I woke up before the batons struck the door. In this place, your ears learn to distinguish the sound of a key turning in the lock seconds before the chaos ensues; because those seconds are the difference between readiness and a surprise that could end your life. Today was the twenty-sixth, the day a number would become either a mere memory, or a transit ticket to a much filthier stage. A brief silence prevailed, then the door opened with an unusual slowness. It wasn't the guard with his usual gruffness, but a person I hadn't seen in fifteen days.
The green-haired boy, "Hugh," entered. His calm smile was still in place, but it looked like a stretched plastic mask over a pale face. He sat on the edge of the opposite bed with a long sigh, and with an automatic motion—perhaps forgetting my presence for a moment—he untied the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and set it aside.
Here, my eyes immediately darted toward his exposed neck. There was a strange mark that time hadn't yet erased... two minuscule dots surrounded by a pale purple halo. It wasn't a knife wound, nor a bruise from a punch; it looked like a precise, deep puncture.
I narrowed my eyes and asked suspiciously: "Hugh... what is that? Were you injured in one of the tests and are trying to hide your injury with this scarf? You know the factory immediately eliminates the weak and the wounded."
Hugh didn't flinch. Instead, he painted on that calm smile, gently ran his hand over the injury, and said in a reassuring voice: "Don't worry, Skyro... don't you remember? It's just the mark from the snake bite that attacked me in Room 6 earlier. I was treated for it and took the antidote, but the mark is a bit stubborn and won't fade quickly."
I nodded silently. We didn't need to speak; the factory had taught us that chitchat consumes energy we need to survive. Barely a few minutes passed before the test bell rang—that chime that tears at your guts and leaves a bitter taste in your throat. We went out, lined up in the usual formation, and descended the stairs toward the outer courtyard. The weather was freezing, and the wind carried the scent of dry dirt mixed with the smell of the chemical detergents they used to mop up the blood of previous tests.
The guard stood on his wooden platform, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as he looked at the faces that had transformed into miniature killing machines.
"The tests for the final five days are simple and clear," the guard shouted. "Today... every two teams will fight face to face. Whoever wins qualifies for tomorrow's test, and whoever loses... will be eliminated immediately. No compensatory points, no second chances. Five teams will ascend, and five will end their journey right here. Is everything clear?"
We all shouted mechanically: "Clear!"
We dispersed into massive white circles drawn on the floor. Each of us was handed a sharp metal knife; its grip was rough, designed to absorb sweat or blood without slipping. I stood beside Hugh, and our opponents standing before us were Number 35 and Number 34. 35 was trembling, his grip on the knife shaking, and his eyes brimmed with tears he was trying to suppress. He reminded me of myself a month ago, but today, I felt absolutely no pity for him.
I looked around. Dan (39) gripped his knife as if he wanted to crush the metal in his bare hand, his veins bulging and his gaze locked onto his opponent's neck. Ellie (23) was suspiciously calm, neither laughing nor smiling, just staring at her blade with a bizarre, intense focus. As for Number 21... he was completely silent, looking at the ground as if executing a routine task.
"Begin!"
The scream rang out, and with it, death was unleashed. The fight wasn't as easy as I had imagined. We were children, and our bodies hadn't yet grown accustomed to stabbing live flesh. 35 charged at me haphazardly, screaming as he swung the knife. I dodged his thrust with a slight tilt, feeling the blade pass right by my shirt. I grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm violently until I heard his bones crack, and then, in a terrifyingly calculated motion, I drove my knife into the joints of his knees and then into the tendons of his arms. I didn't kill him, but I paralyzed his entire body. He fell to the ground, screaming with a chest-tearing agony, bleeding from four deep wounds that turned his limbs into immobile slabs of meat.
As for Hugh... he was different. He fought Number 34 with a terrifying calmness. He evaded the opponent's thrust, then with a single, surgical motion, buried his knife into 34's neck. He didn't hesitate, his hand didn't shake, and his facial expression didn't change. 34 fell silently, clutching his throat as blood gushed from between his fingers, while Hugh stood looking down at him with absolute coldness, as if he had merely blown out a candle and that was it. He killed him in cold blood, without a shred of guilt.
I looked around the other circles. Dan had turned his circle into a slaughterhouse; blood was everywhere, and his opponents were utterly crushed. He was panting, covered in red, his eyes gleaming with the madness of battle. Ellie had already finished her fight; she was clutching a wound on her stomach—a shallow stab had grazed her, but she didn't scream. She stood silently, staring down at the corpse beneath her feet with a hollow gaze, the look of someone who had lost the ability to distinguish between the game and reality.
As for Number 21... his was the most terrifying scene. His two opponents (33 and 25) lay motionless on the ground. He didn't leave a bloody mess behind; rather, his strikes were precise and lethal, targeting vital points. He stood there, looking at the ground calmly, wiping his knife coldly as if executing a programmed command whose time had elapsed. No joy, no sorrow, just "Execution Complete."
The guard arrived, walking among the corpses that, just minutes ago, had been children dreaming of survival.
"Congratulations to the winners... Now, there will be no daily test. We will place you in a new room for three days, and on the fourth day will be the final test. Go."
We were escorted through long white corridors, stopping before a massive white iron door. We entered and found ourselves in a spacious circular room, containing only ten beds arranged in a circle. There were no windows, only the unyielding white ceiling light that never turned off.
Dan sat on his bed, beginning to wipe the blood from his face with his hand, his movements suggesting a lingering desire to keep fighting. I sat in the corner, staring at my hands; I had paralyzed a child today in a terrifying manner. I had never been this violent before. I looked at Hugh; he was sitting on his bed with his plastic smile, observing everyone in silence.
Ellie broke the silence as she stretched out on her bed, pressing against the wound on her stomach: "So... what do we do? Do we wait? Those moments in the courtyard were... exhilarating."
Hugh looked at her and said dryly: "Ellie, your stomach is bleeding."
She let out a short, faint laugh: "Oh, this is nothing... the little one tried to scratch me before I put an end to his life."
I said to myself: They have made us enjoy killing... to the point where we now talk about our wounds as if they were medals, while corpses are being dragged away outside right now.
Silence fell once more. I looked at their faces; Dan, Hugh, Ellie, and the dark shadows beneath their eyes. A month ago, we were children looking for our toys, and today we are little monsters inhabiting a white room, laughing about our stab wounds and chatting about cold-blooded murder. The factory had successfully stripped us of everything; nothing remained of us but the survival instinct and a terrifying capacity to spill blood.
The first hours in the room passed in deafening silence. We would spend three days here, watching each other like prey waiting for the moment to pounce. There was no more crying, no more regret. Just the whiteness, the sound of our breaths, and the lethal wait for the thirtieth test.
I sat on my bed, the white light reflecting in my eyes. I looked at Number 21; he was sitting far away, silent, as if he were part of the furniture. I remembered how we were a month ago... how smiles were real, and how fear was human. Now, we only laugh at death, and we only speak of power.
Three days in this room... three days to forget the very last shred of our humanity before they throw us into the final slaughterhouse.