[ MORNING, 5:30 AM ]
The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the single light source high above the door.
And on that bed— curled into a small, tight ball, her knees drawn toward her chest, her hands resting beneath her cheek—lay Maya.
She was sleeping, not the deep, restful sleep of a child who felt safe.
But the shallow, exhausted sleep of someone who had been pushed beyond every limit and had finally, reluctantly, surrendered to the weight of her own body.
Her breathing was slow, almost imperceptible. Her face was relaxed, for the first time in what felt like forever—
the tension that usually defined her features had softened, just slightly.
She looked smaller in sleep, More fragile.
🏵️
Maya was standing in front of the woman's house.
The rain was falling— cold, relentless, soaking through her thin clothes and plastering her hair against her face.
The darkness pressed against her from all sides, thick and suffocating.
Her body trembled.
She wanted to run. She wanted to turn and flee into the night, away from this place, away from the memories that clung to it like shadows.
But her feet would not obey.
They carried her forward, step by reluctant step, toward the weathered wooden door.
She reached out. Her small hand pressed against the cold, damp wood.
[Click]
It groaned under her touch, as though it had been waiting for her.
She pushed, The door swung open with a long, mournful creak.
She stepped inside.
The moment her bare foot touched the worn wooden floor— it slammed shut behind her.
[ Bang ]
The sound echoed through the silent house, reverberating off the walls like a thunderclap.
Maya spun around,her hands pressed against the door, pushing, shoving, clawing at the wood. It did not budge.
She tried again, harder. Nothing. The door was sealed.
She pressed her forehead against the cold wood, her breathing rapid and shallow. Her heart pounded against her ribs.
She turned around.
The hallway stretched before her— long, narrow, lined with doors that led to rooms
she did not want to enter.
The walls were covered in faded floral wallpaper, peeling at the edges. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet
as though the house itself was alive.
And everywhere— everywhere— there were dolls.
They lined the hallway. They sat on shelves. They stood in corners.
They crowded the windowsills, their glass eyes reflecting the faint, flickering light that seemed to come from nowhere.
Hundreds of them. Thousands of them.
Porcelain faces. Painted smiles. Empty, unblinking eyes that seemed to follow her every movement.
Maya's breath caught in her throat.
She remembered the camera. The flash. The clicking sound that had echoed through the room like a heartbeat.
She took a step forward.
The dolls did not move but their eyes— their painted, unblinking eyes— seemed to follow her.
She took another step.
The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, the sound unnaturally loud in the suffocating silence.
She walked past the first door. The second. The third.
Each one was closed. Each one seemed to hum with a presence she could not see but could feel— a weight pressing against her from the other side.
She reached the end of the hallway.
A door stood before her.
It was different from the others. Taller.
Its surface was dark wood, polished to a gleam that reflected her own terrified face back at her.
She reached out. Her fingers brushed against the cold surface. The door swung open.
[Click ]
She stood in the doorway, her bare feet frozen against the threshold. The warm golden light from the oil lamps. The rows upon rows of shelves.
And in the center of the room—the woman.
She stood with her back to Maya, her hands clasped behind her. Her dark hair fell in a neat cascade down her back.
She did not turn around.
But she spoke— her voice soft, familiar, carrying the same cold affection that had haunted Maya's nightmare.
"I knew you would come back."
Maya wanted to run.
She wanted to turn and flee, to escape this room, this nightmare that refused to let her go.
But her feet would not move,
"You always come back, little beauty."
The woman turned.
Her face was the same pale, expressionless, her dark eyes fixed on Maya with an intensity that made her skin crawl.
But her eyes—
Her eyes were blue , "You think you can escape me?"
The woman stepped forward [Tap...Tap...Tap]
Her footsteps echoed through the silent room.
Maya tried to step backward, her feet would not obey.
The woman raised her hand. Maya flinched but the blow did not come.
Instead— the woman's hand stopped inches from her face, her smile widened. Her eyes darkened.
