly and nod, your face determined. “Of course! I’ll take such good care of her! I’m the best big sister ever!”

Your mom smiles at you, but it’s shaky. She hugs you again, tighter this time, as though she never wants to let go. “I know you will, sweetheart. I know you will.”

As she stands, her hand lingers on your head for a moment before she whispers, “Stay here and watch Lily, okay? Mommy and Daddy need to have a little talk downstairs.”

You nod obediently, feeling a mix of pride and excitement at the thought of helping with something so big. As your mom heads downstairs, you turn to the crib and lean over it, watching your baby sister’s tiny chest rise and fall with each peaceful breath.

“Don’t worry, Lily,” you whisper, giving her a soft smile. “I’ll keep you safe. Always.”

Before you know it, raised voices erupt from downstairs, sharp and angry like clashing thunder. You flinch at the sound of your parents yelling at each other, and your small hands instinctively cover your ears. Turning to Lily, who stirs lightly in her crib, you crouch beside her, doing your best to stay calm for her sake.

“They’re fighting because they’re scared,” you say softly, forcing a reassuring smile even though your heart feels heavy. “But it’s okay, Lily! I promise everything will be alright.”

Lily’s tiny fingers twitch, and her lips part in a soft coo, as if responding to your words. You giggle quietly and reach out to gently hold her hand. “See? You’re not scared, are you? That’s because you know your big sister is here to protect you.”

The shouting downstairs grows louder, words muffled by the walls but still full of tension. You wince, lowering your head closer to Lily’s crib as though shielding her from the noise.

“Mommy and Daddy just need to figure things out,” you say, more for yourself than for her. “They love us, and they want us to be safe. That’s why they’re yelling.”

Lily lets out a small sigh and snuggles deeper into her blanket, her calmness soothing your nerves. You stroke her soft hair gently, your voice dropping to a whisper.

“You don’t have to worry about a thing, Lily. I’ve got you. No matter what.”

When you finally get Lily to smile and giggle, the soft sound of her laughter makes you feel like everything might just be okay. You’re so focused on her that you don’t notice your parents entering the room until your mom’s quiet sob catches your attention.

Looking up, you see her standing there, holding herself tightly, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. Her composure crumbles the moment her eyes meet yours, and she rushes forward to envelop you in a tight embrace.

“My baby,” she murmurs into your hair, her voice trembling as she holds you close. You can feel the weight of her worry and love in the way she clings to you.

Your dad lingers by the door, running a hand through his hair, his face a mix of exhaustion and forced calm. He lets out a long sigh before speaking, his tone soft but heavy. “You told your mom you’d be okay going? That you’d take care of your baby sister, right?” He tries to smile, but it’s only halfway there, barely masking his worry.

You nod rapidly, patting your mom’s back in reassurance as you pull away just enough to look up at her tear-streaked face. “Yeah! I’ll be fine, Mommy. And I’ll take such good care of Lily—promise!”

Your mom sniffles, trying to compose herself as she brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re so brave,” she whispers, her voice cracking slightly. “But you don’t have to be brave all the time, okay?”

Your dad steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We’re proud of you, kiddo. Just remember—we love you so much. No matter what.”

The words settle in your chest, filling you with a mix of pride and sadness. You squeeze your mom tightly, then glance over at Lily, who’s now cooing happily in her crib, completely unaware of the tension in the room.

You smile softly. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

As your parents get you ready for bed, there’s a sense of finality in the air, but also comfort. Your mom is gently cleaning Lily up, humming softly as she does, while your dad stops by your room one more time before he heads to bed himself.

He leans in the doorway with a tired but reassuring smile. “We decided to take you to the scientists. They might know what they’re doing, so we’re going to figure this out. My brave girl.” He pats your head softly, his hand warm and steady. His words fill you with a strange mixture of excitement and nervousness.

You nod, feeling the weight of it all, but still, a spark of hope flickers inside. “Okay, Daddy,” you say softly, glancing over at Lily in her crib, who’s now quiet and calm.

Your dad gives one last smile before he steps out, shutting the door gently behind him. You snuggle into your bed, the covers pulled tight around you, feeling the soft warmth and comfort of the sheets. Your mind wanders, the thoughts of tomorrow swirling in your head.

Wow, a new adventure, you think, feeling the thrill of the unknown. There’s still so much you don’t understand, but somehow, with the people you love by your side, it feels like everything will be okay. Maybe your magic will help. Maybe there’s something bigger going on. Whatever happens, you’re ready to face it.

You close your eyes, imagining the possibilities as you drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Waking up, you hear the familiar sounds of commotion downstairs. Rubbing your eyes with one hand, you stretch, feeling the weight of sleep still hanging on you. Your tiny feet pad softly across the floor as you make your way to the stairs, curiosity pulling you down.

When you reach the bottom, you stop for a moment, your eyes landing on your mom hunched over the kitchen table, her head buried in her hands. Your dad is next to her, gently patting her back, his expression tense but filled with concern. The scene feels heavy, and a small worry tightens in your chest.

But as soon as your dad hears your footsteps, he looks up with a warm smile, trying to ease the tension in the room. "Good morning, honey," he says softly, his voice comforting despite the situation. "We made your favorite."

He points to the kitchen table, where a stack of golden, fluffy chocolate chip waffles sits, steam rising from them. Your eyes light up at the sight. Chocolate chip waffles—your absolute favorite. A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you make your way to the table, your stomach suddenly feeling a little lighter.

You climb up onto your chair, ready to enjoy the meal, but still, a lingering sense of unease fills the air. You look at your mom, her shoulders shaking slightly, and you wonder if everything’s going to be okay.

As you finish up your waffles, you notice your mom moving slowly, her steps heavy as she begins to go up the stairs. She looks so sluggish, as if the weight of everything is wearing her down. You watch her for a moment, feeling a twinge of concern, but then your attention is drawn to your dad, who starts cleaning up the dishes.

Now that you're more awake, the sounds of the TV in the living room catch your attention. With a burst of energy, you jump off your chair, eager to find out what's going on. You run into the living room and plop down in front of the TV, eyes wide as you see the new news report.

The news anchor, a woman with a calm demeanor, is speaking confidently into the camera. "So far, the monsters have a better grasp on science than we thought! They've helped make great discoveries that were needed. There's no issues on that end, people. This is turning out to be great for everyone!"

Your eyes light up at the news. The monsters, the ones everyone was so worried about, were actually helping? And not just with the magic, but with important scientific discoveries? You can't help but smile, feeling a little lighter in your chest. Maybe things are going to be okay after all. Maybe the monsters really are friendly, like you hoped.

The news cut to a live segment, and you couldn't believe your eyes. There, standing on the screen, was a creature that looked like something straight out of a science fiction story—a yellow dinosaur with reptilian skin. The creature, with bright yellow scales and sharp claws, had a serious air about her.

She stood tall, her back straight, a scar running down her eye, giving her the look of someone who had seen a battle. She looked both intimidating and heroic, like a war hero standing before a crowd.

The reporter handed her the microphone, and she took it with a serious nod. "Hello, humans. My name is Dr. Alphys," she said, her voice deep yet calm. She stood at attention, her expression serious. "I wanted to urge anyone with a child that has a heart on their neck to turn—" She paused to clear her throat, clearly trying to gather her composure. "To, um... trust them to the scientific research team. We are going neighborhood to neighborhood. We are here to help."

She took a moment to collect herself before continuing, but there was an urgency in her voice. "The magic that has been unleashed can be dangerous, and it’s imperative that you help the research." Her sharp, reptilian teeth gleamed as she tried to smile, but instead, it looked more like she was glaring at the camera.

Her serious demeanor was a stark contrast to the hopeful tone in her words, and you couldn't help but feel a bit of unease mixed with curiosity. Was she telling the truth? Was it really safe to trust the research team with the magic? You couldn’t tell, but one thing was clear—things were escalating quickly, and there was a lot you still didn’t know.

When your mom finally came back downstairs, she was wearing Lily's baby backpack and pulling your wheeled suitcase behind her. Lily was nestled in her arms, held close to her chest. As she made her way to the living room, she sat down on the couch and gestured for you to come over.

She stared to comb her fingers through your hair as she got lost in her thoughts. You leaned into her touch as a warm fuzzy filling filled you.

The soft melody of Omna Magni filled the room, its familiar lullaby weaving a thread of calm through the chaos of your mind. Your mom's fingers gently ran through your hair, a quiet gesture of love and comfort, while Lily cooed in her arms, content and secure in the warmth your mom provided. You found yourself humming along, the hauntingly beautiful notes resonating deeply within you.

It was a lullaby your mom had always sung when times were tough, a tradition passed down from her mother. You didn’t understand every word—it was from an old song your mom would always hum, (Genesis of Aquarion)—but the melody, the rhythm, always had a way of soothing your soul. Each note felt like a promise, a reminder that no matter how uncertain the world outside seemed, here, in this moment, there was love, there was safety. For a brief moment, your worries melted away.

As your voices blended together, a sense of peace settled over you. The world beyond the house was full of confusion and fear—monsters, strange magic, the unknown—but here, in this room, there was something constant, something unwavering. Your mom's hums, the gentle crooning of the lullaby, were an anchor in a sea of chaos.

The warmth of her hand on your head felt like a shield, blocking out the world beyond the walls. In that instant, the dangerous world outside seemed far away. The questions about the heart on your neck, the monsters, the scientists—all of it faded as you focused on the soothing melody. Your mom's presence, her quiet hum, made everything feel like it would be okay.

Lily stirred slightly, her tiny fingers grasping at the fabric of your mom's shirt. Your mom smiled down at her, adjusting her grip with a tenderness that made your heart swell. You watched the love in her eyes and felt a deep sense of gratitude for both your mom and your little sister. The world around you might be shifting, but they were your constants, your home base.

"I know this isn't easy," your mom whispered, her voice barely louder than the lullaby. "But I want you to know, no matter what happens, we’re in this together. You, me, your dad, and Lily—we’ll face it all as a family."

You closed your eyes and rested your head on her lap, the weight of her words sinking in. There was still fear, still the unknown that lay ahead, but there was something stronger: the bond between you and your family. It wasn’t just the song, or the brief peace it brought, but the way your mom held you—how she always made you feel like you could handle anything, that she would always be there to guide and protect you.

"I know, Mom," you whispered back, your voice small but steady. "I’ll be okay. I promise."

Your mom kissed the top of your head, her lips lingering for a moment longer than usual. She felt the weight of the moment too. She knew what was at stake. But for now, with the lullaby wrapping you both in its warmth, she let herself believe—just for a little while—that everything might be okay.

Your dad steps into the living room, leaning against the wall for a moment as he takes in the sight of you and your mom humming together, with little Lily snug in her arms. His tired eyes soften briefly before he clears his throat, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Okay, kiddos," he starts, stepping further into the room. "It’s time to see if you have that weird “magic” or not. We were watching the news last night, and some kids don’t even have a heart!" His voice carries an attempt at optimism, but it wavers slightly. "So, maybe you’ll be lucky, and you’ll come home in less than an hour."

He chuckles nervously, as if trying to convince himself of his own words. But his expression betrays him—his empty smile falters, and the sadness in his eyes is unmistakable. It’s like he’s already bracing himself for something he can’t control.

You tilt your head, noticing the cracks in his composure, but before you can say anything, your mom pats your head gently. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” she whispers, though her voice is equally strained.

The air feels heavy, like everyone is pretending not to see the worry lingering between them. It makes you want to hug your dad and tell him it’s going to be okay, even if you’re not sure what’s coming next.

Your dad steps further into the living room, his hand reaching for your roller bag by the couch. He grips it tightly, his knuckles white against the handle. “Even if you have a heart on your neck, doesn’t mean you’ll have magic,” he chuckles, the sound hollow, echoing in the tense room.

Your mom doesn’t respond, her eyes fixed on him. There’s an unspoken weight in her gaze, but she stays silent, her expression unreadable as she cradles Lily close.

You sit quietly, feeling the tension crackle in the air like static. The words hang between you all, heavy and uncertain, until your dad finally moves to the front door. He pauses there, turning back to look at you and your mom, a strained smile on his face.

“Well? Are you three coming?” His voice wavers slightly, though he tries to mask it with a casual tone.

Your mom stands slowly, steadying herself as she adjusts Lily, making sure to put her in a baby carrier. Her free hand reaches out for yours, gripping it gently but firmly. She looks down at you, her lips curving into a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Okay, sweetie, let’s get you tested,” she says softly, her voice sweet but shaky. For a moment, her voice cracks, betraying her fear, but she catches herself quickly. The smile remains, though it trembles at the edges, a fragile shield against the uncertainty ahead.

Your small hand squeezes hers in return as you nod, your steps hesitant but steady as the three of you prepare to face whatever comes next.

Stepping out of the house, the morning sun bathes the street in a pale light, but the scene before you feels anything but warm. The road is lined with stark white trucks, their engines humming faintly. Men and women in crisp white lab coats stand in clusters, talking to parents and ushering children toward the vehicles.

You notice how the scientists’ expressions are carefully neutral, their movements efficient. Some even offer reassuring smiles to nervous parents, though it’s hard to tell if those smiles hold any real comfort. A few lab coats gently help parents load their children into the trucks, their soft words drowned out by the sound of engines idling.

Your gaze is drawn to a boy with a deep red heart glowing faintly on his neck. He clutches a stuffed animal tightly to his chest as he steps into one of the trucks. The door closes behind him with a dull thud, and the truck begins to rumble down the street.

Your mom’s grip tightens on your hand as she and your dad exchange a glance. They walk forward together, Lily snug in her carrier, and approach one of the scientists standing near a truck. He looks just like the man from yesterday—sharp-eyed, dark-haired, and imposing.

The man notices you all and steps closer, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze flickers over you, lingering on your neck for a split second, before he addresses your parents.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice smooth but lacking warmth. “Here to get your little one checked?”

Your dad nods stiffly, his grip on your roller bag tightening. “Yes, we’re here to find out,” he says, his voice steady but low.

The man nods, pulling out a small clipboard from his coat pocket. “Let’s get started. We’ll need a quick scan—this will only take a moment,” he assures, motioning for you to step forward.

Your mom kneels beside you, brushing a stray hair from your face. “It’s okay, sweetie. Mommy’s right here,” she whispers, her voice trembling as her hand gently pats your shoulder.

“Scanned?” your father mutters, his brows lifting slightly as a flicker of hope flashes across his face. “So they might not even need to leave home?” His tone is lighter now, almost relieved. He turns to your mom, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips, but her expression remains neutral, her gaze fixed on the man before her.

She doesn’t look hopeful. If anything, her posture grows stiffer, her eyes narrowing slightly as the scientist pulls a translucent, tablet-like device from his coat.

The man’s sharp eyes flick toward Lily in her baby carrier, then back to your parents. “We’ll need to test her too, ma’am,” he says, his voice completely devoid of emotion.

Your mom’s jaw tightens as she glares at him, the tension in her body visible. For a moment, it seems she might protest, but instead, she crouches down, placing Lily down gently beside you.

You instinctively place your small hand on the carrier, your fingers gripping it tightly as if to shield Lily from the man’s cold, clinical presence. He steps forward without hesitation, holding the tablet-like device steady in his hands.

“This will be quick,” he says, not looking up as he adjusts the screen. The faint glow from the tablet reflects off his glasses, making his expression unreadable.

The tablet flashes to life as the man activates it, the glow illuminating his face with shifting colors. Despite its see-through appearance, you can’t make out anything happening on your side of the device. He hovers it above you, his cold gaze focused intently on the screen.

A moment later, the tablet flashes green. His eyes quickly scan the display, and for just a second, a flicker of surprise crosses his face. It’s fleeting, but enough to soften his previously detached demeanor. “Okay, next,” he says, his voice losing a bit of its harsh edge as he turns to your sister.

He performs the same scan on Lily. At first, the tablet remains its neutral white color, but then it flashes purple. His eyes narrow slightly as he reads whatever information is displayed, his expression returning to unreadable neutrality. He nods sharply before straightening up.

“Alright,” he says matter-of-factly, looking at your parents. “You’re packed up, right? You’ll need to come with us for further testing.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you turn to your parents instinctively. Your father looks utterly shattered, his face pale and his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the moment has crushed him. Your mother, on the other hand, seems frozen in place, her eyes wide with despair.

“Leave?” she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hand trembles slightly as she reaches out, resting it on the baby carrier as if anchoring herself to the last shred of normalcy she has left. “Leave?” she repeats, this time with a heartbroken edge, her gaze distant and glassy.

The man nods curtly, his face impassive except for the faintest attempt at a smile—a hollow gesture that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. Leave,” he repeats, his tone flat but firm. “These children possess capabilities that, while extraordinary, could be dangerous if left unchecked. Even at their young age, it’s crucial to iron out anything that could pose a risk—to them or to others. You’ll get them back before you know it,” he adds, as if that would soften the blow.

Your father stands frozen for a moment, his expression torn between resignation and heartbreak. He finally gives a weak nod, avoiding your gaze. “Alright,” he mutters, his voice low, as though convincing himself this is the right thing to do.

Your mother, however, cannot contain her grief. A sharp hiccup escapes her, and tears well in her eyes as she falls to her knees, pulling you into a crushing embrace. “My baby,” she whispers, her voice breaking. Her free arm clutches the baby carrier, holding Lily tightly as if sheer willpower could prevent the inevitable.

You feel her tears against your cheek as she holds you close, humming the lullaby from earlier. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you. Her voice is a quiet mix of desperation and denial, her grip firm as though she never wants to let go.
The scientist glances at his watch, a small sigh escaping him, and looks back at your parents. “We need to get moving,” he states flatly.

Your mother and father exchange one last look, their shared grief evident. Your mom wipes at her eyes hastily before adjusting Lily’s carrier in her arms. Your dad, trying to steel himself, picks you up and carries you to the truck. His steps are slow, reluctant.
“Do you need car seats?” he mumbles to the scientist, his voice barely audible. The man shakes his head. “Not necessary. We have safety measures in place.”

Your father hesitates for a moment before gently placing you in one of the seats. As you look around, you notice four other kids already seated behind you. One boy with bright blond hair and dazzling blue eyes catches your gaze and grins brightly. “Hey! Don’t be scared!” he says, his voice cheerful and warm. “We’re going to be such good friends!” His words are kind, but you can’t help but notice the orange heart glowing faintly on his neck.

Next to him sits a girl with fiery red hair and piercing green eyes. She’s quiet but holds an air of confidence, her gaze steady and curious as she looks at you. When she notices your nervous glance, her expression softens, and she offers you a small, reassuring smile. A faint yellow heart glows on her neck.

Your dad leans down to make sure your seatbelt is secure, fumbling slightly as if stalling for time. His hands linger on the buckle before he finally steps back. “Okay, sweetie,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “Play nice, have fun, and listen to the nice adults, okay? We’ll see you when you get home.” He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips trembling against your skin.

Beside you, Lily babbles happily, blissfully unaware of the weight of the moment. Your mom leans in, resting her head against Lily’s carrier. Tears streak her cheeks as she whispers softly to the baby, words too quiet for you to hear. Her hand brushes your hair one last time, and she chokes back a sob before stepping away.

The scientist closes the truck door with a finality that makes your heart sink. You can see your parents through the window, your dad holding your mom tightly as she buries her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking. The truck begins to rumble to life, and as it pulls away, you press your hand to the glass, watching as your home grows smaller and smaller in the distance.

The truck hums steadily down the road, the silence thick, only broken by the persistent chatter of Felix, the blonde boy sitting behind you. He leans forward, his blue eyes wide with curiosity as he turns toward you. “So, what’s your guys’ names?” he asks eagerly. “Mine’s Felix!” His grin is so infectious it’s hard not to feel a little bit at ease.

You twist in your seat, trying to get a better look at the others. Felix’s smile only grows wider when you respond. “Mine is Y/N,” you say, trying to be friendly, despite the unease bubbling in your chest. It felt good to hear the name spoken aloud in such a casual way, like maybe everything wasn’t so strange after all.

Faith, the girl with the red hair, rolls her eyes a little at Felix’s excitement but still gives a small smile. “Mine’s Faith,” she mutters, her tone less eager but still polite.

You can’t help but notice the other two kids in the back, sitting quietly. The silence from them is almost unnerving. You glance over your shoulder, but they’re both staring out of their windows, their faces unreadable. One boy has dark brown hair, and the girl beside him has long black hair, both of them clearly lost in their own thoughts.

Felix, oblivious to the tension, keeps talking. “What about you two? What color hearts do you have?I think mine’s cool! I have orange!” he says, proudly touching the orange heart on his neck, as if it were some badge of honor.

Faith shrugs, glancing out the window. "It’s whatever," she mutters. Her voice is soft but holds a certain edge, as though she's seen things that make her not as easily excited about the whole situation.

You stay quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say next. It’s strange—being here with these kids, each of you marked in some way by the magic that’s sweeping through the world. Felix’s lively demeanor makes you feel a little less alone, but the unknowns about this journey and what’s ahead gnaw at the back of your mind.

Felix seems to notice your silence, though, and gives you a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, we’ll figure it out,” he says, as though he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. "I’m sure we’re all going to be friends."

You nod slowly, hoping he’s right. The truck rumbles on, carrying you further away from everything familiar, and the road ahead is as uncertain as the hearts on your necks.

The ride feels endless, the world outside the truck blurring past, but it doesn’t seem to matter. You’re all sitting in a strange, eerie silence that’s only broken by Felix’s endless chatter. The words tumble out of him like he’s trying to fill the quiet with something—anything.

“So, do you think the hearts are gonna get bigger? Or maybe change color? I heard that happened to a kid with a blue one!” Felix keeps asking, his voice bouncing off the walls of the truck as if the conversation might actually make the situation better. His eyes sparkle with curiosity, but the air feels thick, and the more he talks, the more you notice the tension in the vehicle.

The scientist driving doesn’t seem to appreciate Felix’s enthusiasm. You can feel the irritation in the way he grips the wheel, his knuckles turning white. Every few seconds, he glances in the rearview mirror at Felix, eyes narrowed. The passenger, another scientist, who’s sitting next to him with his arms crossed, keeps shooting irritated glances at Felix too. At first, they just exchange quiet words, but as the minutes stretch on, their frustration becomes more obvious.

"Would you please be quiet?" the passenger finally snaps, his tone sharp, like a crack of thunder after a long storm. "We’re trying to focus here."

Felix doesn’t seem to mind. He simply laughs, unfazed. "What’s the matter? Don’t want to talk about all the cool stuff we’re gonna find out? I think we’re all gonna get superpowers!" He grins as though the world is suddenly a much less scary place, and you can’t help but crack a small smile at his optimism, even if you’re not so sure about his theory.

But the scientists? They don’t seem amused. The driver keeps his eyes on the road, not acknowledging Felix, but you can see the tightness in his shoulders and the way he keeps glancing at the rearview mirror. The passenger, on the other hand, looks even more annoyed, his lips pressed in a thin line. "We don’t have time for 'superpowers,' kid," he mutters, his voice low and tense.

The air inside the truck feels colder now, more distant. The tension is thick enough that you can almost taste it, like the atmosphere is pressing down on your chest. Felix seems to catch on to the shift in mood and, after a moment of silence, gives a sheepish grin. "Okay, okay, I’ll be quiet," he says, but you can see that he’s not really sorry. The silence that follows feels even heavier.

The truck continues to rumble along the road, the only sounds now the hum of the engine and the soft babble of Lilly from the baby carrier next to you. You glance at the other kids in the back, hoping for some distraction, but they’re all staring out the windows, deep in their own thoughts.

Felix’s energy is a contrast to the others. You almost feel bad for him. He’s just trying to make things less scary, but the adults, with their sharp eyes and cold demeanor, are only making it feel worse.

Finally, after what feels like hours, the truck slows down. You glance up, and the scientists exchange a brief look before the one in the passenger seat speaks again, but this time, his voice has lost some of its edge. "Alright, we’re here," he says flatly. "Just stay calm, and we’ll get you all where you need to be."

The scientists helped you all out of the car, and without hesitation, you reached out and pulled Lily from the scientist’s arms. "I'll hold her," you said stubbornly. The baby carrier felt awkward in your arms, but you weren't about to lose your sister. You had her backpack slung over your shoulder, and your roller bag was right beside you. The scientist rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she muttered, clearly conceding. Feeling a sense of victory, you turned toward the building they were taking you to.

The building looms in front of you, towering over the street, a massive, cold structure made of white brick with no windows. It feels like a fortress, and a chill runs down your spine just looking at it. The sterile, lifeless design makes your stomach twist with unease, but you can’t let it show—not when your sister is in your arms. You won’t let anything happen to her.

Felix, oblivious to the weight of the situation, bounces ahead with his usual energy, practically skipping as he walks. "This place is huge!" he says, glancing up at the looming structure, his voice filled with excitement. "I bet they’ve got all sorts of cool science stuff inside! Maybe even a lab with a bunch of robots! That’d be awesome, right?"

Faith, walking beside him, gives him a side glance, her red curly hair swaying with the movement. "Yeah, sure," she mutters, not quite as enthusiastic but also unbothered. She seems calm, almost detached, as though she’s seen buildings like this before. Her green eyes are steady as she keeps her gaze ahead, ignoring the imposing building.

You don’t know what to think. You’re trying to stay calm, for Lily, but the unease still bubbles in your chest. The scientists walking beside you don’t seem to care much about the kids they’re escorting. They march ahead with their clipboards, looking like they’ve done this a thousand times. They ignore you and the others, focused only on getting everyone inside.

You clutch the baby carrier tighter, determined not to let go of Lilly. The weight of her in your arms feels heavier with each step, but you don’t mind. You need to protect her. This place might be terrifying, but you won’t let anything happen to her.

Felix glances back at you, noticing the determination in your steps. "Hey, you’re really strong, huh?" he says, grinning. "You’re gonna be the coolest big sister ever!" His words are harmless, meant to lighten the mood, but they do make you feel a little better.

Maybe this won’t be so bad, right?

You nod at Felix, forcing a smile, but your heart still races as you get closer to the entrance. You can see other kids ahead of you, lining up to go inside. Their faces range from nervous to indifferent, but none of them seem as terrified as you feel. And that only makes it worse—why are you the only one scared?

Finally, you reach the door. The entrance to the building is just as cold and impersonal as the rest of it, a large steel door with no welcoming signs, no comforting words. It feels more like a prison than a place of help, and your hands tremble just slightly as one of the scientists presses a button to open it. The door slides open with a mechanical hiss, revealing a long hallway, stark and white, with lights hanging overhead, flickering occasionally.

The scientist who had been leading you steps forward, motioning for everyone to follow. "This way," he says, his voice flat and detached. "We’re going to get you all settled in."

You glance at Faith, and she offers you a small, tight-lipped smile before stepping forward without hesitation. Felix, still full of energy, skips ahead as if this is just another adventure. But you? You hesitate for a moment longer, looking back at the world outside, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Then, with one last glance at the cold, empty outside world, you step inside, the door closing behind you with an ominous thud. The hallway stretches out before you, endless and sterile, as you follow the scientists and the other kids into the unknown.

The further you walk down the hallway, the heavier the air feels. Everything about the building feels wrong. The sterile white tiles reflect the harsh fluorescent lights above, and the rhythmic clicks of the adults’ shoes echo loudly against the walls. The only other sounds are the soft shuffles of children’s footsteps—no laughter, no talking, just the uneasy silence of confusion and fear.

You tighten your grip on Lily’s baby carrier. The cold straps dig into your fingers, but you don’t care. Holding her close feels like the only thing anchoring you in this strange, colorless place. Felix and Faith are just ahead of you, and their quietness unnerves you. Even Felix, who seemed so eager before, has stopped talking, his usual energy dimmed as the weight of the situation settles in.

When you reach the end of the hallway, the space opens into a large room filled with children. They’re huddled in small groups, each one surrounded by a scientist in a white lab coat. You can hear faint murmurs now as the scientists speak to the children, giving them instructions or asking them questions. Some groups are already moving, splitting off into separate lines—boys in one direction, girls in another.

You glance down at Lily, her tiny form squirming slightly in her carrier, blissfully unaware of the unease spreading through the room. You wish you could shield her from this, from whatever this place is and whatever they plan to do. Your stomach churns as you watch the groups being separated, kids being led down different hallways without so much as a glance back.

Felix turns around, his expression serious for once. "Hey," he whispers, stepping closer to you and Faith. "What do you think they’re gonna do with us? Why are they splitting us up?"

Faith shrugs, her green eyes scanning the room. "Probably testing or something," she says quietly, her voice steady but laced with unease. "Didn’t they say they needed to figure out what we can do? Guess this is how they start."

Her words make your heart race. Testing? What kind of testing? And why does it require separating boys and girls? You hold Lily even tighter, your fingers trembling slightly as the reality of the situation sets in.

A scientist approaches your group, clipboard in hand, their face blank and unreadable. "Girls, this way," they say, gesturing toward one of the hallways. Their eyes flicker to Lily, and their expression hardens. "You’ll need to hand the baby over to the nursery staff."

Your blood runs cold. "No," you blurt out, clutching the baby carrier as if your life depends on it. "I’ll keep her with me."

“No exceptions,” the scientist says firmly, her gaze like steel. Her tone leaves no room for argument, but her words cut through you like ice. “She needs to be properly cared for while we run tests. Please trust that we will see to her needs. She will be roomed next to you or in your room.”

You barely register her words before another scientist swoops in, gripping Lily’s carrier. They wrench it from your small hands with an efficiency that makes it clear they’ve done this a hundred times before. Panic surges through you, and you cry out, “Lily!”

Your voice cracks, desperate and small, but the scientist holding the carrier gives you a practiced, placating smile.

“It’s okay,” she says softly, her voice sweet but detached, like she’s trying to soothe a frightened animal. “She’ll be fine. She’s too young for the harsh tests.”

The word harsh sends a jolt of fear through you. Harsh tests? What did that mean? Your mind races with images of needles, machines, and cold, unfeeling rooms. The explanation does nothing to calm you. If anything, it only makes the situation feel worse, more suffocating.

You try to step forward, to grab for Lily again, but Faith pulls you back. “Wait,” she whispers, her voice low and urgent. “Don’t make it worse. We’ll figure it out later.”

Her words sting because you know she’s right. If you fight, it won’t help Lily—it might even make things harder for both of you. So you stay rooted in place, your fists clenched at your sides, your chest tight as the scientist carries your baby sister away. Lily babbles softly, oblivious to the tension in the air, and the sound only makes your heart ache more.

The main scientist—her face hard and unreadable—calls for your attention. “Girls, follow me,” she says sharply. Her voice echoes off the sterile walls, and you glance at Faith and the quiet girl from the car. Both of them look as uneasy as you feel, but they nod and fall in line behind the scientist.

“The boys will follow Bill over there,” she adds, gesturing to a tall man who’s already leading Felix and the others down a separate hallway. You catch a glimpse of Felix looking back, his mouth opening as if he wants to say something, but the crowd swallows him up before he can.

As you trail behind the scientist, she begins to speak again, her tone clipped and professional. “We’ll need to get you girls changed into proper outfits. No outside world contact, no distractions.” She glances over her shoulder, her eyes scanning each of you as if to ensure her words are sinking in. “The process will be smoother if you cooperate.”

Your chest tightens at her words. No outside world contact? What did that mean? How long were they planning to keep you here? And what did “proper outfits” entail? You glance at Faith, whose jaw is set in a hard line, and the other girl, who still hasn’t said a word. Her face is pale, but her eyes are sharp and focused, darting around the hallway as if searching for something—an exit, maybe, or just an explanation.

The group turns a corner, and the hallway seems to stretch endlessly ahead. You grip the straps of your backpack tightly, every instinct screaming at you to turn and run, to find Lily and get out of this place. But you force your feet to keep moving, following the others into the unknown.

The scientist pushes open the door, leading you into a stark, sterile room. Inside, a long rack of clothes lines the wall, each hanger holding an identical white outfit. The garments are all different sizes to accommodate the group, but every piece looks lifeless.

White tops, white shorts—completely devoid of color or personality. The shorts seem to stop just above the knees, and the short-sleeved tops offer no warmth, no comfort. They’re just... there.

You glance over at Faith, who is standing stiffly beside you. Her lips are pressed into a tight line, her eyes scanning the rack with clear displeasure. The quiet girl looks equally unimpressed, though her face remains passive, unreadable.

“Please put your old clothes in the hamper over there,” the scientist instructs, pointing to a metal door set into the wall. The words old clothes hit you harder than you expected. You look down at your current outfit, something your mom had helped you pick out that morning. It feels like the last piece of home you still have, and the thought of giving it up sends a pang of sadness through you.

Faith crosses her arms. “Why do we have to change?” she asks sharply, her tone challenging.

The scientist’s gaze flickers toward her, but she doesn’t seem fazed by the defiance. “Uniformity,” she says curtly. “For safety and efficiency. No arguments, please.”

Faith huffs under her breath but doesn’t push further. You hesitate, your hands hovering near the hem of your shirt. Your instinct is to argue, to hold on to this small piece of yourself for just a little longer, but you know it won’t matter. This place doesn’t seem to care about what you want.

Reluctantly, you glance at Faith again. She gives you a subtle nod, as if to say, We don’t have a choice. The quiet girl is already stepping toward the rack, her face unreadable as she picks out a set of clothes in her size. You follow suit, your fingers brushing against the cold, stiff fabric of the white garments. They feel sterile, lifeless, nothing like the clothes you left behind.

You turn toward the hamper, eyeing it warily as if dropping your clothes inside might make this all permanent. You grip your shirt tightly for a moment, then slowly pull it off and fold it as neatly as you can before placing it in the metal bin. It clangs softly as it hits the bottom, the sound echoing in the silent room.

Behind you, Faith mutters under her breath as she changes, “This is ridiculous.” Her voice carries a sharp edge, but there’s also a flicker of fear she’s trying to hide.

The scientist stands by the door, her clipboard in hand, watching you all closely. “Once you’re changed, line up,” she says, her tone impersonal and detached. “We’ll be moving on to the next phase shortly.”

You exchange a quick glance with Faith, both of you uneasy but resigned. The quiet girl finishes changing first, standing near the door with her arms crossed. You and Faith follow, your movements slow and reluctant, each step feeling heavier than the last.

As you stand in line, you can’t shake the feeling that with every instruction you follow, you’re giving up a little piece of yourself. This isn’t just about clothes—it’s about control. And even though you know you’re just a kid, you can’t help but wonder how much they’re planning to take from you.

As she leads your group into the next room, your eyes immediately land on Felix. Relief washes over you as a smile spreads across your face—he's okay. Your team is finally back together.

"Hey, guys!" Felix greets you and Faith, his voice cheerful. While the quiet boy naturally gravitates toward the equally quiet girl, the two seem content simply being themselves. Meanwhile, you, Felix, and Faith share a moment of reunion.

Before you can fully catch up, the lead woman clears her throat and addresses the group. "Alright, time for the actual tests," she announces, her tone matter-of-fact. Her gaze shifts to Felix. "Felix, you have an orange heart." She pulls out a tablet resembling the scanner from earlier. "You'll be with Bill over there—he's in charge of the orange hearts."

She gestures toward a man surrounded by a group of four or five kids, all chatting excitedly. Felix's face lights up, and without hesitation, he rushes off to join them.

"Faith, yellow heart," the woman continues, pointing to a tired-looking woman named Amy. "She handles the yellows." Faith hesitates for a brief moment, glancing at you before making her way to a group of five kids. They murmur quietly amongst themselves, not as animated as Felix's group but still sticking close together.

Finally, the lead woman turns to you. "Y/N," she says, pausing briefly. Her stiff expression softens into a peculiar smile. "You'll be with Crystal—she's in charge of the green hearts."

Your gaze shifts to Crystal, who stands with a group of kids. They seem kind and approachable, their demeanor gentler than the braver group Felix joined. Taking a deep breath, you step forward with soft, measured steps, making your way to her.

You take a hesitant step toward Crystal, your heart pounding in your chest. Her kind eyes meet yours, and she offers a warm smile, her demeanor a stark contrast to the coldness of the other scientists you’ve encountered so far. The children around her, all wearing the same stark white outfits as you, look at you with a mix of curiosity and quiet encouragement.

"Hello, Y/N," Crystal says softly, her voice gentle. "Welcome. We're going to take things slow, okay? There’s nothing to be afraid of here."

Her reassurance helps a little, but you still glance back toward Faith and Felix. Faith has already joined the group with Amy, her posture stiff but determined, while Felix is animatedly chatting with his new group, his excitement infectious. Seeing them there gives you a little courage, and you step fully into Crystal’s group, clutching your hands tightly in front of you.

One of the kids, a girl with light brown hair and glasses, smiles at you. "Hi," she says shyly. "I’m Mia. Don’t worry, Crystal’s nice."

Another boy, taller with curly hair, nods. "Yeah, she’s way better than some of the other scientists. They’re... stricter."

Crystal claps her hands gently to gather the group’s attention. "All right, everyone. We’re going to head to the testing area now. Stay together, and remember, it’s okay to ask questions if you’re unsure about anything."

The group begins to follow her down another long, sterile hallway. The sound of footsteps echoes in the space, and you notice the way Mia and the curly-haired boy, whose name you learn is Ben, seem to stick close to you as if trying to make you feel included.

As you walk, the anxiety bubbling in your chest starts to ease, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. You still don’t know what these "tests" will entail, but at least you’re not alone. Crystal’s calm presence and the friendly faces around you make you feel like, maybe, you can handle whatever’s coming next.

As you walk, you step into another room, your breath catching at the sight of it. The white walls aren’t smooth but textured, resembling bricks that give the space a cold, industrial feel. The room is massive, its high ceiling making it feel even more cavernous. Despite its size, it’s eerily empty. There are only about ten kids scattered around, their small figures looking out of place in the vastness. Among them, three stand out—they’re older, taller, and carry themselves differently.

“Who are they?” you whisper to Mia, keeping your voice low as if speaking too loudly might draw unwanted attention.

Mia glances at the group, her expression shifting as recognition dawns on her. “Oh! Them? They’re the older kids,” she replies, her voice just above a whisper. “The oldest one here is, like, fifteen? At least, the oldest who still have hearts.” She glances over her shoulder toward Crystal as she says this, her tone almost casual, but the words leave you unsettled.

Fifteen? The oldest who still have hearts? You try to process what that could mean, but before you can ask Mia to explain further, Crystal gestures for you to follow her. The group moves deeper into the room, your footsteps echoing against the hard floor. The air feels heavier here, charged with an unsettling energy. Ahead, you see a row of strange pods or chambers, their sleek designs standing in stark contrast to the brick-like walls.

Crystal stops in front of one of the chambers, turning to address the group. “Alright, everyone, let’s get started. Step into your assigned chamber,” she instructs, her tone bright and encouraging, like a teacher trying to make something unpleasant seem fun.

You hesitate as she gestures to one of the pods. It looks clinical, almost futuristic, with smooth metallic walls and a faint blue glow coming from within. The sight makes your stomach churn, but Crystal’s expectant gaze leaves no room for argument. Slowly, you step inside, the cool air of the chamber brushing against your skin. The space is cramped, the walls close enough that you feel like they’re closing in on you. You glance around nervously, trying to find some clue as to what’s about to happen.

Crystal’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “You’ll feel a slight sting, but it’s how we see what you can do, hun,” she says with a warm smile. Her tone is so sweet and motherly that it almost calms you—almost. Her words, however, do the opposite. A sting? See what you can do? Panic wells up in your chest, and you open your mouth to protest, but she’s already pulling the door shut.

“Wait—” you start, but it’s too late. The door closes with a soft click, sealing you inside.

For a moment, there’s silence, save for the faint hum of machines all around you. The sound is rhythmic, almost soothing, but it only makes your unease grow. You press your hands against the smooth walls, searching for any way to open the door, but there’s nothing. You’re trapped.

A faint glow begins to fill the chamber, and the hum grows louder, almost like it’s coming from inside your own head. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat a desperate reminder of how vulnerable you are. You try to focus, to stay calm, but the sensation of being watched, of being tested, is impossible to ignore.

Your head begins to throb, a dull ache building into something sharper with each passing moment. You wince, squeezing your eyes shut as the pain intensifies. Suddenly, a sharp spark flickers inside you, jolting through your body.

“Ow!” you yelp, your voice breaking the heavy silence around you. Your eyes snap open, blinking against the haze of pain. When had you closed them?

Your surroundings blur for a moment, but you can just make out the glowing chamber enclosing you. The eerie light reflects off the sterile walls, and for a fleeting second, you wonder if the scientists are watching from somewhere beyond. Then, another jolt cuts through your thoughts—a spark that’s hotter, fiercer this time.

It burns. Not like a sting or a scrape, but a deep, searing pain that makes your breath hitch. Your small hands grip the edges of the chair instinctively, knuckles white, as you bite back a scream. But you can’t hold it in for long.

“Ah!” The cry escapes your lips, raw and uncontrollable. The sparks come faster now, waves of agony rolling over you. It feels as if something inside you is being pulled, twisted, and reshaped. Your chest tightens, and tears stream down your cheeks as the pain consumes you.

You gasp, shuddering with each jolt. When will it stop? The thought loops in your mind, desperate and pleading. You want to claw your way out of the chamber, to make it all end. But the glowing light around you pulses, unrelenting, as if feeding off your pain.

What sucks the most is that the pain is coming from inside you. It’s like something deep within you is on fire, but you can’t see anything that’s causing it from the outside. The burning is so intense, it feels like it's tearing you apart from the inside out. What is happening? Why does it hurt so much?

You take deep, sharp breaths, trying to focus on anything other than the searing agony. But it’s impossible to ignore.

Then, through the haze of pain, you notice something. A soft, glowing green light begins to emit around you, barely visible at first, like a faint aura. Your body is drenched in sweat as you try to focus through the burning sensation. You can’t figure out where the glow is coming from—it's not coming from the chamber around you. The light is too bright, too unnatural for it to be coming from anywhere outside.

You search the room desperately, your eyes darting around, scanning for the source of the light. It’s nowhere. The pain intensifies, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, but you can’t look away from the glow. You turn your gaze inward, a small instinct telling you to focus on yourself, and that’s when you see it.

The glow is coming from you.

It’s emanating from your skin, faint at first, but growing stronger with each surge of pain. The light is green, pulsating like it’s tied to the rhythm of your heartbeat. It’s inside you. You’re glowing.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. What’s happening to you? Why is it happening? And how can something this painful be connected to that strange green light inside your body? It feels as if your insides are burning, and yet, at the same time, there’s a weird sort of warmth, like the light itself is trying to soothe the ache.

But it doesn't. It doesn’t stop the burning. It doesn’t make it easier. It just... makes it worse.

As the green light continues to pulse around you, trying in vain to soothe the intense pain, a new sensation begins to emerge. A sharp, stinging feeling starts at the back of your mouth, spreading quickly to your tongue. It burns, as if fire is crawling across the surface of your tongue, each second worse than the last.

When will this end?

You can't take it anymore. Your whole body aches, every part of you screaming for release. The pain is overwhelming, drowning out everything else. You try to steady your breath, but every inhalation feels like you’re suffocating under the weight of it. How much longer can you endure this?

Just when you feel like you can't hold on any longer, the machine finally begins to slow. The green light fades, the pressure in the chamber lessens. You can feel the tightness in your chest loosen ever so slightly. The sharp stinging in your mouth begins to dull.

It doesn’t stop entirely, but at least it’s not increasing. The machine powers down, and the room falls eerily quiet, leaving you in a space where only the sound of your shallow breathing fills the air.

Your body has nothing left to give. You collapse to the ground, utterly drained, unable to do anything but lie there, the weight of the experience still lingering. Sweat clings to your skin, your clothes damp and heavy. Your muscles ache from the tension, and even the smallest movement feels like a struggle.

You made it through...

But it doesn't feel like relief. The exhaustion is suffocating. All you want to do is close your eyes, to stop feeling anything, but you’re not sure if you even can. All you can focus on is the intense burn lingering in your mouth, the faint green glow still lingering around the edges of your vision.

