My name is Zero.
That's not what they called me, of course...well, most of them. Some used it to mock me, some thought it was my genuine name, and some had no other way to refer to me.
Despite that, it was what I chose for myself. It was easier that way. Cleaner. A label without attachment. Without meaning.
A name that belonged to nobody, so nobody could take it from me... despite the three zeroes tattooed on my wrist.
But that wasn't to name me—more so the same process of branding your cattle.
I lived in a place without windows.
The air always smelled faintly of disinfectant and blood.
Where I currently was was a little better.
A white room. Bright, humming lights overhead. A long table in the center. Smooth floors, scrubbed raw. No color anywhere.
Seated at the edge of the table with a stack of playing cards in my hand, I sifted through them silently.
All around me sat others—quiet, like shadows. Boys and girls with shaved heads, like me and matching gray uniforms, like me, our arms marked with black tattoos, the only difference being our assigned numbers.
And I liked to think my vibrant amber eyes set me out amongst the others. But that was only wishful thinking since no one looked each other in the eyes here.
We were called subjects.
The youngest were barely old enough to walk. The oldest... maybe sixteen. I was twelve.
Most of us didn't speak. Not because we couldn't, but because silence was safer. The walls here listened. The camera blinked. One hung in the corner of the room now, watching, a red light pulsing—beep... beep... beep...
There was a small play area in the corner. Cushioned mats and a few scattered blocks, barely enough to count as a distraction. The iron double doors across the room never opened without a reason. And when they did, it was rarely a good one.
My amber eyes tracked the guards as they passed outside the observation window—timed, efficient, never wavering. We were not people to them. We were projects. Problems to be solved. Weapons to be perfected.
They didn't let us talk much. But I still remember the whispers. The girl in the other room. The one they watched more than anyone else. I couldn't quite remember her number, but it was in the double digits.
And when they said her number, they said it like it meant something.
Not like mine.
Zero.
I wasn't supposed to be anything. No records. No files. If I had to guess, I was probably just a mistake in the paperwork they never bothered to fix.
I wasn't completely sure why I was Zero, but considering my place here amongst everyone else, it made sense why I was labelled this way.
But I, unlike most of the others, remembered things.
More than they thought I could. I remembered faces. Patterns. Where the cameras were. Where the cracks were starting to show.
I wasn't like the others.
I couldn't...do what they did.
But I knew how to listen.
How to wait.
How to run.
With this…
'Time.' I acknowledged as I witnessed the last two guards pass the window, turning as I searched for a familiar face.
I raised a card toward one of the toddlers nearby—small, round cheeks, shaved head like the rest of us, and the number 0118 on his wrist. His name was Kenny.
"Hey, Kenny," I said, softening my voice, waving the card. "You been practicing?"
He nodded, eyes wide with excitement.
He didn't talk, a rather mild imperfection for the children who lived here. Nevertheless, it was one of the reasons I liked him.
"Let's see it then."
I flicked the card into the air. It sailed upward, and as he raised his tiny arm with a grin, it suddenly snapped downward, swatted midair by an invisible force like a fly hit mid-flight.
"Nice." I smiled. "Again."
Another card—another swat as he waved his tiny arm once again, his grin growing.
I grinned and gathered the rest. "Alright... real challenge." I hurled all the cards upward, right in front of the camera.
Both of Kenny's tiny arms shot into the air. The cards blasted back in every direction—FWUMP! SHUFF!—and even the camera shuddered, its lens also pushed back as it turned away from them.
Seeing this, I inwardly nodded, satisfied.
"Go pick those up, alright? We'll try again." I said gently.
He giggled and ran off to gather them.
As he left, my expression turned to that of a serious one as I stood up and slipped my hand into my pocket.
I felt the sharp edge of the carved plastic spoon I'd been working on for days. Hollowed out against the edge of my bed frame. Sharpened with friction until the tip could scratch skin.
It wasn't much. Weak. Brittle. But it could draw blood.
And that was what I needed.
Across the room, rocking back and forth, sat another boy. Older. Thirteen, maybe fourteen. His eyes were wide and unblinking, pupils huge. He'd been like that for years now—unresponsive, locked inside his own head.
