Darkness.
A high-frequency ringing pierced his ears like thousands of silver needles stabbing inward.
His consciousness was dragged into a black vortex where the voices of loved ones slowly dissolved into noisy static. Their shadows turned into strangers before eventually falling into total silence.
The world felt like a mass of cold, black smoke.
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he sensed wasn't oxygen, but the sharp, suffocating scent of antiseptic and ozone. He was in a room with steel walls, resembling a first-class medical ward, lit by white neon lights that flickered painfully. The sudden brightness struck his retinas, violently tearing away the darkness he had just inhabited.
He tried to sit up, but his head throbbed violently. There was a terrifying sense of "emptiness" inside his mind. It was as if a vast library in his head had just been burned to the ground, leaving behind nothing but meaningless ash. Names, faces, voices—all gone.
"Hey... are you still breathing?" The voice was like a drifting melody, shattering the sensations in his head.
He turned.
On the next bed, a boy with messy hair sat clutching his head. On his wrist was a metal label that read: Subject 021.
"My head feels like it was hit by a hammer," he groaned, staring at Subject 009 with a confused gaze. "Who am I? Who are you? Why are we in here?"
He didn't answer. He stared at his own trembling palms. There, a futuristic metal band was etched with the code: Subject 009.
Suddenly, the steel door slid open with a hydraulic hiss. Two girls entered with different strides. The first, fair-skinned with short black hair and labeled Subject 012, walked with a sour face and clenched fists. Meanwhile, the second girl with silver hair and olive skin, Subject 015, walked behind her with much slower, wary steps, monitoring every corner of the room.
"Stop complaining, 021. Your voice is making my head hurt even more," Subject 012 snapped. Even though her memories were gone, her stubborn nature seemed ingrained in her blood. She sat on a metal chair and kicked the table leg in frustration. "Whatever they did to us, I don't like this place. I want out."
Subject 015 leaned against the wall, folding her arms. "Out? Through where, 012? Did you see the guards outside? They have weapons that could put a hole through your stomach before you even touch the door," she said with a cold, skeptical tone. "Listen, from what I heard in the hallway earlier, we aren't here for a stay. We are experiments."
"Experiments for what?!" Subject 012 challenged, her eyes flashing with anger.
"Mana Circuits," the silver-haired girl (015) replied shortly. "Children with natural energy like us will be trained. But for those who are 'empty'... I saw them being taken to the underground lab. They plant magic stone fragments directly into human flesh. I saw one kid scream until his lungs burst because his body couldn't withstand the radiation of the stone."
The room suddenly fell silent. Fear crept in like a fog between them.
"D-Do any of you remember your names?" 021 (Amae) asked, breaking the atmosphere.
"I feel like I remember a name... Meyra," the girl with short black hair (012) answered. Her tone was still sharp, but there was a tremor of doubt.
"Me too. It feels foreign, but maybe my name is Zilla," said the silver-haired girl (015) who had been standing guard by the wall.
"I-I feel familiar with you guys... call me Amae, maybe," 021 replied softly.
The three fell silent, then simultaneously turned toward the bed in the center. Toward the figure who had been silent, staring at his own palms.
"And you, Nine?" Zilla (015) asked coldly. "Do you remember your name?"
Subject 009 remained silent. Inside his head, the question of a name felt like an echo locked behind a steel door that wouldn't open. He felt something massive was there, but every time he tried to reach for it, a pain like an electric shock repelled his consciousness.
Their attention was diverted by the sound of sobbing, barely audible in the corner of the room. Subject 018, the smallest girl there, with long hair and large, beautiful black eyes, sat with her head down, hugging her knees. Slowly she began to fall silent, as if all her energy had been drained by terror. Her gaze was hollow; behind her soft face lay a deep sympathy for the other two girls.
Zilla (015) and Meyra (012) approached her gently, leaning down to stroke her fine hair. "Yosh, don't cry! I'm here," Meyra said. Her beautiful face usually looked sour, but this time her eyes radiated a fierce determination. It was as if she were making a vow, not just to little 018, but to their fate that had just been stolen.
Zilla nodded slowly, her olive-skinned fingers grasping 018's small hand. "We won't let them take you to that underground lab. No matter what happens."
Hearing that, Subject 009 felt something stir in his chest. A strange urge he didn't understand. He didn't know who he was yet, but seeing that sight, he knew one thing: he didn't want to see them destroyed.
Suddenly, the neon lights on the ceiling blinked red. The heavy blare of a siren echoed in the hallway, cutting through their brief moment of humanity.
***
On the highest floor of Central Zero, the atmosphere was a stark contrast. The room was vast, with giant windows revealing the grandeur of the machine city below. A man with blonde hair stood tall, performing a perfect military salute; the scars on his face were clearly visible.
In front of him sat a man with an aura capable of stopping the heart of anyone who looked at him: Lord Vier. He wore a sharp suit with a white fedora.
"Reporting, Lord Vier. The memory erasure process on the 50 subjects from the Forbidden Forest region has been a hundred percent successful. A portion of this group shows the most stable mana circuit potential compared to previous subjects," said Lion, the scarred man, in a stiff tone.
