When Mike opened his eyes, the light immediately hit his eyes.
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It didn't make sense. Was he really alive after everything that had happened to him?
He tried to get up, but then he noticed that he was tied to a medical chair. His clothes still had blood on them, but his wounds had been treated. The pain, however, was still there, especially in his ribs.
But something was wrong.
He had lived in this place his entire life, yet they had never given medical help to slaves.
The sound of the door opening suddenly pulled Mike out of his thoughts, and a doctor walked into the room.
"You are Number 198?"
Mike didn't speak. He simply remained silent.
"I can see it in your eyes…" the doctor said with an ironic smile.
"What?"
"You know… that feeling when you don't know what's going to happen to you, but you know something is wrong."
Mike had nothing to lose. Technically, he was already dead. So for the first time in his life, he didn't answer a superior with a single word. Instead, for the first time in his life, he asked a question.
"And what will happen to me now? What are you going to do to me?"
The doctor looked at him with a strange expression and an equally strange smile before speaking in a calm voice.
"A slave doesn't speak to his superiors like that."
"I'm already dead anyway. What's the point of following the rules?"
"Don't worry. I won't kill you. I'll simply… make sure that from now on you follow the rules."
The doctor said this as he picked up a syringe filled with a strange white liquid.
At that moment, Mike remembered the words Number 175 had once told him.
"They want to control us."
But before the doctor could even approach Mike—or before Mike could resist—something happened.
Suddenly, the medical tools and the medicines on the nearby table began to shake. A moment later, the ground started trembling.
It was an earthquake.
The lights flickered, the walls shook, and everything in the room began jumping violently.
Mike was tied to the chair and stayed in place, but the doctor lost his balance and crashed to the floor.
Then, suddenly, everything stopped.
Silence returned, as if nothing had happened.
But the room was now completely destroyed.
The door burst open and a guard entered, holding a weapon.
The guard removed his mask.
It was Number 175.
Behind him stood James, wearing the same slave uniform as the others.
Without saying anything, 175 quickly untied Mike from the chair.
"Come on, quickly. We don't have time," he said, pulling Mike by the arm.
"James… what's happening?"
"I'll tell you later. Just run. Once we get out of here, I'll tell you."
Mike simply listened to James and started running with them through the corridors of the building. The place had turned into ruins. Broken walls blocked parts of the hallways.
Bang.
A gunshot echoed through the corridor.
175 started firing back, but Mike turned and saw James bleeding on the floor.
Mike ran toward him to help, but James grabbed his hand and whispered something to him.
Then he just lay there with his eyes open.
James was dead.
175 grabbed Mike, but Mike was crying and refused to move away from James's body.
This time, 175 pulled him harder.
"He's dead. We have to go."
175 said, and this time he managed to drag Mike with him by force, leaving James—and that place—behind forever.