Two more days passed and I had to reconsider what I had thought only a short time before: awakening could be good news for many, but not for everyone. For some, it was an early death sentence.
It all happened during morning training.
The boy began to slow down as we ran along the edge of the arena. It could have looked like exhaustion, but then I saw him stagger and his breathing became irregular. At that point **I understood**, I had already seen those signs not long ago so it wasn't difficult to recognize them, very soon we would have two awakened in our group.
Instructor Ronald arrived immediately.
He observed him for a few seconds while the last of the effects of the union manifested: the air around the boy became heavy, almost vibrating.
"CONTINUE."
No one slowed down, only a few glances.
We kept running while the boy was dragged to the center of the field like his predecessor. There were no incidents and a few minutes later a guard took him away, toward the lower levels for medical tests.
Everything seemed the same as last time but I was surprised the next day when I didn't see the boy anywhere in the training field even though I kept looking everywhere.
Before the morning training began, two boys from his room approached the instructor.
I could see the hesitation born from fear in their eyes and their uncertain movements but after a few seconds one of the two finally found the courage to speak.
"Sir… number 27 didn't return last night."
Ronald looked at them, I couldn't understand what he was thinking, maybe he was weighing whether it was worth answering that question or not.
"His potential was one star."
He made a brief pause.
"He has been transferred to the laboratories."
He added nothing else but it wasn't necessary, those few words were enough to freeze everyone in the training field.
The two boys in particular remained motionless without blinking, trying to accept what they had just heard. I was the same, probably everyone was. With everything that had happened in the last few days I barely had time to think because of the relentless pace of the days so I had completely forgotten the words of the scientist from the first day: all children with a one-star potential would become test subjects.
The two who had stepped forward finally began to move again and started begging the instructor to save their friend. There was no visible reaction from the man but when the tone of the children in front of him changed from pleas to shouts of anger and indignation another scene sadly familiar to everyone occurred: Ronald raised one arm, signaled to the guards and told them to take the two to the disciplinary cells.
The rest of the day passed with some shaken and many, probably those with low potential, in much worse condition than usual, as if their souls had abandoned their bodies.
That night, in our room, someone began to cry.
At first it was only a muffled sob. Then another. And another.
I turned and saw Milo.
Or rather… number 19.
He was sitting on his bed with his body trembling uncontrollably.
"M-my potential… is one star."
His voice was broken.
"Me… one star…"
Number 25—Liam—walked toward him.
"Hey… calm down."
He tried to put a hand on his shoulder.
"Everything will be fine."
But the tone of his voice didn't sound convinced even to himself.
"That's not true!" 19 sobbed. "That's not true! They take them to the laboratories! How could it be fine??!!"
His breathing became faster.
"I will become a test subject… they… they will cut me… I will be treated like an animal…"
He couldn't finish the sentence.
Number 25 tried again to comfort him.
He tried to say that maybe it wasn't true.
That maybe Ronald was lying to scare us.
That maybe they had just moved him somewhere else.
Then he tried to explain that the scientist from the first day had said that the tests were not precise and that there was hope of obtaining a higher potential.
But no one in the room truly believed it.
19 kept crying and shouting for hours.
When the tears finally ended only sobs and a few whispers remained.
Then silence.
The next morning the door opened as always.
The guard entered.
"ON YOUR FEET."
Everyone stood up.
Except number 19.
He remained sitting on the bed.
The guard looked at him.
"I said on your feet."
No response.
His gaze was empty.
The guard approached.
The sound of the punch hitting his face echoed through the room.
Number 19 fell to the side.
But he still didn't react.
He didn't defend himself.
He didn't even scream.
The guard hit him again.
And again.
His body moved under the blows like a puppet without strings.
But he didn't say a word.
He didn't even try to stand up.
Finally the guard grabbed him by the arm.
"Take him away."
Another guard entered the room.
They dragged number 19 outside.
Me, number 25 and number 12 tried to stop them, the result? We were beaten mercilessly on the spot while they dragged one of us away.
That was the last time that I, **Kian**, or now 33, saw number 19.
The following days were horrible and at the same time monotonous.
Training.
Pain.
Punishments.
Every now and then another awakening.
Then another.
And another.
Some returned from the lower levels.
Others didn't.
As the days passed we stopped asking, we had understood that shouting and getting angry was useless and the only reaction we would receive was a cold look and a very painful punishment.
Names were replaced by numbers: at first someone still used them but like an old obsolete tradition they were gradually forgotten.
It wasn't something we decided.
It just happened.
Number 10.
Number 8.
Number 3.
Number 19.
Gone.
It was easier that way.
Simpler.
Less painful.
I also stopped thinking about their names.
But night was different, it was the only moment when it was just me, the silence and my thoughts.
When I closed my eyes I saw the corridors of the base, long, narrow and suffocating.
The air always felt so heavy that I felt like I was suffocating.
Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night with short breath and my body soaked in sweat.
Then there were the nightmares.
I saw the orphanage again.
The courtyard.
The streets of the village.
My friends running.
Laughing.
Calling me to play with them.
"Kian!"
Their voices sounded real.
So real that sometimes I got out of bed convinced I could reach them.
But when I opened my eyes…
There was only the stone ceiling.
And the damp smell of the base.
One night I saw him too.
The old man.
He was standing in front of me.
Just like that day.
Blood was flowing from his mouth as he fell to the ground.
His body hit the clearing with a dull sound.
Again.
And again.
I woke up screaming.
Number 25 was looking at me from his bed.
"It was just a dream."
I tried to steady my breathing and calm down but my heart kept beating fast.
After a while the problem was no longer only the dreams.
Even when I was awake I began to see things where there were none. Maybe it was just my imagination.
Shapeless shadows moving in the corridors.
Distant voices calling my name and asking me to join them.
Once I swore I saw one of the boys from the orphanage at the end of the corridor.
I stood still staring at him and tried to walk toward him but when I blinked…
He was gone.
Maybe I was going insane. No, I was already insane.
That place took something from us every day.
The body.
Companions.
And in the end…
Even the mind.