Crystal’s door swings open, and she steps in, her smile too wide, too bright for the moment. "You did great! Come on, my sweet child, next test!"

More tests?

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Your body feels like lead, heavy and drained from everything you've just been through. You want to scream, to ask why you’re being treated like this, but your strength is gone. You’re too tired to form the words properly.

The pain from earlier still lingers, and you can barely keep your eyes open.

Your feet feel like they’re dragging on the floor as you grip the edge of the chamber, trying to pull yourself up. But it’s like every movement takes all of your energy. You can hardly stand, and each step feels like it’s costing you more than you can give.
Then you see it—your heart drops into your stomach.

Mia.

Lying lifeless just outside the chamber. Her eyes are empty, a pale, lifeless white, and her collar? Her heart is gone.

You gasp and stagger forward, crying out as you fall to your knees. The sight of her, her body so still, her heart absent, sends a cold shiver down your spine. Your hands tremble as you try to comprehend what you’re seeing. What happened to her? What did they do to her?

Before you can even process it, a man appears and lifts her lifeless body with an eerie lack of care, tossing it over his shoulder like a discarded rag. Your heart races, panic setting in.

What happened to her? What did they do?

Crystal’s voice fills the air again, too calm, too indifferent. “Come on, Y/N. Next test.”

You can barely breathe, your whole body shaking as you stutter, “What about Mia?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s full of fear, full of desperation. Crystal follows your gaze to where Mia’s body is being carried away, her smile faltering only for a moment. When she speaks again, it’s as if she’s talking about something so trivial.

“Oh, her? She failed the test. Couldn’t control her power, and it got out of hand.”

Failed the test?

The words barely make sense in your head. Couldn’t control her power? And now she’s—she’s gone?

You want to scream. You want to run. But your body won’t let you. You can barely stand, let alone escape. You feel the weight of your exhaustion dragging you down again, threatening to pull you under.

But you can’t look away. You can’t stop thinking about what happened to Mia—what will happen to you if you don’t play along. You just want to know if you’ll make it out of here in one piece, but the truth, the reality of this place, is starting to settle in. And it’s terrifying.

Chapter Text

With unsteady steps, you follow after Crystal, your heart pounding and your body still shaking from everything you've just witnessed. Mia’s lifeless body is burned into your mind, but Crystal’s smile is the same—unnervingly bright, almost like she’s oblivious to the horror you’ve just gone through. You feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you, each breath heavy in your chest.

As you walk, your eyes drift to Ben—the boy who you saw earlier with Mia. He doesn’t look nearly as shaken as you feel, but there’s something in his eyes that’s hard to place. He’s standing there, looking calmer than anyone should in a place like this.
“You said she was kind,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Ben glances over at you, his expression softening for a moment. He gives a small, reluctant nod. “She is,” he says quietly. “She gives us a minute to mourn our friends’ deaths.”

Your heart stutters in your chest at his words, and you feel your stomach twist. Deaths? The way he said it, so casually—it sends a chill through you. You don’t even know what’s worse: the fact that he seems so matter-of-fact about it, or the realization that you’re probably next in line to be a "test subject" like Mia.

Ben’s gaze shifts slightly, and he lowers his voice even more. “The other scientists... they get angry when we cry for them,” he adds, almost as if he’s sharing a secret. His tone is laced with a quiet bitterness, a hint of something broken.

You stare at him, not sure how to process what you’ve just heard. They get angry? The words echo in your head, sending a wave of nausea through you. It’s all starting to feel even more wrong than it already did.

You glance at Crystal, who’s still walking ahead, her smile unwavering as if none of this affects her. You want to shout, ask her about what happened to Mia, demand answers. But you know better than to speak out of turn. What if you end up like Mia because of it?

As you continue to follow them down the sterile hallways, it feels like the walls are closing in around you, each step heavier than the last. You’re not just walking anymore—you’re being herded. And all the while, the weight of your reality presses down harder. You’re not sure how much longer you can hold on.

The room Crystal leads you into is unsettling. The walls are stark and white, but the floor... the floor is covered in dirt. It’s strange, almost out of place, and yet it feels like it’s meant to be a test.

"Okay! Since you all have green hearts, you’re associated with earth, animals, and healing! How fun!" Crystal says, her voice overly cheerful, but her words sound hollow. There's something off about the way she speaks, like she’s not fully present in the moment.

The other kids are standing there, hesitant, eyes darting nervously around as Crystal continues, "Now that we’ve awakened your powers with the last test, try them out on the dirt in front of us! Try and make grass grow, or even a flower!" Her eyes settle on you, and for some reason, you feel like you're being singled out.

You glance around at the other kids. They look just as confused as you. Their faces are tense as they try to concentrate, placing their hands on the dirt, trying to make something happen. But nothing seems to work. You can feel the panic rising in your chest.

Why are they doing this? Where’s Lily? What’s happening to her? What’s happening to you?

You sit down in the dirt, not sure what else to do, and close your eyes. The weight of it all is suffocating. Please, just let me see my family again. You whisper in your mind, but all that fills the air is silence.

When you open your eyes again, Crystal is still watching you. Her gaze is sharp, almost predatory, like she’s waiting for something. Her unblinking stare makes you uncomfortable, but you can’t let it distract you. You can’t afford to fail. You place your hands on the dirt in front of you, focusing all your intent into the earth below. You mutter softly, your voice barely a whisper, "Please grow."

Your heart pounds, but you try to calm yourself. You need to do this right. You need to show them you have control. You want to see your family. You want to see Lily.

The air around you seems to hum with energy. Suddenly, you feel it—a sharp, burning sensation in your mouth again, like the energy inside you is trying to force its way out. You wince, but you keep your focus on the dirt. “Grow.”

And then, as if the earth itself has heard your plea, the ground in front of you begins to stir. Tiny sprouts break through the soil, their green tips pushing their way up to the surface. It doesn’t stop there—the flowers start to bloom. A field of delicate, vibrant flowers unfurls at your touch, covering the dirt with color.

You gasp, overwhelmed by what you’ve done. The pain in your mouth subsides, but the exhaustion in your body is overwhelming. You lean back against the dirt, staring at the beautiful field you created, breathless and in awe.

Crystal’s voice cuts through your daze. "Well, look at that! You did it! Good job, Y/N."

But you don’t hear the praise. All you hear is the buzzing in your ears, the dizziness that’s sweeping over you. You’ve done what they asked, but at what cost? You glance around at the other kids, who are still struggling, some looking frustrated, others on the verge of tears. You feel a strange sense of guilt rise up in you. Why did it work for you and not for them?

Before you can fully process what’s happening, you notice that some of the other kids have managed to make small progress. A few managed to grow one flower or a small patch of grass, but none of them came close to the field of flowers you just created. You feel a mix of relief and confusion—relief that you didn’t completely fail, but confusion over how it all came so easily to you when it seemed so hard for everyone else.

The pain in your mouth flares up again, and more specifically, your tongue. It’s like the sharp burn has settled there, and every movement of your mouth feels like it’s being seared. You try to focus, but it’s getting harder with every passing second. You want to ask someone—Crystal, one of the other kids—but it’s like the pain is clouding your thoughts, turning everything fuzzy.

Crystal doesn’t wait for you to react or think about the strange feeling in your mouth. She leads the group through another door into a new room. The atmosphere is the same as the last—cold, sterile, and unnervingly quiet, with no windows, just white walls and floors that seem to stretch on forever. You feel that same uneasy sensation creeping up your spine as you follow her.

The room is just as empty as the others, with sterile walls and a sense of cold that seeps into your bones. Crystal’s voice rings through the silence, cheerful but somehow more unnerving this time. “Alright! You’re going to be given a partner to help heal! Do your best to heal them! After all, they’re in a lot of pain! You want to help them, right?”

The words make your stomach twist with anxiety. You have to help. It’s the only thing that matters. But when you see the kids who need healing, it’s a shock to your system. They’re all kids like you, but their hearts are glowing red, and their bodies are covered in dark, bleeding wounds. The sight is enough to make your breath catch in your throat. You feel a rush of panic, a gut-wrenching fear of failure. These kids need you.

Before you can even react, an adult grabs your hand and leads you toward one of the injured kids. You’re almost too stunned to move, the blood pooling around his eyes like something out of a nightmare. His breath is heavy, labored, like he’s struggling to even stay awake. You see the blood dripping down his face, the streaks of red in his hair. He’s in agony, and you can feel it in the pit of your stomach.

“If you don’t heal him, he could go blind. So no pressure,” the adult’s voice is almost too calm for the situation, and it only makes you panic more.

You gasp, feeling a rush of helplessness. How can you fix this? You barely know how your powers work, let alone how to heal someone else. But you have to try. You have to.

You press your small hands to the boy’s face, feeling the blood and sweat slick against your palms. His skin is warm, flushed with feverish heat. You close your eyes, trying to focus. Please, please work. I can’t let him suffer. You press harder, trying to tap into whatever power you have left.

But nothing happens. The magic that you used earlier feels like it’s not there. You feel empty, like you’ve exhausted everything inside you. Where is it? You panic, your breath hitching in your chest.

“Please!” You whisper, the words escaping before you even realize you’re saying them. “Heal…”

And just like that, it happens.

A burning sensation flares up again in your mouth, but this time, it’s different. The pain of it is sharp, but it’s not as overwhelming as before. You feel the green light pulse out from you, your hands glowing with the same intensity as the field of flowers from earlier. It’s as though your body knows what to do now. The intent behind your words and your actions is stronger than before—desperate, fierce, and full of determination.

Your hands burn with the magic, the power flowing through you in waves. You can feel it working, like your touch is stitching the boy’s pain back together. The blood on your hands slowly starts to fade, and his breathing steadies. His body goes from tense to relaxed as the healing begins. His skin cools, and the deep, pained breaths ease into a soft, rhythmic inhale.

The boy’s eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you think you’ve done it. You’ve healed him. But then the boy’s gaze shifts. His pupils dilate in confusion, but the blood from his eyes has stopped, and the skin around them is healing. He blinks, clearly startled but no longer in pain. The terror in his face fades as he looks up at you, confused but grateful.

You feel yourself sway, dizzy from the effort, but you’re breathing easier now. You’ve helped him. You did it. It’s not perfect, but you saved him from going blind.

But you’re still shaking, your hands trembling from the power, and the green glow that surrounded you starts to dim. The weight of it all hits you—what kind of tests are these? Why do they push you like this? And more importantly… What else do they want you to do?

The adult watches you closely, their expression unreadable. “Well done,” they say, but it’s as hollow as everything else here.

Crystal, standing nearby, claps her hands with a smile that feels too wide. “Great job! You’re learning quickly. Keep it up, Y/N! There’s more to come!”

But you don’t want more. You just want to see your family. You want to know if Lily’s safe. You want out of this place, away from the tests, away from the pain.

You look at the boy, who’s now breathing steadily, but your mind keeps drifting back to the others—those kids with the red hearts, the ones who are hurting just like he was. They’re all trapped here, just like you.

And you don’t know how much more you can take.

Crystal’s voice slices through the haze in your mind, her tone as chipper as ever. “Okay, kids!” she calls, her smile wide and unbothered by the horror of the room. “It’s lunchtime! Let’s all head to the mess hall. Anyone who hasn’t been healed yet will stay behind until they are.”

You whip your head around in alarm, scanning the room frantically. Who hasn’t been healed?

That’s when you see them—a trembling child, their small body hunched over as they cry silently. They’re desperately trying to heal the kid in front of them, a boy clutching his stomach. Blood pours through his fingers, staining the floor beneath him. His teeth are clamped down on his lip, muffling the sounds of his pain, but you can see the strain in his face.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you press a trembling hand to your mouth, trying to hold back a sob. It’s too much. The blood, the pain, the desperation—it’s overwhelming. Why aren’t they stopping this?

Before you can do anything, you feel a tug on your arm. Ben, the boy from earlier, grabs your hand firmly and starts leading you toward the door. His grip is steady, but his face is pale. “Don’t look,” he mutters under his breath. “It’ll only hurt you more. They’ll be okay.”

You stumble after him, your heart pounding in your chest. “What?” you whisper, your voice shaking. You glance at him, your eyes wide with disbelief. He looks back at you briefly, his face a mix of exhaustion and grim acceptance.

“They’ll be fine,” he repeats, but his words sound hollow, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. His grip tightens on your hand, guiding you firmly out of the room. “Just… don’t think about it.”

You stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “How can you say that?” you hiss, your voice cracking. “They’re bleeding—they’re dying! And we’re just supposed to leave them?”

Ben doesn’t respond immediately. His lips press into a thin line, and his gaze flickers toward the floor as he keeps walking. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and tense. “Because if you stay, you’ll only get hurt. And you can’t help anyone if you’re broken too.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You glance back over your shoulder one last time before the door closes behind you, the image of the crying child and the injured boy burned into your mind. Their pained faces linger even as Ben pulls you further down the hall.

You don’t know what’s worse—the fact that this is happening or the fact that no one seems to care enough to stop it.

As you step into the lunchroom, your eyes immediately catch sight of familiar faces—Felix and Faith. Relief floods through you, but it’s short-lived. When your gaze meets Faith’s, your heart skips a beat. Her eyes narrow, her expression hard and angry. You quickly look away, unsure of what you’ve done to upset her.

Crystal’s cheerful voice snaps you back to the present. “Okay, kids! Go get your lunch and sit wherever you’d like!” She gestures toward the rows of tables and the counters where trays of food are being handed out. As she explains the rules, your eyes wander around the room.

Your stomach twists—not from hunger, but from what you see. Lining the walls are men in heavy tactical suits, armed to the teeth. Guns hang at their sides, ready to be used at a moment’s notice. They look like they’ve stepped right out of an action movie, and their cold, unyielding presence sends a shiver down your spine. Why are they here? Are they expecting something to happen?

A sharp growl from your stomach pulls your focus back to the task at hand. You can’t think about the guards now—not with your hunger gnawing at you. You rush toward the line, eager to see what’s being served.

When you reach the counter, your enthusiasm falters. The food looks... unappetizing, to say the least. A bland, colorless mush sits in the middle of each tray, its texture reminiscent of wet mashed potatoes. You grimace. Seriously? This is what they’re feeding us?

But then you see it—a single beacon of hope among the gloom. A pudding cup. A real pudding cup! You snatch it up like it’s a treasure, the small victory making you feel slightly better about the grim meal.

Balancing your tray, you scan the room and spot Felix and Faith sitting together at a table. Without hesitation, you make your way toward them, your heart pounding in anticipation. What happened to them? you wonder as you take the empty seat across from them.

Felix greets you with a small, tired smile. His usually vibrant energy seems dimmed, his shoulders slumped and his face pale. Faith, on the other hand, doesn’t say a word. Her eyes bore into you, sharp and accusing, and you can feel the weight of her anger pressing down on you.

You swallow hard, unsure of what to say. “Hey,” you start softly, looking between the two of them. “Are you guys okay?”

Felix shrugs, poking at his mush with a fork. “Define ‘okay,’” he mutters, his tone flat.

Faith scoffs, shoving her tray away in frustration. “It’s horrible! So unjust! This whole place is like… like…” She hunches closer to you and Felix, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s like they’re gearing us up for war or something.”

Felix’s expression darkens, his usually carefree demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness. He nods slowly. “I agree. What they had me do today… it didn’t feel like just figuring out powers.”

You hesitate for a moment, your voice trembling as you speak. “I saw a girl… die.” The words barely make it out, cracking as they do. Faith and Felix both snap their attention to you, their eyes wide with horror.

“Same here,” Felix says grimly. “I saw a kid… get eaten up by his own flames.” He swallows hard, the memory visibly haunting him. “Apparently, that’s what orange hearts do. We’re supposed to be brave or something and control fire.”

Faith nods solemnly. “I saw it too. A girl got electrocuted because she couldn’t keep her powers in check. They said yellow hearts are about justice or something—controlling light and electricity. But justice?” She lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “This whole thing is stupid.”

You glance down at your hands. Your fingers curl slightly, the reality of everything sinking in. “Wait… so the color of the heart is why we have different powers?” you ask, your voice quiet but full of realization.

Felix leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Yeah, seems like it. Each color comes with a set of traits and powers. Orange for fire, yellow for electricity… green for… what? Earth and healing?” He looks at you questioningly.

You nod, still processing. “Yeah. Crystal said something about earth, animals, and healing. But… why does any of this matter? Why us?”

Faith slams her hands on the table, startling both of you. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” she snaps. “Why us? Why are we here, being forced to do this? And why does everyone act like it’s normal when kids are dying?!” Her voice rises, catching the attention of a few guards stationed near the walls.

“Faith, keep it down,” Felix warns, glancing nervously at the armed men. “They’re already watching us like hawks.”

Faith huffs, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat. “I don’t care. They can’t keep us in the dark forever. We need answers.”

You bite your lip, glancing nervously at the guards before looking back at your friends. “If they’re preparing us for something… shouldn’t we figure out what? Maybe it’ll help us survive.”

Felix and Faith exchange a look before nodding in agreement. “Fine,” Faith says, her voice firm. “But if we’re going to figure this out, we need to stick together. No more secrets, no more going along with their games.”

Felix smiles faintly, his usual spark returning for just a moment. “Team rebellion, huh? I can get behind that.”

You manage a weak smile, but the weight of everything still presses down on you. As the three of you sit in uneasy solidarity, you can’t help but wonder if sticking together will be enough to make it out of this place alive.

"Maybe," Felix muttered, pausing as the fire in his eyes sparked to life. “Maybe we should escape.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at him, panic overtaking you. “Escape?” you whispered, your voice trembling. But Faith didn’t share your fear. Instead, her face lit up with determination.

“That sounds great,” she said eagerly. “We could get word out. Expose this place for what it is!”

“No!” you blurted out, cutting her off. Your voice wavered, but there was no mistaking the desperation in it. “I can’t just leave! They have my sister! What if they… what if they do something to her?”

Your hands clenched tightly as you thought about Lily. You couldn’t abandon her, not to this. You had to protect her.

Felix blinked, his expression softening. “Shit,” he muttered. “You have a sister in here? How old?”

“She’s three,” you said quietly, swallowing hard. “She can barely walk, and she can’t talk yet. If we’re going to plan something, we can’t leave her behind. Maybe we wait until she’s older—at least old enough to run.”

You bit your lip, your chest tightening at the thought of delaying freedom. But leaving her behind wasn’t an option. Felix and Faith exchanged a glance, their faces grim.

“Fine,” Faith said after a moment, nodding slowly. “That makes sense. We’ll wait until she’s, what… nine? She can run by then.”

Felix nodded in agreement, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation. “Yeah, nine sounds about right. Gives us time to plan, too.”

You exhaled shakily, your gaze dropping to your hands. It was a relief to know they wouldn’t push you to leave Lily behind, but the weight of waiting—of enduring this place for six more years—settled heavily on your chest.

“Thank you,” you murmured, glancing between them. “For understanding.”

Faith reached over and gave your hand a quick squeeze. “We’re in this together,” she said firmly. “We’ll get her out. We’ll get all of us out.”

Felix leaned back in his seat, a small, determined smile playing on his lips. “And when we do,” he said, his voice low but resolute, “they’re going to regret ever messing with us.”

"Well," Faith sighed, leaning back in her seat as her gaze flicked to the guards lining the walls of the lunchroom. She subtly gestured toward them with a tilt of her head, careful not to draw attention. "If we’re here for, what..." She paused, counting silently on her fingers. "Six years? We should focus on getting stronger. That way, when the time comes, we can take these guys on."

You nodded, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. Her words made sense, but the thought of enduring this place for so long felt suffocating. Across from you, Felix let out a heavy sigh.

"I hate to agree with you," he muttered, his tone laced with frustration. "Especially with those damn tests. Who knows what they’ll make us do next?"

His head fell forward onto the table with a dull thud, and you could feel the same exhaustion weighing on you. The image of the guards—their blank, armored stares and fingers lingering too close to their weapons—burned in your mind.

"We just have to push through," you whispered, your voice barely audible. It was more to reassure yourself than them.

Faith gave a small, determined nod. "Exactly. But not just survive—we need to learn. Pay attention to everything they’re teaching us. Not because we want to help them," she said, her voice firm, "but because we’ll use it against them. Every test, every lesson... it’s all just training for when we’re free."

Felix glanced up from the table, his eyes shadowed but sharp. "Training," he echoed, a small spark of resolve breaking through his weariness. "Yeah... I guess if we’re stuck here, we might as well use it to our advantage."

The three of you fell into a tense silence, each lost in your own thoughts. The guards’ presence loomed like a shadow over the room, a constant reminder of the stakes. But beneath the fear and exhaustion, a flicker of hope began to take root. If you were going to survive this place, you’d do it on your terms. And when the time came, you wouldn’t just escape. You’d make sure no one else would ever have to endure this nightmare again.

Suddenly, a loud bell echoed through the lunchroom, reverberating off the cold, sterile walls. The chatter among the kids quieted as a group of counselor scientists entered, their presence commanding instant attention. One of the men, his voice sharp and clipped, called out, "Alright, kids, find the adult you were assigned to!"

The room shifted into motion, kids standing and nervously glancing around for their respective adults. You pushed yourself to your feet, your heart thumping in your chest.

"Alright, team," Felix said as he stood. He straightened his shoulders, his fiery resolve shining through his exhaustion. "We’ve got this. Stay strong." With that, he strode off, his expression firm.

Faith gave you a determined nod. "Remember, we’re in this together. Don’t let them see fear." Her words struck a chord, and you forced a small, shaky smile in return.

"Right," you murmured, though your nerves were evident. Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the table before making your way through the crowd.

The sight of Crystal waiting for you was both a relief and a fresh wave of anxiety. Her ever-present smile seemed brighter, too bright, almost forced. It didn’t help to soothe the unease settling in your gut.

As you approached her, she clapped her hands together enthusiastically. "Ah, my sweet child! Ready for what’s next? I have such high hopes for you!"

Her tone was cheerful, but the words carried an unsettling weight. You nodded hesitantly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. What could they possibly throw at you next?

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself. Whatever came, you had to stay strong—for yourself, for Faith and Felix, and most importantly, for your sister.

Crystal’s voice carried a chipper tone that felt more like a sinister echo in the sterile hallway. "This will be the last test of the day since it will most likely take the longest," she explained, leading your small group onward. "You’ll be talking to animals! Isn’t that fun?"

She practically beamed with enthusiasm, but you frowned, the words not quite registering. Talking to animals? Like cats and dogs? How does that even work? It sounded ridiculous, but something told you this wasn’t going to be anything ordinary.

The hallway ended at a large room with metal walls and a dirt-covered floor. Crystal made sure everyone was inside before gesturing toward a thick, heavy window on one side of the room. "We’ll be observing from there," she said, her smile unwavering. "We’ll take notes on your progress, so have fun!"

The metal door slammed shut behind her, her figure disappearing through the window. Your heart sank. You were locked in.

The room was eerily quiet, save for the shuffling of the other kids. For a moment, you all just stood there, unsure of what to expect. Then, with a sharp metallic hiss, doors on either side of the room began to open. Your breath caught as a screen flickered to life above the doors.

Stage One: Bunnies.

A few gasps escaped from the group, but you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Bunnies? Okay, that doesn’t sound too bad. The fluffy creatures hopped into the room, their tiny noses twitching as they surveyed their new environment.

You frowned again, glancing at the screen. Test one? How many stages are there?

The other kids began to move, some kneeling cautiously as if the rabbits might bolt. Your thoughts raced. Was the goal to communicate with them? To control them? To calm them?

Despite the innocent appearance of the animals, a nagging sense of unease settled in your stomach. If this was just the first stage, what horrors might follow?

With hesitation, you crouch down in front of the bunny. Its soft white fur was dappled with black spots, making it look oddly familiar yet entirely unique. “Uh… hi,” you say awkwardly, your voice barely above a whisper. The bunny looks up at you with curious eyes and hops a little closer, but it doesn’t respond. It doesn’t speak, and you doubt it even understands you.

How am I supposed to talk to this thing? you wonder, frustrated. You try again, forcing a more cheerful tone. “Hi, Mr. Bunny. My name’s Y/N. What’s yours?”

Nothing. Just the quiet rustle of grass as the bunny sniffs at your shoe. You frown, your mind racing. Ugh, how do you do it again? You think back, trying to remember. The one thing that’s different is…? It hits you: Touching it doesn’t seem to be enough. You want to talk to it, but… is it the burning?

Your mouth isn’t burning now, so maybe that’s the key. Sitting cross-legged in the dirt, you close your eyes, frustration giving way to determination. The bunny nudges against your leg, its soft fur brushing against you as it settles in, completely at ease. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself.

In and out. Focus. Feel the warmth. And there it is, a flicker of heat inside you. You grasp at it mentally, willing it to flow upward, toward your mouth. You push the feeling there, imagining it as vividly as you can. To your surprise, it works.

A strange sensation spreads across your tongue—not painful, but odd, like the fizz of pop rocks crackling gently. You take another deep breath, gathering your courage, and ask, “What’s your name?”

This time, you hear it—a voice, soft and calm. “People call me Cow. Apparently, I resemble one.”

Your eyes snap open, wide with shock. You glance around, heart racing. “Who said that?” you blurt out, looking wildly for the source. But there’s no one else around. Just you and the bunny. And it’s staring right at you.

You freeze, your heart pounding as you frantically glance around the room. Who said that? The voice was soft and calm, almost amused, but it didn’t sound like any of the kids nearby.

Your eyes lock onto the bunny curled against your leg. Its black-and-white fur stood out starkly against the dirt, and it stared up at you with a calm, knowing gaze.

"Uh... was that you?" you whisper, half afraid of the answer.

The bunny’s nose twitches as the voice comes again, clearer this time. "Who else would it be? You’re the one talking to me."

Your jaw drops, and for a moment, you just gape at the small creature. It worked. It actually worked.

"You’re... Cow?" you manage, your voice trembling slightly as you process the absurdity of what’s happening.

"That’s what the humans call me," the bunny replies with a slight tilt of its head. "It’s silly, but I suppose it fits. Who are you?"

"I... I’m Y/N," you stammer. "I didn’t think this would actually work. I mean, talking to a bunny? This is insane."

Cow chuckles—or at least, you think it’s a chuckle. It’s a strange sound, soft and quick. "You’re new at this, aren’t you? Don’t worry. It gets easier with practice. What do they want you to do with us?"

You blink, your initial excitement fading as the weight of the question sinks in. What do they want you to do? This wasn’t just some magical discovery or a fun test. There was always a purpose, always an angle with these people.

"I... I don’t know," you admit quietly, glancing toward the observation window. The scientists and Crystal were watching intently, their silhouettes just visible through the thick glass. "They didn’t tell us much."

Cow’s ears twitch, and his gaze sharpens. "Be careful, Y/N. They never do anything without a reason. And their reasons? They’re never good."

A shiver runs down your spine as you look back at the bunny.

"In fact, I’ve heard some really big predators back there," Cow says, his small head turning toward the doors. "We were kept in cages, so I’m not sure what’s back there, but I have excellent hearing. There are things back there that hunt us."

You feel your stomach drop. Wolves? You wonder, trying to process the possibility.

Cow continues, "And they had things that made huge thudding noises in their cages. Their deep roars were loud and full of anger."

Your mind goes blank for a moment. A deep roar... could he mean bears?

Your stomach churns as you try to process Cow's words. The idea of something that hunts bunnies—something that roars—clings to your mind like a heavy weight. The heavy thuds, the deep, angry roars... you can’t shake the thought of it.

"Wolves? Bears?" you whisper, barely able to form the words, your voice trembling with the fear you can’t hide.

Cow’s ears perk up as his little head tilts. "I don’t know what those are, but they sound scary. Whatever’s back there is scarier."

You feel a lump form in your throat. The idea of something that could frighten even Cow sends an icy chill through your bones. You glance back at the metal doors where the predators came from, your mind spinning with terrifying possibilities.

Swallowing hard, you force yourself to focus. You need to stay calm. But it’s hard. Crystal’s cheerful voice echoes in your mind, almost mocking the weight of the situation. "It’ll take the longest."

As if those words alone weren't enough to send a shiver through your spine. What else does Crystal have planned for you all? What else is hidden behind these walls?

The loud beep cuts through the room, startling you and the bunny in front of you. It jerks back, then quickly turns its small body toward you. "Guess we gotta go. Bye, Y/N, and good luck." With that, it hops back toward the door it came from, disappearing into the darkness beyond.

The speakers crackle to life, and Crystal's voice rings out, cheerful as ever. "Good job, class! You were all able to talk to the bunnies! Now, for the next test..."

The screen flickers, and the words "Stage Two: Dogs" appear in bold letters. A sense of relief washes over you for a brief moment. Dogs. You know dogs. They're not as terrifying as what Cow described. Maybe this will be easier, maybe more familiar.

Wait, could this be what Cow meant? Dogs could hunt bunnies... but could they really be as dangerous as what Cow described? You try to push the worry aside, focusing on the task at hand. This is your chance to prove yourself, to get through this next stage, maybe even get closer to figuring out what’s really going on here. You take a deep breath, hoping the dogs won’t be anything like the predators Cow described.

The rounds continued, each one more predictable than the last—dogs, then cats, then birds, and finally squirrels. Nothing too scary, at least not yet. But then came Stage Five.

Stage Five: Wolves.

Your heart stopped. Weren’t those dangerous?

The metal doors creaked open, and out emerged the wolves. Their ears and heads were low, scanning their surroundings with a predatory calm. Drool dripped from their growling muzzles as they prowled forward, their eyes locked on anything in their path.
Oh my god, I’m going to die, was the first thought that crashed into your mind.

Your heart races as the metal doors open with a heavy, grinding sound. You don’t know why, but you’re sure that the wolves that step out are nothing like the animals you’ve encountered so far. Their eyes gleam with predatory hunger, and their thick,
muscular bodies ripple with tension as they size up the room. Drool drips from their growling muzzles, and the air around them seems to grow colder, charged with their low growls.

Oh my god, I’m going to die.

The thought flashes through your mind like a jolt of electricity. These aren’t just wolves—they’re predators, built to hunt and take down anything in their path. Your body stiffens, fear gripping your throat. You can feel their eyes on you, like they’re already calculating how to bring you down. Your breath catches, and you have to fight not to break into a cold sweat.
W
hat do I do? You think, panic bubbling up. You’ve handled bunnies, dogs, and even cats with ease. But wolves? They were something else entirely.

The ground feels shaky beneath your feet, and every instinct is screaming at you to run, to get away from these creatures that could tear you apart. But you can’t. You can’t.

Suddenly, you remember Cow’s warning. The sound of deep roars... and the way they thudded in their cages.

This is real. This is the danger Cow warned me about.

With trembling hands, you focus all your energy, hoping that whatever it is that makes you able to communicate with animals will work now. You try to push the fear aside, concentrating on your intent. You can do this. You have to.

You open your mouth, trying to push the warmth of your power to your lips. Your tongue burns again, but it’s different this time—much sharper, as if the wolves can sense your fear. Your heart races even faster as the wolves step closer, their growls growing louder, their eyes narrowing.

But you can’t give up now. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and speak the words that you pray will keep you alive.

"Please!" you yell, the urgency in your voice cutting through the tension in the room. All the wolves and children turn to look at you, the kids—tears streaming down their faces—pausing in their fearful sobs to see what you're doing. "Please, don’t eat us! We just want to talk!"

The fizz, pop, and tingle in your mouth tells you they definitely understood. Silence falls over the room, a heavy stillness settling in.

"Human," a deep voice rumbles, sending a chill down your spine. You scan the room, trying to find the source of the voice, but then you see him—a massive wolf stepping out from the herd. He must be the leader.

"We are hungry," the leader growls, his head tilting slightly to one side, "and you expect us not to feed on weak subjects?"

Your heart pounds in your chest as the massive wolf steps forward, his glowing eyes fixated on you with a mixture of curiosity and hunger. The tension in the room feels suffocating, and for a moment, you’re not sure if you’ll be able to keep your composure.
“I-I don’t want any trouble,” you stammer, fighting to keep your voice steady. The tingling in your mouth intensifies, a signal that your power is working, but it’s becoming harder to focus. “We just... we just want to talk. We don’t want to fight.”

The lead wolf steps closer, his massive frame towering over you. His breath smells like earth and blood, sending a chill down your spine. The other wolves behind him growl low in their throats, their teeth flashing as they circle around. The other kids are quiet, watching, terrified.

“You expect us to listen to a human?” The wolf’s voice rumbles, his eyes narrowing as he sizes you up. “We are wolves. Our strength is our food. Your words mean nothing to us.”

You feel the ground beneath you tremble slightly as the other wolves continue to snarl, but the lead wolf doesn’t advance further. His eyes linger on you, studying you, as if weighing the truth of your words.

For a moment, you feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I can do this.

With shaky breaths, you hold your ground. “Please,” you say, quieter now but no less desperate. “I’m not asking you not to be who you are. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. We’re not your prey.”

The room falls into an intense, suffocating silence as the wolves look at one another, their eyes flashing with something you can’t quite read. The lead wolf’s gaze never leaves you, his heavy breath filling the room.

What if it’s not enough? What if they attack anyway?

You swallow hard, trying to stay calm. It’s now or never.

The massive wolf studies you intently, his eyes narrowing as he evaluates your every movement. After a long pause, he speaks again.

"Very well," he rumbles, his voice low and menacing. "With those words, I am to believe you're the leader of this pack?"

You swallow hard, but you don't hesitate. You straighten your back, summoning every ounce of confidence you can muster. "Yes! And I won’t hesitate to protect them!" you reply, your voice shaky but firm.

You try to sound convincing—you have to. The kids are just as terrified as you are, but you know if you don’t do something, if you don’t stand your ground, none of you will make it out alive.

The lead wolf’s gaze sharpens as he studies you, his massive form still looming over you, the tension in the room palpable. For a brief moment, you think he might laugh at your words, but instead, he tilts his head slightly, his sharp eyes never leaving yours.
“Protect them?” he growls, his voice deep and heavy, like thunder in the distance. "A human child? How amusing."

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t falter. You can’t. You’ve seen what happens when the wolves sense weakness. You take a deep breath and stand up straighter, trying to project confidence that you don’t really feel.

“Yes,” you say firmly, though your voice shakes slightly. “I am their leader. And if you try to hurt them, I’ll stop you. I may not have the power to fight you directly, but I can protect them with everything I have.”

The wolves shift restlessly behind their leader, growling lowly, but none make a move toward you. The lead wolf’s eyes narrow, and for a second, you feel the weight of his judgment, like he’s measuring whether or not to strike.

“You have courage, human,” he says slowly, his voice carrying an edge of something like respect.

You swallow hard

"I will listen," the leader wolf says, his tone gruff, "I don’t want to risk my pack being hurt. So we will go, but be warned. Those adult humans haven’t fed us in days, and some are not willing to be as nice as I."

Your heart sinks. There’s more? You try to process the words, but they don’t quite register. The wolf turns and, with a chilling howl, leads his pack back into the metal doors.

You drop to your knees, your breath shaky as the overwhelming fear that had gripped you begins to lift. But now, your head spins, and your body feels light, as though your legs might give way. Your hands curl into the dirt beneath you, trying to ground yourself. And then, it hits you.

They put earth in here so you can fight.

Your stomach lurches, and suddenly, the world around you seems too much to handle. I might throw up, you think, struggling to keep it together.

Suddenly, a loud, booming voice echoes through the room, making your heart skip a beat.

"Final stage."

You freeze, dread flooding your veins as your eyes snap to the source of the announcement. The words, flashing in bold letters on the metal walls, are the last thing you wanted to see.

Final stage, Stage Six: Bears.

A cold shiver runs down your spine as the reality of the situation crashes over you. Bears. Massive, powerful creatures—far more dangerous than wolves. You’d heard stories about their strength and ferocity, but seeing them in front of you? That was a nightmare you hadn't prepared for. Your pulse races as you glance around at the other kids, their faces pale with fear. You’re all trapped in here, with no way out. The thought of facing something so monstrous, so relentless, tightens your chest.

You can hear the low growl of the bears from behind the metal doors, a sound that sends waves of terror through your body. They’re coming. You don't know how you’re supposed to fight this, or if you even can. Your mind races, trying to think of a plan, trying to calm the chaos in your head, but the reality is clear—this is the final test. The one you’ve been dreading.

The doors creak open. The first bear steps out, massive and terrifying. Its fur is thick, its eyes wild with hunger. The room falls into a tense silence, the weight of what’s to come pressing down on everyone in the room. You swallow hard, trying to push the panic down, but it’s hard to ignore the sick feeling in your stomach. The fear is overwhelming, gnawing at you, but there’s no time to hesitate.

It’s not just about surviving anymore. It’s about protecting them.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart leaps into your throat as the words bears flash on the screen. You’ve heard the stories, the nightmares. Bears are massive, strong, and relentless. They are predators in every sense of the word. And now, they're part of this twisted game.

You glance around the room, and the other kids look just as terrified as you feel. Some are already crying, their faces pale as they clutch at one another for comfort. A few are shaking, and you can hear their choked breaths as they try to hold it together. You’re not alone in this, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

The metal doors creak open, and for a moment, nothing happens. But then, out of the shadows, they emerge.

Massive, hulking shapes. Their massive paws hit the dirt floor with a thud that seems to shake the room. The bears' eyes glint with predatory hunger as they sniff the air. Their enormous bodies are covered in thick fur, their sharp claws scraping against the floor, leaving deep grooves in the dirt as they move.

A deep growl rumbles from one of them, and it steps forward, its eyes locking onto you. You swallow hard, your mouth dry as dust. There’s no way to outrun them. No way to fight them. What the hell are you supposed to do?

A chill crawls up your spine, and you force yourself to breathe, to stay calm. You can’t show weakness now. Not in front of them. Not in front of the others.

The bears shuffle forward, their heavy steps causing the floor to vibrate beneath your feet. They seem to tower over you, each one more terrifying than the last. There’s no way you can stand up to them.

"Think, Y/N, think!" You whisper to yourself, desperation rising. You can’t freeze up now. You can’t just sit here and wait to be eaten. You’ve made it this far. You have to keep going.

And then it hits you—the tingling sensation in your mouth, the sensation that’s gotten you through every test so far. The power that you’ve barely been able to control. Maybe this time, you’ll finally figure it out.

You focus on that burning feeling deep in your chest, trying to bring it to your mouth, imagining the fire building in your lungs. It feels like pop rocks at first, but then it shifts, growing, intensifying, ready to be used.

You take a deep breath and shout, “Stay back!”

The tension in the room escalates when the first bear doesn't pause, doesn't even seem to acknowledge the command. With terrifying speed, a massive bear charges out of its cage, its muscles rippling with power. Without warning, it swipes its huge claw across the room. The force of the strike sends one of the children flying through the air, their body crashing into the metal wall with a sickening thud before crumpling to the ground, motionless.

A scream catches in your throat, but it’s choked off by the cold, sharp spike of fear that shoots through you. The room is thick with panic, the silence of the others drowned out by the echoes of the horrible impact. The reality of the situation hits you hard: There’s no talking to these bears. There’s no choice. You have to fight.

Your eyes dart across the room, taking in the faces of the kids—terrified, helpless. They’re too weak. They can’t fight. They can barely grow two flowers, for God’s sake. It’s up to me.

You feel the weight of that responsibility crush down on you. There’s no time to hesitate. The fear claws at your chest, but you shove it aside. You can’t back down. Not now. Not when they need you.

With a sharp breath, you focus, pulling all the energy inside you. You close your eyes for just a second, the intensity of the moment burning in your veins. You don’t want to hurt them, you think, but the truth is inescapable: It’s you or the bear.

Through gritted teeth, you shout, "Grow!"

The earth beneath you responds, the warmth inside you surging through your limbs. The ground trembles as a thick, sturdy tree branch shoots up from the dirt, sharp and jagged like a spear. The force of the branch propels it forward, piercing the bear’s massive body. The bear roars, a guttural, furious sound, but before it can move, the growl fades. The room falls eerily silent, the bear slumping to the ground, its anger silenced.

But it’s not over.

The other two bears, their eyes filled with rage and hunger, freeze. They stare at the fallen bear, then turn their ferocious gaze toward you. Their growls rise in unison, loud and chilling, as if daring you to make a move. The hunger in their eyes is unmistakable, and the battle for survival is far from finished.

Your heart races as you prepare for what’s coming next. You don’t know if you can do this again, but you have no choice. The stakes have never been higher.

The room falls into an eerie silence after the bear’s massive body collapses. The once-deafening growls of the animals are replaced by a tense stillness. The two remaining bears, their fur bristling and their mouths open in primal rage, look between the fallen bear and you. Their hunger is palpable, their eyes fixated on you with a deadly intent.

You’re breathing hard, heart racing, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. That was close. Too close. The other kids are frozen, some of them crying, others too scared to move. You know they can’t fight. They’re not strong enough. This is on you now.

But as you stand there, adrenaline still pumping, the sharp sound of claws scraping against the dirt floor snaps you back to reality. The bears are still coming, their hunger outweighing their fear. You can feel the earth beneath you stir, the raw energy from the power within you pulling from the dirt, from the ground beneath, from the world around you.

With a shaky breath, you turn your focus inward, willing the earth to obey. The fear that’s been gnawing at you this whole time pushes its way into the forefront of your mind. But you shove it aside, steeling yourself for whatever happens next.

“Grow!” you shout again, this time with more force, your voice ringing out with command. The dirt beneath you responds—shifting, twisting as the branches and vines erupt from the floor like wild creatures, their tendrils reaching toward the bears, twisting into thick, gnarled trees that grow with impossible speed.

The bears charge forward, their jaws snapping, but the thick, sturdy trunks of the trees rise up to block them. One of the bears slams into the tree with such force that the ground shakes beneath you. You can hear the impact, a sickening crack of bone as it collides with the thick wood.

The remaining bears are relentless, undeterred by the wooden barrier you’ve created. They circle, their claws scraping against the trees, their growls vibrating in your chest. You can feel their eyes on you, calculating, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

But you won’t let that happen. Not again.

You force yourself to stay calm, to push through the panic clawing at your throat. The power still hums within you, like a live wire, thrumming through your body, urging you to fight. You dig deep, drawing on that inner strength that you never knew you had.

“Grow!” you command again, your voice louder, more forceful this time. The trees stretch higher, their roots plunging deeper into the earth as they push back against the bears. You feel the world around you respond—the ground beneath you shifting, the air thickening with the weight of your determination.

One of the bears lunges forward, its claws swiping at the tree, but the branches move faster than it can react. Thick vines shoot out, wrapping around its legs, pulling it to the ground. The bear thrashes, roaring in anger, but it can’t free itself.

The other bear roars as well, charging toward you with fury. But you’re ready. You’ve been ready for this moment. You thrust your hand out, palm open, and command the earth to rise. The ground beneath the bear cracks open, huge roots springing up from the soil like snakes, wrapping around its body, pulling it to the ground.

Both bears are now trapped in your makeshift prison, their snarls muffled by the thick trees and vines that hold them down. Their struggles are futile, their anger muted by the strength of the earth itself.

The silence that follows is deafening. The kids, the ones who were once cowering, now stare in awe. They’ve never seen anything like this. Neither have you. But there’s no time to revel in the victory.

You know this won’t last forever. The power within you is exhausting, and you’re already feeling the weight of it, draining you with each passing second. You look around, taking in the terrified faces of the other kids. They’re alive. But for how long?

A sudden crack from the metal doors behind you makes you jump. Crystal’s voice comes through the speaker again, her tone light, but there’s a strange edge to it.

“Well done, everyone! You made it through the final stage. Congratulations! You’ve all passed!”

The doors to the room slide open, but you don’t move. You can barely stand, the exhaustion and the fear hitting you all at once. The bears are still struggling, but they won’t be able to escape. Not for now.

The kids start to filter out, some of them still looking at you with wide eyes. You try to stand tall, but your legs are shaking, your chest tight from the strain of the fight. You made it. You all made it.

