“PX-3?” Madam’s voice croaks, and I almost roll my eyes.
“After the initial confrontation, I managed to wind him, forcing him back into the chair. I tied his arms behind his back using his own tie and pushed him into the open area of the office, where I stabbed him in the chest.”
Killing is easy. Anyone can pick up a gun and shoot someone, but stabbing someone is personal. Having to be so close and take a life, you must want to kill. And I want to kill every single target that threatens our system.
“Very well, you are excused.” Madam waves her arm to shoo me away, and I walk out quickly, not waiting for the Madam to change her mind as I make my way to the dining sector.
The dining sector is a large room laid out in rows of circular tables with eight cold metal chairs circling each table. The left wall has the trays placed through a small hole in the wall, separating the kitchen staff from us.
Lauren is waiting for me at the entrance to the dining sector, but she doesn’t look at me. It’s different here. We can’t show any emotions like we can out there, not that I do, anyway. Lauren is waiting because of the order of the Commander, not because she is my friend. There are no such things anymore.
“PX-28,” I nod, acknowledging her presence as we walk to grab our trays. At least lunch looks more appealing than yesterday. There is an assortment of chicken, potatoes, salad, and boiled eggs.
We sit down in the back corner of the dining sector, far enough to be able to whisper to each other without being caught. “What happened?” Lauren whispers, her eyes darting around me, checking for any fresh injuries.
“Same as usual. Mission report.” Her face softens with a soft exhale in relief, but we both know if I didn’t give the answer they liked, I would be in the chair.
We eat our late lunch quietly, everyone else is in the training sector on the usual schedule. Lauren and I are only allowed to eat late because of our mission. I barely get to finish my plate before one of the guards walks up to our table, looking down at us with eyes so dark I’m convinced he has none.
“PX-28, you have been summoned.”
Lauren’s eyes pierce mine with fear, but I remain cold. I will not let them see me break. Unlike Lauren, I am great at shutting out every thought, every feeling. I lock it all away behind a door I refuse to open in my mind. But I don’t miss the sudden chill that flows through my body, sending a shiver down my spine. What has she done? Will I be punished?
“For what reason?” I risk my own safety by asking.
“Shut up unless you want a night in the chair,” the guard spits, his throat pulsing as he says each word. For a moment, I wonder what it would be like to slice open the delicate skin. Not to save Lauren, but for the disrespect. Who does he think he is?
?
It’s three hours before I see Lauren again. Her cheek is cut, and her eye is bruised.
“You have to get better at hiding your emotions. It’s going to get you killed.” I run some water onto a rag, cleaning her cheek. The motion causes Lauren to pull away from the touch with a wince.
“And not showing you’re in pain.” I sigh, grabbing her chin and going back in to clean the wound with the cloth.
“I’m not you. I can’t just hide my emotions like they mean nothing.”
“They do mean nothing when it’s between being sad or being alive. Personally, I would much rather be alive.”
Lauren rolls her eyes, and I press the rag harder intentionally, causing her to wince again. Without pain, there can be no lesson. Madam’s words ring in my head.
“I never wanted this life, I’m not like you or the others.” Her lip quivers as looks down at the floor. I make no effort to comfort her. Instead, I continue cleaning the cut.
“You think I got a choice? I adapted. It’s because I adapted that you’re still alive. Do you think they would have kept you alive if they didn’t need me alive?”
Okay, maybe I lied. I am attached to Lauren more than I should be.
She’s like a sister to me, as far as a sister goes in this place at least. A very much annoying and spoiled younger sister who only seems to get you into more trouble than good.
I move my hands to her shoulders, gripping tightly. “Listen to me. You need to adapt, or they will kill you. And I refuse to lose you, too.”
Seventy-six girls used to be ninety-nine; nine died in missions, three died because their assigned partner killed them, then eleven due to unexplainable circumstances. Or in other words, the chair.
They strap you down to the chair for days on end, making it so that you cannot move a muscle, and then torture you for days. If you break, you die. If you cry, you die. If you do anything other than feel nothing in this place, you die.
It’s supposed to help you, or in their words, shape you into an independent agent. But the problem there is, none of us are independent, being locked in a basement, only leaving to kill. It takes everything from you. Including your sanity.
Chapter 2:
