Alex watches as the girl in 10B is taken away. There is no screaming. No resistance. Only silence. But when the light above her door changes, he understands what it means—and something inside him begins to darken.
---
She was gone before the lights came back on.
Alex noticed immediately.
The corner sliver of light between Room 9 and Room 10B had been dim for over an hour. Maybe longer.
When illumination returned—just that soft, clinical white that bathed the entire facility—her room was empty.
No sign of her.
The imaginary drawings were still faintly visible on the floor. She'd dragged her fingers through the dust so many times, they left grooves.
But she was gone.
No guards. No staff.
Just gone.
Alex stood there, hands at his sides, staring at the place where she used to sit.
He waited.
Minutes passed.
Then the hallway lights flickered.
A dull bip echoed through the vents. Mechanical. Automatic.
Above the door to Room 10B, a single red light switched on.
> SUBJECT RETIRED
Two words. Plain. Simple.
Permanent.
---
Alex didn't blink.
He didn't move.
But his fingers curled into fists so tight his knuckles cracked without effort.
No screams.
No crying.
Just that quiet, creeping awareness that settled into his bones.
They weren't testing them to save lives.
They were watching them like stock.
And when they didn't produce results—
They were erased.
---
Back in the observation booth, a voice murmured:
> "Subject 16A's vitals rising."
> "He's reacting?"
> "No expression. But pulse is up. Grip strength is increasing without command."
> "Keep him under surveillance. If he bonds again, isolate the next match immediately."
Alex couldn't hear them.
But something deeper did.
A pressure inside him stirred. Not heat. Not pain.
Weight.
Like a door was being pressed open from the other side.
His eyes locked on that red light.
And for the first time in this place, his heart didn't race out of fear.
It beat with purpose.
---