Chapter Text

Your legs shook as you followed Crystal down the hallway, your chest tight with the weight of the battle you had just faced. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach. That poor child… and the bear. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the images, but they lingered. I had to do it, you thought, or more of us would’ve died. The reality of the situation hit you hard, and the exhaustion from it all made your legs feel like jelly.

Crystal’s voice cut through your thoughts, her tone strangely neutral, almost robotic. “Okay, kids. That’s the end of the day.” She paused and turned, gesturing to the long hallway stretching ahead, each door numbered. “I’ll give you a number, and that’s your new room.”

You swallowed hard, already knowing what she was about to say, and sure enough, it came. The confirmation of what you’d feared. You’re stuck here. Until they’re done with whatever they want from you.

“Y/N, your number is 800.”

You nodded, barely hearing her, as the weight of your situation hit you once again. You couldn’t avoid it anymore. You’d be living here for who knew how long, stuck with whatever twisted plans they had for you.

You walked down the hallway, searching for the door with your number. When you found it, the cold metal of the handle seemed to mock you as you turned it. The room inside was small, stark, but not as empty as you'd expected. A white bed sat in the corner, its plain linens offering no comfort. There was a window, but it was narrow, a small opening in between the rooms. You could see that it was just large enough for something—maybe toys, maybe messages—to slip through the gap.

The rest of the room was bare. There was a small, hidden section toward the back with a toilet, sink, and a mirror hanging on the wall. You stood in front of it for a moment, the fatigue weighing on you. For the first time since you’d arrived, you truly looked at yourself.

Your reflection caught you off guard. Your eyes were dull, hollow, with dark bags under them. The innocence that had once sparkled there was gone, replaced by something harder. The battle, the fear, the losses—it was all showing on your face. You barely recognized the person in the mirror.

But then something strange caught your eye. Something you hadn’t noticed before. As you opened your mouth wider, you saw it. On the tip of your tongue, a small, green heart-shaped tattoo, almost identical to the one on your collarbone. How did I not see this before? you wondered, pressing a finger to your tongue, still shocked.

The door behind you clicks shut with a soft sound, and you know that you’re completely alone now. You press your back to the wall, your hand on your collarbone as if grounding yourself, but it doesn’t stop the unsettling feeling that’s slowly creeping over you.
The tattoo on your tongue seems to pulse with a strange warmth, as if it's alive.

“What the hell is this place?” you whisper to yourself, the words barely escaping your lips. Your reflection stares back at you, weary but determined. You might not have answers, but you know one thing for sure—this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
And if you’re going to survive, you need to figure out what’s going on here—and fast.

Suddenly, the door next to yours creaked open, and you turned to see the scientist from earlier. Her voice was gentle, but there was an unsettling coldness to it as she cooed, “There, there, your big sister is right here, okay? Now hush.” She placed Lily—so small, so fragile—in a baby bed next to the window, her actions deliberate, as though she were tucking a doll into a crib.

The scientist then turned to you, her expression soft but calculating. “Okay, since she’s so young and you’re her sister, we put your rooms together. This small opening…” She slid her hand through the gap between the rooms to demonstrate, as if she were showing you a gift. “Is here so you can have contact with her.”

But before she could finish, a rush of anger surged through you, and you cut her off. “Did you hurt her? You monster!” The words spilled out before you could stop them, but the shock on the scientist’s face only lasted a moment. She sighed, a small, almost sad laugh escaping her as she turned away.

“She’s fine,” she said, her voice dripping with indifference. “Like I said, she’s too young for any tests. We put her through small, harmless tests—mostly needle work and a few basic scans. Sweet girl.” She laughed again, her back now to you as she turned on the baby monitor. The low hum of static filled the room, making everything feel even colder.

Your heart was racing as you struggled to understand. You couldn’t hold back anymore, the question burning in your throat. You spoke before you could think, your voice trembling, “Why are you doing this? Keeping us here?”

The scientist paused, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. For a brief moment, you thought she might actually answer with some semblance of compassion, but then she turned to you with a small sigh. “Oh, has no one told you?” she asked, almost amused. “As soon as magic was made aware to the military, war was being discussed. You kids are being kept here not only for the public's safety, but to make you cuties into weapons for the state.”

Your blood ran cold. Weapons? Your mind refused to accept it, but the words hung in the air like a poisonous cloud. You shook your head in disbelief. “What do you mean? You have to be lying.”

She didn’t flinch, just shook her head slowly, her voice soft but firm. “Sorry, hun. No lie. We’re at war within our own country, and we’ve got other countries knocking at our door. Monsters said they’d help us, so we took them up on it. Apparently, because of that blast, monsters appeared in three other places.”

Your vision blurred for a moment, and your stomach churned. The weight of her words hit you like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t some sick experiment. This was much bigger, much darker than you had ever imagined. You were being trained, transformed, turned into something the world would use as a weapon in a war you had no part in.

The walls of the room felt like they were closing in, and you staggered back, your heart thundering in your chest. You barely registered the scientist’s departure, her words echoing in your mind. Weapons. Monsters. War.

You feel your blood run cold at her words. Monsters. The idea of a war, a hidden conflict brewing within the country, suddenly makes everything feel so much darker. The childlike innocence you had before this nightmare started seems so far away now, buried beneath the weight of this horrifying truth.

"You’re lying," you say again, this time with more force, but your voice shakes as you speak. This can’t be real. It can't be. There’s no way that these tests, these twisted experiments, are part of some government-backed scheme to make you into weapons.

But the way the scientist looks at you, with that cold, almost amused expression on her face, says otherwise. She’s not joking. This is real.

"Don’t take my word for it, sweetheart," she says, walking closer to the bed and adjusting something on the monitor. "Look around you. You’re being trained, tested. All of you are, whether you realize it or not. The magic inside you... it’s not just for show. It’s power. And power... well, power can’t be ignored."

You swallow hard, the taste of bile creeping up your throat. The tiny green heart on your collarbone and the one on your tongue suddenly feel like a brand, a mark of something that’s beyond your control, beyond your understanding.

Lily stirs in her crib, the soft coo of her making your heart tighten. She’s just a baby—she doesn’t deserve any of this. You look through the small opening, seeing her face for the first time since you arrived. She looks so innocent, so small and helpless, and all you want to do is protect her from everything in this place.

But the scientist’s words echo in your mind: Weapons for the state.

A cold chill runs through you. Your whole body is tense, your mind racing with questions. What do they want with us? Magic and monsters and war—it all feels so unreal, yet here you are, trapped in this facility, surrounded by people who think of you as nothing more than tools to be used.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, but it’s hard. You need to get answers. You need to understand how to fight back. But how do you fight an enemy when you don’t even know who they are?

"How... how many of us are there?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper, but it hangs in the air like a heavy weight. The scientist doesn’t respond immediately.

"A lot," she says finally, with a shrug. "More than you'd think. But you're the most... interesting ones." She glances at you, as if appraising you. "You kids with magic... it’s the future of warfare."

Terror and rage stir inside you, but you force yourself to stay calm. You can't let this woman see how badly she's rattled you. You won't let her see your fear.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" you ask, eyes narrowing. "What’s in it for you? You’re just a pawn, too."

She smiles, a chilling grin that doesn’t reach her eyes. "Me? I’m just doing my job, sweetheart. I’m the one who gets to watch you all grow into your... potential." She pauses, as if savoring the words. "And if you play nice, you’ll get to live long enough to see what happens next. Or, you know, we can always speed things up."

The last sentence hangs in the air, like a threat, and the door shuts behind her with a soft click.

You’re left standing there, alone in your small, sterile room, heart pounding in your chest.

Weapons for the state.

You press your back against the cold, hard wall, your knees pulled up to your chest as you stare through the small opening at Lily. Her tiny form is curled in the crib, completely unaware of the twisted world around her. She’s just a baby, you think, trying to hold onto any shred of innocence left in this nightmare. But the reality of the situation keeps clawing at you, every breath feeling like a weight in your chest.

"What am I going to do?" you whisper to yourself, your voice breaking. You turn your head toward Lily, your eyes searching her face like she’ll have the answer. "She has to be lying... right, Lily?" The words are desperate, clinging to a hope that maybe everything—the testing, the experiments, the talk of war—is some twisted game or misunderstanding. It has to be a lie.

You bite down on your trembling lip as the tears begin to fall, unchecked and hot down your cheeks. How did we get here? You curl your body into a tight ball, trying to shut out the weight of the world pressing in on you. The truth feels suffocating, but you're afraid of what will happen if you let yourself believe it. You can't just sit here, a voice inside you whispers, but the thought of fighting back—fighting for yourself, fighting for Lily—feels impossible.

Your body shakes with quiet sobs, every breath ragged and strained as your mind races. You want to protect her. You want to protect yourself. But how?

The silence in the room presses in on you, thick and heavy. You close your eyes tightly, hoping that when you open them, this will all be some sick dream. But when you look again, everything is the same. You’re still here. You’re still trapped. And so is Lily.

Your heart aches for her—for the fear she’ll never even understand. The weight of the world, of the truth you’ve just learned, feels like it's swallowing you whole. You want to scream, to shout at the injustice of it all, but you can't. Not here. Not now.

"Please," you whisper, barely a breath, as you reach out through the window, your fingers brushing the edges of the small gap. "Please, let me protect you."

And in that moment, a quiet resolve begins to stir deep within you. It might not be a lie. It might not be a game. But you won’t let it take everything from you. You won’t let it take Lily.

Not without a fight.

You blink awake, groggy and disoriented, the cold wall at your back grounding you to the reality of your situation. You must have fallen asleep. The faint smell of food reaches your nose, and as your eyes focus, you see a tray placed just inside the door. It’s not much—just a small portion of what you assume is breakfast—but your stomach growls at the sight of it. The pudding cup catches your attention first, and without much thought, you open it, the spoon clinking against the plastic.

"So this is breakfast?" you mumble to yourself, the words empty as they hang in the air. You take a spoonful of the pudding, the sweetness almost too much in the silence of the room. You glance over at Lily’s crib. The small space between your rooms feels like a lifeline, a thin thread of connection to someone who still holds innocence in this place.

With a soft breath, you move to the window, your hand trembling slightly as you hold the spoon close to the opening. Lily stirs in her sleep, her small body shifting, and then—her tiny nose twitches. The smell of the banana-flavored pudding fills the air.

Slowly, she turns over onto her stomach and starts crawling toward the window. Her movements are slow, clumsy, but filled with determination.

You wait, watching her small, chubby hands grip the crib, and your heart swells when she reaches the opening. She’s close enough now, her tiny mouth open expectantly. With a gentle hand, you push the spoon through the gap, just far enough for her to take a bite. She hums softly in contentment as the food hits her tongue, and for a moment, you can forget about everything else.

Her joy, simple and pure, brings a smile to your lips. She deserves this. She deserves more than this cold, sterile cage. You want to give her everything, to protect her from whatever nightmare has been forced on you both. But for now, this small act of care is all you can offer.

You sit back, watching her eat, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. At least for now, she's safe. At least for now, she’s happy.

Lily finally finishes the pudding cup, her small, satisfied hum filling the silence of the room as she flops back down into her crib. The contentment on her face is enough to make you smile, even in this bleak place. You watch her for a moment, feeling a small sense of peace before you turn your attention to the tray of food in front of you.

The bread looks old, the edges of it tinged with greenish mold. You grimace, picking off the worst of it, but there’s not much else to eat. The moldy spots come off in little chunks, and you reluctantly eat what you can, your stomach protesting the dryness. The eggs look even worse—yellowed, congealed, and practically floating in some unappetizing liquid. You can’t bring yourself to touch them. They’re far too off-putting.

Sighing, you set the eggs aside, pushing the plate away from you. The whole meal makes you feel sick, but hunger gnaws at you, so you force down what you can. At least it’s something. You can’t waste food in a place like this.

When you glance over at Lily again, her little hands clutching at the edge of the crib,Lily's eyes are wide, her little hands reaching out toward you, clearly eager for something to distract her. You smile softly, your heart aching with the need to comfort her in this place. You clear your throat, sitting up straighter, and begin the story.

"Once upon a time, there was a princess who was being held captive," you say, your voice light and soothing. "She was locked away in a big, cold castle. But the princess wasn't afraid, oh no. She had a heart full of courage, and every day, she would dream of the day she would escape."

You watch Lily's face, noticing how she seems to follow every word, her gaze fixed on you. You continue, your imagination racing as you try to make the story more engaging for her.

"One day, the princess heard a soft knock on the door. It was a tiny rabbit, just like the ones she used to see in the forest, and the rabbit had a magical key in its paws. 'This key will open the door to your freedom,' the rabbit said. 'But you'll need to be brave. You have to believe that you can escape.'"

Lily giggles, a little sound of wonder escaping her, and you take that as a sign to keep going.

"The princess took the key and unlocked the door, but the moment she stepped outside, she found herself in a beautiful forest, full of tall trees and sparkling rivers. She wasn’t alone—there were animals who helped her find her way. She made friends with a wise owl, a playful squirrel, and even a fierce wolf who swore to protect her. Together, they fought the evil sorcerer who had kept her locked away, and they won!" You pause dramatically, waiting for her reaction.

Lily smiles, her little hands clapping together, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of the world lifts off your shoulders. This moment, her happiness, it makes everything seem a little more bearable. You lean closer to her, speaking softly.

"And the princess, with her new friends, became a queen—one who ruled with kindness, wisdom, and strength, because she had never given up on her freedom."

Lily coos, satisfied with the story, her eyes closing as she snuggles into the crib again. You feel a deep sense of pride, knowing that for now, she’s happy, and you’ve given her a little piece of peace in a world that feels anything but peaceful.

Before you could finish the story,, your door suddenly swung open with a loud creak.

"Good morning, 800! It's time for more tests!" Crystal's voice echoed in the hallway, her cheerfulness almost mocking the gravity of your situation.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the number—"800." Your name wasn’t a number. You weren’t “800.” You were Y/N.

With a low sigh, you mumbled, “My name is Y/N,” though it wasn’t really for the scientist’s benefit. You muttered it to Crystal, as if speaking the words out loud might somehow help you hold onto the last pieces of who you were.

"Come, 800, the day is young," Crystal repeats, her voice unnervingly cheerful as she turns and walks further down the hallway.

You bristle at the way she dismisses you, the cold use of your number making you feel even smaller. You want to protest, to tell her you’re a person, not just a number, but something in your gut holds you back. Lily’s soft, contented face lingers in your mind, and for a brief moment, you wonder if you should just comply.

You rise slowly, your body still heavy with exhaustion from the night, your mind reeling from everything that had happened. Your feet shuffle across the cold floor as you follow her. You glance back at Lily’s crib one last time, feeling that tug of fear for her safety, but you know you have no choice but to follow. If you’re lucky, she’ll be okay here for now.

Crystal leads you down a narrow corridor, her footsteps clicking sharply in the silence. The walls are sterile, too white, too clean. Your heart races as you wonder what comes next. The tests. What kind of tests could they want from you? You already know they don't have any intention of letting you go.

"Today’s going to be fun," Crystal says over her shoulder, her voice still annoyingly sweet. "You’ll see."

You clench your fists, trying to steady yourself. "I’m not a test subject," you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Crystal chuckles, a sound that feels wrong in the silence of the halls. "Of course, you are. But don’t worry. It’s all for the greater good." She winks at you, and it feels like a dagger.

You follow her into a large, bright room. There are several other kids already inside, looking just as confused and scared as you feel. Some of them stand in a line, some sit huddled together, all of them wearing the same dull, blank expressions. You try to make eye contact with a few of them, but no one meets your gaze. They all seem lost.

"Alright, 800," Crystal says, motioning to a space in front of a large metal chair. "Stand here, please."

You stare at the chair, a chill crawling up your spine. You don’t know what kind of test this is going to be, but something tells you it’s not going to be pleasant.

Your voice shakes as you speak up again, trying to sound brave. "What are you going to do to me?"

Crystal just smiles, a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. "Oh, we’ll see. We’ll see."

And with that, she gestures for you to sit in the chair.

"Today's test is designed to see if you kids can handle different elements," Crystal said, her voice laced with that eerie sweetness. "The first one is electricity! This will also help us gauge your healing abilities. If you can’t handle it, then we’ll need to see how well you can heal yourself!"

She beamed, and it felt cold, unnatural, like the smile of someone who knew exactly what they were about to do but wanted you to think it was all for your benefit.

Before you could even fully process what she was saying, several adults stepped forward. Their hands moved quickly and efficiently, attaching electrodes to your arms and neck. You could feel the cold metal against your skin as they connected the wires to the machine. Your heart began to race, your breaths becoming shallow.

Electricity?

Your pulse quickened, panic setting in. Were they going to electrocute you? The thought made your skin crawl, and a wave of dizziness hit you. You tried to remain calm, but your mind was spiraling.

"Wait, wait! What’s going to happen?" you asked, your voice trembling.

Crystal’s smile never faltered. "Oh, it’s simple, really. We’ll just give you a little shock to test your limits. If you can’t handle it, then we’ll want to see how well you recover. It's all part of the process. Just focus on healing, okay? The faster you heal, the better."

The adults stepped back, and you were left standing there, your arms and legs rigid in the chair. The buzz of electricity filled the air, almost too much to bear. You glanced at the other kids, their faces a mix of fear and uncertainty, and the realization hit you that you were all in this together. But that didn't make it any less terrifying.

You tried to breathe, to steady yourself, but the knot of dread in your stomach only tightened. This was it. You had to survive this. There was no choice.

As the machine powered up, a soft hum vibrating through the room, you could feel the static tension building. Your heart thudded in your chest.

"Ready?" Crystal’s voice was sharp, almost playful. "Let's see how you do."

Before you could respond, a burst of electricity surged through your body. The shock was immediate, blinding in its intensity. Your body jerked involuntarily, and a sharp, searing pain shot through your nerves. It felt like every muscle in your body was being pulled apart at once.

Your vision blurred, and for a moment, all you could hear was the loud crackle of electricity buzzing in your ears. The world around you faded, and all you could focus on was the excruciating pain that filled your entire being. You couldn’t even move.

But then the panic set in. The raw, primal fear that this was the end. That you wouldn’t make it out of here. And you had to heal. You had to survive.

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to focus. It wasn’t over yet. You could do this. You had to. The shock coursed through your body, but you fought against the instinct to collapse.

You could feel the heat in your body, the electricity searing through your veins, but something inside you refused to let it defeat you. You thought of Lily, of the other kids who were depending on you. You thought of the tiny bit of hope that still lingered deep within you.

The pain didn’t stop. It kept coming, relentless. But your mind kept fighting, telling your body to heal. You focused every ounce of energy you had left on repairing yourself, forcing your cells to regenerate, pushing through the agony.

And then, slowly, the electricity stopped. The machine hummed and powered down, but your body still shook from the lingering effects of the shock. Your muscles screamed in protest, but you could feel the healing process at work. The burn on your skin began to fade, the stiffness in your limbs loosening.

You opened your eyes, gasping for air. The pain wasn’t completely gone, but it had lessened, and you could feel the warmth of recovery spreading through your body.

Crystal watched, her expression unreadable. "Not bad," she said, her voice dripping with false praise. "You lasted longer than most."

The adults unhooked the wires from your body, and you were left with the dull ache of the aftereffects. But you were still standing, still breathing. And that was something.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, to acknowledge the small victory. But you knew this was just the beginning. There would be more tests, more pain. And you didn’t know how much more you could take. You would keep fighting. You had no other choice. You needed to be stronger to escape after all.

Looking around at the other kids, you weren't shocked to see that some of them had collapsed, their bodies slumped in the chairs, unconscious from the brutal shock. They were still alive—thankfully—but at least five out of the ten were completely unresponsive, their chests rising and falling in shallow breaths.

A sickening knot twisted in your stomach as you realized just how much they had endured, how much they were being pushed to their limits. You wanted to look away, to shield your eyes from the sight of them, but you couldn’t.

The air in the room felt thick, suffocating. Crystal seemed unbothered by the sight of the kids barely hanging on, her smile still present, but there was a coldness behind it now—like she was enjoying the power she had over all of you.

"Good job, 800," she said, her voice dripping with false encouragement. "You’ve shown great resilience. But remember, this is only the beginning. We need to know what you’re really capable of."

You clenched your fists, the adrenaline still pumping in your veins, but you could feel the exhaustion setting in. It was as if your body was made of lead, your muscles burning from the shock, your mind spinning with a thousand questions.

Why were they doing this? Why were they putting you through all this pain? Were you just experimenting on them? Toys to be tested until you broke? The fear gnawed at you, but you pushed it back, refusing to let it overtake you.

Crystal motioned for the other adults to start removing the electrodes from the unconscious kids. It was almost too much to watch, but you kept your gaze focused.

When the adults started to clear the room, taking the unconscious children with them to who-knows-where, you couldn’t help but feel a cold dread creep over you. What would happen to them? Would they be okay?

You couldn’t let your guard down—not even for a second. You knew this was far from over. There was much worse to come, and you would have to face it all if you wanted to survive.

Looking at the kids still conscious, you nodded to them, silently promising to do everything you could to keep them safe. And in that moment, you realized something—you weren't just a test subject anymore. You were a leader, whether you were ready or not.

You had to be.

"Great! Oh, I almost forgot! Please follow me!" Crystal chirped, her tone annoyingly upbeat. She started walking down another long hallway, and you couldn’t help but wonder just how big this place was. It felt endless, like a maze of identical sterile white walls.

Would you even be able to find the front door if you tried? You studied the hall as you walked, but it all blurred together—no signs, no clues, just the same lifeless space stretching ahead.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Crystal stopped in front of a row of white chairs, their backs straight and clean. She motioned to them, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced over her shoulder. "Wait till your number is called!" she ordered, her smile never wavering. "And when it is, please go through the doors." She pointed to a set of double doors behind her.

Why? What was behind those doors? You shot her a glare, the suspicion and anxiety bubbling inside you. What was the next test? She didn’t answer, just turned and walked through a set of side doors with a chilling, "I’ll be watching, so stay here until your number is called."

The words lingered in the air, heavy and foreboding. You couldn’t help but feel like the walls were closing in, like you were waiting for some unseen predator to strike. You hated the uncertainty. You hated the power she held over you.

You glanced at the others sitting in the chairs, each of them visibly tense, waiting for their own numbers to be called, as if by doing so they could avoid whatever horrible thing was next. The silence between you all felt thick, oppressive.

Your thoughts raced, your mind trying to make sense of everything. The tests, the experiments, the cruelty—it was all too much. You had to keep your focus. Whatever this next test was, you had to be ready. You didn’t know what was behind those doors, but you couldn’t show fear. Not now. Not in front of Crystal.

As time slowly ticked on, the air in the room grew heavier with every passing second. One by one, numbers were called, and kids would rise from their seats, eyes wide with a mix of fear and dread. "700," a kid would shuffle toward the double doors, their shoulders slumped as if they already knew what was coming. They'd disappear behind the doors, but they never came back. The same happened with "200"—a number called, a kid walking into the unknown, and then silence. No one returned.

Finally, the dreaded moment arrived: "800." Your number. Your heart skipped a beat. It was your turn. You stood, your legs shaky but determined. Every part of you screamed to resist, to run, but you couldn't. Not with Crystal watching. Not with the others waiting. So, you walked toward the doors, each step echoing in the silent room.

The doors swung open, and you stepped through, your eyes scanning the space beyond. The fog hit you first, thick, swirling in the air like it was alive. What was this? Your eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of the foggy room in front of you, but the more you tried to focus, the harder it became to see clearly.

Before you could even question the strange atmosphere, you felt a sudden sharp pinch in your arm. You gasped, instinctively trying to pull away, but it was already too late. The needle was in, and a wave of cold paralysis swept over you. Your body grew heavy, your limbs no longer responding as they should. Your vision blurred, your thoughts becoming sluggish and disjointed.

You tried to focus, to see who had done this to you, but all you could make out was a shadow moving toward you. The man in front of you wore a mask that covered his eyes and nose, his presence unsettling. Who was he? He couldn't smell the smoke, could he?

Before you could make sense of anything, the world tilted, and everything went dark. The last thing you heard was the faint sound of footsteps, distant and muffled, before your body gave in completely, and you fell limp into unconsciousness.

When you woke up, everything felt off. Your body was sluggish, as though you'd been asleep for far too long, and your mind struggled to shake off the fog that clung to your thoughts. The room around you was sterile and white, with the soft hum of machines filling the air. You tried to move, but your muscles were stiff, and as you shifted slightly, you noticed the other kids were lying nearby.

But something was wrong—something that sent a cold chill down your spine. Each of the kids now had a small metal collar around their neck. A cold, unforgiving piece of metal with numbers etched into the metal. They weren't just any collars—they were marked with a number, the number that you were now being referred to. You instinctively reach up, your fingers trembling as you brush against the cold metal at the base of your neck. There it was, unmistakable, heavy, and chillingly real.

A cold lump formed in your throat as you tried to understand what was happening. Why the collars? What was the point of them? The thought of being treated like this, made your skin crawl.

Before you could dwell too much on it, a scientist approached your bed, holding a small, familiar juice box. The bright green straw stuck out, and the soft slosh of liquid inside was almost comforting. "Here, drink this," the scientist said, his voice distant, almost too professional, as if he wasn’t even acknowledging your presence fully. You took the juice box with shaky hands, sticking the straw in and taking a small sip of the apple juice.

It was sweet, almost too sweet, and the sugary taste did little to ease the dread crawling up your spine. As you drank, your mind spun, and the questions piled up, one after another. Why collars? Are you their pets now? What's the point in them?

You sit in the room with the other kids, all of you looking equally lost and confused. The steady beeping of machines and the cold, sterile walls offer no comfort, just a reminder that you're trapped in this strange place. Time feels warped. It could have been minutes, or maybe even hours, but you don’t know for sure. Everyone is awake now, gathered together, but the mood is far from comforting.

Then, as if on cue, Crystal enters, clipboard in hand, wearing that same cold, detached smile. She starts speaking, her voice cheerful, almost too upbeat for the situation. "You all might be confused right now," she begins, her words like a rehearsed script, "but I promise those collars are for your benefit! If your powers go out of control, we need a way to shut them down fast!"

You try to focus, but your mind spins as she continues to explain. You glance around at the other kids, trying to gauge their reactions, but they all seem just as unsettled as you are. Her words hang heavy in the air, and your stomach churns.

"See," she continues, oblivious to the unease creeping up your spine, "we've noticed that your powers don't seem to activate when you're unconscious. So these collars will help us manage things in case anything goes wrong."

Her words cut through the air, and a sudden cold wave of realization crashes over you. So, if we use our powers against them... you think, feeling your heart race. They can use these collars to shut us down.

The sickening truth settles in your gut like a rock. These collars aren’t just some safety measure—they’re a form of control. A way to keep you all in line. If you dare use your powers in defiance or anger, they can easily activate these collars and knock you out, like flipping a switch. You feel your hands tighten into fists, the anger bubbling inside you. So that’s the plan? Control us with these collars, keep us docile, and turn us into weapons?

The fear is now mixed with a bitter, burning frustration. You want to scream, to fight, to do something—anything to escape this nightmare—but with those collars, it feels like there’s no way out. No way to rebel. No way to truly fight back.

Crystal continues to talk, but her words sound distant now, as if they’re nothing more than background noise to your growing realization. This is a prison. A carefully constructed cage designed to keep you powerless, contained. And if you ever get too dangerous, too out of line, the collars will remind you just how much control they really have over you.

Crystal's voice rings out sharply, pulling your attention back to her. Her words cut through the tension in the room like a knife. “Also!” she calls out, and everyone freezes, waiting for the next piece of bad news.

"Please don’t try to remove the collar," she continues, her tone unbothered, as though she’s simply explaining the rules of some twisted game. "They explode if you take them off."

The room goes dead silent, the weight of her words sinking in. The very idea of trying to remove the collar sends a chill down your spine. You glance around at the other kids, all of them looking just as horrified as you feel.

"And if you somehow manage to not set it off," she adds with a cold smile, "then it sends us your exact location, so we'll know if you took it off. So please, don't do that. The punishment..." She pauses, letting the word hang in the air, as if savoring the fear it creates. "...Well, let’s just say it won’t be pleasant."

The room feels even colder now. The sheer cruelty in her voice, the lack of any empathy, makes it all too real. You try to hold yourself together, but the panic rises, gnawing at the edges of your mind. They have all the power. If you try to escape, to fight back, they’ll find you. And the consequences won’t just be a quick knockout—they’ll be far worse.

You can’t help but think back to everything you’ve already been through, the tests, the manipulation, the constant feeling of being trapped. And now this. This is their way of ensuring you stay in line. No matter how powerful you are, no matter how badly you want to break free... you’re stuck.

You feel the collar against your neck, a constant reminder of your helplessness. For a moment, you almost forget where you are. You just want to break free, to scream at Crystal, to demand answers, but you can’t. They know everything.

Crystal takes a step back, glancing over the group, her eyes scanning each of you as if assessing how much fear has taken hold. You meet her gaze for a brief second, your chest tight with a mixture of dread and defiance.

With as much kindness as you can muster, you take a deep breath. The air feels thick, but you push past the weight of it. You will fight. You will grow. Even if it takes six years, even if every moment feels like it’s pulling you further from the person you once were. You won’t let them break you. You won’t let them take your spirit. This is just the start. And one day, you’ll get out of here. You’ll make them see that you’re not just their experiment. You’re a force they can’t control. You will get out.

Chapter Text

The first three years passed in a monotonous cycle of endless tests, each day bringing something new yet painfully familiar. Some days, they’d take you back to the dirt room, but instead of the vague “just grow anything,” the instructions became more specific. You’d be tasked with growing a tree, with detailed demands on its size and shape. Other times, you faced trials like crossing a room filled with scorching hot rocks, the heat sapping your strength with every step. Each test pushed you further, both physically and mentally, as if they were determined to measure every ounce of your endurance.

Waking up one morning, your tired eyes fell on the small rock you’d pocketed during one of the tests. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Picking it up, you scraped it against the wall in a familiar motion, adding another notch to the growing collection. It was the only way you could keep track of time, marking each day as it dragged by.

Well, that and the cheerful cry of, “Big sis!”

Ah, there she was. Turning toward the small window between your rooms, you managed a faint smile. Lily was there, standing on her tiptoes to peer through the opening. At about six years old now, she was growing fast, her bright eyes a rare light in this otherwise grim place.

“Morning, Lily,” you said softly, sitting further up on your bed to get a better look at her. Seeing her smile back at you made it a little easier to forget the heaviness pressing on your chest.

With a weary sigh, you push yourself to your feet, your body aching from the strain of the tests and the relentless routine. As you rise, the mirror catches your reflection, and for a moment, you pause. You’ve grown, the traces of childhood fading from your face. The person staring back at you feels like a stranger—older, worn, and heavy with worry.

Thoughts claws at your mind as you stare into your reflection: who are you? What are you doing? How will you escape with Lily? Can you?

Remembering what Lily's caregiver said all those years ago: she spoke of a supposed war, yet not a single word about it has surfaced since. No sounds of conflict, no news, no evidence to support her claims. Was she lying? Or was it just another piece of this confusing puzzle? She had to be lying.

But there’s something else, something far stranger than the silence about the war. Every kid who reaches the age of 14 disappears. You remember the older kids you saw when you first arrived—bright-eyed, determined, scared just like you. Slowly, one by one, they vanished. And it wasn’t just them. Anyone you grew close to, anyone you dared to call a friend, was taken the moment they reached that milestone. A scientist would show up, clipboard in hand, their expression unreadable, and the child would be whisked away. No explanations. No goodbyes.

You shudder and tear your eyes away from the mirror.

I can’t let that happen to me. I can’t leave Lily.

At just six years old, she’s still so small, so innocent. She doesn’t understand the weight of this place like you do. Determined to make the most of the little time you might have left, you move toward the shared window, ready to play with her and soak in the fleeting moments of normalcy.

But in the back of your mind, a plan is forming. You need to talk to Felix and Faith. They’re getting close to 14 too, and maybe, together, you can figure out what’s really happening—and how to stop it. For now, though, you push the fear aside and focus on Lily’s laughter, a fragile reminder of why you have to fight to stay
"Sissy! Can you give me your pudding cup? I already ate mine," Lily chirps, her voice filled with that unmistakable, innocent charm. You can't help but chuckle softly as you grab your morning pudding cup from the small tray. It's just another strange contradiction about this place—this cruel, unrelenting prison, yet every morning, they give you something sweet. It's almost insulting.

Still, you let the thought pass as you walk to the window and hand her the pudding cup through the small opening. Her giggle bubbles out as she clutches it with both hands, grinning up at you. "Thank you, sissy!"

You smile back at her, warmth momentarily chasing away the cold reality of your situation. She's so pure, her little world still full of wonder and joy. Despite everything, she remains untainted by the horrors of this place, and for that, you're endlessly grateful. You silently thank the stars that they haven't started the harsher tests on her yet.

Apparently, those don’t begin until a child reaches the age of nine. According to the scientists, once kids hit that milestone, they no longer need to "develop essential motor skills," whatever that means. You wonder who decided that age was the cutoff for innocence and why it matters to them.

Your eyes wander to the shiny metal collar around her neck as she bounces happily around her room with the pudding cup in hand. It catches the light, the reflection flickering on the walls like a mocking reminder of your shared reality. 5002 was engraved on the side of it. She has no idea what it truly represents, but you do.

Watching her dance around with carefree excitement, you clutch the frame of the window. You can't let them take that light from her, not the way they’ve dimmed it in you.

Before you can let yourself enjoy the small moment of peace, both your door and Lily’s swing open. A familiar voice, flat and devoid of any real warmth, calls out, "Ready for the day, 800?" It’s more of a statement than a question.

You glance to the side and see Lily’s caregiver step into her room with an unsettling, overly bright demeanor. "Good morning, little one! Are you ready for today’s assignments?" The words are sickly sweet, but Lily doesn’t seem to notice. Her face lights up with excitement as she nods eagerly, clutching her pudding cup like it’s her greatest treasure.

You suppress a sigh. She’s lucky—too young for the real horrors of this place, for now. Her assignments seem harmless, almost playful, and she doesn’t have to face the grueling, painful tests you endure. Still, you can’t shake the bitter thought that her innocence is being exploited.

Your gaze shifts to the scientist standing in your doorway, her expression an uncanny mask of cheerfulness that doesn’t match the lifeless, hollow stare of her eyes. You meet her gaze briefly and feel a shiver crawl up your spine. No matter how many times you’ve seen it, her eerie mix of fake warmth and cold indifference always unsettles you.

"Let’s go, 800," she says, stepping aside to let you pass. Her words hang in the air, a reminder that you have no choice.

You take a deep breath, the weight of the day already pressing down on you, and step forward. You glance one last time at Lily, who’s happily chatting with her caretaker about whatever small task she’s been assigned. Her joy feels like a fleeting shield, something you need to protect at all costs.

"Guess it’s time to get this over with," you mutter under your breath, forcing your feet to move as you follow the scientist out into the cold, clinical hallway. Guess it's time to play.

Following Crystal was almost automatic at this point. You’d grown used to the endless maze of white hallways, each one indistinguishable from the last. Over the years, you’d pieced together the reason for the disorienting design: it was intentional. They didn’t want anyone escaping. The labyrinthine layout ensured you’d never find your way out, even if you somehow managed to try.

The thought weighed on you as you followed her steps, your mind drifting. You hadn’t seen the real outside world in years. Any dirt you touched had been indoors, carefully controlled. The sunlight you had glimpsed was filtered through skylights. All you could ever make out was a hazy sky that never changed, a strange, yellow-orange color. Was it always that color? You weren’t sure anymore.

Sometimes, you thought about blue skies and green grass, soft and cool under your feet. But those thoughts felt far away, like a dream you only half-remembered. Did the sky ever really look like that? Did grass ever feel that way?

You wanted to believe it had, but the memories didn’t stick. Maybe this was just how the world had always been—a place where nothing felt real. Or maybe you’d just been here too long and forgotten what life outside these walls was supposed to feel like.

Shaking off the thought, you followed Crystal as she turned into another stark white room. It wasn’t empty—other kids were already there, scattered like shadows against the clinical backdrop. They all wore the same expression: hollow, lifeless eyes staring out from gaunt, exhausted faces. Their bodies sagged with the weight of years of relentless tests, their wills long since broken.

You knew that look well. You’d seen it in the mirror every day. It was the look of survival in a place where hope had no place. Crystal’s chirpy tone felt like a cruel contrast as she addressed the room, her cheerful voice grating against the oppressive silence. You stayed near the doorway, scanning the others, looking for Felix or Faith. Were they here today? You didn’t see them, and unease prickled at your skin.

Crystal motioned for you to come forward, and you obeyed without hesitation. Resistance didn’t get you anywhere here, not when the punishments for defiance were worse than the tests themselves. As you moved into the room, the sterile air felt heavier, suffocating, and the weight of countless unspoken fears pressed down on you.

Another day. Another trial. Another step closer to an unknown fate you dreaded more with each passing moment.

Y/N slumped against the cold, sterile wall, exhaustion pressing down on her like a weight she could never shed. The years of relentless tests and constant fear had drained her of any real emotion, leaving only a hollow shell. She barely registered Crystal’s gratingly cheerful voice echoing through the room.

"Okay, you're all 12 now!" Crystal chirped, her tone as bright and fake as ever. "Time to get ready for the next tests! How fun!"

Y/N barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What the hell could she possibly mean by 'fun'? The word felt foreign in a place like this, where the only constants were pain and survival.

Crystal continued, her voice slicing through the thick haze of the room. "We need you to get into groups of two! Find a partner and wait for further instruction!"

Y/N sighed deeply, a sound of resignation rather than frustration. She forced herself to look around, her tired eyes scanning the room. Most of the kids had already started pairing up, desperate to cling to someone they trusted—or at least someone they feared less.

She felt a pang of guilt but shoved it aside. She couldn’t bring herself to care about them anymore. The constant cycle of watching kids get hurt, disappear, or worse had numbed her. Caring was just another weakness, and weakness got you killed here.

Then she noticed a girl standing off to the side, her body language mirroring Y/N’s own apathy. She leaned against the wall with crossed arms, her face blank, like she was barely present in the moment. The girl didn’t seem to care about finding a partner or even paying attention to what Crystal had said.

At least she’s not pretending this is normal, Y/N thought. With a sigh, she pushed off the wall and made her way over. If she had to do this, she might as well team up with someone who didn’t expect her to pretend to care.

"Okay, so remember each other! These will be your new sparring partners!" Crystal announced with her usual fake enthusiasm, clapping her hands together.

What? Y/N thought, blinking in confusion as the words sunk in. She turned to look at the girl standing beside her, who was now apparently her partner. The girl had short black hair styled in a half-buzz cut, with long bangs that framed her face. She looked tough—like she’d already spent years surviving this hell—and her arms were surprisingly muscular for someone their age.

The girl glanced at Y/N, her sharp eyes scanning her up and down. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips before she let out a quiet snicker and turned away, trying to hide her amusement.

Did she just laugh at me? Y/N thought, her face flushing with indignation. She didn’t think she looked particularly intimidating, but outright laughter? That was a new one.

"You are tasked with taking the other down," Crystal continued, her voice cutting through Y/N’s thoughts. "We will have three rounds."

Before Y/N could process the instruction or even brace herself, Crystal tapped a small watch on her wrist. A loud beep sounded, signaling the start of the match, and everything blurred into motion.

Y/N barely had time to react before she found herself flat on the ground, her breath knocked out of her as the girl pinned her effortlessly.

"Heh, you’re tiny," the girl teased, her tone light but not unkind. She loomed over Y/N, her smirk now a full grin as she held Y/N down with ease.

Y/N scowled, her pride stinging more than the fall itself. "I’m not that tiny," she muttered, trying to wriggle free, but the girl’s grip was firm.

"You sure about that?" the girl teased again, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement.

Y/N bit her lip, frustration bubbling up. This is going to be a long three rounds.

Trying to squirm free from the girl’s grip, Y/N huffed, her frustration mounting with every passing second. “Let go,” she demanded, her voice sharp with irritation.

The girl above her only laughed, a low, teasing sound that grated on Y/N’s nerves. “But aren’t you supposed to pin me, little girl?” she taunted, her smirk growing wider.

Y/N scoffed, her cheeks heating with anger. “We’re the same age! And don’t call me little!”

The girl’s gaze flicked to Y/N’s collar, the metallic band gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. “Oh, sorry about that... little 800,” she said with mock sweetness, her smile wickedly playful.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed as they drifted to the girl’s own collar. The number etched into the metal read 008.

“Figures,” Y/N muttered under her breath, glaring up at her. “Someone like you would have a number like that.”

“Oh?” 008 raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N grit her teeth, her muscles straining as she tried to push against the girl’s weight. “It means you’re cocky,” she snapped, her tone biting.

“And you’re stubborn,” 008 shot back effortlessly, her grin unfaltering. “I like that. Makes this more fun.”

“Fun?” Y/N growled, her frustration spilling over. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re feisty,” the girl said, leaning in closer. “This might actually be interesting.”

Y/N clenched her fists, determined to prove the girl wrong. She wasn’t about to let someone like her have the last word—or the upper hand.

“You’re not like the broken ones,” 008 laughed, her tone laced with amusement as she kept Y/N pinned. Her confidence was infuriating, her grin smug like she had already won.

But she was distracted.

Y/N gritted her teeth, seizing the opportunity. With a sudden surge of effort, she braced herself, managing to wedge her leg against 008’s hip. In one swift, calculated movement, she twisted her body and flipped the girl over, sending her sprawling onto the cold, hard floor.

008 let out a surprised grunt as she hit the ground, Y/N quickly moving to capitalize on the shift in momentum. She grabbed 008’s arm, twisting it behind her back, and pressed down with all her weight.

“Yeah,” Y/N hissed, her voice low and fierce as she leaned closer to 008’s ear. “I actually want to live.”

008 chuckled, though there was a sharpness to it now, her smug demeanor cracking slightly. “Touché,” she muttered, wincing as Y/N’s grip tightened. “Maybe you’re not so ‘little’ after all.”

Y/N didn’t respond, her focus locked on keeping her grip steady. The adrenaline coursing through her veins was the only thing keeping her exhaustion at bay.

“Alright, alright,” 008 finally relented, her free hand tapping the floor in surrender. “You win this round, 800. But don’t get too comfortable. I’m just getting warmed up.”

Y/N stood, her breaths heavy as she stared down at the girl. “Same.”

008 smirked as she climbed to her feet, brushing herself off. “Good,” she said, her eyes glinting with something almost like respect.

Y/N didn’t smile back. Fun wasn’t the word she’d use for this hell. But if she had to fight to survive, then she’d make sure no one underestimated her again—especially not 008.Round two felt like a relentless storm, and 008 was thriving in it. She moved with confidence, her fists flying as though she were born to fight. Every punch she threw, you managed to dodge—barely. The wind of her strikes brushed past you, each miss narrowing the gap between survival and defeat.

“Cute,” 008 taunted, her voice laced with amusement as she adjusted her stance, eyeing you like a predator playing with its prey. “But you’ll have to fight back if you want to win.”

You frowned at her words, anger bubbling beneath your surface. Fighting back wasn’t your first instinct; survival was. But her smug attitude, the way she seemed to revel in this twisted game, pushed you to act.

Going low, you surged forward, aiming for her midsection. Your arms wrapped around her waist in a desperate attempt to bring her down. For a moment, you thought it might work.

But 008 was quicker than you anticipated. With a sharp grunt, her fist came down hard on your back. The blow sent a jolt of pain through your body, forcing your grip to falter. You let go, your legs giving out as you collapsed to your knees, coughing as you tried to catch your breath.

“Not bad,” 008 said, her tone light and almost teasing as she circled you. “But you’re going to have to do a lot better than that, little 800.”

You glared up at her through the haze of pain, your jaw clenched. Her smirk only fueled your resolve. You weren’t going to let her win—not without a fight.

