(Skyro's Voice)
The wake-up scream in the Fourth Section didn't come from human throats; it came from the throat of the factory itself. A sharp, electrical hum pierced our eardrums, followed immediately by the sound of iron batons smashing against metal doors. We woke to the rhythm of that funeral chime, announcing that another day of purging had begun. The whiteness surrounding us seemed even more blinding today, like a shroud meticulously washed to await our corpses.
"Line up, you specimens!" the guard bellowed, pacing between the beds, his eyes sweeping the room with a coldness that murdered hope.
The numbers began to move like ghosts. Every group of friends, or those bound together by mutual fear, started clinging to one another. Groups formed like cancerous cells, merging to protect their nucleus. Hugh (45) and I stood side by side. Hugh's body was visibly trembling, but his green eyes darted around the room like a hawk's, analyzing every movement.
When the formation was complete, a heavy silence fell. Everyone held their breath, all eyes fixed on the guard standing in the center of the room, holding an electronic tablet.
"The rule is clear," the guard stated in a gruff voice. "Anyone who is not in a group of exactly three numbers will be eliminated immediately. And the eliminated, in Lord Hairo's custom... is a 'failed specimen.' There is no place for garbage here."
At that moment, Number (42) moved. He rose from his bed with absolute coldness, walked with a nerve-wracking slowness down the aisle, and headed straight for the guard. He stopped right in front of him, staring into the slits of the guard's mask with eyes devoid of a single ounce of fear.
The guard stopped reading and looked at (42) with a mix of astonishment and mockery. "You...?" The guard let out a low laugh. "Even among these outcasts, you are an outcast? Is there not a single number stupid enough to tie their fate to yours?"
(42) didn't reply. He stood like a stone statue. The aura of death surrounding him was enough to make the guard take an involuntary step backward.
The guard raised his voice, turning to the rest of the ranks. "Who wants (42) with them?" Complete silence prevailed. No one dared to look up. Everyone remembered the scene of the scale; they remembered how this monster had severed their comrades' limbs without batting an eye.
"I repeat," the guard yelled, his tone sharpening, "who wants this nobody?" Silence remained the master of the room. Beside me, Hugh was breathing heavily. His hand gripped my shirt tightly as he whispered, "Skyro... are they going to kill him now?"
"Who wants this outcast? Last time!" the guard shouted out of boredom, raising his stun baton as if preparing to drag (42) to the execution chamber.
Here, in that moment where blood froze in our veins, I raised my hand slowly and steadily. "I want him with us," my voice rang out, carrying a strange echo in the silent room.
Heads snapped toward me in sheer disbelief. Even (42) himself turned very slowly, looking at me with an unfamiliar astonishment. His eyes scrutinized me, as if trying to understand the motive behind this collective suicide I had just decided upon.
The guard smiled a malicious smile beneath his mask. "You've found someone willing to adopt you, monster. Go to them; you suit each other."
(42) walked toward us. With every step he took, Hugh backed away slightly. When he reached us, he stood directly in front of me. He was slightly taller than I was, and his scar-tattooed body reeked of suppressed rage. He looked at us with a scrutinizing gaze, filled with both malice and suspicion.
"Why?" (42) asked.
"What do you mean by 'why'?" I replied with a coldness that matched his own.
"Why did you choose me? Everyone runs from me like I'm the plague, and you reached your hand out to the disease."
I gave a slight smile, one that held not a shred of emotion. "It's very simple... I'm not looking for friends to share bread with. I'm looking for 'tools' that don't break easily under pressure. And you... seem like a tool sturdy enough."
(42)'s eyes widened slightly, then a terrifying smile crept onto his lips, revealing teeth as sharp as a predator's fangs. "So... I am just a tool in your eyes? I have no value as a human?"
"Yes," I answered, holding his gaze firmly.
(42) nodded slowly and let out a muffled laugh. "I like that..."
"Move it, walk outside with me!" the guard yelled, opening the giant door that led to the outer corridors.
We walked behind him in a long line. We passed through corridors I had never seen before; the walls here pulsed with the sound of massive engines, and the heat increased with every step. The march continued for minutes that felt like hours, until a towering metal gate opened, and we stepped out into the outer courtyard.
I stopped involuntarily. Light! We hadn't seen the sun in days; our eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness of the dungeons and the blinding white of cold lamps. Even though the sky was covered in gray sulfurous clouds, the vastness of the horizon was both terrifying and exhilarating.
We stood in a giant courtyard, its floor made of black volcanic stone. Ahead of us stood the rest of the trainees in formation. "There are 36 of you now," yelled another guard standing atop a high platform. "36 specimens who survived the brutal purges of the past few days. And now... the real filtering begins."
We lined up in groups, each leaving a small space between themselves and the next. Hugh, (42), and I stood side by side. Behind us was a massive white wall spanning the width of the courtyard, covering whatever lay behind it like a giant shroud waiting to be lifted.