Vier turned his chair slowly. His eyes were as cold as the eternal ice outside the walls. "What about the subjects with no natural mana talent?"
"We have begun the procedure of implanting artificial magic stone fragments into their bone marrow, My Lord. The failure rate is still high—about seventy percent of subjects die from energy shock—but those who survive will have physical strength equivalent to a low-class monster," Lion explained without a shred of pity.
Vier sipped his wine, his eyes staring intensely at the Aether Fragment now encased in a giant energy tube in the center of the city.
"Good. I don't need humans. I need tools. Use these children with natural circuits as the vanguard. Train them until they consider death an honor for PETERUMMAN," Vier's voice was low yet commanding.
"Now! I leave those children to you, Lion," Vier ordered.
Vier stood up, walking toward a crystal desk displaying intelligence data. He touched the surface, bringing up the profiles of several generals and other high-ranking ministers of PETERUMMAN.
He paused for a moment, a cunning yet cold smile appearing on his lips. He swept his hand over the holograms of his colleagues' faces, as if strangling their shadows.
"PETERUMMAN will hold a grand meeting. This world is filled with cunning rats, Lion. And the most dangerous are those who sit at the same table as me, pretending to be loyal while racing to seize the throne. I will ensure they all remain under my control, or they will be destroyed along with their secrets."
Vier turned, looking at Lion with a predatory gaze. "These new assets you've brought will be my eyes and ears. If even one of those rats starts to act up, these children will be the ones to snap their necks. Prepare everything."
Lion bowed respectfully, realizing that Lord Vier was far more terrifying than any enemy outside the walls. "Understood, Lord Vier."
Lion stepped back, leaving Lord Vier to return his gaze to the Aether Fragment pulsing blue in the distance. The crystal looked like a heart struggling within the embrace of the machine, pumping false life into all the veins of PETERUMMAN that had begun to rot from within.
***
In Sector 7, an urgent call forced the children—who no longer had a past to remember or mourn—toward a courtyard. Names had vanished from their tongues, replaced by a cold label: Subject 009. Yet, deep in the depths of his soul, the erased blue flame had not truly gone out. It slowly turned into a cold ember—a void ready to swallow anyone who tried to control it.
In a concrete courtyard fenced with high wire, the fifty children lined up with futuristic wristbands labeled with their numbers. Some remembered their names, but others were merely blank canvases ready to be painted with blood and suffering.
A bald man arrived carrying a whip, part of his body replaced by machinery. The man stepped forward, the metallic clank of his mechanical leg ringing loudly on the concrete, creating an intimidating rhythm.
He was Instructor Varkas, a monster who had discarded his humanity for the efficiency of the machine. His red eye—an artificial sensory lens—spun rapidly, scanning the heartbeats of the terrified children in front of him. He looked at them like trash, his gaze wild as if meeting prey he was ready to torture.
"Listen, dregs!" his voice was raspy, like sandpaper on iron. "From this moment on, you belong to me, and you have only one purpose: become a weapon or become a corpse."
He lashed his electronic whip against the floor. CRAKK! The sound was like a thunderclap, deafening the ears. Blue electric sparks bit into the concrete, leaving behind deep scorched marks.
"Subjects 01, 04, 07, 22, and 41! Step forward!" he barked, pointing at five large-bodied children.
"You five will be my assets!" he shouted, but the eyes of those five children were hollow and soulless.
"Alright! You will all be divided into groups of five. You will live together and train together! One day, you will be pitted against each other to test your worth! Choose your own squads, dregs!" Varkas yelled.
Each of them moved like robots programmed to obey that raspy voice. At random, they chose comrades-in-arms to form a group.
Zilla (015) approached the motionless Subject 009, joined by the boy with messy hair, Amae (021). Meanwhile, Meyra (012) held Subject 018, who was still trembling with teary eyes.
"018, are you still there?" she greeted softly. But the innocent girl only stared at the concrete floor with trembling hands. Then Meyra took her hand gently. "Come, follow me!" she whispered, pulling her softly toward Zilla and Amae, who were trying to comfort Subject 009.
"I-I will be the leader of this team, don't worry Nine, I... I will... protect you!" Amae stammered, his voice hoarse and shaking.
"Stop your ugly voice, loser, you're scaring the girl!" Meyra snapped, holding Subject 018's head like an older sister.
"Enough! From today on, we will be together, and we will look out for each other!" Zilla commanded their group.
The five of them stared at one another. At a time when the most precious thing they had had been snatched away, they had nothing left but their names and the bond that was beginning to form. Now, under the white spotlights, a bright determination reflected in their eyes, as if they had found a new purpose: to protect each other.
"You—009, 012, 015, 018, and 021! If you've formed a group, line up with the others. I will give you your unit number!" Varkas's shout shattered their warmth.
That night, in Sector 7, humanity died, and a new instrument of war was born into the world. Ten units had been formed, but the group that would shake this world had just arrived: Unit 009.
Outside the walls of PETERUMMAN, the sky trembled. Snowflakes tried to pierce their warmth. A blood-red moonlight awaited their struggle; lurking, watching them like a weeping eye.