Gritting your teeth, you pushed yourself up, shaky but determined. The room spun slightly, but you steadied yourself, locking eyes with 008. Her expression shifted, a glimmer of respect flickering in her gaze.

“Still standing, huh?” she said, tilting her head. “Maybe you do have a bit of fight in you after all.”

You didn’t respond, but your silence spoke volumes. This wasn’t over—not yet.

The fight didn't last much longer. In the heat of your anger, you swung a punch at 008, your fist aimed for her face with the full force of your frustration. But she was too quick. She dodged with ease, grabbing your outstretched hand and twisting it behind your back, pinning you in a way that left you vulnerable.

She stood so close that you could feel her breath on your neck, and she let out a low laugh, her voice almost mocking. "You know," she said, her words drifting into your ear, "if we’re sparring partners from now on, maybe I could help you. You let your temper flare too fast."

For a moment, you froze in place, your struggle halting as you processed her words. A part of you, the part that was tired of constantly being pushed around, wanted to refuse. You weren’t here to make friends, and the last thing you needed was advice from someone who was part of this twisted system. But another part of you, the part that had been worn down by the constant tests, the cruelty, and the endless days of survival, recognized that there might be something to her suggestion.

Your breath came in shallow, strained gasps as you shifted your weight, trying to test the limits of her hold. She held you firmly, but not with the kind of force that made it impossible to move. She wasn’t trying to break you, not completely. It was as if she was waiting for you to realize something.

"You can't keep fighting like this," she added, her voice softer now, a hint of something almost... genuine in her tone. "You have power, but if you let your anger control you, you'll burn out before you even learn how to use it."

The weight of her words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you let your temper subside. Was she right? Was there a way to control this, to learn from these battles instead of just reacting in anger?

You weren’t sure. But for the first time in a long time, you let yourself consider the possibility that 008 might be offering something real—something you could use to fight back, to survive.

"I’m not here to make friends," you muttered under your breath, but there was no heat in it. Only the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to do this alone.

She rolled her eyes kicking your leg out from under you, sending you sprawling to the ground with a hard thud. The impact left you gasping for air, your chest heaving as you tried to steady yourself.

"Okay, then we won't be friends," she said, her voice laced with amusement, but there was a cold edge to it. She stood over you, watching with a look in her eyes that made your gut twist. Her smile widened—almost predatory, almost sadistic. "We'll be rivals, then. We don’t have to get chummy, you just have to try and be better than me."

She punctuated her words with a punch to her own hand, the sound echoing in the space between you. It wasn’t a casual gesture—her fist was a weapon in itself, and she was showing you just how much power she could put into that simple movement.

"If you can ever get to my level, that is." Her voice was like a challenge, daring you to take it on, to rise up and push yourself beyond what you thought you were capable of.

You lay there on the floor, the wind knocked out of you, and you found yourself staring at her, trying to regain your breath. Her words, like sharp needles, dug into your skin. She wanted to test you. She wanted to see if you could get better, if you could push yourself harder.

A part of you wanted to rise to that challenge, to prove her wrong, to show that you weren’t just some helpless victim caught in her game. But another part of you recognized how far ahead she already was—her power, her control, her confidence.

But this wasn’t about friendship. It was about survival. She knew it. You knew it.

You pushed yourself up, your body protesting, but you couldn’t let her see that weakness. Not now. "Fine," you spat out, still catching your breath. "We’ll see who’s better in the end."

She raised an eyebrow, amused at your defiance. "We will," she said, stepping back and giving you space to recover. "Let’s see if you can keep up, 800."

As she turned and walked away, her footsteps light, you could feel the weight of her challenge pressing on your shoulders.

The remaining rounds flew by, and before I knew it, Crystal called out, "Okay, finish!"

The sound of Crystal’s voice snapped you back into focus, but it was a struggle. Every breath felt like a mountain you had to climb, your chest burning from the exertion of the fight. You could feel the bruises already forming across your body, a constant reminder of how hard you pushed yourself. But you couldn't stop now, not when you were this close. Not when you had so much more to prove.

Before you could gather yourself, 008 was right there, her grip on your shirt harsh as she hoisted you up. You couldn’t even find the energy to resist as she pulled you to your feet, and for a moment, you just swayed, struggling to stay upright. She didn’t say a word, but the firm pat she gave you on the back—rough enough to make you stumble forward—felt like a challenge all over again. Without another glance, she turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, trying to steady yourself.

Your muscles screamed in protest as you pushed forward, but you had no choice. "Next test is strength training, follow me," Crystal called out, her voice ringing through the room, sharp and demanding.

The words barely registered at first, the fog of exhaustion still clouding your mind. But then you forced your body to move, your legs aching with each step as you followed her down the hallway. The others were already following in line, some of them looking as beat-up as you, others looking like they were barely fazed by the round of sparring. But the reality was clear—everyone was hurting, everyone was pushing their limits, whether they showed it or not.

As you entered the next room, the machines and equipment waiting for you seemed almost... intimidating. There was no telling what kind of strength they were measuring. But one thing was for sure: it would test everything you had left.

"I want everyone to use all the equipment here," Crystal’s voice rang out across the room, her tone firm but not as sharp as it usually was. "We have instructors at every station to help you. They’re here to guide you, so listen to them and follow their lead."

She gestured toward a group of military men and women standing near the machines. Their uniforms were crisp, their expressions stern, and their posture rigid. They looked like they could snap you in half with little more than a glance. But then, something unexpected happened. They didn’t move forward with the same cold, detached energy they always carried. Instead, there was a shift in their demeanor. They waited patiently, watching, ready to assist.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether this was another trick. But when Crystal gave the signal, you stepped forward, making your way to the nearest piece of equipment: a treadmill. The military officer by the machine noticed your approach and immediately walked over.

She had a calm, reassuring voice that immediately put you at ease, a stark contrast to the harshness you’d grown accustomed to in this place. "Alright," she began, her eyes scanning you with a mix of experience and empathy, "this is new to you, so we’ll take it slow. You’re here to build up strength, not to push yourself to the limit right away. If you push too hard, you’ll only hurt your muscles."

The words hit you in a way you weren’t expecting. Take it slow? That was the complete opposite of everything they had ever drilled into you. No one had ever told you to take it easy in the three long years you’d been trapped here.

"Just let your body get used to it," the officer continued, her voice steady and soothing. "There’s no rush. We want you to make progress, not just burn out."

You nodded, still processing her words. No rush? It felt like a foreign concept. Every part of you wanted to go faster, to prove that you could handle it, that you could push through the pain. But something about her tone made you pause, made you think twice.

Looking around, you saw the other kids starting their routines, each paired with a military officer, who was now giving them similar instructions. Their voices were calm, patient. The officers were showing the kids how to adjust the machines, how to use them properly without overexerting themselves.

Were they actually being nice?

You couldn’t quite wrap your mind around it. You’d spent so long in a world that demanded constant endurance and sacrifice. But here, it seemed like they were genuinely trying to help you build your strength, not tear you down.

You stepped onto the treadmill, cautiously adjusting the speed to its lowest setting. The officer nodded approvingly. "Good," she said. "Just take it slow. Focus on your breathing. Let your muscles adjust."

You began walking at a steady pace, each step deliberate, the machine humming beneath you. It felt strange, almost... manageable. There was no immediate pressure to keep up or outdo anyone. No one was shouting orders or glaring at you if you stumbled. Instead, it was like they were expecting you to go at your own pace, to build up from where you were now.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but glance around. The others were all focused on their exercises, their military instructors guiding them through each movement with care. It was almost as though the whole atmosphere had shifted. The place that had once been full of harsh commands and grueling demands now had a sense of calm discipline, a focus on steady progress rather than rapid results.

Maybe, just maybe, they really wanted to help. Maybe they weren’t here to break you. The thought seemed impossible, but the more you walked, the more it felt like it could be true.

You focused on your breathing, keeping your pace steady. Your muscles were sore, but not in the way they usually were. This was different. This was recovery, not destruction.

You kept walking, trying to let go of your doubts, even if just for a moment. You had to admit it—this wasn’t like the other tests. Maybe this was your chance to finally get stronger, without the pressure of constant punishment.

And so, that was how you spent a lot of your time. The steady rhythm of the treadmill beneath your feet became oddly comforting, a kind of routine you didn’t think you’d ever enjoy. The minutes ticked by slowly, but they also gave you a chance to clear your mind, to focus on your body and the movements that didn’t feel like they were designed to break you down. The officer’s calm, encouraging voice continued to guide you, reminding you to breathe, to keep the pace manageable, to not push too hard.

When the treadmill finally read 60 minutes, the officer gave you a gentle nod. "Alright, that’s enough for now. Great job," she said, her voice warm but professional. "Head over to the next station, and we’ll get you started on something else."

You nod, sweat dripping down your forehead, your muscles sore but not in the usual way. This was different. You felt like you were building strength, not being tested to the edge of your limits. The officer gave you a friendly smile as you walked off the treadmill, your legs slightly shaky from the long stretch of time spent on it.

The new station was an abdominal machine, the pads set at an angle to work your core. The male officer stationed there gestured for you to approach, a similar calm demeanor about him as he spoke. "Alright, we’ll take this one slow too. Just focus on your core and don't rush through it. We’re here to make sure you get stronger, but we don’t need to overdo it. You’ll just be hurting yourself if you push too fast."

You nodded again, taking your place on the machine. The officer adjusted it for you, ensuring the pads were in the right position. It was oddly refreshing to hear someone who cared about your form, who wanted to make sure you were doing it correctly instead of forcing you to go through the motions as quickly as possible.
"Remember, slow and controlled," the officer added as he stepped back, watching you closely.

You started the first set, focusing on your breathing and engaging your core. Your stomach muscles ached from the effort, but it was a different kind of ache—one that felt productive, not punishing. You worked through the sets, gradually finding a rhythm that didn’t feel like it was breaking you down.

As you finished the last set and sat up, the officer gave you an approving nod. "Good work. You’re progressing well. Head to the next station when you’re ready."

You took a deep breath, feeling the burn in your abs, but it wasn’t unbearable. You weren’t being pushed beyond your limits this time. It was manageable.

Before you knew it, you had worked your way through every piece of equipment in the room. Each session lasted a solid 60 minutes, each one pushing your body in a new way, testing limits you didn’t even know you had. You focused on each machine, each movement, paying attention to the rhythm of your breath, the way your muscles worked to respond to the challenge. You followed the officers’ instructions carefully, making sure to listen to their advice and take things slow, steadily building strength instead of breaking yourself down.

Your limbs were tired—exhausted even—but there wasn’t that sharp, unbearable pain that you had gotten so used to in the past. This felt different. You were being pushed, yes, but not to the breaking point. Your muscles were sore in the kind of way that meant they were growing, strengthening. The soreness was a reminder that you were improving, not just surviving.

You could feel it in your body. Your legs, your arms, even your core were all sore but in a way that felt productive, as if your body was being sculpted rather than torn down. There was no burning sensation that usually came with overexertion, no overwhelming fatigue that left you trembling on the floor. It was the kind of tired that told you your body was adapting, becoming something stronger.

And just as you were starting to feel like you could keep going, the voice of Crystal rang out, breaking through the focused silence that had taken over the room.

"Alright, lunch!" Crystal called, her voice sharp and quick, pulling you out of the rhythm you had finally settled into.

You exhaled sharply, the tension leaving your body with the sudden shift in atmosphere. Your muscles were still buzzing, but now you could feel the hunger in your stomach—your body had worked hard, and it needed fuel. You stood slowly, feeling the weight of your limbs, but the tiredness wasn’t overwhelming. It was almost like a sense of accomplishment.

The officers had left going a different way than your group. But, you were relieved to be able to sit down, to take a break after everything. But as you left the strength training room, you couldn’t help but feel a little proud of what you had just accomplished.

Heading straight to Faith and Felix, you plop down at the table where they always sat. With practiced ease, you discreetly pocket the pudding cup from your tray, saving it for Lily later. It had become a habit—she loved the pudding, and you’d do anything to see that tiny smile of hers.

“Alright, so, what’s the plan? Did we make any progress?” you whisper, leaning in close. The lunch area was loud with chatter and clattering trays, but the fear of being overheard kept your voice low.

Faith sighs dramatically, sliding her own pudding cup toward you without a word. She’d started doing this last year after meeting Lily during one of the tests. Since then, she’d taken a soft spot for your little sister, claiming Lily was “too cute not to spoil.”

“I think I found the exit,” Felix murmurs, his voice almost drowned out by the surrounding noise. You look at him sharply, your heart skipping a beat.

“I’ve been watching the guards,” Faith adds, leaning in as well. “I know their shifts, their routes, and when an opening would be best. But…” She trails off, her lips pressing into a thin line, signaling there was a catch.

Felix nods. “It’s risky. The timing has to be perfect, and even then, we’ll need a distraction.”

As they speak, you glance between them, noting how much they’ve both changed over the years. Faith’s fiery red curls were now cut to her shoulders, still wild but more controlled, a reflection of the calculated person she’d become. Felix, on the other hand, looked mostly the same but had shot up in height, towering over both you and Faith now. He carried himself with quiet determination, the kind that had kept the three of you alive this long.

“And what about after we get out?” you ask, your voice barely audible over the din. “Do we even know what’s out there? Where we’d go?”

Faith hesitates, her green eyes darting to Felix for support. He doesn’t meet your gaze directly but instead picks at the edges of his tray. “One thing at a time,” he says finally. “We can’t plan for out there until we’re no longer in here. We’ll figure it out.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, considering their words. The idea of escape wasn’t new, but with each year that passed, it felt more like a distant dream than an achievable goal. Still, the spark of hope Felix and Faith held onto was infectious, and you couldn’t deny how desperately you wanted to believe in it too.

Faith nudges your tray, snapping you out of your thoughts. “You better eat something,” she says softly. “You’ll need your strength for what’s coming next.”

You nod, taking a bite without really tasting it. The weight of their words settles heavily in your chest. If Felix’s intel was accurate, and if Faith’s timing worked, this could be the beginning of something—the first step toward freedom. But if it went wrong…

You glance at the pudding cup in your pocket, thinking of Lily. Whatever it took, you had to make this work. For her. For all of you.

Lunch passed in a blur, the weight of your conversation with Faith and Felix lingering in your mind. The three of you had decided to take the year to plan carefully. With one year left before hitting the dreaded age of 14, you knew rushing into action could lead to disaster. There were too many unknowns, too many risks. For now, confirmation and preparation were key.

When the group disbanded, you made your way to the next test with a resigned sigh. Crystal was already waiting for you Green Hearts, clipboard in hand, her usual detached demeanor on full display.

“Alright,” she began, not even bothering to look up as she spoke. “Endurance testing today. You'll be completing a series of challenging tasks where you'll need to heal yourself repeatedly. So, please, do well.” Her tone was chipper, as if she were announcing something as mundane as a weather forecast.

Before you could question what exactly that entailed, she gestured to a series of small, windowless rooms. You and the others were ushered into separate spaces, the sound of heavy metal doors clicking shut behind each of you.

The room you entered was bare, stark white with faint stains that made your stomach churn. The air felt stale, and the only notable feature was the walls—smooth but riddled with tiny, evenly spaced holes. The sight made you uneasy, a prickling sense of dread creeping up your spine. You didn’t know what was about to happen, but you were certain it wouldn’t be pleasant. It never was.

You took a deep breath, your gaze flicking to the single camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. They were always watching. Always judging. You clenched your fists, steeling yourself. Whatever they threw at you, you had to endure. You had to prove you could handle it—not just for survival but for the hope of making it out of here one day.

Chapter Text

Waking up with a gasp, your chest heaving, you stared into the darkness, disoriented and trembling. The nightmare had been so vivid, so real. You tried to steady your breathing, but your heart pounded relentlessly, refusing to let the panic fade.

Pushing yourself upright, you wiped the cold sweat from your face, hands trembling. The room was dimly lit, the faint hum of fluorescent lights filtering through the cracks in the door. Your cot, as unforgiving as the concrete floor beneath it, creaked as you shifted.

With quick, careful steps, you crept toward the small window to Lily’s room. Your heart threatened to burst as you peered inside. Relief washed over you like a wave when you saw her curled up in her bed, her small arms wrapped around her pillow. Her soft, even breaths filled the silence. She was okay.

You let out a shaky sigh, leaning your forehead against the cold glass for a moment longer, just to make sure. Watching her sleep was the only thing grounding you right now.

“She’s alive,” you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible. The nightmare had been so cruel, so gut-wrenching. Images of her lifeless form, the sound of her voice calling for you, echoed in your mind like a haunting melody. But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

Sliding down to the concrete floor, you let yourself collapse, pressing your back against the wall. The chill seeped into your skin, but you didn’t care. You hugged your knees to your chest, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

“She’s alive,” you repeated softly, a mantra to keep the fear at bay. It was just a nightmare, nothing more. But in this place, where nightmares often bled into reality, it was hard to shake the fear that one day, it might not be.

This place was breaking you, piece by piece, and you could feel it in every bone, every breath, every thought. Hugging yourself tighter, you rocked slightly, as if the motion could somehow keep you from shattering completely. The same mantra played on a loop in your head, as constant and relentless as your heartbeat: I need to get out. I need to get out. I need to get out.

You lifted your sweat-drenched head, your gaze locking onto the walls that surrounded you. Stark, white, and sterile, they were a constant reminder of the cage you called home. But the walls weren’t bare; they were filled with notches, your notches, marking each passing day. Every line carved with quiet desperation, each one screaming what you couldn’t say aloud.

Your eyes followed the lines until they blurred together, but one number burned in your mind: 1825 days. Five years. Five long, agonizing years. And now, as if the notches weren’t enough of a reminder, the creeping realization settled in your chest like a weight—your 14th birthday was close. Too close.

Faith and Felix had agreed: it was time. The three of you had spent years whispering plans, gathering scraps of information, watching for weaknesses in the guards and the schedule. You weren’t kids anymore, not really. You were survivors, and it was time to act like it.

But Lily… your thoughts drifted to her. She wasn’t the fragile little girl she used to be. She was old enough now. Old enough to run. Old enough to understand danger. Old enough to listen. She had to be. The alternative wasn’t something you could bear to think about.

You rested your forehead on your knees, squeezing your eyes shut against the sting of tears. She has to listen, you told yourself. She had to follow the plan, had to stay close, had to trust you. This wasn’t just about you anymore; it never had been. If this place had taught you anything, it was that Lily was your heart, and you’d do anything—anything—to keep her safe.

The room seemed colder, the silence louder. You felt the notches behind you like ghosts of days that had bled into one another, haunting and inescapable. But tonight, their power over you felt weaker. You were tired, beaten, but not broken.

Not yet. Not while there was still hope.

The sound of the metal plate hitting the concrete jolted you from your thoughts. You lifted your head, already familiar with the sound of your breakfast being delivered. The usual plate of bland, lukewarm food stared back at you as you grabbed the pudding cup, setting it aside for Lily like always.

A soft groan came from the direction of her small room, and you couldn’t help but smile faintly. Lily was awake. You peeked through the window and saw her stretching groggily, her tiny hands rubbing her eyes before she shuffled to her own plate. Watching her eat, you felt a flicker of relief. She looked okay. Tired, like all of you, but okay.

Stretching out your sore muscles, you stood and began your morning workout routine. It was one of the few things that felt like it belonged to you—something they hadn’t taken. Push-ups, sit-ups, lunges—it didn’t matter what it was, as long as you kept moving. The routine was a constant now, and it showed. You were more toned than ever before, your body adapting to the endless physical demands they threw at you.

At first, the military-led tests had seemed almost kind compared to the scientists' experiments. The officers gave clear instructions, told you not to overdo it, even encouraged you. It was a strange reprieve. But that didn’t last. As you and the others improved, they began pushing harder, barking orders, watching for weakness. The tests became grueling, almost as brutal as the experiments.

They didn’t want to break you entirely—just enough to keep you pliant. After all, broken toys weren’t useful. They needed you strong enough to perform, but not so strong that you could fight back. It was a delicate balance they maintained, one that made your blood boil even as you forced yourself through another set of squats.

Your gaze flicked back to Lily, now swinging her legs as she ate the last bites of her meal. She had a spark of resilience in her that burned brighter than you ever expected. It gave you hope, even on days like this when the walls felt closer than usual.

You pushed yourself harder, each movement a quiet rebellion against this place. They wanted you to be a tool, a pawn in their game. But every time you rose after being knocked down, every time you got stronger, it was a reminder—to them, and to yourself—that you weren’t just their toy. You were still fighting, and you weren’t going to stop until you got out. Until Lily got out.

As you finished your last set, your breath steadying, you noticed Lily standing by the window. Her small face peeked through the opening, curiosity shining in her tired eyes. You’d gotten used to this little ritual—her waiting patiently while you handed over the pudding cup. It was a silent exchange, one of the few constants in this chaotic place.

This time, though, as she reached for the pudding, you didn’t let her leave. Before she could trot off to enjoy her treat, you gently grabbed her tiny hand through the narrow gap.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the hum of the vents. She tilted her head, her brow furrowing slightly. “You trust me, right?”

Lily blinked, her small fingers curling instinctively around yours. “Of course,” she said, her voice innocent yet unwavering.

Your grip tightened just slightly, enough to steady the tremor in your hand. “If I told you to run… if I said it was time… you would, wouldn’t you?”

Her eyes widened, the weight of your words sinking in. For a moment, you thought she might pull away, but instead, she nodded slowly. “I’d run,” she whispered.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “Good,” you managed, forcing a small, reassuring smile. “That’s all I need to know.”

Her gaze lingered on you, searching your face for something you weren’t sure you could give her—assurance, safety, maybe even a promise that everything would be okay. But you didn’t have that to offer. Not yet. All you had was determination, and a plan that was still half-formed but growing stronger every day.

Lily’s hand slipped from yours as she backed away, her pudding cup clutched tightly against her chest. “I trust you,” she said again, her voice firmer this time. Then she turned and padded back to her room, leaving you alone with the echoes of her words.

You exhaled shakily, resting your forehead against the cool concrete wall. The weight of responsibility pressed heavy on your chest. There was no room for failure—not for you, not for her, not for anyone who dared to dream of freedom within these walls.

Lily trusted you. Now, you just had to prove worthy of it.

The day passed in its usual brutal rhythm—torture disguised as tests, pain turned into routine. Blood dripped from fresh wounds, pooling at your feet as you gasped for air. The cycle was endless, but you had adapted. You had no choice.

“Heal,” you murmured, your voice barely audible but carrying an undeniable power. Instantly, your body responded, knitting itself back together as though nothing had happened. Bruises faded, cuts sealed shut, and bones realigned with a sharp crack that no longer made you flinch.

“Break,” you whispered next, and the chains holding you down shattered into useless fragments.

You had mastered it—your power. It all came down to your words. What you spoke became reality, a weapon that cut both ways. The scientists had drilled you to the brink, forcing you to discover every nuance of your ability. At first, you stumbled, weak and unsure. But now? Now, you were in control.

The instructors still pushed you, their cold, clinical eyes watching for any sign of weakness. You gave them none. Instead, you worked within their system, turning their demands into your practice. Every time they tried to break you, you whispered one word and mended yourself, stronger and more precise than before.

“Impressive,” one of the military officers had remarked once, their voice carrying an edge of admiration. You didn’t care for their approval. You cared about surviving—about being strong enough to protect Lily when the time came.

In between sessions, you let yourself dwell on the plan. Every whispered command to heal or break became a rehearsal for something greater. You could feel it in your bones—freedom was within reach. You just needed to endure a little longer.

Your words were your salvation and your rebellion. They thought they could control you, but with every whispered command, you were writing your escape.

Your tired eyes scanned the room, lingering on the other children as they fought to keep up. Sweat dripped down their faces, pooling on the floor as they pushed their bodies past the limit. Each movement was desperate, driven by fear and the need to survive.

You weren’t like them anymore. Not fully. You’d heard it whispered by the instructors—Top 7. You were one of the best Green Hearts, and not just in your sector. You were in the top 7 of the entire facility. It didn’t bring you pride, though. Not really. It just meant you’d survived long enough, endured enough.

You glanced briefly at the others, their small frames shaking with effort. Chains swung wildly through the air, meant to ensnare and punish those who faltered. You didn’t falter. Not anymore.

Dodging a chain aimed at your legs, you moved fluidly, your body responding on instinct. Years of this had honed you into something more than you ever thought you could be. You pivoted, narrowly avoiding another chain that cracked against the floor where you’d stood moments before.

You thought about Felix and Faith. They were in the top 7 too, you’d learned. Each sector had its best, and the three of you had earned that title in the worst possible way—by being the ones who refused to break, no matter how hard they tried. It was some small comfort to know they were still fighting alongside you, even if you couldn’t always see them.

Your focus snapped back to the present as a particularly heavy chain swung toward your midsection. With a sharp inhale, you dropped low, the chain whistling over your head before slamming into the wall behind you.

You didn’t feel proud of how far you’d come. You felt relief—relief that you were still here, still breathing, still capable of fighting back. The chains came at you again, and you moved like water, untouchable. You didn’t care about being the best. You only cared about making it out alive.

When lunch finally arrived, you dragged yourself to the table where Faith and Felix were waiting. Sliding into your usual spot, you didn’t waste any time. “We need to escape,” you muttered, your voice low and urgent.

Faith leaned in, her fiery hair falling over her shoulder as she nodded firmly. Her expression was set, determined as always. Felix, however, didn’t meet your eyes immediately. He hesitated, his fingers drumming nervously on the table. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight with tension.

“Well…” he started, pausing to bite his lip. You could see the wheels turning in his head, the weight of what he was about to say bearing down on him. “There’s an opportunity tonight.”

Faith’s eyes widened slightly, and she turned to face him fully. Felix swallowed hard, glancing between the two of you as if searching for reassurance. “If we’re going to do it, tonight’s the best shot we’ll get. There’s a gap in the guard rotation, but it’s small. We have to move fast.”

Faith nodded, her voice steady. “We can do it. There’s an opening, and we’ll take it.”

You nodded in agreement, your heart already racing at the thought. “I’ll get Lily ready. She’s on board, and she knows what’s at stake.”

Felix exhaled shakily, running a hand through his dark hair. “Alright. We have to be quick and careful. If they catch us…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the unspoken threat hung heavy in the air.

Faith placed a hand on his arm, her touch grounding. “We’ve got this,” she said, her voice a mixture of calm and conviction. “We’ve planned for this. It’s time.”

You took a deep breath, steadying your own nerves. This was it. Years of waiting, enduring, and planning had come down to this moment. Felix nodded, his jaw tightening as he tried to push his fear aside.

“Tonight,” you echoed, locking eyes with both of them. “We’re getting out. All of us.”

You rose from the table and headed for the afternoon tests, the tension of the conversation still weighing on you. The day dragged on as usual, and you found yourself face-to-face with 008 again.

Her smirk was as infuriating as ever. As you squared off, she wasted no time, decking you square in the face. Pain exploded across your vision as you crumpled to the ground, but you were used to this. Gritting your teeth, you muttered, “Heal,” and felt the familiar surge of your power knitting the damage back together.

Standing again, you glared at her. Determination coursed through you as you rushed forward, hoping to catch her off guard and finally take her down. But 008, with her quick reflexes and smug attitude, danced out of your way effortlessly.

“Wow,” she teased, her tone dripping with mockery. “You still haven’t learned anything, have you, 800?”

You barely registered her words before her fist connected with your side, knocking you off balance. Her purple heart, proudly on her collarbone, caught your eye just before her knuckles landed a second time. You hit the ground with a thud, winded and frustrated.

“Again?” she laughed, her tone equal parts condescension and amusement. “You’re predictable, 800. But hey, keep trying. Maybe one day you’ll surprise me.”

Your fists clenched as you pushed yourself back up, resolve burning in your chest. One day, she wouldn’t be able to mock you anymore. One day, you’d win. But today wasn’t that day.

And so, the rest of the afternoon unfolded the same as it always did, with you and 008 locked in a series of sparring matches. Each battle was a mix of frustration and determination. You had managed to pin her only four times over the past year—each one a fleeting victory that never seemed to last. She was good, too good, and it was clear that she had mastered her own set of skills that made her nearly untouchable.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of resentment bubbling up. The system—the whole setup—felt rigged. It made sense, though. She was strong, fierce, and always one step ahead of you, a product of the same broken system that had pushed you all to your limits.

She was part of the top 7, just like you. It was maddening. You were good—better than most—but there was always that feeling of being stuck behind someone else.

“Stupid system,” you muttered to yourself as you dodged another punch from 008, her eyes glinting with superiority. You knew that no matter how much you improved, she’d always be there, just out of reach.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you were brought back to your room. The familiar cold concrete floor greeted you as you flopped onto your bed, the exhaustion settling in. Your muscles screamed in protest, your face throbbed from the blows, and even though you had healed yourself countless times, there was no healing for what this place had done to you mentally. The constant battle, the never-ending tests, and the oppressive weight of it all—it was like a weight on your chest, suffocating and unyielding.

You lifted your head slowly and glanced toward Lily's room, noticing that she had just returned. She moved quietly, almost cautiously, as she settled into her own space. A small part of you found comfort in seeing her, the one person who still brought a sense of peace in the chaos.

You watched her for a moment, your heart aching with a mix of protectiveness and guilt. She had no idea what you were really going through, but you had to make sure she stayed safe, even if that meant sacrificing everything for her. As she went about her own routine, you wondered if she could feel the same weight pressing down on her.

You sit up on your bed, if you could even call it that. It was barely more than a thin, uncomfortable mattress on a cold, hard floor. The weariness from the day’s tests clings to your bones, but you push it aside. This was too important. You rise slowly, your muscles sore, but there's no time for weakness now. Walking over to the small, barred window, you glance out, making sure the coast is clear before turning to Lily’s room.

"Hey," you call softly, hoping to catch her attention without alerting anyone nearby.

Lily looks up, her eyes wide with surprise as she springs from her bed, her small feet quick and light. She hurries over to the window, leaning in to listen, her expression a mix of curiosity and something else—a hint of fear, but also a flicker of hope.

"Tonight," you repeat, your voice low but firm. "Is it okay? Be ready. We can’t afford any mistakes."

Lily freezes for a moment, the reality of what you were saying sinking in. The silence between you stretches out for a few heartbeats before she responds, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tonight?"

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. This was it—the moment you had been planning for, waiting for, and fighting for.

"Yeah. Tonight. We finally get out of here."

She hesitates, looking at you with a mixture of doubt and trust, but after a long moment, she nods. The fear is still there, but so is the resolve. "I’ll be ready. I trust you."

A small, relieved smile crosses your face. "Good. We don’t get a second chance. We do this together, no matter what."

Lily nods again, and for the first time in years, you both share a moment of understanding. This was the first step toward freedom, and you were ready.

The evening dragged on, each minute feeling like an hour as you and Lily pretended to go about your normal routines. You kept your movements deliberate, forcing yourself to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. The tension was suffocating, but you couldn’t let it show. If anyone suspected anything, the plan would be over before it even began.

Standing by the small, grimy sink they provided in your room, you scrubbed yourself down with a washcloth. The water was cold, and the soap was rough against your skin, but you didn’t care. It wasn’t about comfort—it was about staying sharp. Wiping yourself dry with a thin towel, you glanced over at Lily’s room through the window.

She was perched on her bed, carefully stacking her favorite storybooks into a small, neat pile. Her tiny fingers ran over the worn covers, her expression one of quiet determination. You frowned, your brows furrowing deeply. The books? She wasn’t planning on bringing them, was she?

You whistled softly, the sound just loud enough to catch her attention without drawing it from anyone else. Lily’s head snapped up, her expression confused for a moment before she met your gaze. When she saw you, her face broke into a bright smile, as if she’d forgotten for a moment where you both were.

You didn’t smile back. Instead, your eyes flicked pointedly to the books in her hands. Shaking your head firmly, you mouthed the words, “Not bringing those.”

Her smile faltered, and she tilted her head, clearly reluctant. You leaned closer to the window, your voice barely audible but carrying the weight of a command. "You’re not keeping them," you whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.

For a moment, she hesitated, clutching the books to her chest like they were her most prized possessions. And maybe they were—her small escape from this place. But she had to understand. This wasn’t about sentimentality; it was about survival. You couldn’t afford to carry anything that might slow you down or draw attention.

After a long pause, she finally nodded, her movements slow and reluctant. You could see the disappointment in her eyes, but she didn’t argue. She trusted you. And for tonight, that trust was all that mattered.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on your chest. "I’ll get you new ones," you promise softly, hoping to ease the sadness written all over her face. "So stop looking like that."

But Lily doesn’t budge. She hugs the books closer, her small arms wrapped protectively around them like a shield. Her voice is a whisper, heavy with doubt and something deeper—fear, maybe. "But they say the outside world doesn’t have books like this anymore. How will you find them if they don’t have them out there?"

Her words hit you harder than you’d like to admit. Of course. Lily was only three when they took her. She doesn’t remember anything outside these cold, sterile walls. For her, this place is all she knows—the stories in her books are probably the only glimpse of something better she’s ever had.

You lean against the window, forcing yourself to keep your voice calm and steady, though the lump in your throat makes it difficult. "Remember," you say gently, letting a small, soft smile form on your lips. "The world is better than this place. The sky is blue, and the grass is green. There are plenty of storybooks out there waiting for you. Better ones than these."

As you speak, your mind drifts back to a faint, almost dreamlike memory. You think of the skylight in the common area, the way the sunlight sometimes filters through it, casting everything in a golden-yellow hue. You’ve never been sure if it’s real sunlight or just another simulation, but it’s the closest thing you’ve seen to the outside world in years. And in your heart, you cling to the belief that the world beyond these walls still holds those colors—blue skies, green grass, warm light.

Lily looks at you, her brows furrowed in doubt, her lips pressed tightly together. You can tell she’s trying to believe you, but the seeds of doubt they’ve planted in her mind are strong. Her grip on the books loosens slightly, though, and you know she’s trying.

You kneel by the window, locking eyes with her. "Trust me, Lily," you whisper, voice steady. "Out there, it’s everything these books can’t show you. It’s real. We’ll find it together. I promise."

For a moment, her small face softens, and she nods, the tiniest glimmer of hope flickering in her eyes.

When the guards finally shut the lights out, plunging the facility into its eerie, artificial silence, you spring into action. You’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks, biding your time, rehearsing every step in your mind. With steady hands, you pull out the two flat rocks you’d hidden during one of your earlier tests. Their edges are rough, but they’ll do the job.

Carefully, you wedge one rock into the edge of your small window, applying just enough pressure to create a gap. "Crack," you mutter under your breath, and the glass fractures faintly, spiderwebbing just as you’d hoped. Encouraged, you drive the rock in deeper, the sound muffled in the quiet room. Bit by bit, the opening grows large enough for you to climb through.

You waste no time, slipping through and landing softly in Lily’s room. She’s curled up on her bed, clutching the thin blanket tightly. Kneeling beside her, you gently shake her awake. "Hey, you ready?" you whisper urgently, your voice barely above a breath.

Before you can even finish your question, Lily’s eyes snap open. Without hesitation, she throws her arms around you, squeezing you so tightly that the air rushes from your lungs. For a moment, you’re caught off guard, but then you feel the tremble in her hands, the quiet, fierce determination in her grip. She’s been ready—probably lying there wide awake, just waiting for you to come.

A small, relieved smile spreads across your face as you hug her back, one hand gently petting her head to soothe her nerves. "You’re ready," you murmur, and she nods against your chest.

"I’m ready," she whispers back, her voice soft but resolute.

You pull back slightly to look at her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. In her wide, trusting eyes, you see the spark of courage that keeps you moving forward. Tonight, everything changes. Tonight, you’re going to get her out of here.

With a final nod to each other, you rise to your feet, taking her small hand in yours. There’s no turning back now. It’s time to put everything you’ve prepared into motion.

With the second rock, you move to Lily's door, wedging it into the gap just as you did with the window. Your movements are swift but deliberate, years of practice ensuring you don't make unnecessary noise. Pressing the rock into place, you mutter, "Splinter," and the doorframe gives a soft, cracking groan. The faint sound sends a jolt of adrenaline through you, but you keep going, applying steady force. The door finally pops open with a quiet click.

You glance back at Lily, who is wide-eyed but determined, and whisper, "Shield." A familiar warmth spreads through you, like an invisible barrier settling over your skin. The spell works instantly, wrapping both you and Lily in a fragile sense of safety. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.

"Come on," you urge, grabbing Lily’s hand tightly. Together, you dash out into the dimly lit hallway, your footsteps light but quick. Your heart pounds in rhythm with your pace, every corner you turn a potential trap. You focus on the goal: escape. There’s no room for fear, no room for hesitation.

The sound of hurried footsteps ahead brings relief instead of alarm as you round a corner and see Felix and Faith waiting, both panting heavily. Felix straightens, his face serious and flushed from exertion. "We’ve gotta move now," he huffs, already pointing down another hallway. "This is time-sensitive."

Without waiting for a response, he takes off, his lean frame disappearing into the shadowed corridor. You exchange a glance with Faith, who nods grimly, then tighten your grip on Lily’s hand.

"Let’s go," you whisper, pulling her along as you follow Felix. Faith falls into step behind you, her breathing steady but her eyes sharp, scanning every doorway and corner for movement.

The hallways blur together, endless stretches of sterile white broken only by the occasional flicker of a failing overhead light. The oppressive silence is broken only by the soft slap of feet against the polished floors and the distant hum of machinery. Your pulse thrums in your ears, but you focus on Felix’s back ahead of you, letting his determined pace guide you.

Lily stumbles slightly, her small legs struggling to keep up, but she doesn’t complain. You glance down at her, offering a reassuring squeeze of her hand. "Just a little further," you murmur, though you’re not entirely sure how much farther ‘further’ is.

Every second feels like an eternity as you race through the labyrinthine facility. The plan is in motion, and there’s no room for error now.

The faint hope in your chest twists into dread as the silence shatters with the sharp, blaring sound of a red alarm. The lights above flash ominously, bathing the hallway in intermittent crimson. You stumble slightly, the piercing noise rattling your focus.

"Don’t stop! Keep moving!" Felix’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding. His words snap you back to reality. You tighten your grip on Lily’s hand before quickly scooping her up onto your hip. Her arms wrap tightly around your neck, and you can feel her trembling.

Your legs pump harder than ever, driven by a singular thought: Keep Lily safe. You glance at Faith beside you; her face is set with grim determination, her breaths steady as she matches your pace. Her focus grounds you as the sound of your footsteps echoes against the cold, sterile walls.

You whip around a corner, and your stomach drops. A group of guards stands ahead, guns already drawn and pointed in your direction. Time seems to slow as your instincts scream at you to protect Lily, but before you can react, Felix raises his hands with a sharp flick of his wrists.

Flames erupt from his palms, an intense wave of fire roaring down the hallway. The guards don’t even have time to scream as they’re consumed, their figures crumbling into charred remains in mere moments. The smell of burnt flesh and scorched metal fills the air, choking and heavy, but Felix doesn’t falter. He doesn’t even look back.

“Move!” he barks, already sprinting past the blackened corpses.

Your legs tremble as you force yourself to keep going, following Felix down the now-cleared hallway. You don’t allow yourself to think about what just happened, about the bodies left in your wake. You push down the bile rising in your throat and focus on the only thing that matters: Lily’s safety.

Faith remains right beside you, her breathing sharp but even, her eyes scanning ahead for the next threat. You glance down at Lily in your arms, her face pressed against your shoulder, and whisper, "We’re okay. Just hold on."

The hallway stretches endlessly, each step bringing you closer to freedom—and deeper into danger. But there’s no turning back now. You’re too far in. And you’ll do whatever it takes to see this through.

The tension in the air reaches its peak as Felix suddenly shouts, "Faith, now!"

Before you can fully process his words, Faith moves with sharp precision, shoving you aside. Your hands hit the cold, metal double doors as she steps forward. Her hands press against the surface, and a sharp crackle fills the air. Sparks dance across the doors as an electric current courses through them, lighting up the control panel.

A high-pitched fizzle echoes as smoke curls from the keypad, and you hear the satisfying sound of the locking mechanism giving way. Faith slams her shoulder into the now-compromised doors, and with a groan of metal, they swing open.

“Go!” Felix shouts, already darting through. You follow, Lily still in your arms, her small hands gripping you tightly. Faith brings up the rear, slamming the doors behind you with a final surge of electricity, ensuring no one can follow.

Your feet hit the ground, and your heart skips a beat. You’re outside. The sky stretches endlessly above, no longer confined by walls or ceilings. For a moment, you can’t believe it. You pant heavily, staring at the open world ahead.

But the elation dies almost instantly.

The grass under your feet isn’t the lush green you’d imagined but a dry, brittle brown. It crunches beneath your weight, more dust than life. The air is heavy, filled with a metallic tang and the acrid stench of smoke that burns your throat with every breath. You glance around wildly. The trees in the distance are crooked and sparse, their leaves withered and hanging like the remnants of a long-forgotten storm.

“What…” you mutter, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your ears. This isn’t what you imagined. It isn’t the world you described to Lily.

Lily shifts in your arms, her eyes wide as she takes in the desolation. "Is this it?" she whispers, her voice small and trembling.

You tighten your grip on her, your heart sinking as the truth begins to settle in your chest. The sky above is a dull gray, smudged with streaks of yellow and orange that don’t resemble the sunsets of your dreams. It looks more like a horror movie. Around you, the world feels hollow, as if it has been drained of life, the colors muted, faded—nothing vibrant remains. A cold, creeping realization claws at you: this isn’t freedom. This is the slow, suffocating end of something that was never meant to be.

“Stop right there, 800, 009, and 200... Oh, and it seems you have 5002 with you. How interesting,” a voice rings out, calm yet unnervingly cold.

Your group skids to a halt, hearts pounding as you whip your heads toward the source. Standing a short distance away is the head scientist, her crisp white lab coat almost glowing under the dim light. Beside her are ten guards, their weapons raised, barrels gleaming with deadly intent.

You instinctively shift Lily behind you, your hand gripping her small shoulder for reassurance. Your other hand clenches into a fist as you mutter, “Shield.” A translucent barrier shimmers faintly, cocooning Lily with everything you have left to give. If they take me, fine—but Lily has to be safe.

Felix and Faith step forward, flanking you like two pillars of defiance. Felix’s eyes burn with rage, flames licking at his fingertips, ready to unleash his fury. Faith’s fingers crackle with sparks, the air around her charged with energy.

The head scientist claps her hands together, slow and deliberate, a smug smile curling her lips. “You’ve exceeded my expectations,” she says, her tone laced with mock admiration. “This is why you three are in the top seven! You escaped.”

Her smile grows wider, teeth gleaming like a predator’s. “Such good progress. It’s almost impressive.”

Almost.

Your eyes dart to the guards, their weapons unwavering. The contrast between her honeyed words and their silent, lethal presence makes your stomach churn. You’re not fooled.

“Let us go,” Felix growls, his voice low but trembling with the promise of destruction.

“Why would we do that?” the scientist replies, tilting her head in mock curiosity. “You’re some of our finest work, and you belong to us. This... little adventure? It ends here.”

“No,” you say firmly, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your insides.

The scientist’s eyes flicker to you, amusement playing on her face. “800, always so protective. Always the leader. But tell me, do you really think you can protect her? Protect all of them?” She gestures to Felix, Faith, and finally Lily.

“I don’t think,” you spit, standing straighter. “I know.”

Her smile falters slightly, but the guards step forward, guns raised higher. Felix’s fire flares brighter, Faith’s sparks grow wilder, and you brace yourself, preparing to fight with every ounce of strength you have.

But in the back of your mind, one thought drowns out all the noise: Lily must survive.

"You know, 800," a familiar, condescending voice cuts through the tense air, making your blood run cold. "This is why you’ll always be behind me."

Your heart drops as 008 steps out from behind the scientist, her posture as poised and arrogant as ever. She tosses her dark hair over her shoulder and fixes you with a smirk that’s equal parts mockery and delight.

"So, you were the escapee,” she says, her tone dripping with disappointment that feels more personal than you’d like. “You’re always so predictable, you know?”