I walked toward him slowly.
"Sorry. This will all be worth it soon, I promise," I whispered.
His eyes didn't track me. He just stared forward, breathing shallowly.
I moved fast. Jammed the spoon into the back of his hand.
CRACK.
The spoon snapped. A thin gash split across his knuckles, and blood began to drip.
For a second—nothing.
Then his pupils shifted, acknowledging the wound on his hand as the warm blood trickled down his hand.
His gaze slowly turned, locking on mine.
And then—he screamed.
Not a scream of pain.
A scream of alarm.
One that prompted him to raise his hand as I immediately turned, making a run for it upon him waving it with full force.
In the next second…
BOOOOOM
***
The white room was no longer white.
The lights were dead. Only the dull red glow of the backup system painted the room now—dark, eerie, suffocating.
The doors burst open—CLANG! CLANG!—and the guards stormed in, black helmets and batons in hand.
They scanned the chaos. No one was dead, but injuries dotted the room—burns, cuts, twisted limbs. Most of the children were crying, curled into corners.
All except one.
The boy I stabbed sat in the center of it all, rocking back and forth with his hands clutched tightly over his ears, eyes wild and unfocused.
They never noticed me.
They didn't see the small figure that slid behind their legs, ducking low and moving fast.
Me.
I didn't look back.
I just ran.
The hallway stretched ahead, and my feet slammed the tile with every step—THUD-THUD-THUD.
I'd memorized after years of being escorted through here. Every route, every doo and every path. He had long since memorized them all.
All except for once.
A hallway we subjects were never allowed to go near. A hallway leading to a single door at the end of it.
I didn't know where the exit was, but if I had to guess...it was there. That was where I had to go.
That was my shot.
I pushed forward. Heart pounding. Not with fear—but clarity. Emotion tried to surface—panic, doubt, hope. I pushed it down.
I'd always been good at that.
The hallway came into view. I leaned forward, arms pumping, and as I approached it, I witnessed the single door at the end of it.
My speed began to increase as I didn't waste a second, as though I was eager to finally be leaving this place, which I was!
I hit it shoulder-first—BAM!—and stumbled through.
Freedom...right?
Wrong.
The air felt wrong. Rotten. Like breathing through wet ash. I coughed and hit the floor hard—UGH!—and my palms scraped against something slick.
The ground... it wasn't tile.
It was soft. Pulsing. Tendrils snaked across it like veins.
I pushed myself up and looked ahead.
What I saw wasn't real.
A colossal, almost living organism molded with the wall, its tendrils spreading outward and a thin membrane at its center releasing a faint shimmer, like the world ahead was being pulled through a broken lens. Colors twisted, space bent...like a gate.
A bad feeling invaded my gut as I tried to rise to my feet and back away, however...
ZAP!
Pain exploded in my spine and I collapsed.
Electric shock.
I barely felt my body as two gloved hands grabbed my arms and hoisted me up.
Two men. Yellow hazmat suits. Their faces hidden behind black visors.
"Are we sure about this?" one asked.
"You kidding? Kid's barely human. That place is perfect for him, it'll be like home to the brat," said the other, voice flat. "Besides, its the Doctor's orders."
My heart dropped upon hearing this.
Almost by instinct, I mustered all the strength I had to look up, my eyes half open.
A glass window above us, behind it multiple figures with lab coats moved. Computers flashed.
And in the center stood the man.
White hair. Faint wrinkles. Sharp suit.
The doctor.
Smiling.
We locked eyes.
And something inside me cracked.
Rage. Pure and hot.
"Mother...fucker" I muttered.
I didn't have the strength to yell, all I could do was widen my eyes, gritting my teeth so hard they almost cracked.
"Do it...Do whatever you will, just know...I will come back. I promise you, bastard, I'll burn this place to the ground. You hear me?!" I yelled, maybe inwardly, maybe mumbling.
At that moment, the lights flickered.
The doctor looked up, noticing this, only for his head to slowly turn back to me...his grin wider than ever.
He leaned forward, seemingly pressing a button.
"Do it."
I was hurled forward.
Into the shimmer.
Into the gate.
And my world went black.