The guard paced the platform, sweeping the courtyard with hawk-like eyes. "The test is as follows," he began to explain, his voice echoing across the silent courtyard. "Before you is the 'Promotion Tower'. But the tower is not easy. There is a timer set for exactly 20 minutes. The fastest team to complete the test and reach the top will cross into the Third Section. The rest... will remain here forever."
The guard pointed to the white wall and continued: "The tower is locked. At its peak is a door that only opens with a special key. You do not have this key; it is at the bottom of the deep pool that will appear behind this wall. This is where the group comes in; one of you must dive to the bottom of the water, fighting the pressure and the darkness to find the key, and then hand it over to their comrades."
The guard paused for a few seconds to ensure the terror had seeped into our hearts, then continued, pointing toward the elevators with the cold blade of his spear: "There are 12 numbered glass elevators. Each group will strictly use the elevator bearing their serial number."
He began reciting the numbers in a mechanical, merciless tone: "Group One, specimens... your elevator is Number (1). Group Two, specimens 41, 42, and 45... your elevator is Number (2). And so on, until all groups are accounted for."
He glared at us with bulging eyes and roared: "It is strictly forbidden for any specimen to enter an elevator that does not belong to their group; the system will electrocute any trespasser, turning them to ash immediately."
"But it doesn't end there. The elevator that will take you to the second floor requires continuous power. The friend who dives into the water must remain there, pressing a button at the bottom to keep the elevator running. The moment they remove their hand from the button, the elevator will stop and plummet with whoever is inside."
Hugh gasped beside me, but the guard ignored it and pressed on: "When the two reach the second floor, the battle begins. You must fight the other groups to lower the long ladder that reaches the first floor, so your third comrade can exit the water and climb up. This ladder is bound by a padlock that can only be opened by the key you retrieved."
"Then," the guard added with a sadistic smile, "once the ladder is lowered, all of you will climb the stairs leading to the third floor, where the final door is located. You will fight everyone to get there first... But remember: the door will only open when all three specimens of a single group stand side by side in a perfectly straight line, allowing the system to scan your faces and confirm the team is complete. If even one of you is missing... the door will not open, and the other groups will crush you."
The guard looked at all of us. "The instructions are clear, correct?" Everyone shouted in a single voice, filled with despair and the desire to survive: "Clear!"
The guard raised his hand, looking up at a massive clock suspended in the air. "Then... prepare yourselves..." "3..." "2..." "1..."
CRASH!
The white wall behind us suddenly collapsed beneath the earth, unveiling a majestic, terrifying scene. There was a massive pool; its water was an ordinary blue but frighteningly deep, emitting the suffocating stench of cold chemicals. In the middle of the pool rose a towering metal structure, bristling with gears and iron mesh wiring, expelling plumes of oil vapor. At its peak, the blue light gleamed behind the locked steel gate.
"GO!" the guard screamed.
Everyone bolted like madmen. Bodies shoved against each other, and bones were crushed underfoot in a frantic race toward the edge. Hugh, (42), and I reached it first, but we froze in place. The still blue water hinted at a terrifying mystery, as if waiting for its next prey. We stood exchanging anxious glances; Hugh was trembling, and I was trying to calculate the risks in my exhausted mind. Hesitation took over, and time began to crush us under the weight of our tension before that pool.
Suddenly, without warning, (42) surged from behind us. He didn't speak or wait for a plan. Instead, he extended his arms and, with rough force, shoved us out of his way, stepping aside to stand alone on the edge. He stared into the depths of the water with a stony gaze, then said in a hollow voice that pierced the silence of our fear:
"Step back... I will go down."
Before we could utter a word, he dove into the blue water. He sank as if he were a part of that stillness, leaving nothing but a few bubbles before disappearing entirely into the depths.
Hugh and I stood watching the surface of the water. The other groups were diving and fighting all around us. Thirty seconds passed... forty... a full minute. Fear began to creep into Hugh's heart. "Skyro... he's taking too long... maybe he died?"
Suddenly, the surface of the water broke violently. (42) emerged, panting like a drowning man brought back to life by a miracle. Clutched in his hand was a black iron key, solid and heavy. He swam to the edge and threw the key toward me with immense force. "Take it!" he yelled, his voice choked. "You have the key! But listen carefully..."
He wiped the water from his face. Blood was streaming from his fingers, mixing with the blue of the water. "The button at the bottom... it's not a normal button. It is covered in sharp needles that pierce the flesh to ensure the person doesn't let go easily... but I can endure it. Run to the tower as fast as you can! I will pump the power for you, so don't waste a single drop of my blood!"
Before we could say a word, (42) dove once more into the blue depths to face his agony alone.
I looked at Hugh, then at the black iron key in my hand, and finally at the tower, which the children had already begun climbing like ants. I felt the adrenaline explode in my veins, and my crimson eyes began to glow with a savage gleam.
"Hugh! Run!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Run like the Angel of Death is chasing you, because today... we leave no one behind!"
We shot like an arrow across the metal bridge leading to the base, just as the elevator began to vibrate—announcing that (42) had started pressing the sharp nails at the bottom of the pool. And so, our mad race to the summit began.