The words sting more than they should, but before you can muster a retort, she sighs dramatically, one hand on her hip. “But I guess that’s what makes you cute." Her smirk grows into a laugh that grates against every nerve in your body.

You glare at her, fists clenched. "008," you snarl, your voice low and venomous.

Felix steps closer, his fire crackling dangerously, but you throw an arm out to stop him. You can feel Lily trembling against your back, her small hands clutching your shirt, and it fuels your resolve.

The scientist lets out an exasperated sigh, waving a dismissive hand at 008. “Enough with the theatrics, 008. You can flirt later. Capture them.”

008’s smile doesn’t falter as she steps forward, her confidence oozing from every movement. “Of course,” she purrs, her eyes locked on you like a predator sizing up prey. “Don’t worry, 800. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Just like old times.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you shift into a defensive stance. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

Her smile widens, showing teeth. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to break you, 800. That would ruin the fun.”

008 lunges at you with terrifying speed. You barely manage to push Lily further behind you before the impact slams into your chest. The force sends you flying several feet, skidding across the dry, rusty grass as the air is knocked from your lungs. You choke on a breath, coughing violently as you try to regain your bearings.

“Aw, come on! Pay attention to me, cutie!” 008 taunts, her voice light and playful as if this is all just a game to her. She stands over you with that same smug grin, waiting for you to get up like a cat toying with a mouse.

You struggle to catch your breath, your chest aching from the impact. 008's words are like fuel to the fire burning within you. You glare up at her, your eyes blazing with anger and determination. For a moment, you forget about the pain and the desperation to escape. All you can think about is taking down this sadistic, twisted creature.

As you push yourself up, 008's grin widens, and she takes a step closer. Her eyes sparkle with excitement, like a child waiting for a birthday gift. You can sense her magic coursing through her, a dark, pulsing energy that seems to seep into the air around her.

You take a deep breath, ignoring the pain and the fear. Your magic responds to your anger, surging through your veins like a raging river. You can feel it building, waiting to be unleashed.

"Bring it on, freak," you spit out, your voice low and venomous. You take a step forward, your eyes locked on 008's, daring her to come closer.

But then you hear it—a series of deafening shots, sharp and precise. Your head snaps toward the sound just in time to see Faith and Felix dodging a hail of bullets.

“As for you two,” the scientist calls out from behind her guards, her tone almost regretful, “it really is a shame. You were the best we had.”

“No!” you scream, panic ripping through your chest as you try to scramble to your feet, but 008 is on you again.

She slams a fist into your side, sending pain shooting through your ribs as she laughs. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore someone who’s trying to kill you?”

You clutch your side, struggling to keep your focus. Trying to catch your breath. Faith and Felix are still dodging expertly, using their abilities to stay ahead of the guards’ aim. Faith’s electricity crackles and arcs, shorting out rifles, while Felix sends fiery blasts to keep the guards at bay.

But then you see it—the glint of something on the rooftop. A sniper.

You watch, horror-stricken, as two shots ring out, almost silent compared to the chaos below. These aren’t bullets—they’re needles, and they strike their marks with chilling precision.

Faith stumbles first, her electricity flickering out as she collapses to the ground. Felix is next, his flames sputtering into nothing as he drops to his knees, clutching at his neck where the dart hit.

“No!” you scream again, the sound raw and guttural as you thrash against 008’s grip. She grabs your wrist and pulls you upright, her expression gleeful.

“Relax, they’re fine—for now,” she says with a wink. “But you, 800? You’re all mine.”

Her words snap you out of your daze. You grit your teeth, pulling every ounce of strength you have to mutter one word under your breath: “Shove.”

The force of the command sends 008 flying backward, her smug grin replaced by surprise as she crashes into the ground. You don’t wait to see her reaction.

You rush toward Lily, who’s cowering behind a broken tree trunk. Your heart is pounding, your mind racing, but one thought overrides all others: Get her out.

“Ah, that’s right,” the scientist says with a tone of amusement, her hand pulling a sleek, black remote from her coat pocket. “You always had that annoying ability. Such a shame it can’t save you now.”

Panic surges through your veins as you sprint toward Lily, her small figure trembling behind the tree trunk. Your feet pound against the brittle ground, your hand outstretched toward her. You’re so close—so close—when the scientist presses the remote.

Click.

An unnatural jolt courses through your body, originating from the base of your neck where the collar rests. Pain blooms sharply, making you stumble mid-step.
“No,” you gasp, barely able to form the word. It feels like fire is racing through your nerves, paralyzing your limbs one by one. Your hand trembles as you strain to reach Lily. She’s so close, just inches away.

“Lily...” you whisper, your voice cracking as your knees hit the ground. The world around you tilts, and your vision starts to blur.

Through the darkening haze, you see Lily scrambling toward you, her tiny hands reaching out. Her face is streaked with tears, her mouth open in a desperate cry.
“Sissy!!” Lily’s scream cuts through the chaos like a knife, raw and full of terror.

You force your arm forward, desperate to grab her, to hold onto her, to protect her—but your strength is fading too fast. The last thing you feel is the warmth of her fingers brushing against yours before the darkness swallows you whole.

In the distance, you can still faintly hear her cries. Hold on, Lily. Just hold on. But even your thoughts slip away as the collar’s effect pulls you into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Waking up, a wave of nausea hits you like a brick wall. Your head feels foggy, and your skin is drenched in sweat, hair plastered to your forehead and neck. Every blink is a struggle, your eyelids heavy as lead. Your whole body feels weighted, as if an unseen force is holding you down.

You try to lift your hand to wipe your clammy face, but something stops you. Confusion prickles at the edge of your dulled senses. You try again, pulling harder this time, but your arm doesn’t budge.

Panic starts to creep in as your vision clears. The room is dimly lit, sterile and cold, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above. You glance down and realize with a jolt why you can’t move—your wrists are bound, thick metal cuffs chaining you to a chair.

Chained.

You tug against the restraints, testing their strength, but they don’t give an inch. Your legs are tied too, the metal biting into your skin every time you move.
Taking a shaky breath, you try to piece together what happened. The last thing you remember is Lily’s scream—her tiny, terrified voice crying out for you. Lily. Your heart lurches in your chest, and you pull against the chains with renewed desperation.

Lily! you rasp, your voice raw and weak.

Or at least, you tried to yell. The sound that came out was nothing more than a muffled grunt. Panic floods you as you realize the weight around your jaw—you're muzzled. A metal contraption locks your mouth shut, ensuring you can’t speak, can’t use your abilities. You go pale, your breaths quickening as your eyes dart frantically around the room.

The room is shrouded in darkness, except for a single, harsh spotlight casting an unflattering glow directly on you. The emptiness around you feels suffocating, and the silence is deafening.

Where’s Lily? Where’s Felix? Where’s Faith?

Your heart races as you pull against the chains with everything you’ve got, the clinking of metal echoing off the cold, sterile walls. Your chest tightens with every fruitless tug.

“Ah, you’re awake, 800.”

The voice sends a chill down your spine. It’s calm, almost amused, and eerily familiar. You stop struggling for a moment, your head snapping toward the direction of the voice, though it seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

The sound of footsteps follows, slow and deliberate, cutting through the silence like a knife.

The woman from earlier steps into view, her heels clicking sharply on the cold floor. She halts in front of you, a frown etched deep into her face. "Why did you have to pull that stunt, 800?" she asks, her tone dripping with disappointment. "We can't afford to get rid of you, so we'll just have to issue a punishment fit for your crime."

The words send ice through your veins. You glare at her, your breathing heavy through the muzzle, but she ignores your silent defiance.

Suddenly, the blinding overhead lights flick on. You squint, wincing at the harsh glare, your eyes struggling to adjust. When your vision clears, your stomach drops.
Two guards drag Felix and Faith into the room. Both are bound with intricate restraints that shimmer faintly, designed to neutralize their abilities. They’re forced to their knees, the guards gripping their shoulders firmly, guns pressed against the back of their heads.

"Let go of me!" Faith growls, struggling against her captors. Her voice is fiery, but the tremble in it betrays her fear. Felix remains silent, his head bowed, his breathing shallow.

You thrash in your chair, desperate to break free, to do something, anything. Your chains rattle, your movements frantic, but it’s no use.

The woman watches you with a detached curiosity, as if observing a caged animal. "You see, 800," she says coolly, gesturing toward your friends, "actions have consequences. I wonder how far you're willing to go to protect them."

She steps closer to you, leaning down until her face is inches from yours. Her voice lowers, dangerously soft. "Are you ready to play by our rules now? Or do we have to make this more... permanent?"

The woman steps back, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of her lips as another door creaks open. Your heart stops as your gaze snaps to it.

A guard steps through, dragging Lily by the wrist. She’s screaming, her small frame writhing in an attempt to break free. Her cries echo in the sterile room, her voice raw with terror.

“Sissy! Please, please!” she wails when her tear-filled eyes meet yours. She reaches toward you with her free hand, her desperation evident in every trembling movement.

Your chest tightens painfully. You pull against your restraints with all your strength, the cold metal biting into your wrists and ankles as you struggle. The chains rattle violently, but they don’t budge.

Lily’s cries cut through you like a blade. You want to yell, to comfort her, to promise her everything will be okay—but the muzzle ensures your silence.

The scientist claps her hands lightly, as if calling for everyone’s attention. “Now, isn’t this a touching little reunion?” she says, her tone mocking. She turns back to you, her eyes glinting with malice.

“We’re going to play a game,” she announces, her voice echoing in the tense silence. She gestures toward Lily and then to Felix and Faith, still kneeling with guns at their heads.

“At the end of it, someone dies.” She delivers the words with chilling nonchalance, as if discussing the weather. “Your sister... or your friends. The choice is yours, 800.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as her words sink in.

Lily’s sobs grow louder, and Felix lifts his head slightly, his gaze locking with yours. Faith is trembling with barely contained fury, her eyes burning with determination as she glares at the guards.

The scientist shrugs, a false air of indifference in her posture. “No rush, of course. Take your time.” She smirks. “But just so you know, hesitation tends to have... consequences.”

Her words are a dagger in your gut. The room feels suffocating, the weight of her ultimatum pressing down on you. Every fiber of your being screams to protect them all, but the cruel reality of her game leaves you trapped, powerless, and desperate.

You force yourself to stop struggling for a moment, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps as you assess the situation. Panic and fury swirl in your chest, but you push them down. You need to focus.

Your eyes dart to the glass window to your left. It’s slightly elevated and distant, but close enough that you suspect it’s an observation room. There are likely more guards or scientists inside, monitoring the situation. Not your immediate problem, but something to keep in mind.

You count the enemies: ten in total.

Four guards by Felix and Faith—two holding them down, two standing ready with weapons.

One guard holding Lily—his grip tight, her cries piercing through the tension.

Four near the scientist, likely her personal security detail.

The scientist herself, standing confidently as if she knows she holds all the power here.

The restraints around your wrists and ankles dig into your skin painfully, and the metal muzzle clamps tightly over your mouth, muffling any sound you might make. But you test them again, noting the slight give in the chains. They’re strong, but not invincible.

You glance at Felix and Faith. Their restraints are different—clearly designed to suppress their powers. Felix is glaring daggers at the scientist, his body trembling with suppressed rage, while Faith grits her teeth, her eyes darting to you with silent urgency.

Then there’s Lily. Her terrified eyes are locked on you, her small hand reaching out as if you could pull her into safety.

Your mind races. You’ve fought tougher odds in the tests before, haven’t you? You just need to figure out the weak points here.

Possible Actions:

The scientist and her guards: If you could take her out or use her as leverage, it might create enough chaos to turn the tide. But her guards are close, and she’s likely got more tricks up her sleeve.

The guards holding Felix and Faith: They’re preoccupied with keeping them subdued. Could Felix’s fire or Faith’s electricity be triggered somehow?

Lily’s guard: He’s isolated, holding her alone. If you could take him down first, she’d be safe. But it would mean exposing her to potential danger.

The clock is ticking. The scientist watches you with a smug expression, clearly enjoying your internal struggle.

Your vision narrows as you focus on the chains. If you could break them, even partially, your abilities might give you the edge. You pull again, this time with purpose, searching for any sign of weakness.

The scientist sighs dramatically, folding her arms as she stares you down. "Come now, 800, time's wasting. Tick tock," she taunts, her voice clipped and full of smug superiority. Her gaze drifts to the guards, her lips curling in a smirk. "I suppose if you’re not going to make a choice, we’ll have to start without you."

Your heart stops for a split second as she gives the guards a curt nod. Without hesitation, the one restraining Lily yanks her arm at an unnatural angle. A sharp, high-pitched scream rips from her throat, and tears stream down her face. The sight freezes you for a moment before sheer panic sets in.

No! you want to yell, but the muzzle bites into your skin, silencing you.

Your eyes dart to Felix as he grits his teeth in pain. A guard plants his boot on Felix’s leg and shifts his weight, threatening to snap the bone. Felix hisses in pain, struggling against his bindings, but he can’t break free. Faith watches in wide-eyed horror, her face pale, her body trembling.

No. No, no, no, no! The word repeats in your mind like a mantra, drowning out everything else. Your breaths come in short, rapid gasps, your chest rising and falling in a frantic rhythm. Your vision blurs with tears, but you don’t dare let despair win. You thrash against your restraints, pulling hard enough that the metal bites into your skin, drawing blood. The faint coppery tang fills the air, but you barely register it.

Focus! Think! There has to be a way!

You try moving your head, testing the muzzle’s limits. It’s tightly secured, the edges digging into your face, but you notice something—a slight give at the hinges. It’s not much, but it’s enough to spark a flicker of hope.

The scientist tilts her head, an amused smile on her face as she watches your struggle. "Oh, how quaint," she says mockingly. "Still so predictable, 800. You never did learn when to give up. But don’t worry; we’ll help you understand." She nods again, this time toward Felix’s guard.

Your mind screams as the guard shifts more weight onto Felix’s leg. Felix grits his teeth but can’t hold back a sharp cry of pain. Faith shouts something unintelligible, her voice raw with desperation.

Your heart feels like it’s going to explode. I have to stop this! You twist and jerk your head violently, slamming it back against the chair repeatedly. The impact rattles the muzzle, each hit sending a jolt through your skull. The hinges groan slightly under the strain, the faint sound spurring you on.

The scientist taps her foot impatiently. "Honestly, 800, this is tiresome. Fine, if you won’t choose, I will." She gestures at Lily’s guard. "Break it."

Time seems to slow as the guard tightens his grip on Lily’s arm, readying to snap it. Her sobs turn to panicked screams, and she cries out for you. "Sissy! Please!"

The sound shatters something inside you. Adrenaline surges through your veins, overriding pain and fear. You thrash harder, the muzzle scraping against your skin as you force it against the edge of the chair.

Despite your desperate efforts, the cruel snap of bone echoes through the room like a thunderclap, and your heart drops into your stomach. Lily’s piercing scream cuts through the air, raw and full of agony. The guard releases her, and she crumples to the floor, clutching her broken arm and sobbing uncontrollably.

Lily! you want to cry out, but the muzzle keeps you silent. Your body trembles, and rage courses through you like a wildfire. Tears blur your vision, but you refuse to let them fall. You thrash harder, pulling at your restraints until they bite deeper into your skin.

Felix’s cry follows, a sound of both pain and despair. You glance over just in time to see him collapse to the ground, his leg twisted unnaturally. He curls around it, his face pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Faith lets out a strangled scream, her eyes wide with terror as a guard steps toward her, pressing her down. The situation feels like it’s spiraling further out of control with every passing second.

No! you scream internally, your mind racing as you thrash against your bindings. This can’t be happening. Not Lily, not Felix, not Faith. I have to stop this.

The guard who broke Lily’s arm points his gun at her small head, his expression cold and unfeeling. She looks up at you with tear-filled eyes, trembling, clutching her broken arm to her chest. "Sissy!" she cries out weakly, her voice cracking with pain.

A furious storm brews inside you, but you’re helpless, the muzzle still firmly in place. You jerk your head wildly, slamming the metal against the chair in an effort to dislodge it. Pain radiates through your skull with every impact, but you don’t stop.

"Pick," the scientist says sharply, her voice laced with cruel amusement. She watches you with detached interest, as if you were a particularly dull experiment that has outlived its novelty. "Your sister, or your friends. Time’s up."

The guard presses Faith down, pointing a gun at her head, ready to fire at a moment's notice. Her eyes widen in panic, and she grits her teeth, struggling fiercely against her bindings.

You’re no longer just panicking; you’re furious. Furious at the scientist. Furious at the guards. Furious at yourself for not breaking free sooner. Come on! Come on! you scream internally, slamming your head again and again until your ears ring and the muzzle starts to loosen.

Lily’s cries grow weaker, each sound cutting into you like a knife. Felix lays curled up on the floor, pain etched into every line of his face. Faith is next, and you can’t stop any of it.

No! you scream in your head, refusing to let this end here. You wrench your neck to the side with one final desperate motion, and with a sickening snap, the muzzle breaks free.

The muzzle clatters to the ground, but the momentary relief is crushed by the scientist’s sharp command.

"Now!" she barks, her voice cutting through the air like a whip.

The shots ring out, deafening and final. The room erupts into chaos, and time slows to a crawl. Your vision blurs as your mind races, the scream ripping from your throat raw and primal.

"Die!" you roar, squeezing your eyes shut, every fiber of your being igniting with unrestrained fury and desperation. You feel it, like a dam breaking inside you. A surge of energy explodes outward, rippling through the room with an intensity that makes your ears ring. The air fills with deafening pops, one after another, as the guards around you collapse like marionettes with their strings cut. Warm, sticky liquid splatters across your skin, but you don’t care. You don’t even notice.

All that matters is Lily.

You stagger to her, collapsing to your knees beside her small, crumpled form. Her eyes flutter weakly, her broken arm cradled to her chest. Blood pools beneath her, staining the floor, and your heart shatters.

"No, no, no," you whisper, your hands trembling as they cup her face. Her skin is pale, far too pale, and her breaths are shallow, wheezing with each exhale.

"Live," you plead, your voice cracking. You press your hands to her wounds, trying to stem the flow of blood, trying to will her to stay with you. Panic claws at your chest as tears blur your vision, but you don’t stop.

"Live!" you cry again, the word filled with raw intent. You smooth her hair back, touch her face, anything to keep her grounded, anything to keep her here.

The energy inside you burns hotter, coiling and twisting as if responding to your desperation. You don’t understand how or why, but you pour everything into her, every ounce of your will, your love, your determination.

A faint glow begins to emanate from you, soft and warm. It spreads across Lily’s body, the light pulsating in rhythm with your frantic heartbeat.

The light around Lily fades, leaving you staring in helpless disbelief. Her small chest remains still, and her pale face feels colder beneath your trembling fingers. Panic grips you harder than ever as the thought flashes through your mind—the scientist’s cruel lectures, the endless experiments, their obsession with souls.

"Soul..." your voice trembles, desperate and breaking. "Come out."

You don’t know if it will work, but it has to. It has to.

The air hums faintly as a faint small purple heart emerges from Lily's chest. Her soul, small and vibrant, hovers delicately, flickering like a candle in the wind. Tears stream down your face as you cradle it gently, staring at its faint pulse.

"Maybe... maybe her body is too broken," you mutter to yourself, voice cracking. "But if I can just... keep her safe. Keep her alive... somehow."

A dangerous idea takes root in your mind. If Lily’s body can’t sustain her, maybe her soul can live with you. Together. Protected.

"Soul... come out," you whisper again, your voice low and firm.

The air shifts once more, heavier this time, and you feel an almost unbearable tug from deep within your chest. Pain flares through you as a green light begins to emerge—a cracked, fractured heart. Your soul. It hovers in the space between you and Lily’s, its imperfections painfully obvious next to the pure radiance of hers.

You stare at them both, your heart pounding. This might not work. This might kill you. But none of that matters.

"My Lily," you murmur, your fingers trembling as they reach for her soul. "I’ll protect you. No matter what. I’ll keep you with me."

Carefully, you guide her purple soul toward your own, pressing them together. A jolt of energy surges through you, searing and intense. Your vision whites out, and for a terrifying moment, you can feel everything—her fear, her pain, her tiny, fragile life.

A cold, hollow silence fills the air, and the world feels like it’s holding its breath. Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat louder than the last, a steady drum that echoes in the void of your mind. You watch as the once-vibrant purple glow of Lily's soul starts to dim, the heart that held it in your hand fracturing like fragile glass.

The once delicate pulse of her life flickers, and cracks spider through it like a spider’s web, each one a gut-wrenching reminder of your failure.

“No... no, no, no!” you gasp, your voice raw, your hands trembling violently as you desperately try to force the souls together. But no matter how hard you try, the connection slips further away. The glow dims, becomes pale, almost sickly, until the heart crumbles entirely, turning to ash and dust, slipping like sand through your fingers.

You freeze.

A heavy, suffocating silence fills the room, and your breath becomes shallow, ragged. Time feels like it’s moving too fast and too slow all at once. You want to scream, to cry, to tear at your hair and beat the ground until your hands are raw. You want to fix it, to make it right, but the weight of what you've just done settles over you like a cold, suffocating blanket.

Your chest tightens, and a painful emptiness spreads within you.

Did you just kill Lily?

The thought hits you like a punch to the gut. You try to breathe, but the air feels thick and impossible to inhale. Your eyes dart down to where her body lies, her once-precious soul now nothing but dust in your hand.

Lily...

Your little sister... the one you promised to protect.

But now, she’s gone. You failed her. The weight of your failure crushes you. There’s no more pleading, no more desperate hope. The heart that had been her soul is nothing more than dust in the air. And she... she’s gone.

You sit there, frozen, unable to move, your chest aching with the pain of your own incompetence. The world spins around you, but you can’t focus. Your hands tremble, but you can’t feel them. The rush of your panic, your desperation, it all fades into an overwhelming numbness.

Your heart isn’t just broken—it's shattered.

"Please... please... no..." Your voice is barely a whisper, cracking with the weight of what you’ve done. You close your eyes tightly, trying to block out the sight of the ruined soul. You can’t even bring yourself to speak again, to apologize to her, because deep down you know it’s too late.

The world is dark. Empty.

And you’ve lost the one thing you swore to protect.

Your arms tremble as you hold Lily's lifeless body, cradling her as if doing so could bring her back. The soft weight of her in your arms, once full of life and energy, now feels like the most painful reminder of your failure. "It’s okay, I'll keep you safe," you whisper desperately, as though the words themselves could reverse what had happened. Your voice cracks with the weight of the pain gnawing at your heart.

For a moment, the world outside of you doesn't exist. The silence is heavy, crushing you with the realization of what you’ve lost. Faith. Felix. Lily. All gone.

You feel the sharp sting of grief, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t care about anything except holding onto what little is left of them.

You glance at Faith and Felix, their bodies still where they fell, but the sight of them only makes your heart ache more. You crawl over to them, still cradling Lily in your arms. You gently place Lily’s body down, your hands shaking as you run your fingers through Faith’s hair, brushing it away from her face. You try to ignore the blood pooling beneath her, the look of peace now settled across her features. “It’ll be okay,” you whisper, though the words are hollow.

You do the same for Felix, brushing his hair from his face, trying to smooth away the anguish that was written in the stillness of his expression. Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat that you can’t swallow. The words escape you, trapped in the fear that speaking them will make it all more real.

Your focus shifts back to Lily. You clutch her body tighter to your chest, your breath ragged, but it doesn’t help. You can’t bring her back. You can’t fix any of this.
Then, suddenly, the doors burst open. The sound of heavy boots on the cold concrete floor fills the room. Four guards enter, their weapons raised, ready to finish the job. They don’t know what’s coming, but you do. The fury inside you explodes.

"Die!" you scream with everything you have, your voice raw and primal, laced with pain and rage. The air in the room seems to crackle with the intensity of your intent, a surge of power that you can’t contain.

Pop. Pop.Pop.pop

Four guards drop, their bodies crumpling to the floor before they even have a chance to react.

You can feel the aftermath of your actions like a burning in your chest, but you can’t stop. The flood of anger and grief overwhelms you, and you scream again, this time with all the sorrow you’ve been holding in for too long.

The doors slam shut behind the fallen guards, their lifeless bodies forgotten, as you pull Lily back to your chest, cradling her as if the act itself could undo everything.
Your vision is blurred with tears, but you don’t care. All you can think about is the crushing weight of your loss.

The silence returns. The room is empty, except for you and the bodies of those you couldn’t protect. The sound of your own heartbeat echoes in your ears as you sit, rocking back and forth, clutching onto what remains of your family.

“I'm sorry," you whisper, though you know the apology means nothing now. "I'm sorry.”

A sharp, searing pain lances through your neck, making your entire body stiffen as the jolt surges through you. Your heart pounds harder, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as your body betrays you. The realization hits you in a cold wave. The collar.

You know they’ve done this before. The painful shock, the heavy weight of it pulling you down, robbing you of control, turning you into a puppet once again.

Your eyes snap toward the window. There, standing behind the glass, you see them. The scientists. Their face, smug and cold, their hands clasping the remote that controls your every movement. Their lips curl into a knowing smile as they watches you struggle, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

“Bastards...” you mutter under your breath, the words barely escaping as you growl in fury.

But it's no use. The pain spreads like wildfire through your veins, clouding your vision. You try to fight it, but your limbs feel like lead, heavy and unresponsive. You grip Lily tighter to your chest, your heart breaking all over again as you press her body against you, desperately trying to hold onto her, to keep her safe from everything around you.

“No, please,” you whisper hoarsely, your voice weak and breaking. "You can't take her. Not again. Not after everything."

But the world around you begins to fade. Your vision blurs, your thoughts become a tangled mess, your body no longer responding to your frantic commands. The shock is too much, your body succumbing to the weight of it. You try to stay conscious, to fight, but the overwhelming darkness pulls at you, dragging you down into nothingness.

The last thing you feel is the soft, lifeless weight of Lily in your arms as your body goes slack, your grip weakening as unconsciousness takes over. The cold sting of defeat washes over you as everything fades to black.

And then, there is nothing.

Chapter Text

The cold concrete floor beneath you is harsh as you slowly begin to regain consciousness. Your head feels heavy, your thoughts muddled, and there's an unsettling emptiness in your chest. You notice immediately that you're muzzled again—this one more secure, the metal pressing tightly against your face. Your hands are bound behind your back, the ropes digging into your skin as you attempt to move. You tug at the restraints, but there's no give. The room is cold and sterile, a hollow, lifeless place that only magnifies the sinking dread that fills you.

You blink rapidly, trying to clear the fog in your mind, but the disorientation lingers. The sound of footsteps echoes against the walls, and before you can fully process what’s happening, a guard enters with a male scientist.

"800," the scientist says, his voice as cold and detached as ever, "it has come to our attention you are 14 now. It's time to be transferred to our battle facility. We will transport you now that you are awake. Please follow orders."

The words hit you like a slap, but you’re too stunned to react at first. Battle facility? Transferred? You try to push yourself up, but the weight of your restraints and the throbbing pain in your limbs make it difficult. You shoot a quick glance at the scientist, trying to make sense of what he's saying.

The scientist’s cold words echo in your mind, but they feel distant, like they belong to someone else. The weight of everything—the loss of Lily, Felix, and Faith—it all crashes down on you in a crushing wave. What's the point of resisting anymore? They’ve already taken everything from you.

You can feel the tightness in your chest, the hollow emptiness where the anger used to be. The fight inside you feels extinguished, like a fire snuffed out by an overwhelming wave of sorrow and exhaustion. You barely have the strength to care. What could you possibly do anyway?

The guard steps forward, grabbing your bound arms and yanking you upright. The sudden movement sends a sharp pang of pain through your body, but you don’t resist. You wince, but the pain doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. You let them drag you out of the room without a fight.

The cold concrete walls blur as you’re pulled down a sterile, empty hallway. You don’t even look up, your head hanging low, every step heavy with despair. The world feels hollow, like you’re floating through a dream, or maybe a nightmare that you can’t wake up from. What’s the point of trying to escape, when everyone you loved is gone?

The guard’s grip tightens on your arms as he drags you further. You don’t fight him, don’t even glance up at the sterile, white-lit halls stretching before you. Every corner you turn, every door that opens, feels like a final step toward something worse than what you’ve already endured.

But even in this numb, broken state, there’s a faint, stubborn voice in the back of your mind, whispering that you can’t give up. Not yet. You have nothing left to lose, but that doesn’t mean you should let them win. The anger that you thought was gone flickers in the depths of your soul, weak but there.
You haven’t lost everything, have you? You still have yourself.

The guard yanks you out of the cold, concrete room, dragging you toward the outside. You barely have time to process the world around you before you're forced into the blinding daylight. As your eyes adjust, you catch a glimpse of the world—burnt, withered grass underfoot and an unsettlingly orange sky that feels heavy and unnatural, like it’s choking the air. The sun is out in full force now, but its warm glow only makes everything feel more distorted, like the world has been painted over with an eerie, suffocating filter.

You barely have time to think about it before you're roughly shoved into the back of a white truck. The metal floor slams against you as you hit it hard, the impact knocking the breath out of you. The cold steel beneath you is sharp, and your muzzle digs painfully into your mouth as you groan in discomfort. Your body aches with every movement, and for a moment, you just lay there, trying to regain your bearings.

When you finally push yourself up, the truck’s interior comes into focus. The walls are sterile and cold, like a prison. You glance around, seeing several other kids sitting quietly, some looking defeated, others staring off into space, their faces empty of hope. Their eyes are dull, lost. They're like ghosts—faded and trapped, their spirits long since crushed under the weight of whatever cruel system brought them here.

And then, amidst the sea of blank stares, you catch her gaze. 008.

She turns her head toward you as if sensing your arrival, her face lighting up with a sickening, playful grin. "Hi, cutie!" she chirps, her voice sweet but laced with malice. It’s the same taunt she always uses, but this time, it hits you differently. The anger that’s been simmering inside you for so long suddenly surges to the surface, boiling over. You don't say a word. You just glare at her, your eyes sharp and cold.

Her smile widens as she notices the intensity of your stare, but she doesn't flinch. She thinks she’s in control. She always does.

But you’re done with her games. Done with all of it.

You don't have the energy to speak, to argue. The only thing that matters right now is the look in your eyes—the quiet fury that promises retribution. She's just another obstacle in your path, another reminder of the hell you've been through. You don’t need to acknowledge her. You don’t need to waste your breath.

Instead, you sit up straighter, your fists clenched, and you lock eyes with her, silently vowing that one day—somehow—you'll make her regret underestimating you.

The ride in the truck was unbearable. The cramped space made it nearly impossible to adjust yourself, and the restraints around your wrists bit into your skin with every jolt. The metal muzzle was the worst of it, digging cruelly into your cheek each time the truck hit a bump or swayed sharply on uneven terrain. You tried to lean back, to ease the pressure, but it was futile.

At some point, the pain of the muzzle pressing into your face seemed to fade, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache. You tried to find a position that didn’t aggravate it, but the restraints made every movement feel awkward and unnatural. The truck hit another bump, jarring you so violently that your shoulder slammed into the cold steel wall. You winced but didn’t make a sound. Showing weakness now wasn’t an option.

Just as you felt yourself beginning to go numb to the discomfort, the truck jolted to a sudden stop. The momentum threw you forward slightly, the restraints keeping you from bracing yourself properly. For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, the faint hum of the engine the only sound. Then came the distant murmur of voices and the unmistakable sound of boots crunching on gravel.

You felt a sinking pit in your stomach as the realization hit—wherever they were taking you, you had arrived.

The truck door creaked open, and before you could even gather your thoughts, a burly military guard reached in, grabbing your arm with an iron grip. He yanked you out of the truck without ceremony, forcing you to stumble as your feet hit the uneven ground. You barely had a moment to steady yourself before he began dragging you forward, his pace brisk and unforgiving.

As you were pulled along, you quickly scanned your surroundings, your instincts kicking in. The scene was bleak, just like the last place—dry, burnt grass stretched across the barren landscape, its once-vivid life now drained away. The sun loomed overhead, casting harsh shadows, but the sky remained that same eerie, rusty orange.

Then your eyes locked onto it—the building. It was stark and imposing, a massive white structure that stood in sharp contrast to the desolation around it. The sheer size of it sent a chill down your spine, but what truly unnerved you was the activity surrounding it. Soldiers moved in every direction, their faces grim and focused, carrying weapons or barking orders. The base hummed with the tense energy of a well-oiled machine.

But as imposing as the building and the soldiers were, they weren’t what made you freeze. No, that honor belonged to the two monstrous figures stationed at the entrance like living sentinels.

The first was a hulking bear-like creature, its massive frame rippling with muscle. Its fur was dark and coarse, and a jagged scar ran down its face, cutting through the empty socket where its left eye should have been. Even with its injury, it exuded a menacing aura, its remaining eye fixed forward with a predatory glare.

The second figure was even more unnerving—a towering scarecrow-like entity that seemed to ooze malevolence. Its frame was wiry yet imposing, its silhouette sharp and jagged, like something pulled straight from a nightmare. The way it stood, motionless yet undeniably alive, made your stomach twist. Its head tilted slightly as if it were watching you, though no eyes were visible. The air around it felt heavier, colder.

Both creatures radiated power and authority, their mere presence sending a silent but clear message: don’t even think about running.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away, your mind racing to process what you were seeing. But the guard wasn’t interested in your hesitation. With a sharp tug, he pulled you past the towering monsters. The bear’s head turned slightly as you passed, its single eye narrowing in something that felt uncomfortably close to disdain. The scarecrow didn’t move, yet you could feel its oppressive gaze boring into your back.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the guard hauled you to the facility doors. Whatever lay inside suddenly seemed even more terrifying, but the thought of those creatures behind you wasn’t any better. You forced yourself to take a breath, but the knot in your stomach only tightened. Whatever was coming next, you had no choice but to face it.

The further you were dragged into the facility, the heavier the dread settled in your chest. Your pale face mirrored the unease bubbling inside you. The other kids who had been unloaded from the truck filed in behind you, their silence almost deafening, except for one—008. Of course, she couldn’t resist breaking the tension.

“Oh wow! Monsters! So cool,” she chirped, her voice laced with faux excitement. You turned to glare at her, but her expression betrayed nothing. Her face was infuriatingly neutral, save for the small, smug smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It wasn’t enthusiasm—it was mockery. That little smirk was enough to make your jaw clench as you rolled your eyes and faced forward again, determined to ignore her.

The environment wasn’t much better. The walls were cold, uninviting slabs of gray concrete, and the faint hum of machinery echoed through the air, punctuated by distant shouts and the clatter of boots on metal. The occasional flicker of fluorescent lights overhead only made the place feel more oppressive.

You barely had time to process your surroundings before the guard gripping your arm yanked you harshly toward a wall, shoving you into place. You stumbled slightly but managed to right yourself as he barked an order.

“Stay.”

The other kids lined up beside you like soldiers at attention, though their postures were far from confident. Shoulders slumped, heads bowed—fear weighed heavily on them, as it did on you. The guard stepped away, his back to you now as he pulled a radio from his belt, muttering into it in clipped, professional tones. You couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t talking to you. Whoever was on the other end of that radio was pulling the strings now.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you shifted uncomfortably, the bindings on your wrists digging painfully into your skin. You stole a quick glance at the others.

Most of them looked as terrified as you felt, their wide eyes darting around the sterile corridor as if searching for an escape. But 008… she was the exception. Her eyes were calm, her body relaxed, as though she were standing in line for a ride at a fair instead of being hauled into Stars-knows-what kind of nightmare.

You looked forward again, trying to push away the rising tide of panic. You had no idea what was waiting for you, but the cold, sterile air of the place was enough to promise it wouldn’t be anything good. The guard finished his conversation, his shoulders rigid with authority, and turned back toward you.

Your breath hitched as he started toward your group.

The guard’s glare bore into you like a weight you couldn’t shake. Your muscles tensed under his scrutiny, and though every fiber of you wanted to glare back, your body betrayed you. Instead, your gaze dropped to his boots—stiff, polished, and planted firmly like roots in the concrete. Looking at his face felt like daring a storm to strike.

Suddenly, the double doors to your left creaked open with a slow, mechanical groan.

"Hello, humans," the figure said, its voice smooth but tinged with something alien, an unplaceable cadence that made your skin crawl. "Welcome to our facility."

Humans? The word clanged in your head like a dropped bell. Your breath hitched as your eyes widened. The creature standing before you wasn’t human at all. Its scales shimmered faintly under the harsh fluorescent lights, a blend of muted greens and yellows, while its slit-pupiled eyes glinted with intelligence and menace. It had a scar running down one of its eyes that traveled to the top of its lip. It also wore a scientist-like outfit with a white lab coat. You barely stopped yourself from taking a step back.

“I am Dr. Alphas,” it continued, straightening to its full height, towering over everyone in the room. “I’ll be overseeing your abilities. You will be trained for four years here, and depending on your grading, you could be assigned to a boss monster.”

Assigned? Boss monster? What the hell was this thing talking about? Your mind reeled, the words twisting around in your head. This wasn’t training. This wasn’t some boarding school. It was something far worse.

Dr. Alphas paused, scanning the group with a piercing gaze. Her eyes landed on you for just a moment, and it felt like she could see through the very fabric of your soul. You froze, heart pounding, as if staying perfectly still would keep you invisible.

She turned her attention back to the group as a whole. “Your time here will not be easy. You are here because you have the potential to serve. Those who excel will earn recognition and placement under our esteemed bosses. Those who fail…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but the flick of her tail and the sharp click of her claws against the floor spoke volumes.

Your blood turned cold. What did they mean by "serving" a boss monster? What happened to those who didn’t make the cut? The guard’s grip on your arm tightened, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. You realized your breath had become shallow and uneven. Four years of this place? You weren’t sure you’d survive four days.

"I'm sure a lot of you are confused," Dr. Alphas began, her tone oddly chipper for someone so terrifying. "So, out of generosity, let me explain. Please, follow me! I even have a PowerPoint set up." There was a strange, genuine excitement in her voice, as if she were looking forward to giving this presentation.

The guard at your side didn’t give you much choice. His grip tightened on your arm as he yanked you forward, forcing you to follow the lizard-like scientist. Behind you, the other kids trailed along in a hushed line. You could hear the faint shuffle of their footsteps and the occasional murmur from 008, who seemed annoyingly unbothered by all of this.

Dr. Alphas led you through another set of doors into a large, empty room filled with rows of metal chairs. It was cold, like everything else in this facility, and the air carried a sterile, metallic tang. The guard shoved you into a seat near the front and loomed beside you, his presence a constant reminder of how trapped you were. The others filed into the chairs behind you, 008 plopping down with an exaggerated sigh as if this was just another boring lecture.

"You must be thinking, boss monster? What’s that?" Dr. Alphas said, her voice lilting with faux curiosity as she tapped at a remote. The lights dimmed, and a projector flickered on, casting a grainy image onto a white wall. The first slide showed a creature unlike anything you’d ever seen—a towering fish-like monster with fiery red hair and a black eyepatch covering one of its eyes. Its posture radiated power, and even in the still image, it looked like it could crush anything in its path.

“Well,” Dr. Alphas continued, clearly pleased with herself, “a boss monster holds more magic than a generic monster. They are the strongest beings of the Underground, entrusted with leadership and protection. As of now, there are only ten boss monsters in existence—unless, of course, our queen decides to have another baby.” She chuckled at her own comment, though the humor was lost on you and, judging by the silence, everyone else.

You stared at the screen, trying to process her words. Strongest of the Underground? Nine of them? What did that have to do with you? The idea of being assigned to one of those monsters made your stomach churn. They didn’t look like protectors. They looked like predators.

Dr. Alphas clicked to the next slide, which displayed a list of names you couldn’t quite read from your angle. “Each boss monster has a distinct role, and their magic surpasses anything a regular monster—or human—could ever dream of. They are our crown jewels, the pillars of our society.” She paced in front of the screen, her tail swaying with enthusiasm.

Behind you, someone shifted in their seat. A quiet murmur of disbelief rippled through the group. 008, however, leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Sounds like they need a fan club," she whispered loud enough for you to hear. You rolled your eyes, ignoring her.

Dr. Alphas ignored the quiet dissent, continuing her presentation with a fervor that made your skin crawl. "Your training here will determine your suitability to serve under one of these extraordinary beings. Those who succeed may find themselves in the presence of greatness." Her tone grew sharp as she added, "And those who fail…” Dr. Alphas paused dramatically, letting her words linger, her piercing yellow eyes scanning each of you. “Well, you’ll be placed under normal human leadership.

Your power will still be utilized, but let’s be honest—a boss monster has far better benefits than a human.” She gave a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes before clicking to the next slide.

The screen displayed two starkly different images: one of a soldier dressed in plain, weathered armor, the other of a towering throne with a shadowy figure seated upon it, radiating raw power.

“See,” Dr. Alphas continued, pacing in front of the projector, “a human leader can only guarantee one thing—you're battle-ready. Under human leadership, you’ll fight. And you’ll keep fighting. Until you die. Simple as that.” Her tone was cold, her words sinking into you like icy daggers. She gestured toward the shadowy throne. “But if you’re lucky enough to serve under a boss monster, your prospects improve significantly.”

Her gaze swept the room, her tail swishing with calculated poise. “With a boss monster, you may live lavishly. Imagine it: protection, admiration, even love from your owner. You could be treated as a treasured ally, given comforts you never dreamed of in this… well, whatever your life has been up until now.” She glanced over at you, her eyes lingering for a second too long, making your skin crawl.

“Of course,” she added, her tone shifting to something more sinister, “you might also be treated as nothing more than a sparring partner, there to keep them sharp. Or perhaps as a lab assistant for their scientific pursuits.” She coughed into her fist, her lips twitching like she was suppressing laughter. “It all depends on who owns you.”

The word own made your stomach churn. The idea of belonging to anyone—monster or otherwise—felt suffocating. You clenched your fists in the restraints, fighting back the urge to scream at her.

Dr. Alphas clicked to the next slide, showing a variety of monsters, each one more terrifying than the last. “Each boss monster has unique preferences and requirements for their subordinates. Some may value loyalty, others strength or intellect. The better you perform here, the greater your chances of being chosen by one of them.”

Her voice softened, but it wasn’t comforting—it was predatory. “And let’s not forget, they don’t have to choose any of you. Competition is fierce. Every moment here counts toward your survival and your future. So,” she turned back to face the room, her grin widening, “I suggest you give it your all.”

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the projector. You could feel the tension around you, the weight of her words pressing down like a crushing force.

Some of the other kids squirmed in their seats, their fear palpable. Even 008, who had been so annoyingly upbeat earlier, seemed to falter for a moment, her smile thinning as she leaned back in her chair.

Your mind raced, trying to process what you’d just heard. This wasn’t training—it was conditioning. You were being groomed for servitude, for a life where survival meant losing every ounce of freedom you had left. And if you failed? You weren’t sure which sounded worse, death in battle or living under monster leadership.

"Now," Dr. Alphas began, her voice taking on a theatrical tone as she clicked to the next slide, "let's move on to the next subject: why. Why have you been taken? Why all of this?"

The screen shifted, and your stomach dropped. A ruined city loomed large on the projector: Ebbot. Or at least, what was left of it. The buildings were shattered shells, skeletal remains of what must have once been homes and businesses. Flames still smoldered in places, black smoke clawing at the sky. The scene was haunting, and a cold knot of fear twisted in your chest.

Dr. Alphas seemed to relish your reactions. “Humans,” she began with a mocking lilt, “you get scared so easily when power is involved. It was only a matter of time before war broke out. As soon as your government made the bold—yet foolish—move to round you up and subject you to facilities like this, other countries became wary. Other states deemed it unjust. The power imbalance terrified them.”

She clicked to the next slide: rows of destroyed neighborhoods, once vibrant communities reduced to ash and rubble. The devastation made your head spin.

