The words hammer into my skull in time with my heartbeat.
Tools do not feel. Tools do not want. Tools do not love.
The electricity starts. Low at first, a buzzing current that makes my muscles twitch involuntarily. Then higher. My back arches again. My hands clench into fists so tight that my nails slice into my palms, blood welling up and dripping onto the steel.
Pain is instruction. Pain is the path. Pain is the purpose.
"Subject H3 shows increased aggression response." The woman's voice cuts through the electricity, through the agony. "Recommend escalating the fear protocol."
The lights go out.
In the darkness, something moves. I can hear it. Breathing. Shuffling. Getting closer. My heart slams against my ribs so hard I think it might break through. The chemicals in my blood turn the fear into something physical, something alive, a creature crawling through my veins.
"What you fear is what you will become." The woman's voice is soft now, almost tender. "Fear is transformation. Embrace it."
The thing in the dark touches my foot.
I scream.
I don't stop screaming until they shock me unconscious.
When I wake up, I'm in a different room. Smaller. A cell. The walls are padded and there's a drain in the center of the floor. I know what the drain is for. I've seen them hose out other cells, wash away the blood and piss and shit of children who broke too fast.
My body aches everywhere. The injection sites on my neck throb. My hands are bandaged, but blood is already seeping through the white gauze. When I try to move, my muscles spasm and refuse to cooperate.
The door opens.
She walks in.
Silver hair swept back from a severe face. Ice-blue eyes that assess me like I'm a specimen under glass. She's wearing a gray suit, perfectly tailored, and she carries a tablet in one hand and a small device in the other.
"Good morning, H3." Her voice is the same one from the procedure room. "How do you feel?"
I don't answer. Words feel far away.
"That's expected. The first session is always the most disorienting." She checks something on her tablet, makes a note. "Your neural plasticity is impressive. You responded to the conditioning faster than most subjects your age."
She says it like it's a compliment. Like I should be proud of how quickly my brain bent to their torture.
"I'm going to ask you some questions now." She sits on a small stool near the door, out of reach but close enough that I can see every detail of her face. "Answer honestly. If you lie, I'll know, and we'll have to repeat the session."
My stomach clenches. I can't do that again. I can't.
"What is your name?"
The question catches me off guard. My name. I have a name. It's... it's...
The memory slips away like water through fingers. I try to grab it, try to hold onto the shape of it, but there's nothing there. Just static where a name should be.
"I..." My voice cracks. "I don't remember."
She makes another note. "Good. What is your designation?"
"H3."
"What is your purpose?"
The words come automatically, drilled into me through endless repetition. "To serve. To obey. To complete my objectives."
