As soon as my father opened the car door, the damp air rushed inside. I adjusted my black leather gloves and stepped forward, unfazed by the muddy puddles. The thought of my luxurious shoes sinking into the mud didn't bother me in the least — everyone knew that the lives of those here were cheaper than a single pair of my shoes.
The colonel, standing at the front of the line, approached with determined steps and saluted. "Everything is ready, madam. The best of the lot have been selected. They are waiting for your command."
I silently walked along the line. Raindrops hit my face, but they couldn't soften my gaze. In the men's eyes, fear and loyalty blended together. They understood who I was — the sole heir to a family that ruled half the country, and they knew that with a single gesture from me, their entire lineage could be erased.
Suddenly, my eyes met those of a young man at the end of the line. Unlike the others, he didn't look down but stared directly at me. Was this courage or foolishness?
"Stop," I said in a low, but cold voice.
The colonel sharply halted. I stopped in front of the young man. The water running down his face streamed over the collar of his coat, dripping onto his chest.
"What is your name?" I asked, scrutinizing his eyes.
"My number is 407, madam," he said, his voice unwavering.
"I asked for your name, not your item number," I replied, gesturing to the guard holding my black umbrella. "From now on, among these 'items,' there will only be one human. The others will be sacrificed for its survival."
Turning to my father, I gave him a slight smile. Only I knew what bloody plans lay behind that smile.
"Father, we can begin the game. These 'chess' pieces of mine seem much more interesting this time."
At that moment, a lightning bolt struck in the distance, and the bloody page of my new reign was opened behind the high walls of the training ground. I was no longer just a girl; I was the sole ruler of this ruthless world.
The rain intensified steadily, as if the heavens were being torn apart at the seams. I stood before the young man, Number 407, in a moment of silence. I was drawn to the spark in his eyes—it held not only fear but a hidden, simmering rage. And power feels all the more intoxicating when it involves subduing such an untamed force.
Colonel," I said, my gaze never wavering from the boy. "Take him to a private room. As for the others, prepare them for the first stage of 'selection'."
My father approached and placed his heavy hand on my shoulder. The gold rings on his fingers glinted with a cold light.
"My daughter, this is not merely an experiment; this is the guard that will serve your safety. Do not let your emotions take hold."
"Rest assured, Father," I replied, a cold smirk playing on the corner of my lips. "I am not so weak as to develop feelings for an object. I simply wish to test the quality of the tool."
I strode toward the headquarters at the proving grounds. With every step, muddy water splashed against the polished surface of my black leather boots, while the dozens of guards trailing behind mirrored my every move like shadows. Inside, the building was even colder than the exterior: concrete walls, iron doors, and the lingering scent of oil and gunpowder in the air.
I entered the monitor room. Giant screens on the walls displayed every corner of the grounds. Dozens of men now stood against one another. The rule was simple: the survivor earns a place in my shadow guard; the defeated... they are erased as if they never existed in this world.
Has he been brought in?" I asked, taking my seat.
The door swung open, and two brawny soldiers dragged the boy—Number 407—inside. His hands were shackled, and his clothes hung heavy with drenching rain. They forced him into a steel chair in the center of the room.
I picked up a sharp-edged scalpel from the desk and rose slowly, approaching him. The click of my heels echoed against the concrete floor, piercing the deathly silence of the room. The boy's breathing quickened, yet he continued to stare directly into my eyes.
"What was your name, 'Number'?" I asked, resting the tip of the scalpel against his chin. He flinched slightly at the cold touch of the blade.
"My name... I have no name," he rasped. "People like you stripped us of our names and our pasts long ago."
"Correct," I said, tracing the scalpel slowly along the line of his face. "I will strip away not just your name, but your very soul. Your life now rests between my fingers. If I press just a little harder right now, your tomorrow ceases to exist."
I sliced through the numbered tag on his chest with the blade. The fabric tore, exposing his shoulder.
"You are no longer 407. You will be my personal 'Shadow.' But for that, you must pass the first trial."
I gestured toward the monitor. On the screen, his comrades were brutally clashing; blood and mud had merged into one.
"You will go down there and stop everyone. No one must die, but no one should be able to stand back up. If you succeed, you become my right hand. If you fail—I will bury you right here with my own hands."
A flicker of something unexpected—something resembling gratitude—glinted in his eyes. Seeing it, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction well up inside me.
"Open the gates," I commanded. "The most interesting part of the game is beginning."
The rain still hadn't let up, but the proving grounds were no longer just a field of mud; they had become the bloody stage of my personal empire. I walked to the window, sipping my black coffee as I looked out at the darkness and the carnage unfolding within it. Today, someone will die, and someone will become my shadow to start a new life. And I alone make that choice.