“So, what happened?” Dr. Alphas continued, her smug smirk growing wider. “The outside world is no longer what you remember. Humans did what they do best: they panicked, they fought, and they destroyed.” She gestured dramatically toward the images as if she were unveiling a masterpiece. “When chaos erupted, we—monsters—saw an opportunity. We sided with the military. We gave them a very simple choice: listen to us, or fall.”

Dr. Alphas’ tail swished behind her, her posture radiating smug satisfaction. “Well, I say ‘convinced,’ but in reality…” She chuckled, the sound cold and sharp. “We overpowered you weak humans with ease. They had no choice but to listen to us. Your military, your governments—they bent the knee in the face of superior strength.”

Her words were a slap in the face, each sentence another weight added to the suffocating realization that the world had moved on without you. The chaos, the destruction, the surrender—it all painted a picture of a humanity that had crumbled under pressure.

Dr. Alphas let the silence linger for a moment, watching your reactions with predatory glee. “Now,” she finally said, breaking the stillness, “you understand why you’re here. We monsters control what remains of this broken world. And you…you are assets. Tools to help maintain our power. If you perform well, you might even find a place within this new order.”

Dr. Alphas’ smug expression shifted slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing her features as she clicked to the next slide. The screen displayed a map, dotted with red and green territories. “We’ve reached a turning point in this war,” she declared, her tone firm. “The tide is shifting in our favor. This state? It’s ours now. As well as a few other states, it’s completely under monster control.

She paced in front of the screen, her claws clicking against the floor as she continued, “Our King and Queen have already begun negotiations with your nation’s ruler. It’s only a matter of time before this entire land falls into our hands.” Her eyes scanned the room, gauging your reactions as she delivered the news with a mix of pride and menace.

“But,” she added with a sigh, her tone souring, “there are still pockets of resistance. Stubborn states that refuse to back down. And then there are the other countries—those we have yet to invade. Each one clinging desperately to their illusions of strength and independence.”

She stopped, facing the group now, her sharp gaze cutting through the room. “You humans never know when to give up, do you? That foolish, relentless defiance.” Her lips curled into a humorless smile. “But, ironically, that’s exactly what makes you so valuable. It makes it so much easier to use you as weapons.”

Her words hung in the air like a death knell, the finality of her statement settling heavily in the room. You could feel the tension among the other kids—some shifted uncomfortably, others remained frozen, their eyes wide with dread.

Dr. Alphas seemed to relish the unease she had created, her tail flicking lazily as she continued to stand at the front of the room. "You’ll soon see for yourselves just how we plan to harness that determination of yours. Some of you may even thrive under our system. But make no mistake—your choices are limited, and the consequences of failure are absolute."

The guard beside you tightened his grip on your shoulder as if to punctuate her statement, and your stomach churned. For a brief moment, you dared to wonder: Was there truly no way out of this nightmare?

Dr. Alphas paused for dramatic effect as she clicked to the next slide, her gaze sweeping over the room. Her tone softened slightly, but there was an undercurrent of condescension as she addressed the group. “And now, for the females in the room,” she began, her voice laced with mock sympathy.

The slide that appeared on the screen made your stomach churn. It wasn’t another battlefield or destroyed cityscape. Instead, it showed an image of a luxurious bedroom—soft, inviting furniture, rows of books, and what looked like an almost normal, peaceful life.

“For you, a choice,” she said, emphasizing the word as though it were a gift. “Since you possess magic, you’ll be given the opportunity to decide: reproduction or fighting.”

Murmurs of confusion and unease rippled through the group, but Dr. Alphas ignored them. She gestured toward the screen with an almost theatrical flourish. “You see, magic-wielding humans are a precious resource. We need soldiers, yes, but we also need a steady supply of new magic-bearers. And so, for the females, we offer an alternative. If you choose reproduction, you’ll be spared the dangers of the battlefield.”

She flipped to another slide, showcasing a detailed schedule. “As a breeder, you’ll be taken to a private facility and treated exceptionally well. No stress, no pain—your only mission will be to bear a child every two years. In between, you’ll have an entire year to recover and relax.”

Her words felt like poison, delivered with a veneer of kindness that made it all the more revolting. “You’ll live in comfort,” she continued, “but understand this: you’ll be a breeder and nothing more. Your existence will revolve around ensuring the continuation of the magic-wielding lineage.”

She paused, letting her words sink in before moving on. “Alternatively, you can choose to fight. But fighters, as I’ve explained, face death every day. And if you survive? You may still end up owned by a boss monster, with your life entirely at their mercy. So, really,” she added with a cold smile, “the choice is yours.”

The room was deathly silent, the weight of her words suffocating. You glanced around at the other girls, some staring blankly ahead, others fidgeting nervously. Even 008, who had been so annoyingly upbeat, seemed unusually subdued.

Dr. Alphas tilted her head, her smugness returning. “Take your time to think about it,” she said, though her tone implied there was no real choice at all. “After all, it’s a decision that will define the rest of your lives.”

Dr. Alphas clicked to the next slide with a nonchalant flick of her clawed hand, as though the content of her presentation was perfectly ordinary. This one showed diagrams and illustrations that made your stomach churn—a sanitized, clinical explanation of breeding procedures.

“You will still go through some breeding lessons,” she began, her tone disturbingly casual, “simply so you understand the process. Emergencies do happen, after all.” Her gaze flickered briefly across the room, as if gauging everyone’s reactions, but she didn’t slow down. “But don’t worry, you won’t need to go any further than the basics unless you choose the breeder path. These lessons are purely educational.”

Your jaw clenched, and you felt a burning anger rise in your chest. First, they abducted you, and now they had the audacity to talk about “educating” you for this. Questions you’d long had about this horrific system were being answered, but instead of relief, all you felt was a deep, simmering hatred.

“You’ll make your choice after a few lessons,” she continued with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, as if she believed she was doing you a favor.

Dr. Alphas didn’t wait for a response, moving on as if the decision was already made for you. “Now, let’s talk about the next four years,” she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. The slide changed again, displaying an image of soldiers in training—running drills, sparring, and standing in formation.

“It will be relentless,” she said, her gaze piercing. “You’ll train until you can’t stand, and then you’ll train some more. Your body, your mind, and your magic will be pushed to their limits. By the end of it, you’ll either emerge battle-ready or you won’t emerge at all.”

A cold pit settled in your stomach as she continued, her next words striking like a hammer. “At the end of your training, you will be sent to the battlefield to prove your worth. If you make it back,” she said, her emphasis on the word, if, making your blood run cold, “you’ll participate in the ceremony. That’s when you’ll be chosen—either by a boss monster or by a human leader.”

She allowed a brief pause, as if giving everyone time to absorb the weight of her statement, before adding, “Unless, of course, you’ve chosen the breeder path. Then you won’t have to worry about any of that.” Her tone lightened slightly, as though she were talking about a luxury vacation. “No fighting, no risking your life—just a comfortable existence in exchange for continuing the magical lineage.”

Her words hung in the air like a toxic cloud. You stared at the screen, bile rising in your throat. Four years of brutal training, followed by life on the battlefield or being claimed like property—or the breeder path, which felt like a gilded cage.

Dr. Alphas clicked the remote again, and the slide shifted to show images of glowing, colorful hearts, each a different hue. There was an unsettling softness to the slide, as if she was introducing something precious, even though the context was anything but.

"We monsters have always known about it," she began, her voice unusually serene, "but you humans? You don’t." She didn’t even wait for any response before advancing the slide. This one showed two monsters, their forms nearly identical except for subtle features—smiling, close to one another.

"Soulmates," she stated matter-of-factly. "They do exist. When your souls are intertwined, when fate decides that you were made for each other. It’s a rare thing, a blessing, if you will." She paused, letting the weight of the words hang in the air.

Your eyes flickered to the screen, feeling an unsettling chill creep over you. The concept of soulmates felt foreign, and here, in this twisted reality, it seemed almost cruel—like another way to control you, to trap you.

"If, by some chance," Dr. Alphas continued, her gaze scanning the room as if daring anyone to argue, "you find your soulmate within this facility, though the chances are incredibly slim—" she paused dramatically, glancing down at her notes, "about a .000001% chance—you will be paired with them. Regardless of your path. If you’re a breeder, you will remain in that facility with them. If you choose the battlefield, you’ll fight side by side. But, no matter what, you will stay together."

The words echoed in your mind, and the room seemed to pulse with an oppressive heaviness. A soulmate? In this place? In this hellhole where everything was designed to break you? It felt like an illusion, a false hope to keep you compliant, to make you believe there was something worth living for.

You wanted to argue, to protest, to scream that you didn’t need anyone but yourself. But the way Dr. Alphas spoke—so calm, so sure of herself—it made it seem like there was no room for rebellion. No room for hope. The whole idea felt suffocating.

You caught a glance at the other kids in the room, their faces a mix of confusion and disbelief. Did they understand what this meant? Or were they too caught up in the idea of "fate," too naïve to see the strings that were pulling them along?

Dr. Alphas’ smile lingered for a moment longer than necessary, an eerie sort of satisfaction in her expression. Her eyes twinkled with a strange, almost predatory pride as she clicked the remote again, pulling up a slide with a picture of herself standing next to the fish monster from earlier. They were both smiling, looking almost like a perfectly normal couple, their hands intertwined in a way that made your skin crawl.

"I was lucky," she began, her tone softening as if she were reminiscing about some long-lost dream. "I found my soulmate. It’s rare, even among monsters, so it’s something to be treasured when it happens." Her voice held a note of sincerity, but it felt like a hollow sentiment in the sterile, cold environment you were stuck in.

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, unable to shake the feeling that this was just another part of the manipulation. The idea of soulmates—something that seemed so distant and out of place in this place—felt like a twisted fairy tale designed to placate the weary. As she continued her monologue, you wondered if any of the others believed in it. Was it just another method of control, or was there actually some truth to it?

Dr. Alphas sighed heavily, a faint cough escaping her lips as she quickly moved on to the next slide. "Anyway, as I was saying, that’s the end of that," she said, a sudden shift in her demeanor. The air around her grew cold again as she steered the conversation into darker waters. "Now, let’s move on to something more important: lessons."

The click of the remote echoed in the quiet room, and the next slide appeared. It was a list of subjects, but the words “training,” “education,” and “weaponry” stood out most. "Since most of you came from the child facility," she continued, her voice growing colder with each word, "you've been given the bare minimum. You can count to 100 and spell your name, but that’s not enough anymore."

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped her. "We need more than that. We need weapons, not idiots." She didn’t even look at you as she spoke, her eyes already scanning her notes. The dismissive way she referred to your entire existence—like you were nothing more than tools to be sharpened—made your stomach churn. She was so sure of her power over you, as if you were nothing more than a pawn in her game.

"You’ll undergo education," she said, the words cold and final. "Not just training for battle. This facility might make you strong, but we need you to be useful. We need you to understand tactics, strategy, history—things that will make you more than just a soldier. Things that will make you useful in every aspect of our operations." Her tone was sharp, each word slicing through the heavy silence in the room. "We’re not in the business of raising simple-minded fighters. You will learn, whether you want to or not."

Her voice hardened as she spoke, her words carrying a weight that seemed to sink into the very walls of the room.

Chapter Text

As you step out of the room, the cold air of the facility greets you, making you shiver despite the heat of the moment. Dr. Alphas leads the way, her claws clicking on the cold, sterile floor, and the others follow behind in silence. But 008 isn't silent. The constant chatter is like a thorn in your side, and the way she draws closer to you only makes your irritation grow.

She flashes you a smirk, her eyes scanning you with an almost unnerving intensity. "You know," she begins, her voice dripping with a mix of amusement and arrogance. You roll your eyes, hoping she’ll get the hint and leave you alone, but of course, she doesn’t. The stupid muzzle presses against your teeth with each word she says, and you shift your jaw to try to distract yourself from the discomfort.

"We could be soulmates," she continues, her voice lilting with that same irritating sweetness. The words twist in your gut, but you do your best to ignore her, quickening your pace just to put some distance between you. She seems unfazed, though, stepping in time with you, as if enjoying the irritation she’s provoking.

"Wouldn't that be so romantic, 800?" she leans in closer, her breath hot against your face, and you speed up, desperate to get away from her. If you weren’t muzzled, you’d say something to shut her up, something that would make her think twice before getting close again. But for now, all you can do is try to escape the suffocating presence of her words and her proximity.

You feel the weight of her gaze, and you can’t stop the small growl that escapes you as she trails behind, still speaking. "We could fight in battle together, die together..." she sighs dramatically, as if this is some sort of romantic fantasy. You feel disgust bubbling up inside you, the ridiculousness of it all almost overwhelming.

You grit your teeth, hating how close she’s getting to you, how she keeps speaking as though you could ever share the same twisted vision she seems to have.

The thought of her constant presence, the annoying attempts to get under your skin, only fuels your desire to put her in her place—but with the muzzle still in place, all you can do is walk faster, your pulse pounding in your ears.

"What's the matter, don't like the idea?" 008 sighs dramatically, her voice trailing off as she slows down, clearly pleased with herself for having irritated you. You want to snap at her, to tell her to shut up, but the muzzle keeps your words locked inside, forcing you to walk ahead, hoping the end of this walk will come sooner rather than later.

Just when you think you can't stand her voice any longer, Dr. Alphas speaks up, her tone laced with annoyance. "Enough." The words cut through the air sharply, and for the first time since this all started, 008 falls silent.

"Your voice is getting on my nerves, 008," Dr. Alphas adds, her irritation evident. You can’t help but feel a small flicker of satisfaction, the smug expression slipping onto your face. It's a rare moment of relief—someone else, finally, putting 008 in her place.

You glance over your shoulder to see 008 visibly deflate, her usual smug expression replaced with a look of frustration. She says nothing, a rare silence falling between you all as Dr. Alphas leads the way. The tension, for now, lifts, and you find yourself almost grateful for the brief respite from the endless chatter.

As much as you despise being here, as much as you hate everything that’s happening, this small moment feels like a victory, no matter how fleeting.

Finally arriving wherever Dr, Alphas was leading you, your eyes widened as you take in your surroundings.

The room is filled with soldiers moving in perfect sync, their movements coordinated as if they had practiced for years. The efficiency and precision of it all are intimidating, and as you step into the space, you can’t help but feel like a small cog in a much larger, mechanical system. The cold air seems to hum with the energy of people who know exactly what they're doing.

Dr. Alphas leads you to a corner, and a man standing there catches your attention immediately. He stands rigidly, his posture as stiff as if he were carved from stone. His face is hard, his eyes sharp with authority. He doesn't greet you or acknowledge your presence, just waits, looking you up and down with a critical gaze.

"You will listen to him for instructions when it comes to training your body," Dr. Alphas announces, her voice cutting through the tense silence. "And you will listen to..." She gestures toward the two smaller monsters standing beside him.

One looks like a dog, its black eye mask an eerie feature against its fur, while the other resembles a frog, its squat form adding an odd, unsettling vibe to the pair. Despite their differences, both creatures radiate a sense of power. "These two will help with your magic lessons," she continues. "You will listen to your instructors. You will only see me when your soul is involved... or at the end of the four years."

Her words are sharp and final. Without waiting for any further reaction, she turns on her heel and melts into the crowd of soldiers. The weight of her departure hangs heavy, and the silence that follows feels almost suffocating.

Now, you're left standing with the cold, intimidating presence of the man and his two companions. You glance at the frog and the dog, wondering what kind of lessons they'll impart on you, what kind of things you'll be forced to endure.

The soldier’s voice booms through the room, demanding your full attention. "Attention!" he shouts, and the sound of it sends a jolt through your body, making everyone flinch. Your gaze snaps to him, heart pounding as he surveys each of you, his eyes cold and unfeeling.

"My name is unimportant!" he continues, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Your name is unimportant! Everyone here is your comrade! You will listen to instruction or be punished! You will follow orders or be punished! You will grow and be a powerful weapon, or you will be punished! Is that clear?!"

The words ring in the air, harsh and final. The kids around you shrink under his gaze, a few of them nodding rapidly, their faces pale and tense.

"I didn’t hear you!" he shouts again, his tone sharp, filled with authority. The pressure is suffocating.

A few voices around you yell, "Yes, sir!" in unison, you grit your teeth and grunt as loudly as you can. You couldn't form words with how tight the muzzle was but it's your agreement.

The soldier’s eyes scan over the group, assessing your response. He nods slightly, though it’s not a sign of approval—it’s simply the acknowledgment that you’ve done what’s required. Your heart continues to race as the tension in the room seems to settle, but only for a moment.

"You will also be issued new attire, as you are no longer considered children," he announced with a commanding tone, gesturing to a nearby soldier who approached carrying neatly folded uniforms. With a dramatic flourish, the soldier revealed the garments—dark blue camouflage military uniforms, crisp and imposing.

"These will be your new outfits," the man continued, his voice rising to a shout that echoed through the room. "From this day forward, for the next four years, this is what you will wear!"

You stared at the uniform, the weight of his words sinking in. The soldier stepped forward, distributing the uniforms one by one, his movements methodical and efficient. When he reached you, he handed over a set that perfectly matched the sizes on the tags of your current white outfit. The precision wasn’t surprising—it was just another reminder of how closely you were being monitored.

As you clutched the dark blue camouflage uniform, your fingers traced the rough fabric. It felt foreign, heavier than you expected, as though the weight of what it represented was sewn into every fiber.

The soldier turned sharply on his heel and motions toward the frog and dog monsters, his voice taking on a new tone. "Move out. The training begins now."

The days blurred together in a relentless haze of grueling training. Four years passed in what felt like an instant, each one worse than the last, but somehow, you made it through. The training never stopped. It didn’t matter if the weather was unbearably hot, freezing cold, or storming with rain; it never slowed down. You ran until your legs felt like they would snap, pushed beyond your limits until your muscles screamed for relief, only to be forced to run again.

You crawled through rough terrain, scaling jagged rocks, slipping through muddy ditches, and crawling under electrified fences. The sharp sting of the electric current was a constant reminder of the stakes. One wrong move, and it would be over. You had no choice but to push on, always under the watchful eyes of the guards, their cold gazes never leaving you, never offering a shred of mercy.

The most terrifying obstacle was the tunnel—a claustrophobic passage that was almost completely submerged in water. You had to crawl through it, holding your breath as long as you could, knowing that the longer you stayed submerged, the more likely you were to pass out. But you never did. Somehow, despite the overwhelming panic that clawed at your chest, you made it to the other side, gasping for air, desperate to survive.

The muzzle stayed on at all times—except during magic training. That was the only time you could speak, the only time the weight of the device around your jaw was momentarily lifted. But even then, the magic training was nothing less than brutal. The monsters who taught you had their own agendas, pushing you to tap into powers you didn’t fully understand. They never stopped testing you, never gave you room to breathe.

Every day, you pushed yourself harder. Every day, you became a little more like them—cold, calculating, and determined to survive. You hated every moment of it, but you had no choice. This was the world you lived in now.

The magic classes were a whole new level of torment. They made sure to push you past your limits, always forcing you to fight against the instructors. They never held back. It was almost as if they enjoyed watching you struggle, enjoyed seeing you fail. You’d leave each session battered and bruised, your body aching from the relentless blows, your skin marked with the remnants of every magical strike they landed.

The worst part? It was never about winning. No matter how hard you fought, you were always going to lose. The instructors were too powerful, too skilled, and you were still learning how to harness the chaos inside you. The feeling of your magic flaring uncontrollably, only to be shut down with ease by their superior abilities, left you feeling helpless.

After each grueling class, you’d mumble “heal” under your breath, summoning your magic to mend the damage done to your body. But the pain lingered, and the humiliation only seemed to grow. Each time you were muzzled again, it reminded you just how much they feared you, how dangerous they thought you were. And they were right. You had killed a few soldiers in the last facility.

But There were also rare occasions when the magic instructors left the cursed muzzle securely fastened to your face.

"You need to learn how to dodge magic attacks without relying on your abilities," the frog-like instructor croaked once, his wide, amphibian eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "What if you're caught in a fight and still have that muzzle on? No powers, no excuses."

You hated how logical his words were, even as they made your blood boil. He wasn’t wrong. But acknowledging that didn’t make it any less humiliating—or painful. The muzzle turned you into a powerless target.

The frog wasn’t merciful, either. His magic attacks were relentless, searing the air as they closed in on you, each one a reminder of just how outmatched you were. In the beginning, you were terrible at dodging. You’d flinch or misjudge the timing, and his spells would land with devastating precision. The burns, bruises, and aches were constant companions after every session, each one a lesson carved into your body. That would be healed later.

But pain was a great teacher. Over time, you adapted. You studied his movements, learned to anticipate the subtle shifts in his posture that signaled an attack. You trained your body to react faster, to move before your brain could second-guess itself. If you couldn’t fight back—magic against fists was a losing battle—you had to learn to avoid the blows entirely.

By now, dodging was almost second nature. You could sidestep a fireball or duck under a surge of lightning with a precision that had once seemed impossible. The frog didn’t offer praise, of course. He never did. Instead, his attacks became faster, more unpredictable, as if he were determined to break you no matter how much you improved.

The physical training was only one part of your training, the academic one wasn’t easy either. Every day, you were forced to study—forced to memorize facts, rules, and strategies that you never cared about, never asked for. The questions were endless, the tests unforgiving. They didn’t care if you were tired, injured, or mentally exhausted. You had to study and pass every quiz with at least a 90%. Anything less than that meant punishment. The constant pressure to perform, to meet impossible standards, wore you down until you could barely think straight.

If you made a mistake, if you failed, there were consequences. They would make sure you understood the material, make sure you would never forget the cost of failure. And each lesson, each brutal reminder that you weren’t allowed to slip up, sank deeper into your bones.

You were exhausted—physically and mentally drained. Every day was a new test of endurance. If you weren’t pushing your body through the unforgiving terrain, crawling through dirt and rock, climbing walls and dodging electric fences, then you were fighting your fellow peers. And 008 was always there, relentless, never giving you a moment to breathe. She was like a shadow, always in your face, always testing your limits.

In fact, 008 had a knack for making your life exponentially harder. It wasn’t just the snide remarks or the glares she sent your way; it was the way she always seemed to single you out during training sessions. Whenever there was a moment to pause—whether you were catching your breath or waiting for your turn to run the grueling obstacle course—she would strike.

She had a routine, almost like she enjoyed toying with you. Without fail, you’d feel a hand clamp down on your shoulder, her grip iron-like and unyielding. Before you could react, her fist would connect with your side, leaving you gasping for air and doubling over in pain.

At first, you didn’t know how to respond. The shock of her ambushes caught you off guard every time, and the pain left you too disoriented to fight back. But over the years, you adapted. You learned to not even think about it, as soon as you felt the weight of her hand on your shoulder, you’d move instinctively, your body reacting faster than your mind. Grabbing her wrist with one hand and pivoting on your heel, you’d use her momentum against her, flipping her over and sending her sprawling onto the ground.

The fights were brutal. The muzzle they forced you to wear made every punch feel worse. Every blow to the face, every hit to your body, made you feel like you were on the edge of breaking, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t let them see you falter, couldn’t let them see how tired you were. So you pushed yourself, day in and day out, ignoring the aches in your muscles, the throbbing in your face. You told yourself you had to keep going. You had to survive.

But sometimes, in the quiet moments between battles, you found yourself asking—what for? What were you really fighting for anymore?

Lily’s face would flash in your mind, her encouraging smile and kind words echoing in your thoughts. Would she still be proud of you after everything? After the endless days of grueling training, the sacrifices you had to make just to stay alive? Would she still believe in you when everything felt so... meaningless? You longed to hear her voice, to feel that spark of hope she used to ignite in you. But it was hard to hold on to that feeling when everything around you was so dark, so oppressive.

You missed Faith, too—the way she would always have your back, no matter what. Her loyalty was a rare thing in this place. And Felix... his calm, steady presence had always been a comfort. You missed the way he could make you laugh, the way he could make everything seem a little less unbearable. They were your family, your support system, and now they felt like distant memories, fading further away each day.

And then there was the silence. The silence of your solitude cell, where they put you after your failed escape attempt in the last facility. They made sure you were cut off from everything, from everyone. No window. No sunlight. The door would close, and you were left in darkness—completely isolated. It was like they wanted to break you. To take away everything that reminded you of what you were fighting for. No matter how many times you tried to tell yourself that you had to stay strong, that you had to keep pushing, the emptiness of the cell ate away at you.

In that dark room, with nothing but your own thoughts, your mind would race. You’d remember the faces of the people you loved, the people who had been there for you when you thought no one else would. But the more you thought about them, the more you missed them. The more you questioned whether it was worth it. Was it worth fighting through all this pain, this never-ending struggle, when everything felt so far out of reach? When it felt like you were losing the very things that made you who you were?

The darkness in the room wasn’t just the absence of light—it was the absence of hope. It was the cold, suffocating weight of knowing that everything you fought for seemed so distant, so unreachable. You wanted to hold on to something, anything, that reminded you of the person you used to be, but the longer you stayed in that cell, the harder it became.

In the solitude, the days began to blur. Time lost meaning. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt the warmth of the sun on your skin, or heard a kind voice that wasn’t a threat. It was just the cold cement walls and the silence. And the memories of those you loved—memories that felt like they were slipping further and further away with every passing moment.

You missed them so much. But you couldn’t afford to lose yourself in those thoughts. You had to survive, didn’t you? They were depending on you. But what if that wasn’t enough anymore? What if you couldn’t keep going?

Your eyes closed as you leaned your head against the cold wall, trying to push the tears back. The weight of everything was too much. You couldn’t even remember what you were fighting for anymore.

The day had arrived—the moment you had been dreading and anticipating for four long years. "Attention!" The lieutenant's voice cut through the still air, sharp and commanding. You stood in line with your fellow soldiers, numb to everything around you. The energy, the urgency in the lieutenant’s voice, the anticipation in the air—it all felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.

You no longer felt alive, not the way you once did. Your eyes, once full of curiosity and hope, were dull now, vacant. The girl you had been—the one who cared, the one who loved—was long gone. The last remnants of her had been burned away in the endless cycle of brutal training, isolation, and the suffocating darkness of that cell. You were just a soldier now. A machine. Your individuality had been stripped away, your spirit broken. There was no "you" left. Only a shell.

"Today, you are graduates!" The lieutenant’s voice rang out, but it held no celebration. The words hit you like a slap, but it didn’t matter. There was no excitement, no relief in your chest. You had been a soldier for so long now, you couldn't remember who you had been before.

But the lieutenant wasn’t done. He paced in front of you all, his eyes scanning each of you as if measuring your worth, sizing up your future—or lack thereof. "Don’t get too comfortable, you will not celebrate just yet! If you made it into the top seven of the last four years, you will be assigned to lead your own platoon. Your job is to lead your team to victory, or die in battle. Understand?"

A hollow laugh almost escaped your lips. Victory or death. It was all the same at this point, wasn’t it? The thought of leading a platoon made no sense to you, not when every ounce of your being was drained and your heart had long since ceased to beat for anything other than survival. You didn’t care about victory, not anymore. And dying in battle? Well, that seemed like a mercy at this point.

"The mission is clear!" the lieutenant declared, his voice ringing with determination. "For weeks, the humans have clung to the capital, testing our might, defying our strength. But now, we’ve pushed them to their breaking point! Today—it ends here! They dare to challenge our power, to deny us what is rightfully ours! We will show them the true meaning of strength!" His eyes blazed with an intensity that seemed to ignite the air around him, a fervor that reminded you of the fire you once carried—before they extinguished it, leaving only embers behind.

“I will now call the numbers who made the top 7, when your number is called you will report to me!” The lieutenant’s voice cut through the thick air, announcing the names of the top seven soldiers, each one called with cold, impersonal precision. You barely registered your number as he listed off the others. 7000. 9600. 800.
7856. 5000. 400. 238. Your number. 800. You barely heard the others after that, the weight of your Number on his lips hitting you harder than you expected.

You moved forward, your legs feeling like lead as you walked toward the lieutenant. Every step felt heavy, like you were wading through water. You didn’t want to be here, but the path was already chosen for you, and you had no choice but to walk it.

Lily wouldn’t want you to give up. Faith and Felix would be furious if you just let go. They believed in you, once. They were the ones who had pushed you to be better, to do more than just survive. You couldn’t betray that now, no matter how much you wanted the pain to end. You couldn’t let their hopes for you fade, even if you were losing yourself in the process.

The lieutenant’s voice brought you back to the present, his orders sharp and demanding. But the words didn't quite reach you. You were too busy wrestling with the internal conflict that had been eating at you for years. Would it be easier to die in battle? Would it be easier to let go and slip into nothingness?

But before you could even answer yourself, the lieutenant's gaze locked onto you. "800, you will lead Team C. Your job is to support Team A." The words felt like a jolt. Lead? You? Was he serious? Lead a team? The thought felt ludicrous. You were just surviving. How could you lead anyone? You lead a team once and they all died because of you.

"Oh, and you’ll be unmuzzled," the lieutenant added, as if the words didn’t matter to him at all. He glanced over to one of the soldiers beside him, who stepped forward without a word. The soldier’s fingers moved to unlock the muzzle around your face, the cold metal biting against your skin as it was released.

You saluted, the motion automatic as your hand snapped up to your brow, the action more out of habit than any true sense of pride or honor. The lieutenant acknowledged it with a nod, his attention already moving to the next order, the next soldier.

As you turned away, you felt the eyes of the others on you. Team C. You didn’t know who they were yet, but you had to lead them. You had to be the one who kept them alive, the one who guided them through the chaos. Would you even be able to do it? Could you give them the strength they needed when you had none left yourself?

You made your way toward your new team, the weight of your responsibilities pressing down on you with each step. For once, though, the muzzle was gone. And in its place, the crushing silence of uncertainty. Would leading them bring any more meaning to your life? Or would it just be another battle—another struggle in the endless cycle that seemed to consume everything around you?

Team C awaited you, their faces hard and unreadable, but they had no choice. Neither did you. The mission was clear. And you would lead, even if it meant losing what little was left of yourself.

As you approached, your heart sank. Their expressions mirrored your own when you first entered this hellish training—vacant, lifeless, like their souls had been wrung out and left to dry. Green hearts. The weakest of them all. Most of them looked like they couldn’t even fight a fly, let alone survive a battlefield. What kind of twisted joke was this? Why had you been paired with this group of half-dead soldiers?

They shuffled nervously as you came closer, avoiding eye contact. It was clear they didn’t expect much from you—or themselves. Frustration bubbled up inside you, but you swallowed it down. Losing your temper wouldn’t help anyone. You took a deep breath and stepped forward, addressing them in a low voice, your words carrying the weight of someone who had seen and endured far too much.

"Listen," you muttered, your tone harsher than you intended. A few of them flinched but turned their eyes toward you, their gazes dull. "You might all die out there," you said bluntly, not sugarcoating the harsh reality. "But we have a job to do. Our mission is to keep Team A alive. That’s our main objective. Do you understand?"

Their silence was deafening, but you pushed on, searching for any flicker of recognition in their eyes. They needed more than orders—they needed hope, or at least a reason to try. You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. "I know how this looks. I know how you feel. But I’m in the top seven for a reason. I fought to get here, and I’m not about to let this team fall apart before we even get started."

You hesitated, scanning their faces again. Most of them still looked skeptical—or worse, resigned—but you couldn’t give up on them, not yet. "I’ll try my best to keep you all safe," you continued, your voice softer this time, almost pleading. "I can’t promise anything out there. None of us can. But if you put your trust in me, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you make it back. Alive."

A few of them exchanged uncertain glances, and one or two even straightened their postures slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small crack in the wall of apathy that surrounded them.

You crossed your arms, your gaze hardening. "Now, I need you to meet me halfway. I can’t carry you all. You’ve survived four years of this hell, just like I have. That means there’s strength in you, even if you don’t see it. We’ve got to rely on each other out there. No one else is going to save us."

The silence stretched for a moment, heavy and uncomfortable. Then, slowly, one of them nodded. Another muttered something under their breath that sounded like agreement. It wasn’t a rallying cry, but it was enough to plant the seed of hope.

"Good," you said, a faint sense of relief washing over you. "Now get ready. We’re about to head into the fight of our lives. Let’s make sure it’s not our last."

Turning away, you steeled yourself. You didn’t know if they’d survive, or if you’d survive, but you were their leader now. And for better or worse, you would give them something to fight for. Even if it was just the faint hope of seeing tomorrow.

The chaos erupted the moment your team was called into action. Adrenaline surged through your veins as you sprinted forward, your team trailing closely behind. The deafening roar of gunfire and the screams of battle surrounded you, but you forced yourself to focus. Team A was ahead, their movements sharp and precise as they advanced. Your job was to support them, to keep them standing no matter what came your way.

Bullets whizzed past, some close enough to graze your uniform, others embedding themselves in the dirt and debris around you. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and gunpowder, but you kept moving. Your reflexes were razor-sharp, your body operating on pure instinct honed from years of relentless training.

"Heal!" you shouted, your voice cutting through the chaos as your eyes locked on a teammate clutching their arm, blood seeping through their fingers. You didn’t hesitate, channeling your energy into a glowing aura that enveloped them. The wound sealed almost instantly, and they gave you a shaky nod before diving back into formation.

"Shield!" The command came just in time as your attention snapped to another teammate. A bullet was heading straight for them. You raised your hand, summoning a green, shimmering barrier that materialized in an instant. The projectile pinged harmlessly off the shield, and your teammate stumbled back, wide-eyed but unharmed. "Keep moving!" you barked, your tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Team A pressed on ahead, their formation unbroken despite the relentless assault. Your squad stayed close, flanking them and covering their vulnerabilities. You leapt and dodged with precision, weaving through the battlefield like a ghost, always one step ahead of danger. Every time someone faltered, you were there—healing, shielding, pushing them forward.

The sounds of the battle were a cacophony—explosions, screams, the whine of bullets tearing through the air. But through it all, your focus remained unshaken. You weren’t just protecting your team—you were leading them, keeping them alive, and ensuring that Team A could continue their assault.

For a fleeting moment, you felt a surge of pride. Despite everything—despite the odds, the training, the darkness—you were holding your own. You were making a difference. They had broken you, molded you into this weapon, but now, out here on the battlefield, it felt like you were more than just a tool. You were their leader, and your team was depending on you.

"Stay together!" you called out as the terrain shifted, the cover growing sparse. "Eyes up, and keep close to Team A! We don’t stop until they’re secure!"

You surged forward, your resolve burning brighter than ever. You didn’t know how this battle would end, but for now, you were still standing. And as long as you could stand, you’d fight. For them, for yourself, and for the faint hope that there might still be something worth surviving for.

The earth shook beneath your feet as the sound of the explosion echoed across the battlefield. The moment you heard that deafening thwamp, your instincts kicked in. "Take cover!" you shouted, your voice barely audible over the chaos. Without a second to waste, you threw up your hand and bellowed, "Shield!"

A massive, glowing green barrier erupted above your team and Team A, forming a protective dome over both squads. The air around you hummed with energy as the bomb rocketed toward you, its deadly trajectory aimed squarely at your group. The explosion came a split second later with an ear-splitting BOOM. The ground shook violently, the shockwave slamming into your shield with enough force to rattle your bones, but the barrier held strong, absorbing the impact of the blast.

You barely had time to catch your breath as the blast cleared, the ringing in your ears fading, and dust filled the air around you. You lowered the shield, your arms shaking from the sheer strain of the energy it took to hold it in place. The aftermath of the explosion was a blur of smoke and debris, but you quickly scanned the field.

Everyone was still alive. Scrapes and burns, yes, but no one was down. Your heart hammered in your chest, but there was no time to process the relief. Team A had already rallied, shouting their battle cry and charging forward.

"Forward!" Team A yelled, their voices sharp with determination. You felt the energy shift around you, the pressure of the battle pushing you onward.

"Team C! Move out!" you called, your voice steady despite the chaos. You gave the order with a snap of your command, your voice cutting through the din of battle. Your squad surged forward, sticking close to Team A as they advanced. You kept your eyes sharp, scanning the battlefield for any sign of incoming threats. The mission wasn’t over. It was far from over.

Each step felt heavier than the last, but you weren’t about to falter. You couldn't. You had a responsibility now, not just to yourself but to your team, to Team A, and to everyone else depending on you. The shield was only one part of it—you had to keep them all alive.

As your team followed closely behind, you mentally braced yourself for whatever came next. Whatever the enemy threw at you, you'd fight through it. You were here for a reason. And no matter how many obstacles or bombs came your way, you wouldn't stop until you saw this mission through.

The battlefield was a blur of chaos, a cacophony of gunfire, explosions, and cries of battle filling the air around you. Your face was splattered with blood, a mixture of sweat and dirt clinging to your skin, but it was the blood that stained your vision the most. The blood of the fallen, the blood of enemies, the blood of your comrades. And with each step, you fought to make sure there was no more bloodshed from your team.

Pop! And you dropped another enemy. You didn’t even pause to take a breath, just a quick word “die,” and a flick of your wrist then it was a quick-burst that brought another soldier down. Pop! Another, then another. Your heart pounded in your chest, your legs moving faster than they ever had before, your body running on sheer adrenaline.

The sound of gunfire was deafening, but you knew that you had one job, and that was to protect your team, to keep them alive. The mission was a priority, and if you could help even just one more person make it out of here, it would be worth everything.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Another three down. Your throat and arms burned with the exertion of taking down so many, but you pushed through.

Then the sound of Team A's footsteps slowed, and you spotted one of your comrades stumbling. They were hurt, a bullet grazing their side. You snapped into action, shouting, "Heal!"

Your green magic flowed from your hands in a vibrant wave, a rush of energy that surrounded your fallen teammates. The healing energy swirled around them like a soft breeze, mending wounds, stopping bleeding, and revitalizing them just in time. It was quick, efficient, but it took a toll on your body each time. Still, you didn’t let up, not even for a second.

Your teammates worked in sync with you, pulling their own magic to heal the injured soldiers, providing support when needed. You couldn’t afford to stop now. Every second counted. You couldn't afford to lose anyone, not after everything you’d been through.

You helped the wounded, keeping them on their feet, before turning back to the front lines, your heart beating wildly in your chest. The fight was far from over, and you weren’t about to back down. With your magic, your skill, and your determination, you would keep moving forward, no matter what.

"Stay strong!" you shouted to your team, your voice rough but full of conviction. "We keep going, no matter what!"

Hours bled into each other as the battle raged on. The sounds of gunfire, distant explosions, and cries of command felt like a constant hum in the back of your mind. Time seemed to warp, hours stretching out, each second feeling longer than the last. You barely felt the exhaustion in your bones anymore, or maybe you’d learned to block it out. It didn’t matter. Not when there was still work to do.

The trench was crowded, the scent of gunpowder and sweat thick in the air. Your team huddled together, taking refuge beneath the fragile, momentary lull in the chaos. Your fingers were stiff, your body sore from the constant movement, and you could feel the strain in your muscles from using your magic so often. But there was no time to rest. Not yet.

You sat, your back against the cold, rough wall of the trench, a half-hearted meal in front of you. It wasn’t much—dried rations, hard bread, and some form of mystery meat. It didn’t matter. It was food, and it was enough to keep you going. It wasn’t even that you were hungry; you could feel the magic swirling inside you, keeping you alert and on edge. But you knew that even with your abilities, your body still needed fuel to keep moving.

As you ate, your hands were still moving, tracing intricate motions in the air to maintain the shield that kept everyone protected. You didn’t look at your team, just focused on your magic and the constant vigilance required to keep the shield up. It wasn’t easy. Every crack of gunfire or explosion in the distance had you flinching, ready to react. Your senses were on high alert, your mind constantly calculating, always watching for the next threat.

"Stay sharp," you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else.

A soft murmur of agreement came from the others, but most of them were too focused on their own food to engage in conversation. There was no room for small talk in a war zone. Every minute was precious. Every breath could be your last. The enemy was out there, just waiting for the next opportunity to strike.

You took another bite, barely tasting it as your mind wandered. What would life be like after this? Would there even be a life after this? The constant fighting, the endless bloodshed—it was all starting to wear on you, eating away at what was left of your spirit.

"How much longer do you think this will go on?" one of the soldiers from Team A asked, breaking the silence. You didn’t look up, but you could feel their gaze on you.
"Until it’s over," you replied, your voice flat. "Until we win."

The soldier grunted, clearly unsatisfied with the answer, but said nothing else. They had their own doubts, their own fears. You weren’t the only one struggling.

Your magic flared again, a subtle glow around your hands as you reinforced the shield. You felt the weight of responsibility on your shoulders, heavier than ever.

Everyone relied on you. If you faltered, if you let your guard down for just one second, it could mean disaster. And the thought of failing them, of losing someone else, was too much to bear.

"What if we just run? Maybe we could be free?" someone from your team muttered, their voice filled with a fragile hope.

The words hung in the air, thick with the desperation of someone who had lost all hope. You could see it in their eyes—the same look you’d seen in the mirror many times during the past four years. The brokenness. The fatigue. The desire to just give up, to run away from the endless battle that had become your life. But you couldn't afford to entertain those thoughts, not now.

Without a word, you marched over to the soldier who dared to mutter such nonsense. Your anger flared hotter than the fury of the battlefield. Your hand shot out, gripping the collar of their shirt with a force that lifted them off the ground. Their eyes widened in surprise, but you weren’t interested in their shock. You were too focused on the burning rage inside you.

"Are you serious?" you growled, your voice low and dangerous. "You think you can just run? You think you can escape?" Your grip tightened, the soldier choking for breath. "You can’t escape. They’ll find you because of the collar on your neck, soldier," you spat, the words coming out like venom.

With a vicious shove, you threw them onto the muddy ground, the sound of their body hitting the earth almost satisfying. But you weren’t done yet.

"You either fight to win or die," you continued, your voice shaking with fury. "You can’t run. Or you risk dying a coward. Do you understand me?"

For a brief moment, your mind flashed to Felix, Faith, and Lily. Their faces, their voices, their hopes—they all flooded your thoughts. The reason you fought. The reason you hadn’t given up. If you could do this for them, you could keep pushing through. You had to.

You clenched your teeth, the weight of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. You had no time for weakness, no time for self-pity. Not here. Not now.
"Now get up!" you barked, your voice cold and commanding. "It’s time to finish this."

The soldier scrambled to their feet, the fire in their eyes slightly rekindled but still uncertain. You didn’t have time for their hesitation. You could see it in their eyes, the uncertainty, the lingering doubts. But those doubts didn’t matter right now. You had a mission, and it didn’t involve running.

You turned your back to them, signaling for the rest of your team to move forward. The battlefield was waiting. There was no room for fear, for cowardice. Only the fight remained. And you weren’t about to let anything stand in your way. Not now, not ever.

"Let’s go," you said, your voice steady now, as cold as steel. "We fight together, or we die together. And I won’t let any of you die without a damn good reason."

The battle raged on, both teams fighting with everything they had, their bodies exhausted but determination fueling every strike. The clash of fists, the sounds of grunts, and the chaos of the battlefield filled the air. Then, suddenly, a sharp, piercing sound cut through the chaos—a shot rang out into the sky.

Your eyes snapped toward it, tracking the white flare that shot high into the air, its light bright against the darkening sky.

The battlefield was quiet for the first time in hours, the sounds of gunfire and explosions replaced by an eerie stillness. You stood there, breathing heavily, your mind racing. The flare, the white one—did that mean it was over? Your gaze shifted across the war-torn field, the enemies who had been relentless just moments ago now falling to their knees, some sobbing, others simply staring ahead in disbelief.

Your heart skipped a beat. Had you really won?

The scrawny soldier who approached your team was practically bouncing with excitement, holding a radio tightly in his hands. His voice was full of something you hadn't heard in so long: hope. "Are you Team A and C?" he asked, out of breath but smiling. Before you could respond, he continued, almost breathlessly, "We just got word from Group B and D—we took control! We’ve got the capital!"

You blinked, your mind struggling to process the words. You won?

Your breath caught in your throat. Was it really over? Had you really succeeded? A lump formed in your throat, the weight of everything suddenly crashing down on you. You had fought, bled, and almost died for this moment. For a chance at something more. And now... Now it seemed like that victory was within reach.

