Everything is so white, so perfect, so pure. Then there’s me, being dragged in my red dress.
Today is different; they take me to another room, every single detail is blinding white, there’s a chair in the centre of it. A large metal chair that’s grey. I almost laugh at the fact they couldn’t find a white chair, I’m sure there’s one somewhere in the world.
I’m lifted into the seat, my ankles and arms locked into the manacles attached to the chair, much like the one back at The Academy. But instead of scaring me with threats or blades, they stick wires to me, the cords lead to a screen behind me, showing my heart rate, my blood pressure, my oxygen levels.
They are keeping me alive only to kill me over and over.
“Well, let us begin.” Doctor Langdon smiles, walking into the room and sitting in the stool I didn’t even notice was below the computer. It’s white as well. I am really starting to hate white.
“PX-3, what is your name?”
“Darlia.”
Doctor Langdon presses a button on the computer, and suddenly I feel like my entire body is on fire. Electricity flows through every vein in my body. I tense, my entire body is stiff and my back arches off the seat. The current zaps through me until finally I’m offered reprieve, and it stops.
“PX-3, what is your name?”
“Darlia,” I answer again, confused. Again, he presses the button. This time it feels excruciating, like every hair on my body is going up. My skin tenses, my hands pulling into tight fists as I try to fight off the current. My jaw clenches and my body shakes with the effort it takes just to breathe, until again it stops.
My body relaxes instantly, and I’m left gasping and breathless, desperate for this hell to stop. It doesn't. Instead, Doctor Langdon continues to send the electricity through me over and over. Every single time I tell him Darlia, it continues. I’m giving him the honest answer, yet somehow it doesn’t matter. He punishes me for it anyway.
But then it clicks. To him, I’m not Darlia.
I’m PX-3.
“Darlia, what is your name?” the doctor asks again, unable to hide the impatience in his tone. I’m barely able to lift up my head to look at him. My body trembles, my chest protesting every breath like it wants me to give up.
“PX-3, sir.”
I don’t have to look up to know he’s smiling.
Chapter 26:
Darlia
10 years earlier - Age nine
Trainer leads us all to the shooting range. It’s our final test: being able to dissemble, assemble, and shoot the targets all before the time is up.
I’m not scared of failing; the Overseer said I was the best in the group. What does scare me is the tremble in my hands I get sometimes when I try to shoot. Trainer calls it anxiety, Madam calls it weakness.
“Good morning, girls,” Trainer calls, standing at the back of the shooting range. We are lined up in front of the gun range with paper targets down the lanes. There aren’t enough lanes for all of us to go at the same time, so we’re all lined up in groups of five behind each lane.
There are punishments; the two slowest girls are going to be taken back to the chair upstairs. I haven’t been there yet, but it sounds scary. Jessica did go one time, and she hasn’t been the same since, now having thick white scars across her stomach.
“Good morning, Trainer,” we call out in unison.
“Today is your final test in weaponry. As you know, we are starting with guns. You will each receive three tests with three different guns. There are three checks during the test. Once you have disassembled your gun, you must raise your hand and wait for it to be checked. Then again after assembling, and following that, after shooting your paper, it must be collected and named by a guard. Anyone caught cheating or disobeying will be punished.”
“Yes, Trainer,” we all say in unison again.
“Very well. We will go in order of your assigned number. PX-1 through to PX-20, please step forward. And remember, do not begin until I say so.”
I step forward. They gave me the name PX-3 a year after I arrived. A few years ago, they stopped calling me Darlia entirely, and just called my number. They said it was easier to maintain such a high number of girls by number rather than name.
Shayleen steps up beside me, smiling. She’s good, really good. And if the Overseer hadn’t called me the best, I would’ve thought it was her. We’ve been best friends since we both arrived at the same time, we’ve done everything together since.
I look down at the gun in front of me, a Beretta M9 pistol. It’s a semi-automatic with 9mm bullets, not great at long distance, but perfect for close range.