"Can we report to base then?" you muttered, the exhaustion in your voice mingling with a glimmer of hope you couldn’t quite suppress.

The soldier nodded eagerly, his grin widening. "Yeah, other Green Hearts are healing our comrades at base. Team A, you’ll meet up with B and D. Team C, follow me."

You gave a curt nod, the words still sinking in. You weren’t sure what you expected, but this—this was almost too much to believe. You were alive. You had won. And now, you could finally leave the battlefield. You could finally get out of this hellhole, if only for a little while.

Your team began to move, weary but determined, following the soldier’s lead. Every step felt like a heavy weight being lifted from your shoulders, though the ache in your body told you that the battle wasn’t over, not completely. You still had to make it back to base, still had to regroup, heal, and figure out what came next.

But for now, for this moment, you let yourself believe.

You had survived. You had won.

And somewhere, deep in your heart, you couldn’t help but hope that Lily, Felix, and Faith would be proud of you.

As soon as you reached the base, the weight of the battle still heavy on your shoulders, your instincts kicked in. You barked orders to your team, pushing them to help heal the wounded. Your eyes swept across the injured soldiers, their bodies battered and bruised from the fight. But there was no time to reflect, no time to rest. The work needed to be done.

You were just beginning to focus on the task at hand when the sound of boots crunching against the gravel caught your attention. You turned, eyes narrowing as the lieutenant made his way toward you. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that seemed... different. Almost impressed.

"800," he called, his voice steady and commanding, "I see you and your team are still alive. Good. That means you made it to graduation. Congratulations."

Your throat tightened, the words settling in. Graduation. The moment you had been dreading for so long, yet here you were, still standing, still breathing.

You gave a simple nod, the exhaustion creeping up on you as you processed the reality of what you'd accomplished. "Thank you, sir," you muttered, your voice rough from the long hours of fighting and using magic.

The lieutenant didn’t seem to care much for pleasantries. "When you're done here, report to me," he instructed, before turning and striding away.

You watched him for a moment, knowing that the battle wasn’t over. Graduation didn’t mean the war had ended, not by a long shot. You had conquered the capital, but there were still more battles to fight, more objectives to meet. But today, right now, you couldn’t afford to think about that.

Turning back to your team, you immediately refocused. The wounded were still pouring in, and your magic needed to be at its best. You stepped forward, positioning yourself in front of the injured soldiers, your eyes determined.

"Heal," you commanded, the word falling from your lips like a breath, the magic swirling around your body, flowing through your throat and into your hands. The green energy surged out of you, enveloping the four soldiers in front of you. You felt the familiar rush of healing magic as it mended their wounds, pulling the pain from their bodies and replacing it with the soft warmth of restoration.

The soldiers’ tense expressions softened as they felt the healing work, and they let out soft sighs of relief. The bruises, cuts, and burns slowly faded, leaving them in better condition than they had been moments ago. The work was grueling, but it was what you were trained for. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop to think about the toll it was taking on you.

You could rest when the mission was done.

Your team worked alongside you, helping as you healed, keeping the soldiers stable and ready for whatever came next. There was no celebration, no time to bask in the victory. Not yet. Not until it was over.

But a part of you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride. You had done it. You had survived. You had made it through. And you had achieved something incredible. You’d conquered the capital.

As the hours passed, exhaustion weighed on you like a heavy blanket. Every movement felt slow, each breath deeper than the last, but you forced yourself to get up. You couldn’t afford to rest yet. There was still work to be done, still responsibilities to fulfill. You made your way to where the lieutenant was, your legs feeling like lead with each step.

When you arrived, the other groups that graduated with you were already gathered. You couldn’t help but glance around at your fellow soldiers. 008 was missing an arm, a grim reminder of the battle’s brutal toll. Her absence was a testament to the harshness of the fight, the cost of pushing forward. You swallowed hard, thinking of all the lives lost, all the injuries, the sacrifices made to get to this point.

The lieutenant stood before the group, his expression cold and commanding. He didn’t waste any time. "Attention!" His voice rang out, and everyone snapped to attention in unison. You followed suit, standing as tall and straight as you could despite the exhaustion weighing on your shoulders.

"Now that you’ve all graduated," the lieutenant’s voice boomed, echoing in the silence, "tomorrow we will hold the ceremony. You will either be chosen to be a boss monster’s pet, or you will remain a soldier until you die."

His words hit hard, sinking into your chest like a cold stone. There was no real victory, not yet. You had conquered the capital, yes, but that was just the first step. You had been told this from the very beginning, but now it felt more real than ever. The war was far from over. There were still more battles to fight, more territory to claim, and more enemies to defeat.

"We may have won the capital today," the lieutenant continued, pacing in front of you all, "but that doesn’t mean we’ve won the war. We still need to capture the states that refuse our power. Once we have control of our country, then we show the other nations we’re not afraid of them. We will expand. We will dominate."

His voice grew louder, more intense, as he spoke, riling up the soldiers around you. The message was clear: This was far from over. It was only just beginning.
Your eyes flicked to your teammates, to the soldiers around you. Some of them were eager, hungry for the fight. Others looked defeated, worn down by the constant battles, the pressure, the brutality. You felt the weight of their gazes, the unspoken fears, the uncertainty about what the future held.

It wasn’t just about surviving anymore. It was about what came next.

Your heart was heavy, your thoughts racing. You hadn’t asked for this. You never wanted to be part of a war, never wanted to be a soldier, but here you were, standing among them. Every day had been a fight to survive, to keep your mind intact, to keep your humanity.

Now, the question wasn’t whether you could survive the war. It was whether you could keep yourself from becoming just another weapon in the hands of those who controlled you.

"Get ready," the lieutenant finished, his voice hard as steel. "Tomorrow, we make the next move. And you will either rise or fall with us."

The ceremony would decide your fate. Would you be assigned to a monster’s side, forced into servitude? Or would you keep fighting, keep surviving, as a soldier in this never-ending war?

The soldier approached, holding your muzzle in his hands. You didn’t say anything, the action no longer shocking or even remotely new. It was just part of your life now, something you had become painfully accustomed to. You sighed, stepping forward, allowing him to fasten the muzzle around your face. The cold metal clamped down on your skin, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing down on your words, your thoughts.

When he finished, he saluted you, his expression blank and unreadable, and you returned the salute automatically. It was the only thing you could do anymore, a simple gesture to acknowledge the role you played in this twisted, endless war.

He turned and walked away, leaving you with only the hum of the facility and the harsh flickering lights above. A soldier shadowed your every step as you made your way back to your "room," though it hardly felt like one. It was more like a cage—isolated, dark, and cold. You had no say in when you could sleep, when you could eat, or when you could rest. Everything was regimented, controlled.

The heavy clang of the door echoed in the silence when the soldier locked it behind you. It felt final, like another chain added to the shackles you couldn’t escape from.
You sank to the cold concrete floor, the roughness of it seeping into your bones. You rested your head against the wall, the chill from the cement sinking through your skin, but you didn't care. The pain, the exhaustion, the weight of it all... it was all so overwhelming, like the walls themselves were closing in on you.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to drift. The darkness of your "room" seemed to blend with the darkness in your mind, and you let it consume you. There were no more thoughts of escape, no more dreams of a better life. There was only the unrelenting reality of this place. You had given up on any hope of things being different. The world outside might have been burning, but here, in the suffocating silence of your cell, it felt like nothing would ever change.

Lily, Felix, Faith... their faces were distant memories now, like fading photographs in your mind. You didn't know what they would say about what you had become. Would they be proud? Or would they, too, see you as a lost cause?

The darkness of the room pressed in on you like a suffocating blanket, and with it came the voices—the ones you couldn’t escape. They always appeared in the quiet, in the isolation, when there was no one to distract you from your own mind.

“Sissy! How was your day?” Lily’s cheerful, teasing voice echoed through the room. It was so vivid, so real, that for a moment, you almost believed she was there. Almost.

Your hands flew to your ears, pressing against them as if that could block the sound. But it didn’t work. It never worked.

“What, you want to ignore us now?” Faith’s mocking tone cut through next, sharp and biting. You winced, curling in on yourself, as though making yourself smaller could make the voices stop.

“Hey, leave her alone. She had a tough day,” Felix’s nagging voice chimed in, defending you in that familiar way that made your chest ache. It was like they were all standing right there, their voices bouncing off the walls of your cell. But they weren’t here. They couldn’t be here.

They’re not real, you thought to yourself. They’re not real. You pressed your hands harder against your ears, as if the pressure could silence them, as if you could crush the memories and the guilt into nothingness.

But they kept going. They always did. You could hear Lily giggling, Faith scoffing, Felix sighing in that exasperated way of his. Each voice a knife, cutting deeper into wounds that had never healed.

You clenched your teeth, breathing heavily, trying to ground yourself. The cold cement beneath you, the weight of the muzzle, the faint hum of the facility—it was all real. The voices were not. They were just your mind, your broken mind, conjuring up pieces of the past that it wouldn’t let go.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t help. Nothing would.

I’m sorry, you thought to yourself, though you didn’t know who you were apologizing to. The voices? Yourself? It didn’t matter.

The phantom touch on your arm sent a chill down your spine, and you flinched instinctively, pressing your back harder against the cold cement wall. The sensation was fleeting, but it felt so real, so tangible, as if Lily herself had reached out to you.

“Hey! Sissy! Can you tell me more stories? Like you used to! I miss them!” Lily’s voice rang out, cheerful and filled with longing, tugging at your heart.

“Yeah, can’t you?” Faith chimed in, her tone less mocking now, softer, almost curious. “I never got to hear one of your stories.”

The voices seemed to circle you, growing louder, closer. It was impossible—they weren’t real, they couldn’t be—but your mind played tricks on you, and it was hard to resist the illusion. Faith’s voice felt like it was right next to you, and the sensation of Lily grabbing your arm made your breath hitch. You pressed your hands harder to your ears, as though blocking out the noise could stop the torment.

“Come on, guys, she’s tired. Let her sleep,” Felix’s voice interjected, calm and steady, just like you remembered. It was the voice of reason, the one that used to keep the peace. “I’ll tell you stories if you want.”

Your heart clenched at his words, the memories flooding back despite your attempts to suppress them. Those nights when everything seemed normal, when stories were shared, and laughter filled the air—when things hadn’t fallen apart.

No, you thought, your body was trembling. You’re not here. You’re not real. Just… go away.

But the voices didn’t stop. They never stopped. Your fingers dug into your scalp as you curled in on yourself, rocking slightly, desperate to shut them out.

Please, you begged. Just leave me alone.

The darkness of the cell pressed in, cold and unrelenting, but the voices stayed, lingering like ghosts in the corners of your mind. All you could do was endure. Just like always.

Chapter Text

The next morning arrived with an aching reminder of your circumstances. You stirred slightly, every muscle in your body protesting the movement as you stretched, the cold, unforgiving concrete beneath you offering no comfort. Your joints cracked softly, the stiffness from a night spent on the harsh floor clinging to your weary frame.

“Good morning, Sissy!” Lily’s cheerful voice echoed suddenly, light and bubbly, a cruel trick of the mind. You grimaced, keeping your eyes shut tight. The soldier would come soon—you could feel it in the distant sound of boots against concrete. All you had to do was wait. Wait for the door to creak open, for the light to flood in, and for the voices to finally vanish like shadows chased away by the sun.

“You know,” Faith’s sharp voice broke through, her tone teasing and biting, “it wouldn’t kill you to at least say good morning to Lily. Honestly, you’re so mean.” You could almost see her smirking, holding Lily in a protective embrace as though she were shielding her from your perceived indifference.

Felix sighed deeply, his voice calm and exasperated. “Do we have to do this every morning? Give her a break, guys.”

But the bickering didn’t stop, the words growing louder, more insistent, crowding your mind until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. You pressed your palms tightly over your ears, willing them to go away, to leave you in peace.

And then, just as the tension reached its peak, the metallic groan of the cell door opening cut through the air. Blinding light spilled into the room, flooding every dark corner and chasing the voices away as quickly as they had come. You opened your eyes slowly, blinking against the sudden brightness, relief washing over you despite the sterile, oppressive reality of your surroundings.

The soldier stepped inside, their shadow tall and imposing. “Time to move,” they ordered gruffly, their tone cold and detached.

You nodded stiffly, pushing yourself up from the floor despite the ache in your limbs. Every step felt heavy, but you welcomed the movement. Out there, amidst the regimented chaos of orders and duties, you could silence the voices completely.

Because here in the darkness, in the stillness, they always return. And that was what you feared most—being left alone with the ghosts of your past, haunting you in the one place you couldn’t escape: your own mind.

You followed the soldier silently, each step echoing faintly in the cold, sterile corridor. Your body ached with every movement, the stiffness lingering from the harsh night on the concrete floor. You stretched your arms as you walked, trying to shake off the discomfort, though the heaviness in your chest remained.

The journey ended at a massive room, its vastness dwarfing the assembled soldiers. The air was thick with tension, a palpable mix of exhaustion and expectation.

Rows of soldiers stood in disciplined formation, their faces stoic, their postures rigid. The soldier guiding you led you to the very front, his movements sharp and purposeful.

“Stay here and wait,” he ordered curtly before snapping a salute and retreating. You gave a slight nod, standing as instructed, your gaze instinctively scanning your surroundings.

To your left, about five other soldiers stood in line, their expressions unreadable. To your right, the same—a line of five more, all wearing the same tired, hardened look as you. Behind you, the same rigid formation stretched back, row after row of soldiers waiting in silence. It felt like being part of a machine, every cog in its place, ready to turn as commanded.

Your eyes drifted ahead to the stage towering before you. Its sheer size and emptiness gave it an intimidating presence, its shadow stretching out like an omen. Four human soldiers stood to one side, their uniforms crisp and pristine, their gazes fixed ahead. Beyond them, the stage was mostly empty, its vast expanse unsettling in its starkness.

The room was cold, both in temperature and atmosphere. The silence was deafening, save for the occasional shuffle of boots or the faint hum of machinery somewhere in the distance. You kept your posture firm, but your mind wandered, questioning what was to come.

The stage loomed like a silent judge, and you couldn’t help but feel like a defendant awaiting their verdict.

The sudden sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the large room, immediately drawing everyone's attention. Your gaze snapped to the source of the noise as a figure emerged from the shadows. Dr. Alphys stepped onto the stage, her presence commanding, her posture radiating confidence. Her lizard tail swished behind her as she made her way to the center, a small but sharp smile tugging at her lips.

“Welcome!” she began, her voice clear and crisp, cutting through the thick tension in the air. “Congratulations on surviving and graduating. Today marks the start of a new chapter for you all. We will now hold the ceremony.”

Her eyes scanned the crowd briefly before turning to the edge of the stage, motioning with a clawed hand. “We have some boss monsters here who will be making their selections. Unfortunately, not all could attend, but those who are here today will make their choices. Please, come to the stage.”

Your breath caught as a figure emerged from where Dr. Alphys had entered. The first to appear was a tall, blue fish monster. She strode confidently onto the stage, her black sleeveless turtleneck and jeans exuding a casual but commanding presence. Her sharp, golden eye glinted as she moved, her posture screaming authority.

Reaching Dr. Alphys, she wrapped a strong arm around her, standing close.

“This,” Dr. Alphys introduced, “is my wife, Undyne.”

Undyne’s single piercing eye swept over the gathered soldiers, her gaze like a blade. She stood silently, her expression severe, her presence alone enough to silence the faint shuffling in the room.

Dr. Alphys turned back to the entry point, gesturing once more. “And now, the others.”

What stepped out next made your stomach drop and your breath hitch. Two skeleton monsters emerged, their presence chilling and magnetic. They moved with an eerie precision, their red-and-black suits tailored perfectly to their angular frames. The shorter one had a gold tooth that gleamed under the harsh lights and a scar slashing through one of his sockets, which held a smug, almost predatory grin. He had on a black fedora that just seemed to compliment the gangster outfit. The taller one walked with an air of dominance, three deep scars running down one of his sockets, his permanent glare as sharp as a blade.

They stepped forward, taking their place beside Dr. Alphys and Undyne. The moment they turned to face the crowd, you felt an intense pressure settle over you. Their hollow sockets, blazing with otherworldly light, scanned the rows of soldiers. You could have sworn their gaze lingered on you, pinning you in place like a bug under glass. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple as their attention remained fixed.

Your pulse quickened, and your thoughts raced. Why were they looking at you? What did they want? Your hands curled into fists at your sides, but no amount of resolve could stop the unease creeping through your chest. For the first time in a long while, you felt genuinely vulnerable, exposed under their unrelenting stares.

Their eye sockets glowed, two luminous red rubies embedded in their skulls, each gaze locked directly on you. The intensity was suffocating, and the room seemed to shrink under their presence. Dr. Alphys, ever composed, gestured toward the shorter skeleton.

“This is Sans,” she announced, her tone measured, before motioning to the taller one. “And this is Papyrus.”

Sans, with his confident grin, tilted his red-and-black fedora slightly, leaning toward Papyrus to whisper something. Whatever he said was quick and quiet, hidden from the rest of the room. Papyrus gave a single nod in response, straightening to his full height once again, his scarred socket gleaming in the stage lights.

Dr. Alphys began speaking again, her voice cutting through the tense silence. “These boss monsters will now—"

Before she could finish, Sans leapt from the stage with a fluidity that betrayed his casual demeanor. The room collectively stiffened as his boots landed heavily on the ground, the sound reverberating in the space. His strides were unhurried as he sauntered directly toward you, his glowing red sockets locked onto yours like a predator closing in on its prey.

Stopping just in front of you, Sans tilted his head, his smirk widening. He was close enough now that you could feel the oppressive aura radiating from him. He opened his mouth to speak, his voice deep and rough, like boulders grinding together.

“Heya, peaches,” he drawled, the nickname slipping effortlessly from his mouth. “You’re coming with me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as his words sunk in. The nonchalance in his tone made it seem like a foregone conclusion, as if you didn’t even have a choice. His grin was almost mocking, daring you to question him. The soldiers around you shifted uncomfortably, but no one dared intervene.

All you could do was stare, caught in the pull of those ruby-red eyelights. Your thoughts raced. Why you? What did he see in you that made him single you out so quickly?

Peaches? What the hell kind of name was that? The nickname threw you, and you stared at him, dumbfounded, as if the word itself had momentarily fried your brain. The seconds ticked by, and Sans tilted his head, his sockets narrowing slightly.

“Hey, you listenin’? Come on, Peaches,” he repeated, the teasing edge in his voice softening just a fraction.

Before you could respond, he reached out, his gloved hand aiming to grab yours. The sudden movement made you flinch instinctively, jerking back before you could stop yourself. The reaction seemed to surprise him, and his grin faltered. His hand hovered midair for a moment before he slowly pulled it back.

“...Huh,” Sans muttered, his voice quieter now, a sigh escaping him. He ran a hand along the brim of his fedora, adjusting it slightly as he turned on his heel. “Alright. Follow,” he ordered, the sharpness of his tone returning.

You froze for a split second before snapping to attention. Your legs moved on autopilot, following him without hesitation. The last thing you wanted was to upset him—or anyone else here. The heavy, rhythmic thud of his boots echoed ahead of you, and you tried to keep your breathing steady as you trailed behind.

The atmosphere was suffocating, every step amplifying the weight of the situation. His presence was overwhelming, commanding without even trying. And yet, despite the tension, your mind couldn’t stop circling back to that ridiculous nickname.

Peaches. What the hell did that even mean? What the hell was a peach and why did he call you that?

You followed Sans closely, the sound of Dr. Alphas's voice fading into the background as he ignored whatever she was saying. His steps were confident, leading you past the stage and into the shadows behind the curtain. The heavy atmosphere didn’t ease up—it only grew thicker when Papyrus appeared, stepping out from behind the folds of the curtain.

“So,” Papyrus started, his tone sharp as his burning red eyelights focused on you, scanning from head to toe. His glare felt like it could pin you to the spot. “This is her?” His voice was a low growl, his disdain evident as his eye narrowed. “A human? Fucking really?” he muttered angrily, the words practically dripping with disgust.

Your chest tightened at his words, confusion and anxiety clawing at you. What did he mean by that? What was this about? You wanted to ask, but your throat felt dry, your voice lost somewhere between the questions piling up in your head.

Sans shrugged in response to Papyrus’s anger, looking entirely unbothered. His hands slid casually into the pockets of his suit jacket, his red and black tie slightly askew. “Hey, I don’t really care,” he said, his thick accent rolling effortlessly off his tongue. He glanced at you, smirking as if none of this tension bothered him in the slightest. “We found her, so that’s all that matters. Besides…” He leaned slightly toward you, the grin on his face turning mischievous.

“She’s cute, ain’tcha, Peaches?” he teased, the nickname dripping with his usual smugness. His smirk widened, his sharp teeth glinting.

You blinked, trying to process everything. Found you? What the hell were they talking about? Cute? Peaches?

Your heart was pounding as you glanced nervously between the two skeletons, trying to figure out what you’d just been dragged into.

Papyrus let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose cavity in frustration. His burning red eye lights flickered with annoyance as he glared at Sans, who seemed entirely unbothered by his outburst.

"But we share a soulmate!" Papyrus snapped, his voice rising in anger. "This is a problem, you idiot!" His towering figure loomed over you, his voice echoing with genuine frustration. The mention of "soulmate" hit you like a punch to the gut. Soulmates? Wasn't that some kind of rare, almost impossible connection between two beings? Dr. Alphas had said it was a .0001% chance—something that was practically unheard of. And with monsters? Was that even possible?

You stood frozen, your thoughts a chaotic blur, your body tensing as you processed the implications. The word soulmate hung in the air, thick and heavy, but the concept seemed impossible. How could it be you? Was this some cruel joke? Your heart raced, your chest tightening as you felt the weight of the situation crash down on you.

Sans, however, seemed completely unfazed. He just shrugged, the smirk on his face widening. "I don't think it matters much either, boss," he said with an almost casual tone, as if the tension between them meant little to him. He turned toward you, his deep voice rumbling with something almost playful. "Knew it would come to this one day," he chuckled, a low, gravelly sound that seemed to vibrate through your chest. The sound of his laugh—almost like rocks scraping together—felt unsettling, but also strangely comforting.

You barely managed to keep yourself from staggering back, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of confusion and questions. What was this? What did they mean by soulmates, and how were you involved?

Sans’s deep chuckles faded, but his sharp, predatory gaze never left you. There was something unnervingly calm about how he acted, but it only left you with more questions—questions you weren’t sure you were ready to answer.

"Whatever, come on peaches, let's get cha home." sans smirks

Sans’s smirk grew wider as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of his touch felt foreign, and you couldn’t help but tense up at the sudden intimacy. The movement was so sudden, you instinctively tried to pull away, but Sans only tightened his hold slightly, his voice low but amused.

"You’re a finicky thing, aren’tcha?" he said, the teasing lilt in his voice causing a shiver to run down your spine. "I’m not gonna eat cha, peaches." The words were meant to be reassuring, but the casual way he said them only made the situation more unnerving.

Papyrus, clearly frustrated, let out an angry huff, his fiery gaze piercing through you as he threw his hands up in exasperation. "We have a fucking soulmate who’s a human and twitches at the mere touch of a monster!" he growled, his tone dripping with contempt. "How pathetic!"

His words hit harder than you expected. You flinched slightly, the sting of his judgment lacing into your chest. The truth of it began to settle in—you were their soulmate, and somehow, being human made that connection feel wrong. You hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t chosen this.

Still, you didn’t want to anger them more. The last thing you needed was to make this situation worse. Reluctantly, you allowed Sans to pull you closer again. His touch was firm but not unkind, and there was something almost possessive in the way he held you. You had no choice but to let him lead you away.

"Atta girl," Sans murmured, the words laced with a teasing note. He sounded far too comfortable with the situation, and it made you uneasy. The distance between you and Papyrus seemed to grow, but the tension in the air was undeniable. You could still feel the weight of Papyrus’s glare on your back as you followed Sans, unsure of what to expect next.

Papyrus grabbed Sans’s arm with an impatient grunt. "Let’s get out of here already," he muttered, clearly fed up with the situation. Sans just smirked, his expression unreadable, and before you could react, everything around you went dark. You gasped, your hands instinctively gripping onto Sans’s arm as you felt the world shift in an instant. It was as though you were floating in space—weightless, disoriented, and utterly unsure of where you were.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, you felt the ground beneath your feet again. The jolt as your feet touched solid ground made your body lurch forward, trying to catch up with the abrupt change in reality. You stumbled slightly, trying to balance yourself, the confusion and dizziness overwhelming. What had just happened?

"Heh, first time takin’ a shortcut, huh? So cute," Sans’s voice broke through the fog in your mind. You blinked rapidly, trying to focus as he casually let go of you, his tone playful yet strangely comforting.

Before you could fully comprehend the situation, Papyrus’s glare was already on you. "Just don’t touch my things, pet," he snarled, his tone dripping with disdain. "And don’t make a mess!" With that, he turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving you standing there alone with Sans.

The sudden silence left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, the tension in the air thickening between you and the skeleton. Sans’s gaze flickered to you, and there was an odd sense of familiarity in his eyes, as though you were no longer just some random human, but something far more complicated—something he had claimed, whether you liked it or not. His smirk never faltered, but there was an underlying amusement in the way he watched you, as if waiting for you to process the situation.

"Welcome to the club, peaches," he said finally, his voice low and almost coaxing, like he was inviting you to accept this strange, terrifying new reality. It was all happening too fast, but there was no turning back now.

Sans’s red eye lights flickered down to your collar with an expression of slight disapproval, then back to your face. He gave a low, rumbling sigh. "I’m going to make some phone calls," he muttered, clearly already losing interest in the current moment. "This is your new room, peaches. See ya at dinner." With that, he shot you one last smirk before disappearing into the air, leaving behind only a wisp of black smoke where he had stood.

You blinked, your body still frozen in place as you processed what had just happened. Room? Your eyes darted around the unfamiliar space, your heart racing with confusion. This had to be a joke. The fact that you were even questioning this reality felt insane, but everything was happening so fast, so wrong.

The room was nothing like the cold, dim cell you had been confined to for what felt like forever. Instead, it looked... almost comfortable. Too comfortable. A lavish red and black bed sat in the center, the soft pillows and thick blankets looking incredibly inviting, like it was made for someone who didn’t belong in a place like this. A bookshelf lined one wall, its shelves stacked with various books, most of them titles you didn’t recognize. The closet stood empty, but even that felt like it was waiting for something—or someone.

The room was well-lit, soft golden light spilling from fixtures in the walls, casting the space in a warm glow. That was a relief. The light meant the voices wouldn’t haunt you here—not for now, at least. You could feel the weight of their absence, the silence almost eerie compared to the usual relentless mocking, but a part of you was still on edge, unsure of just how long that silence would last.

You took a tentative step forward, glancing at the bed again. This is insane. The contrast between this cozy room and your past was enough to make you question if you were dreaming. But no, the sharp ache in your limbs from the days spent in the cold concrete room told you this was real.

What the hell is going on here?

You sat down on the edge of the bed, still dazed. Sans’s words echoed in your mind, his casual tone as if this was all just some small thing. A new room. Dinner. Was this really happening? Were you seriously just expected to live here? You couldn’t even wrap your mind around the idea, not after everything that had happened.

Your gaze moved to the bookshelf, getting up off the bed your feet carried you to the bookshelf as your mind tried to process everything, to make sense of it all. Your hands trembled as you scanned the titles, none of which you recognized. You felt a strange mix of curiosity and unease settling deep in your gut. These books were unfamiliar. You hadn't heard of a single one of them.

Your eyes stopped on one book in particular. Its cover was bright, a princess in a flowing pink dress, her image frozen in a desperate pose as if she were trapped in a tower, with a knight below her, ready to rescue her. You hesitated, but then your hand reached out, your fingers brushing the spine of the book before pulling it from the shelf.

The book’s weight was comforting in your hands, but as you turned it over, you froze.

This is the book Lily loved.

A rush of memories flooded your mind. The laughter, the way her eyes would light up every time she talked about the princess and her knight. You had argued with her once, over a dumb thing—telling her she couldn’t take it with her on that foolish escape plan. You remember how she had pouted, how she begged to take it, how you had refused. That stupid fight, it never seemed important at the time, but now, holding the book in your hands, it felt like a wound you hadn't realized was still open.

You hugged the book tightly to your chest, the weight of it comforting, even as the memories made your heart ache. It was as if Lily was right there with you again, her voice in your mind, reminding you that she used to laugh at your insistence on following the rules, that she would’ve told you to “lighten up” or “don’t be so serious.”

She had always been the playful one, the one who pushed you to think beyond the rules and the boundaries.

You laid back on the bed, holding the book close, feeling the softness of the sheets against your skin. You closed your eyes for a moment, the quiet of the room almost too peaceful. The silence felt so different now, no voices mocking you, no weight pressing on you. Just... quiet.

But the silence wasn’t enough to chase away the pang of loss that sat heavy in your chest. It felt like the world outside this room was far away—too far. This room, this strange place with its comfort and confusion, felt like a fragile illusion.

The book, now a small comfort, was the only thing that tied you to that past, to those memories. And it was the only thing that made the cold silence of the room feel just a little less suffocating.

Lily would have liked this room.

The thought lingered in your mind, a bittersweet realization that settled into your chest like an old wound. The room was comforting, with its soft, red and black decor, the plush bed, the bookshelf full of unfamiliar books. It was everything Lily would have adored—bright, cozy, and full of possibilities. She would have filled the space with her laughter, her playful teasing, her wild ideas.

You held the book close, pressing it to your chest as if you could somehow reach her through it. Your eyes fluttered shut, the exhaustion from the day pulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Hours passed, or maybe it was only minutes. Time felt strangely elastic in this place, slipping through your fingers like water. You were lost in the softness of the bed, in the quiet of the room, trying to hold on to the fleeting peace you had found. But just as quickly as it arrived, that peace was shattered by a sound—a knock at the door.

Your eyes snapped open, heart pounding in your chest. The knock echoed in the room, sharp and insistent, pulling you out of your slumber with an unsettling urgency. Your body tensed, instinctively springing into action as if your life depended on it. You felt every muscle coil, the surge of adrenaline rushing through you.

You sprang off the bed, landing lightly on your feet, your eyes darting toward the door. The sudden noise had you on edge, every part of you alert and ready. Who was it? What did they want? A thousand questions raced through your mind, but all you could focus on was the sound—the harsh, unnerving knock that seemed to rattle the very walls of the room.

Your breath hitched as you steadied yourself, your senses heightened, preparing for whatever was to come next. The room, which had once felt so peaceful, now felt cold and foreign again, like it was a cage you couldn’t escape. You had no idea who would come through that door, but the unease swirling in your stomach told you it wouldn’t be good.

The knock came again, louder this time, more demanding. You froze, your muscles tight and coiled like a spring ready to snap.

At first, you were confused. What did it mean? No one had ever knocked on your door before. Was this some kind of ritual? Some new thing you had to learn? You stared at the door for a moment, trying to make sense of it, but it only left you feeling more uncertain. What the hell did it mean? What were you supposed to do?

With a sigh of frustration, you cautiously moved toward the door. Your hand hesitated over the handle. You had no idea what to expect. You'd never been in a situation like this, and it made you feel small, almost vulnerable. You opened it with a grunt of confusion, trying to shake off the discomfort that lingered in the air.
And there he was.

Sans.

He stood there in his usual relaxed posture, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other resting lazily at his side. His skeletal face wore that ever-present smirk, his glowing red eye sockets peering at you as if he found something amusing—probably your confusion.

“Heh, hey, peaches,” he said with his usual deep, gravelly voice. “You ready for dinner?”

The question hung in the air, and you found yourself staring at him, still not quite understanding the situation. You blinked, your mind racing, trying to process the oddity of it all. Why had he knocked? Was there a point to it? What was he even doing?

You looked at the open door, and then at him again.

He was waiting for a response, but all you could muster was a confused stare.

It made no sense. No one had ever knocked on your door. In the strange world you found yourself in now, why would Sans make that noise? It wasn’t normal, at least not to you. It felt like something expected, but you didn’t know what was expected of you in return.

Without thinking, you knocked on the door, mimicking the sound he'd made, though you didn't even know why. Maybe you were trying to mirror the action, to find some rhythm in it. But as you did, you couldn't help but feel even more uncertain. Was there a point? Or was this just part of the odd game they were playing with you?

Sans watches you with a growing frown, his red eye lights flickering slightly as he observes your confusion. “You okay, peaches?” His voice is softer now, almost as if he’s concerned, though it’s hard to tell with him. You stop knocking, your hand lingering on the door handle as you turn your gaze back to him.

The words you wanted to say swirl in your mind, but you're still muzzled—unable to speak your thoughts, unable to express what you’re feeling. You wish you could just ask him why everything felt so strange, why he seemed to be treating you differently from the others, but all you could do was nod. You were stuck in your own mind, trapped in this strange, quiet silence.

Sans seems to notice your frustration. "Wish I could hear your pretty voice, but Alphas told me you're a dangerous one," he says with a shrug, his voice casual but with a hint of something else beneath it—maybe curiosity, or maybe amusement. "Anyway," he continues, pushing the moment aside, "come on, Papyrus will get mad if we make him wait any longer."

You nod silently, the weight of his words lingering in your chest. The mention of being a "dangerous one" still doesn't sit right with you, but you force it to the back of your mind for now. What else can you do?

You follow Sans, the door clicking shut behind you. The silence between you both stretches on as you make your way down the hall. Everything feels off, like you're living in some strange dream where the rules don’t make sense, and you’re just trying to catch up. The knocking, the dinner invitation, the fact that you’re being treated with what seems like... some form of normalcy—none of it fits.

The whole situation feels wrong, but also strangely familiar in some way. It’s all a blur, but one thing stands out: Sans is weird. He doesn’t act like the others. He doesn’t treat you like some kind of prisoner or animal to be controlled.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than you understood. But for now, you’d have to keep playing along. You’d have to figure it out, step by step. The knocking, the dinner, all of it would have to make sense sooner or later.

For now, you just followed Sans, your mind racing with questions that had no answers.

As you make your way toward the meal area, you feel a strange sense of unease. Sans’s voice breaks the silence, lighthearted as ever, “Welcome to our kitchen.”

You glance around, your mind reeling. Kitchen? Is that what he’s calling this place? The room was large and well-lit, with dark wooden surfaces and a strange mix of comfortable yet intimidating décor. It didn’t feel like any kitchen you’d ever seen. The space was neat, but there was something off about it—a sense of unfamiliarity, like you were intruding on something that wasn’t meant for you.

You watch Sans with a mix of curiosity and confusion as he casually takes a seat at one of the long, dark tables. Without thinking much more about it, you follow and sit across from him. You glance around again, trying to piece things together, but it’s all too overwhelming. What kind of place is this? How are you supposed to make sense of any of it?

Before you can think too much about it, Papyrus appears, moving with his usual dramatic flair. He’s holding a plate, steam rising from the dish in a cloud of enticing aroma. He slams the plate down in front of you, causing you to jump slightly. “I have the keys to your muzzle,” Papyrus announces, his voice laced with a strange kind of authority. “But you have to be a good pet!”

His glare is sharp, and for a moment, you’re frozen. The words hang heavy in the air. Pet. The way he says it, like it’s something you’re meant to accept, twists your stomach. But what choice do you have? You nod, trying to keep yourself composed. You want to ask what the hell is going on, but the silence between you both is suffocating. And honestly, you’re not sure what kind of reaction you’d get if you said anything at all.

Your stomach growls loudly, betraying you as the incredible scent from the dish in front of you begins to seep into your senses. The meal looks good, better than anything you’ve had in a long time, and the hunger you’ve been trying to suppress claws at you. The food could be a lifeline, something familiar in this sea of confusion.

You take a deep breath, trying to push down the unease, and look at Papyrus again, giving him a quick nod to show you’re following his unspoken command. The dish in front of you is too tempting, the hunger inside you too strong to ignore. Maybe it’ll help you figure things out.

Papyrus watches you closely for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he finally turns to leave you to the meal.

As soon as Papyrus removes the muzzle, the pain that’s been building in your jaw floods out, and you quickly open and close your mouth, trying to relieve the soreness. But the hunger gnawing at your stomach is too strong, and without hesitation, you dive into the dish in front of you. The first bite hits your senses like a wave, and before you can stop yourself, a soft, contented moan escapes your lips. The flavor is rich and comforting—warm, savory, and just... perfect. Your hunger drives you to eat faster, each bite faster than the last, savoring every morsel.

For a moment, everything else fades away. Your focus is solely on the food, the sharp pang of hunger now replaced with satisfaction. But then you notice Papyrus and Sans staring at you, both of them watching you intently, the silence heavy in the air. Sans is the first to speak, his voice casual but with a hint of amusement. “Do they not feed you at the place?” he jokes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You stop for a moment, trying to process the question. You look at him, then glance back down at the plate, your thoughts racing. "Moldy bread and gray, mushy soup?" you reply with a tilt of your head, then take another bite. "What is this?" you ask between mouthfuls, your curiosity growing. You’re not sure what you expected, but whatever this is, it’s better than anything you’ve had in so long.

Sans frowns at your answer, muttering something under his breath. The words are too quiet for you to make out, but Papyrus, as always, is more than eager to answer your question. “Spaghetti,” he announces proudly, his chest puffing up. “It’s my best creation, and it’s the best dish. No one makes it better than me.” He grins, his pride palpable as he watches you eat.

You test the word on your tongue, “Spaghetti,” you say quietly, rolling it around in your mouth. It feels odd but familiar at the same time. You nod, taking another bite and turning back to the meal. “I like spaghetti,” you admit, your voice quieter now, the comfort of the food making everything seem a little less strange. You continue eating, the warmth and fullness spreading inside you, momentarily easing the chaos of your thoughts.

Sans and Papyrus exchange glances as you eat, the atmosphere around the table suddenly feeling less tense. For a brief moment, it almost feels... normal. But then the realization hits again—this isn't normal. Everything is still upside down, but for now, you focus on the comfort of the food and the fleeting sense of relief it brings.

Once you finish your meal, you wipe your face with the towel that was placed next to your plate, trying to make yourself look presentable. But just as Papyrus moves to put the muzzle back on, something bothers you—the knocking. It doesn’t make sense. You turn to Sans, confused, and knock on the table, a signal you hope he’ll understand.

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice muffled but your confusion clear.

Sans looks at you, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion. “To let you know I was there?” he replies, his tone unsure, as if he’s not entirely sure how to answer.
You tilt your head, still puzzled. “Why didn’t you just enter?” you ask, your voice soft but insistent.

Sans doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he just shakes his head, like he’s brushing off the question without a word. The silence feels heavy, and you're left staring at him, hoping for some clarity.

Before you can say anything more, Papyrus moves forward, clearly ready to put the muzzle back on. But for a brief moment, he hesitates, letting out a heavy sigh before finally securing the muzzle back in place. The cold metal clicks as it locks, and you nod in understanding, resigned to the situation, waiting for further instruction.

Sans looks at you, a frown creeping across his face. “You okay there, peaches?” he asks, his tone more serious now. You nod again, stiffly, not sure what else to say. The questions still churn in your mind, but you can’t voice them right now.

Papyrus starts to clean up the kitchen, the sound of dishes clinking filling the space. You sit there, feeling like you should do something, but you’re not sure what. The feeling of being out of place, confused, and trapped settles in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You wish things felt more normal, but that’s not possible here.

Sans seems to notice your discomfort. He leans back in his chair, his usual easygoing demeanor shifting, though not by much. “You should get some sleep,” he says, trying to ease the tension in the air. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow. I made some phone calls. Think you’ll enjoy it.”

It’s supposed to sound reassuring, but you’re not used to people trying to make you relax. You give him a rigid nod, not sure how to feel, and not sure if you’re ready to trust any of this yet. You don’t feel safe enough to let your guard down, not here, not now.

Sans frowns, his usual playful expression replaced with a hint of frustration. He stands up from his seat, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Follow,” he says, and you do, instinctively falling into the role of being commanded, something you’re all too familiar with.

He leads you back to the room, opens the door, and points toward the bed. “You sleep. When I knock on this door, you open it. Got it?”

You nod, understanding now that the knocking means something—just like everything else in this strange, unsettling place. Sans waits for a moment, watching you carefully, before gesturing again, this time more pointedly toward the bed.

A moment of realization hits you, and you make your way to the bed, climbing in and lying down. It feels strangely comfortable, but the unease in your stomach is still there, gnawing at you.

Sans gives you a rare smile, one that looks almost genuine, though it doesn’t do much to ease your anxiety. “Good night, peaches.” He turns off the lights, and the room plunges into darkness. You could hear a soft click meaning he shut the door as well.

It’s then, in the quiet, that you hear it—the echo of a voice that you didn't want to hear again. Why did he have to turn the light off…

“Oh wow, big sis! Look at all these books!” Lily’s voice rings out in the dark, making your heart ache. You flinch, your hand reaching for the pillow to press it over your head, as if blocking out the sound could somehow silence the memories.

“Wow, major upgrade,” Faith whistles, her voice carrying a playful tone as she looks around.

Felix’s voice, warm and relaxed, drifts from the corner of your mind. “This room seems cozy.” He sighs dreamily, as though this place is everything he’s ever wanted.

You hold the pillow tighter against your ears, trying to shut out their voices, but they linger in your mind, distant yet familiar. You wish they could be here with you, that everything could go back to how it used to be. But you're alone now, in a strange place with no clear way out.

You feel the presence before you hear the voice—an unsettling weight in the air. Faith’s voice drifts through the darkness, and you can almost feel her standing right above you, her phantom hair brushing against your skin. The sensation makes your body tense, instinctively pulling further into the bed.

“You know you have it good now. Why not just relax?” Faith’s tone is almost sweet, like she's trying to comfort you. But the words are anything but reassuring. It only makes you feel more uneasy, more on edge.

Before you can respond, Felix’s voice cuts through the tension, heavy with caution. “She shouldn’t let her guard down. This place is unknown, and she’s someone’s pet.” His words are matter-of-fact, almost too calm, and they make you shiver.

Then, there’s Lily, her voice full of energy, always able to find a spark of hope. “Sissy will power through it! She always has! So cool!” She giggles, her voice light and carefree as she spins around in your room, the image of her dancing around the room, free and full of life, tugging at your heartstrings.

“Please, just go away,” you think desperately, squeezing your eyes shut tighter, hoping to block it all out. But even with your eyes closed, the voices linger, as if they’re echoing in your mind.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” you think, your heart breaking at the thought of Lily. The guilt twists inside you, unbearable. The loss, the fear, the anger—all of it mixing together into something you don’t know how to fight. You weren’t strong enough. You couldn’t save her, and now you're trapped in this nightmare, unsure if you’ll ever escape.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps, each thought a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. You wish the world would just quiet down, that everything would stop spinning long enough for you to breathe, to think clearly. But it's all a blur, and the ache in your heart never fades. It just grows louder.

The whispers of Faith, Felix, and Lily... they're still there, lingering in the back of your mind, twisting the knife.

You just want it to end.

The next morning, you slowly wake up, your body heavy with exhaustion. The room around you remains dark, the kind of darkness that makes it feel as though the walls are closing in. Lily is curled up next to you, her small body warm and comforting against yours. Faith is standing by the bookshelf, her eyes scanning the spines of the books, and Felix is deep in thought, staring at nothing in particular, lost in his own world. You try not to focus on the illusions—they’re always there, just beyond your reach, taunting you with the memories of everything you’ve lost.

Your mind is clouded with confusion, but the room’s silence is almost suffocating. You get out of bed carefully, trying not to disturb the others, your movements slow as you navigate the space. The room feels like it’s getting smaller with each step, the darkness pressing in on you from all sides. You can barely make out any shapes or figures. Without the light, you feel lost, like you're stumbling through a maze.

“Are you looking for something?” Felix’s voice cuts through the silence, though he doesn’t look at you. His tone is flat, as if he's asking more out of curiosity than concern.

You don’t answer him, the muzzle that still constricts your mouth preventing any response. It’s frustrating, but there’s no point in trying to explain. Your breath hitches slightly as you fumble through the darkness, your hands outstretched, feeling around blindly for anything familiar.

When you can’t even find the wall, a sense of panic starts creeping in. You huff in frustration. It’s just a room, you remind yourself. You’ll find the wall eventually. And finally, you do. Your fingers brush against something cold, smooth to the touch. It’s a switch. Relief floods over you as you flick it, and light floods the room.

For a brief moment, the brightness stings your eyes, but you quickly adjust, blinking away the haze. When you turn around, you’re happy when you notice Lily, Faith, and Felix are gone. The space is empty now, quiet once more. The weight that had been pressing down on you lifts slightly, and you allow yourself to exhale a long, shaky breath.

You hate the dark.

You don’t know what time it is, but you can feel in your gut that it’s not time to slack off. Training has always been your routine, your way of grounding yourself when everything else feels chaotic. It’s not just habit—it’s survival. You steel yourself and get to work.

Starting with the basics, you drop to the floor and begin your routine.

One, two, three—your body falls into rhythm. You count silently in your head as you push through 100 sit-ups, your core tightening with each repetition. The burn in your muscles is familiar, almost comforting.

Next, you shift to crunches. The movements are smaller but no less taxing. Sweat beads on your brow as you focus on keeping your form tight.

Then, it’s onto lunges. You pace back and forth in the room, alternating legs with precision, the strain on your thighs and glutes building with every step. The repetition is mindless, and for a while, it lets your thoughts quiet.

The squats come next. You plant your feet firmly and drop your body in smooth, controlled movements. One after another, the repetitions blur together, your muscles burning as you push yourself through all 100.

Finally, you make your way to the bed. The sturdy metal frame catches your eye, and you reach up to grip the bar that runs across the top. Jumping slightly, you grab hold, your fingers curling tightly around the cool metal.

With a grunt of effort, you begin your pull-ups. One, two, three—you count again in your head. Each pull lifts your body higher, your arms and shoulders straining under the weight. By the time you hit 30, your muscles are screaming, but you don’t stop.

Sweat drips down your face, your breaths coming in harsh pants, but you keep going. Reaching 50 feels like a small victory, but you’re only halfway there. The last 50 are pure willpower, your body shaking with effort as you pull yourself up over and over.

When you finally hit 100, you let go of the bar, dropping back to the floor with a soft thud. Your muscles ache, and your body feels heavy, but a sense of accomplishment washes over you. This is what keeps you steady. This is what keeps you strong.

Taking deep breaths, you nod to yourself, a silent affirmation. You're not done—not until you hear that sound. The tapping on the door. That noise signals the day has officially begun. Until then, you push yourself harder.

You stretch out your sore muscles, rolling your shoulders and loosening your neck. Then, with determination, you get back to it. One. Two. Three. The rhythm of your training fills the room again, the steady cadence of movement blending with the sound of your breaths.

When exhaustion finally forces you to pause, you sink to the floor, sitting cross-legged as you let the burn in your muscles subside. Sweat drips down your face, soaking into your clothes, but you welcome it. This is proof of your effort, your control over your body and mind.

And then you hear it—the knock. It echoes softly against the door, breaking the stillness. That must mean it’s time to start the day, you think to yourself. Rising to your feet, you wipe your damp hands on your clothes, shaking out the lingering fatigue. Your steps are deliberate as you approach the door, anticipation buzzing faintly in the back of your mind.

Pulling the door open, you’re greeted by Sans. He’s standing there, looking as casual as ever, but whatever he was about to say falters the moment his gaze lands on you. His sockets widen, and he visibly stiffens, taking in your disheveled appearance. You’re covered in sweat, your chest still rising and falling from exertion.

Sans stammers for a moment before he coughs, clearing his—well, whatever he uses as a throat. His grin returns, but it’s a little lopsided, and is that a faint blush tinting his cheekbones?

"You working up a sweat without me, peaches?" he teases, his voice carrying that lazy charm of his, though there’s a slight hitch to it.

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes slightly at his reaction. What a strange thing to say. Ignoring the odd comment, you step aside, silently inviting him in or awaiting his next command.

Sans rubs the back of his neck, his grin softening into something almost sheepish as he steps inside. Whatever today holds, it seems it’s already off to an interesting start.

Chapter Text

Sans stands there for a moment, staring at you with an expression that is equal parts exasperation and amusement. “Well, we can’t have you going out like that,” he sighs, his tone carrying a hint of frustration. “Okay, change of plans—slightly. First stop? Clothes.”

You blink in confusion. Clothes? For what? You glance down at yourself. Aside from the sweat and disheveled state, your uniform was functional. What was wrong with it?

Sans doesn’t seem to notice your questioning look as he continues. “Papyrus said he wanted to help pick stuff out,” he adds nonchalantly, already turning to walk out of the room. “C’mon, peaches. Let’s get moving.”

The word "clothes" sticks in your mind as you fall into step behind him, your curiosity piqued. A new uniform? This would be the third wardrobe change since your capture. Your current one… well, you actually liked it. It had color—something you hadn’t had in a long time. The idea of replacing it made you feel a little uneasy, but you keep silent, following Sans obediently down the stairs.

When you reach the bottom, Papyrus is already waiting, standing with his arms crossed and looking pristine as ever. His suit is spotless, not a wrinkle in sight, and he’s practically glowing with an air of perfectionism. The moment his gaze lands on you, however, his expression twists into a look of horrified disdain.

“WHY ARE YOU SWEATY?!” he screeches, his voice loud enough to make you flinch. You instinctively take a step back, lowering your gaze as his fiery eyes bore into you.
Papyrus’s glare snaps to Sans, who raises his hands in surrender, the picture of innocence. “Wasn’t me, boss,” Sans says, his grin twitching at the corners. “Peaches was workin’ up a sweat all on her own.”

Papyrus’s bony fingers drum against his crossed arms, his face pinching with annoyance. He looks like he’s about to lecture you—or maybe Sans—but then he exhales sharply, shaking his head as if deciding you’re not worth the effort.

“FINE,” he huffs, turning on his heel with dramatic flair. “BUT THIS IS WHY YOU NEED ME! I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO BE SEEN IN PUBLIC IN SUCH A STATE.” He strides toward the door, every step purposeful and grandiose. “WE LEAVE NOW. TRY TO KEEP UP.”

Sans smirks, giving you a playful shrug before following Papyrus. “Guess we’re on his schedule now, peaches. Better not keep him waitin’—he might combust.”

You glance between the two brothers, still unsure what exactly is happening, but you fall in line behind them anyway. Whatever this shopping trip entails, it’s clearly important to them.

Papyrus strides over to Sans, his expression twisted in irritation as his eyes flick between you and your sweat-soaked clothes. “SHE’S DISGUSTING AND NEEDS NEW CLOTHES IMMEDIATELY!” he declares, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “SO TAKE US TO THE PLACE. WE’LL MAKE QUICK WORK OF GETTING HER OUT OF THAT.” His gaze sweeps over you with a disapproving grunt, making you shift uncomfortably.

What’s their problem? The uniform is fine, you think to yourself, fighting back a scowl. You’ve worn worse. Had worse stuck to you. Sweat was the least of your concerns, and you didn’t understand why they cared so much.

Before you can dwell too much on it, Sans steps closer, grabbing your waist and pulling you tightly against him. His touch makes you stiffen in surprise, but before you can say or do anything, Papyrus grabs the scruff of Sans’s suit. “LET’S GO,” Papyrus commands. And just like that, you’re gone.

The sensation of teleportation makes your stomach flip, and when you land, the new environment nearly knocks the wind out of you. You pale as you take in the scene: monsters bustling about everywhere, their outfits ranging from elegant to ostentatious. The streets are alive with color and chatter, but it’s the piercing gazes from some of them that catch your attention. Their expressions are cold, their eyes full of judgment, and it makes your heart sink. You immediately lower your gaze to the ground, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“I’LL FIND HER A SUITABLE OUTFIT,” Papyrus announces with authority, already storming off without waiting for a response. “JUST GET HER TO THE CHANGING AREA.”

Sans sighs, his grip on your waist loosening as he gives you a side glance. “Well, peaches, looks like we’re in for a fashion show,” he mutters, though his usual teasing tone is softer than normal. He nudges you gently. “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

You follow him, still keeping your eyes down, the weight of the staring monsters heavy on your shoulders. This whole ordeal feels unnecessary to you, but judging by the determination in Papyrus’s voice and the rare seriousness in Sans’s expression, you don’t have much of a choice.

Sans leads you to a secluded area in the store, gesturing toward a curtained-off space with a flourish. “Alright, peaches, this is where the magic happens,” he says with a smirk, pulling the curtain back to reveal a small fitting room. “We’re gonna hand you some stuff to try on, and all you gotta do is show us when you’ve got the new outfit on.” His grin widens mischievously. “Simple, right?”

You nod, grateful for the straightforward instructions. No need for extra complexity. Sans steps back, letting the curtain fall into place, leaving you alone in the small, confined space. It’s plain—a chair in the corner, a mirror against one wall. You hesitate for a moment, catching your reflection in the glass.

You sigh softly, leaning closer to the mirror. Your appearance has changed so much since...everything. You’ve grown, filled out in ways you hadn’t entirely noticed until now. You look like a woman now, no longer the kid you once were. The realization feels strange—foreign, almost. The changes are unmistakable, etched into your features, your body, and your expression.

Before you can dwell too long on your thoughts, an arm suddenly pokes through the curtain, holding a stack of clothes. “First round,” Sans says from the other side, his tone playful as always. You take the pile, feeling the soft fabric in your hands, and set it down on the chair.

“Well,” you think to yourself, glancing between the stack and the mirror, “guess it’s time to get to work.” You shrug off your current outfit, already feeling the weight of judgment from outside, and start trying on the first set of clothes.

Getting into the first outfit was simple enough. The black suit hugged your form snugly, with slim white stripes running vertically along the blazer and pants, giving it a sleek, tailored look. Adjusting the blazer, you glanced at yourself in the mirror. Unlike the uniform you’d been wearing before, this outfit left no question—you were a woman, and it showed in the way the suit accentuated your curves. It was polished, professional, and... different.

Pulling the curtain back, you stepped out to find Sans leaning casually against the wall. Papyrus was nowhere to be seen, likely still scouring the store for more options. The moment Sans caught sight of you, his grin spread wide, his eye lights flickering mischievously.

“Wow, peaches,” he drawled, letting out a low whistle as his gaze lingered. “You clean up nice. Look at you.” His smirk deepened, and for a moment, his eye lights dimmed slightly. You thought you heard the faintest growl rumble in his chest, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. He straightened up, clearing his... throat?

“Alright, next one,” he said with a flick of his wrist, motioning back to the fitting room.

Taking his cue, you nodded, retreating behind the curtain once more to try on the next outfit.

The next outfit was a black button-up blouse paired with matching black pants. Like the suit before, it complemented your form, though it had a slightly more relaxed feel. Adjusting the cuffs, you glanced at yourself in the mirror—clean and professional, yet simple. Pulling the curtain back, you revealed yourself to Sans.

He gave an approving nod, his ever-present smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, good lazy outfit,” he remarked with a thumbs up. “Not bad for blending in without standing out. Next,” he sighed, motioning for you to keep going.

You retreated behind the curtain again, grabbing the next set of clothes from the chair. This one felt different—soft and flexible. The outfit consisted of a black T-shirt and shorts, made of lightweight fabric that allowed for unrestricted movement. As you tried it on, you found yourself instinctively testing it. Raising your leg, you executed a high kick with precision, the motion fluid and effortless. A faint smirk crept onto your face behind the muzzle. This outfit was practical, and you liked how it let you move freely.

When you pulled the curtain back, Sans was waiting with a casual stance, his gaze immediately trailing down to your legs. “Damn, peaches,” he said with a low whistle, his grin widening. “Nice legs. Definitely approving this one.”

You shifted slightly at his comment but nodded in acknowledgment, ready to move on.

“Alright, next outfit,” he said, leaning back with a wave of his hand, signaling you to continue.

His comments felt odd to you as you grabbed the next outfit, brushing them off with a small shake of your head. Pulling it on, you frowned at your reflection. This outfit seemed wildly impractical—a sleek black dress that stopped at mid-thigh. It clung to your frame, emphasizing every curve, but it was far from functional. You couldn't fight in this. One wrong move and the fabric would tear.

Still, you followed instructions, pulling the curtain back to reveal yourself. Sans' grin grew wider as his eyes swept over you. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he huffed, his voice tinged with a satisfaction that made you shift uncomfortably.

Before you could respond, Papyrus rounded the corner, carrying yet another stack of clothes. His sharp gaze landed on you, and he raised a brow. “Now you finally look decent, pet,” he declared, his tone cold yet approving. Without waiting for a reply, he dropped the clothes into your arms and moved to sit beside Sans, his tall frame stiff with formality.

You gave a brief nod and turned back toward the fitting area. As you pulled the curtain closed behind you.

The routine continued for what felt like hours. Outfit after outfit, pulling the curtain back, waiting for their nods of approval or the occasional curt disapproval. By the end of it, a neat stack of approved clothes sat waiting. Papyrus picked it up, giving it a once-over with a critical eye.

"I will go and purchase these," he declared, his tone brisk. Then, turning his sharp gaze toward Sans, he added, "Sans, don't be disgusting. The pet needs undergarments. Take her to get them."

Sans' grin widened into something mischievous, and before you could fully process Papyrus' words, his arm draped casually over your shoulder. "Sure thing, boss," he drawled, his tone oozing amusement.

You glanced up at him, but his expression betrayed nothing beyond that teasing smirk. He steered you toward a new section of the store, the atmosphere shifting slightly as the brightly colored displays of undergarments came into view.

Sans chuckled softly as he glanced around. "Alright, peaches, let’s find something that works. Gotta make sure you’re comfortable and cute," he teased, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

Your face burned as you looked at the endless options, unsure where to even begin. His casual demeanor only added to your discomfort, but you reminded yourself to stay focused. This was just another task to complete, another step in the process. Still, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze as you sifted through the racks.

The options before you were overwhelming, a stark contrast to the simple functionality of what you were used to. Back in the facility, there had been one option: female boxers. They were practical, comfortable, and served their purpose without flair or frills. But here? Here you were confronted with an array of colors, fabrics, and designs that ranged from modest to outright baffling.

You held up a pair of red and black panties, tilting your head as you examined them. They were so thin, barely more than a few strings of fabric. How could anyone wear these and call it clothing? They seemed more like a decorative accessory than something functional.

As you continued to scrutinize the strange options, Sans approached. His usually playful demeanor was replaced by a look of uncharacteristic thoughtfulness, his brow furrowed as though he were trying to solve some great mystery. You watched warily as he drew closer, but before you could step back or question him, his hand shot out, grabbing your chest.

"Knew it," he muttered under his breath, his tone casual as though his actions were perfectly ordinary.

You froze, your body stiffening in shock, your mind racing to comprehend what had just happened. He let go as quickly as he'd acted and turned away, sauntering off as though nothing unusual had transpired.

What the hell was that? Your thoughts churned as you stood there, still holding the flimsy garment in your hand. Anger, confusion, and a lingering sense of violation swirled together, leaving you speechless. Whatever just happened, you had no idea how to respond—or if you even should.

Shaking off the uncomfortable encounter, you redirected your focus. You needed to get through this, and if there was one thing that could keep your mind off things, it was practical purchases. Your eyes scanned the department until they landed on a section that immediately caught your interest: socks.

Ah, socks. Now that was something you could get behind. You were always in need of good, durable socks, especially with all the training you did. No matter how many you had, it seemed like you could always use more. You picked up a pack of black socks, their simplicity and functionality reassuring. They'd be perfect for everyday wear.

Then, your eyes caught a display of thigh-high socks. They looked warm, cozy, and practical for the colder weather. You could already imagine how comfortable they'd be during your long training sessions. The thought of keeping your entire leg warm was appealing, especially with all the movement you did. Without hesitation, you grabbed three packs of them, figuring you could use a variety.

You didn’t stop there. Realizing the importance of having more than enough, you grabbed a few more packs, making sure you had a good supply. The simple act of filling your arms with things you knew you'd use made you feel more grounded, less frazzled by the strange circumstances you were in.

Socks were essential, and with these, at least you'd be prepared for whatever the day—or your training—had in store.

Sans rounded the corner and approached you with a small black bag in his hand. His usual laid-back demeanor was still there, but there was something about the way he moved that made you feel like today was going to be a bit different. “Oh, you want these?” he asked with a smirk, his eyes glinting. “Okay, peaches, let’s get them.” Without missing a beat, he snatched the socks from your arms, holding them as though they were no more than a trivial task, and walked off.

You followed close behind, your mind still on the awkwardness of the situation but at least feeling like you were taking charge of something. Sans led you to a counter where a sheep-like monster stood nervously, eyes darting between you and him. Her nerves were palpable, and you couldn't help but notice the way she seemed to shrink back at the sight of Sans. He was clearly familiar to her, but she didn’t say a word, merely nodding as he placed the socks on the counter with a casual air.

“We want these, toots,” Sans said, leaning slightly forward, a playful smirk on his face. The sheep monster glanced at him, her hands trembling as she began scanning the items, occasionally stealing glances at you, though she remained silent.

As she worked, you felt a strange sense of calm wash over you, despite the unease that lingered in the air. You focused on the quiet clink of items being scanned and the soft shuffle of papers. When the sheep monster finished, she looked up, her voice shaky but polite. “That will be 50 G, sir.”

Sans didn’t flinch. In a fluid motion, he reached into his coat and pulled out the payment, placing it on the counter with the same nonchalance he usually carried himself with. He grabbed the black bag from the counter, and without missing a beat, he snatched the second black bag from the side, now holding two in his hands.
"Okay, peaches," he said, his voice taking on that slightly teasing tone again, “Let’s find boss and take this stuff home. We’ve still got a lot to do today.” His smirk grew wider as he turned toward the exit, his steps slow and steady as though he knew you’d follow, like you always did.

The rest of the world seemed to blur as you followed Sans out of the store. He was a little unpredictable, but there was something oddly reassuring about his presence, despite everything that was happening.

Sans approached Papyrus with his usual smirk firmly in place, the black bags hanging from his hand. "Imma drop this stuff off at home," he said casually, his tone light. He turned his gaze toward Papyrus and added with a playful grin, "You wanna keep an eye on Peaches while I’m gone, boss?"

Papyrus gave an exaggerated huff, his glare shifting to you. Standing beside Sans, you held his gaze steadily, refusing to flinch under his intense scrutiny. His expression hardened for a moment before he made a subtle motion with his hand, almost imperceptible. Confused at first, you quickly realized he was motioning for you to move closer to him. Without hesitation, you stepped over to stand beside him, earning a small approving nod.

Sans chuckled under his breath as he vanished in a swirl of black smoke, leaving you alone with Papyrus. The taller skeleton looked down at you, his sharp, judgmental eyes unwavering. “Did you get what you need, pet?” he asked, his voice carrying its usual condescending edge.

You glanced up at him and gave a small nod. He huffed again, his disapproval evident. “Good! We don’t need an ugly pet running around. Bad reputation,” he muttered, crossing his arms. His words stung, but you simply nodded in response, knowing better than to argue.

Moments later, the familiar swirl of black smoke signaled Sans's return. He reappeared with a relaxed expression, as though he hadn’t just teleported across town. “You ready, Peaches?” he asked, his tone teasing. “Boss wants to patrol around here, so we’ll meet him at home later.”

You glanced at Papyrus, hesitant for a moment. He noticed your look and scoffed dismissively, waving you off. “You don’t need to worry about me, pet. I’ve got better things to do than babysit. I just want to make sure these low-lives know their place and pay their rent,” he said, his voice full of self-importance.

Nodding again, you shifted your gaze back to Sans. He held out his hand with an encouraging smile, ready to lead the way. Without hesitation, you took it, leaving Papyrus to his patrol as you and Sans moved on to the next part of your day.

The world went dark as Sans teleported you again. Your stomach flipped—a sensation you still weren’t entirely used to—but at least it wasn’t as nauseating as the first few times. You tried to steady yourself, inhaling deeply, but the moment you recognized the stark white walls of the facility, your mood plummeted.

It was the same sterile environment, cold and uninviting. Standing off to the side, Dr. Alphys was busy fiddling with some equipment until she noticed your arrival. Her head snapped up, and a flicker of relief crossed her face. "Oh! There you are!" she exclaimed, adjusting her glasses. Her lizard-like tail swished behind her as she approached the two of you. “You said 10:00, and it’s already 12:30. I was getting worried for a moment.”

Sans gave his signature shrug, entirely unbothered. “Peaches needed new clothes. Nothing we could do about that.”

Alphys sighed, clearly exasperated, and shifted her gaze toward you. Her eyes softened, but her tone was brisk. "Well, we're ready for the operation. Come on, follow me, 800."

You froze at the sound of your designation, dread creeping into your chest. Operation? You glanced at Sans, searching his expression for answers, but his face gave nothing away. Instead, he leaned casually against the wall, his usual smirk firmly in place.

Your thoughts began to spiral. Was this it? Was he done with you already? You’d barely had time to process your new clothes, his teasing comments, or the strange dynamic between him and Papyrus. Was all that just some elaborate charade? Did he dislike how you looked? Were you not reacting the way he wanted? Had you somehow failed him without realizing it?

"800," Alphys called again, her voice firm but not unkind, snapping you from your racing thoughts. She gestured for you to follow her, her tail flicking impatiently.

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. Slowly, your legs moved, following her as instructed, though your mind was far from ready for whatever this “operation” entailed. As you passed Sans, he reached out and gave your shoulder a light squeeze, his fingers lingering for a brief second. “Relax, Peaches. You’re gonna be fine,” he murmured, his tone unusually soft.

But his words offered little comfort. Fine? What did that even mean in a place like this?

You found yourself seated on the cold, sterile operation table, the faint hum of machinery filling the room. Dr. Alphys moved purposefully to a table laden with wires and tools, her gloved hands meticulously inspecting each one. She turned her gaze to you, offering a small, almost nervous smile. “We’re going to put you to sleep for this, but please don’t panic,” she said, her voice gentle yet clinical.

You sighed, laying back against the unyielding surface of the table. The harsh fluorescent lights above bore down on you, their brightness almost mocking in its clarity. This felt routine—mechanical even. But in your mind, a heavy certainty settled like a stone. This was it, wasn’t it? The end.

You’d barely tasted freedom, barely experienced a world outside these suffocating walls, and now it was all going to be taken from you. It was almost laughable in its cruelty. Freedom? you thought bitterly. Guess that was just a joke.

Dr. Alphys approached with a syringe, the sharp glint of the needle catching the light. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before pressing it gently against your arm. “This will help you sleep,” she murmured, but you barely registered her words.

You closed your eyes, letting the inevitable take over. As the sedative coursed through your veins, a wave of drowsiness crashed over you, drowning out your thoughts and fears. Darkness began to cloud your vision, thick and all-consuming. Your body grew heavy, the sounds of the room—the faint beeping of monitors, the low buzz of machines—fading into a distant hum.

The last thing you were aware of was that sound, steady and unrelenting, before everything went silent.

You didn’t know how long you had been asleep. The first thing you noticed upon waking was the strange heaviness in your limbs, like your body was still catching up to the fact that you were conscious. Your vision was blurry, the outlines of the room melting together in indistinct shapes. A sharp ringing filled your ears, making it hard to focus on anything else at first.

Gradually, the world came into clearer view. You blinked, your eyes struggling to adjust to the sterile brightness of the room. You recognized the voice before you could make out the figures—Sans, his tone casual but carrying an edge of mischief. Across from him stood Dr. Alphys, fidgeting nervously, her tail twitching as she glanced in your direction. When her gaze met yours, she sighed, seemingly resigning herself to something.

“Fine,” she said, her voice weary, “but only because you’re my friend, Sans. I’m not even sure it’ll work.”

Sans chuckled, the sound low and confident. “You’re the best, Alphys. Just make it happen.”

He turned toward you then, his sharp grin immediately recognizable, even through your still-groggy state. “There she is,” he drawled, his sockets narrowing in a mock flirtatious way. “My pretty girl.”

As he approached, his gaze swept over you with a strange intensity. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but there was something about the way he moved—a deliberate slowness, like he was savoring the moment. You tried to sit up, but your body was sluggish, refusing to cooperate fully just yet. He stopped just short of the bed, looking down at you with that ever-present smirk.

“You’ve been out for a while, peaches,” he said softly, his voice almost teasing.

“You’re probably wondering what that was all about,” Sans said, his grin widening as he pulled a small mirror from his pocket. He tilted it toward you, his bony fingers steady as he held it up.

Your reflection stared back at you, and for a moment, everything seemed normal—your face, your hair, the tired look in your eyes. But then, your gaze drifted downward, and you froze. The collar around your neck had changed.

Where there had once been a plain silver band, there was now something far more elaborate. The sleek black material hugged your neck closely, adorned with red diamonds that sparkled under the sterile light. The design was striking, almost ornamental, and unmistakably deliberate. In the center of the collar, your number, 800, was engraved in bold, prominent lettering, flanked by the crimson diamonds that lined the rest of the collar’s surface.

“You like it?” Sans asked, his tone dripping with pride as he leaned closer to examine your reaction. “My colors. No one’s gonna mess with you now, peaches.” His smirk was sharp, his sockets narrowing in satisfaction.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the mirror. The collar felt heavier now, even though it probably weighed the same as before. Your mind swirled with questions, but Sans didn’t give you time to dwell.

“You’re mine now,” he added, his voice soft but carrying an undeniable edge. “This makes it official. Everyone who sees you will know.”

The air felt thick, and you weren’t sure whether it was the lingering effects of whatever procedure you’d just undergone or the weight of his words pressing down on you.

"Now that that's settled, let’s get ya home. You can finally wear those cute little outfits," Sans said, hoisting you up onto his shoulder like a sack of flour. The sudden movement left you stunned. This was... impractical, to say the least, and you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about it. But for now, you let it slide, unsure if resistance was worth the effort.

He turned toward Alphys and gave her a wave. “Keep me updated, toots. I want the best for my girl.”

The lizard scientist hesitated, her tail flicking nervously. “I’ll get it done as soon as I can,” she muttered, adjusting her glasses.

Sans gave her a nod of approval before the world around you vanished into that familiar void. The sensation of teleportation still churned your stomach, but you were slowly getting used to it—or at least, you thought you were.

When the darkness cleared, you found yourself back in your “room.” Sans set you down with a surprising gentleness, his ever-present smirk still etched across his face.
“Your clothes are in the closet, and there’s a bathroom right outside your door. Use it. Bathe and then get dressed in clean clothes.” His tone was firm, almost commanding, but there was a strange casualness to it as well, like this was all perfectly normal.

You nodded. Orders were simple. Orders were easy to follow.

“Good,” he said, his grin widening. “I gotta get my job done, so I’ll see ya at dinner. Feel free to wander around the place. Just don’t go outside.” His smile dropped, and his gaze sharpened, turning serious in an instant. “Got it?”

The intensity of his glare sent a shiver down your spine, and you quickly nodded again.

“Atta girl,” he said, his expression lightening again as he ruffled your hair. With a small wave, he vanished in a puff of black smoke, leaving you alone in the room.

You glanced around, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. A bath and clean clothes. That was doable. Simple. Something you could control in this strange, chaotic situation.

Turning toward the closet, you scan the options before pulling out something familiar—a large, loose blouse and a pair of shorts. The fabric feels soft in your hands, and you nod to yourself. It’s practical. You could move easily in this if needed, and it wouldn’t restrict you in a fight. That alone was comforting.

Clutching the clothes to your chest, you leave your room and head to the bathroom just outside. The stark contrast between the pristine black tiles on the walls and the smooth grey flooring catches your attention. It’s... nicer than you expected. Sterile, yes, but cleaner and more thoughtfully designed than the cold, impersonal facilities you were used to.

Your gaze shifts to the shower. You pull back the curtain, revealing a surprisingly well-stocked setup. There’s shampoo and conditioner sitting on the ledge, both clearly unused and brand-new. For a moment, you just stare at them. Was this a mistake? Did they forget to hand these off to someone else?

Shaking your head, you place your clothes on the sink counter and step over to the knobs. The water comes on with a satisfying gush, and you instinctively test the temperature. Hot and cold. Actual hot water.

The facility you came from only offered icy, biting cold water that left your skin raw and your muscles tense. A hot shower? That felt... indulgent. Too much.

You glance over your shoulder at the closed bathroom door, heart thudding. Would they know? Would they be mad if you used it?

You hesitate for a long moment, your hand resting on the knob. The idea of being punished for something as trivial as hot water gnaws at your mind, but so does the thought of standing under the warmth, feeling it chase away the lingering cold from your body.

Steeling yourself, you decide to take the chance. The worst that can happen is a punishment, right? That thought doesn’t comfort you as much as you’d like, but it’s enough to push you forward. The water begins to heat.

Carefully, you peel off the uniform, folding it neatly and setting it on the toilet lid. It feels strange to treat it with care, but old habits die hard. Stepping into the stream of hot water, you let out a soft, involuntary sigh as warmth engulfs you. The tension you didn’t even realize you were holding melts away almost instantly, and for the first time in what feels like forever, your muscles relax.

This—this is worth any punishment. No amount of scolding or consequences could make you regret this moment. You close your eyes and let the water cascade over you, soaking your skin and hair, washing away the grime and stress from the day.

After a few indulgent moments, you reach for the bar of soap, its plain appearance somehow reassuring. It lathers easily in your hands, and you get to work scrubbing yourself clean, letting the suds swirl down the drain. You feel lighter already, though the next task gives you pause.

Your gaze flickers to the bottles of shampoo and conditioner sitting on the ledge. They’re new, untouched, and clearly meant for you—neither Sans nor Papyrus has any use for them. That thought makes your stomach flutter uneasily. This... this isn’t something you’re used to. Such a small, personal luxury feels almost alien.

Picking up the shampoo, you turn the bottle over, scanning the label. You’ve never used anything like this before. It’s clear that it’s for your hair, but the process isn’t second nature to you. Flipping the conditioner around too, you compare the instructions, piecing it together. Shampoo first, then conditioner. Got it.

Nodding to yourself, you squeeze a small amount of shampoo into your hand. The scent is faint but pleasant, and as you work it into your hair, the lather surprises you. It feels... different. Softer, almost soothing. You rinse it out, watching the suds disappear, and then reach for the conditioner.

As you work the conditioner through your hair, you can’t help but notice how smooth it feels. The product seems to coat every strand, and when you finally rinse it out, you’re taken aback by how soft your hair is. Running your fingers through it, you almost can’t believe the difference.

For a moment, you just stand there under the water, basking in the warmth and the unfamiliar but welcome feeling of cleanliness.

After rinsing, you turn off the shower and listen to the sound of the water stop, leaving the room in a calm, steamy silence. Stepping out, you glance around for something to dry off with and spot a white towel hanging neatly on a rack. Grabbing it, you’re immediately struck by how soft it feels against your fingers. You pause for a moment, holding it up to your face and rubbing it against your cheek. Is this what towels are supposed to feel like? You could get used to this.

Snapping out of the moment, you shake your head, a small huff escaping your lips. Drying yourself off quickly, you begrudgingly walk over to the hamper in the corner of the room and toss the towel in, resisting the urge to keep it for later.

With that done, you turn your attention to the clothes you’d picked out earlier. First, you grab the underwear that you’re almost certain Sans picked out for you. A simple black pair with red ruffles—not exactly your style, but it’s clean, and at least it fits. Pulling them on, your eyes land on the bra. You hesitate, staring at it for a moment before sighing. You really don’t want to think about how he managed to get the size right, so you push the thought aside and put it on without further delay.

Next comes the blouse, soft and comfortable, just as you remembered. You slip it over your head, relishing the way it feels against your clean skin. The shorts come last, practical and easy to move in, completing the outfit. Taking a moment to adjust everything, you glance at yourself in the mirror. Clean. Dressed. Presentable.
Satisfied, you pick up your old uniform and place it on top of the towel in the hamper. There’s no point in keeping it out now. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and step out of the bathroom, ready to face whatever comes next.

You pause for a moment, considering your next move. You should probably take this opportunity to explore the place, right?

Turning to your left, you spot a hallway extending before you. The stairs are just a little further down, situated next to the bathroom you had just used. Beyond that, you notice two doors, both shut tightly. Those must belong to Sans and Papyrus. They were probably off-limits for now.

Curiosity pulling you onward, you decide to head down the stairs. The staircase creaks softly beneath your feet as you descend, a quiet echo in the otherwise still air. The atmosphere here is far different from the cold, sterile environment of the facility, but it still feels... tense, in a way you can’t quite put your finger on.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you turn right and begin walking down another hallway. The place feels a little like a maze, yet oddly familiar—an unsettling blend of both comfort and suspicion. As you walk, you notice the decor, with dark red and black tones dominating every surface. Gold accents add an air of elegance, but it’s still starkly minimalistic. Everything is sleek, purposeful.

Eventually, you reach what appears to be a dining room. It’s not overly large, but the dark wood table and matching chairs give it a sense of formality. The space is almost somber, with dim lighting casting soft shadows over the furniture. You take in the surroundings, noting the tasteful but sparse decor—no unnecessary items cluttering the space. The walls match the red and black theme of the rest of the house, giving it an intimidating, yet somewhat sophisticated feel.

Beyond the dining room, you spot the kitchen you remember from yesterday. It looks as functional as you’d expect—well-equipped, clean, but not especially homey. The last time you were here, it had felt a little more... cold, in a way. Just another reminder that you're not in a place that feels safe or warm, not yet.

You continue your journey down the hallway, feeling the tension in the air as you walk. Turning around, you head straight down the hall, passing the large opening where you had just come down the stairs. You catch a glimpse of the front door but quickly avert your gaze, not wanting to test Sans's patience by even considering trying to leave.

Moving forward, you come across another room. The door is slightly ajar, and curiosity pulls you inside. As you step into the room, you're immediately struck by its comfortable feel. The space has a certain warmth to it, despite the overall dark color scheme of the house. The room is dominated by a large black brick structure, rising high against the wall. In front of it, two long chairs are positioned facing the brick, with a small table placed in front of them. There's something about the setup that looks inviting, but you're unsure of its purpose.

The chairs are soft, more comfortable than you'd expected, and it almost seems like it’s made for relaxation. However, the presence of the table seems odd. You can't help but wonder what this setup is all about. There's a flat, rectangular object placed on the table as well—its surface black and shiny, with some sort of buttons on it. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you feel like it might be important.

You take a step closer, inspecting the object with curiosity. It's unlike anything you’ve seen before, and it makes you wonder what kind of place this really is. Despite the fact that the room feels comfortable, there's still something unsettling about it. Could it be another trap, or is it just a strange new thing you have yet to understand?

Still, you remain cautious, not wanting to get too involved with things you don't understand, especially without knowing what Sans or Papyrus might think about it.
You cautiously pick up the small brick, studying it with a furrowed brow. The buttons seem harmless enough, but you're not about to trust anything in this strange place. You press the first button, but nothing happens. Frowning, you begin pressing them all, one by one. Nothing seems to change—until, suddenly, the bigger block on the wall starts making noise.

Your eyes widen in shock as the wall comes to life. The screen flickers, and a loud voice erupts from the speakers, causing you to jump back in alarm. A robot appears on the screen, shouting something at you, its metallic voice echoing around the room. You can’t make sense of the words, and the whole scene is disorienting. Then, the robot suddenly starts pretending to cry, acting as though it's in some kind of pain, even going so far as to dramatically "kill" something. What in the world is going on?

Without thinking, you drop the small brick, stepping back into a defensive stance. You’re ready to fight, muscles tensed and adrenaline surging through you. But then, nothing happens. The robot on the screen just keeps yelling and crying, its movements exaggerated and strange. You can’t make sense of it.

Is this some kind of tactic? A way to confuse you, to distract you from whatever else might be going on? The whole situation doesn’t make any sense, and your instincts are on high alert. But as you stand there, confused and ready to defend yourself, you start to feel a little less threatened. The robot isn’t coming for you—it’s just... yelling?

Your mind races, trying to piece things together. Could this be some kind of trick, or is this just something completely unfamiliar to you? The images keep changing on the screen, and the shouting robot continues its bizarre performance.

You glance around the room, your thoughts still scattered. You're clearly out of your depth here, unsure of whether to be scared, confused, or just plain annoyed at the sudden chaos. For now, though, it seems like you're safe—at least from the robot on the screen.

With nothing else to occupy your time, you decide to study this strange device. You eye the robot warily, still not fully trusting whatever this "thing" is, but it doesn't seem to notice you. It’s too absorbed in its own bizarre performance. Hesitant, you take a step toward one of the long, soft chairs in front of the screen, cautiously settling into it. You try to relax, hoping that the robot won’t suddenly attack you. To your surprise, it doesn’t do anything—just continues with its over-the-top theatrics, oblivious to your presence.

You stare at the screen, your focus sharpened now that you have nothing else to distract you. As you watch the chaotic scenes unfold, you begin to piece together some details. First, you learn the robot’s name is Mettaton—an odd name, but it’s something. You tilt your head, trying to make sense of everything. After all the yelling and crying, the scene finally comes to an end, and the credits roll.

It’s over, but you don’t feel any sense of closure. Instead, you’re left with more questions than answers. You shift in your seat as the screen flickers again, and a new scene begins. Mettaton reappears, this time in a completely different outfit. His form is adorned with what you assume is fake human hair—maybe real? You can’t quite tell. Either way, it's long and flowing, and the way it glimmers makes you doubt it’s anything normal. Mettaton is also wearing a dress, which you find especially strange. It’s a romance scene now, and the tone has completely shifted.

You watch, bewildered, as Mettaton plays the role of a character in some kind of dramatic, over-the-top romance. His movements are exaggerated, the emotions he expresses are all artificial, and you can’t help but feel like you’re witnessing something entirely foreign. His lines are full of sentiment, the kind that seems exaggerated for effect. It doesn’t feel real to you, but then again, nothing in this place does.

You lean back slightly in the chair, your eyes narrowing as you try to make sense of the situation. Mettaton seems to be some sort of performer, but what kind of performance is this? And why does it seem so... off? It’s like watching a completely different world, a world you have no connection to or understanding of.
You almost feel like you should turn it off, but then you wonder—what else is there to do? So, instead, you keep watching.

You had lost track of time completely, engrossed in the peculiar world of Mettaton. His personality was flamboyant yet oddly charming, a combination that pulled you in despite yourself. You found his performances strangely captivating, whether it was his clunky beginnings as a brick-like robot on a single wheel or his dramatic transformation into a sleek humanoid form during moments of peak performance. There was something refreshing about his over-the-top antics and the way he commanded attention.

Settling into the plush couch, you had let your guard down. Mettaton clearly wasn’t going to attack, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself a moment of quiet enjoyment. That is, until Sans's voice broke through your reverie.

“There you are, peaches,” he drawled, his tone light at first. “I was—” He paused abruptly, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. His demeanor shifted almost instantly, his sockets half-lidding as his gaze locked onto you. His voice grew deeper, rougher, as he repeated, “I was looking for you.”

You tilted your head, curiosity sparking at the sudden change in his tone and the hazy look in his eye. His intense focus made you slightly uneasy, but before you could say anything, he cleared his throat and strode toward you, his usual cocky smirk sliding back into place.

“It’s dinner time,” he announced, his gaze roaming over you. “So, it’s time to get ya unmuzzled.” His words carried a strange mix of authority and satisfaction, and you couldn’t quite place what was behind it. As he stopped in front of you, he sighed contentedly, his grin widening as he looked you over.

“You clean up well,” he added, his voice softening for a moment, almost as if the compliment had slipped out before he could stop it.

You stared back at him, unsure how to respond. Something about the way he was looking at you felt different—less like he was teasing you and more like he was... admiring you? It was hard to tell with Sans. He was a puzzle you hadn’t yet figured out, and moments like this only made the pieces harder to fit together.

"I see you found the TV. You like Mettaton?" Sans asked, his tone casual but with a hint of amusement.

TV. So that’s what it was called. You nodded in response, still processing everything you’d learned. Sans grunted softly, a sound somewhere between acknowledgment and indifference. Without another word, he picked up the small brick-like object with buttons—the thing that had caused all your earlier confusion—and pressed one. The TV fell silent, the screen going dark.

“C’mon,” he motioned with his head, signaling for you to follow. So you did, curiosity outweighing any hesitation.

When you entered the kitchen, the air was filled with the savory aroma of cooking food. Papyrus was already bustling about, his movements precise and almost methodical as he prepared plates. He placed one in front of Sans at the kitchen island and then another in front of your seat, which had clearly been set aside for you.

Papyrus turned to you, his expression thoughtful. “I was thinking, pet,” he began, his voice as steady and commanding as ever. “If I unmuzzle you, it would be more convenient to have you unmuzzled here in the house. We’ll just put it back on if you even think about stepping foot outside.” He tapped the key he held with his index finger, as if to emphasize his control over the situation.

Sans leaned back in his chair, draping an arm over its back as his sharp grin returned. “Sounds like a good plan, doesn’t it, peaches?” he teased, his voice laced with confidence. “I mean, how dangerous could you really be with monsters like me and Boss around?”

His tone was light, but you could feel the weight of the unspoken truth beneath it. They were strong—far stronger than you—and they both knew it. You couldn’t deny that there was logic to their reasoning. They had the upper hand in every sense, and the thought of trying to fight them or escape hadn’t even crossed your mind.

You nodded in agreement, more out of pragmatism than anything else. There was no point in pushing back; this was their world, and for now, you were a part of it.

Papyrus nodded once, satisfied, and stepped behind you. You felt the cool metal of the muzzle shift as he unlocked it, removing it with practiced ease.

“There,” Papyrus said, his tone almost casual as he set the muzzle aside. “Let’s see if you can behave without it.”

Sans chuckled, his grin widening as he watched you. “Better enjoy it while you can, peaches. You behave, and maybe it stays off longer.”

You glanced between the two of them, unsure of how to feel. For now, though, you focused on the plate in front of you. The food smelled incredible, and if nothing else, you could at least enjoy a meal without the restrictions of the muzzle.

You took a cautious bite of the food, and your eyes widened almost immediately as the flavors exploded in your mouth. Without a second thought, you began eating as if your life depended on it, savoring each bite like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

Both skeletons paused to watch you, their expressions a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Slow down, pet,” Papyrus huffed, his tone tinged with annoyance as he crossed his arms. “The food isn’t going anywhere.”

Sans, on the other hand, simply leaned his head on one hand, his grin widening as he observed your enthusiasm. “You seem to like it, peaches,” he teased.

Realizing their attention was fully on you, you paused mid-bite, glancing between them nervously. You swallowed hard, then looked down at your plate before speaking in a small, hesitant voice, “What... what is it?”

Papyrus, who had been waiting for this question, puffed out his chest with pride. “Lasagna with garlic bread!” he announced, his voice ringing with authority.

You nodded, avoiding his gaze as you muttered, “It’s good.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, to your surprise, Papyrus's cheeks—well, what you assumed were his cheeks—tinted faintly pink. He scoffed loudly, attempting to cover up the way your words had clearly flustered him.

“I don’t need praise from you, pet!” he screeched, his voice an octave higher than usual. He spun on his heel, pretending to busy himself with something at the counter.
Sans let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying the interaction. “Well, well,” he drawled, his grin somehow becoming even more smug, “look at that, Boss. Seems like you’ve got a fan.”

“Quiet, Sans!” Papyrus snapped, refusing to turn back around.

Sans only laughed again, his attention returning to you as you resumed eating. He rested his chin in his hand, watching you with an expression that was far too entertained. “Glad you’re enjoying it, peaches,” he said casually, though there was something knowing in his tone.

You didn’t respond, instead focusing on the food in front of you. It really was incredible—better than anything you’d ever tasted before. Maybe life here wasn’t as bad as you’d initially thought. At least, not when meals like this were involved.