"You are mine. You have always been mine. And you will always be mine."
The dolls began to move.
Their porcelain heads turned, one by one, their painted eyes fixing on Maya,Their lips curled into smiles that were too wide.
And they spoke— their voices a chorus of whispers that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"You are one of us.....
You have always been one of us.....
You will always be one of us....."
Maya opened her mouth to scream.
No sound came.
🌼
Cold water struck her face.
The shock tore through the nightmare like shattered glass.
Maya gasped, her eyes flying open as icy droplets ran down her cheeks and into the collar of her shirt.
For several long seconds, she could not tell where she was.
The woman's house, the facility. They blurred together until none of them felt real. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
She stared wildly at the room around her, half-expecting to find rows of dolls watching from the corners.
Instead, she saw bare concrete walls.
The single light above the door.
And a woman stood over her, the empty basin now resting at her side, "Wake up."
Maya stared at her, her mind still struggling to catch up with what had just happened.
A shadow fell across the narrow bed— tall, slender.
She was middle-aged, with sharp features and cold eyes that had long since stopped seeing the children she tended as anything other than objects to be managed.
She wore the same crisp white uniform as the other attendants. Her hands were empty, save for a small metal basin she carried at her side.
Her expression was unreadable— neither cruel nor kind. Just empty.
Maya's clothes were damp, her hair clung to her face, and the cold water was still trickling down her back.
The woman set the basin aside and reached into a small bag she had been carrying.
She withdrew a neatly folded set of clothes and placed them on the edge of the bed.
"Put these on, You have five minutes."
She turned and walked toward the door without another word.
The door slid shut behind her with a soft hiss.
Maya sat motionless on the bed, the cold water still dripping from her face.
Her hands were trembling— not from fear but from the shock of being pulled so suddenly from sleep.
Her heart was still beating too fast, her breath still coming in short, shallow gasps.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand, the damp fabric of her sleeve pressing against her skin.
Slowly, her eyes drifted to the clothes the woman had left.
They were simple—
plain grey shirt and matching trousers, the same uniform worn by every child in the facility.
The fabric was rough, worn soft by countless washes and carried the faint scent of soap.
She reached for them with trembling hands.
Her fingers curled around the coarse material.
Then— she began to dress.
The shirt was too large, the sleeves hanging past her wrists. The trousers were too long, pooling around her ankles.
She rolled them up as best she could, her small fingers working quickly despite their trembling.
When she finished, she looked down at herself.
The child who had entered this place a few days ago seemed even farther away now.
[Click ] The door slid open.
The woman stood in the doorway, her cold eyes fixed on Maya, "Follow me."
Maya obeyed.
She stepped out of the room, her bare feet pressing against the cold concrete floor.
The woman walked ahead of her,her footsteps echoing softly against the walls.
Maya followed a few steps behind, her eyes fixed on the ground.
They walked in silence for several minutes, passing through identical corridors, identical doors, identical lights.
And then—
the woman stopped, "Too slow. "
She reached out with one hand, her fingers closing around the back of Maya's shirt.
Before Maya could react, she was lifted from the ground— her feet dangling inches above the floor, her body swaying slightly in the woman's grip.
Maya's breath caught but she did not struggle.
She simply hung there, her hands pressed against her sides, her eyes fixed on the door ahead of them.
The woman carried her like a kitten—effortlessly as though she weighed nothing at all.
They stopped in front of a door.
Its surface was dark metal, reinforced with thick steel bands that gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights.
And on its surface— engraved in bold, angular letters—were two words:
[ PHASE 1 ]
Maya stared at the words.
The woman set her down.
Her bare feet touched the cold floor, and for a brief moment, she swayed on unsteady legs.
The woman pressed her palm against the access panel. Electronic chime echoed through the corridor.
[ACCESS GRANTED]
A soft chime echoed through the corridor.
The lock disengaged with a heavy metallic click.
The door slid open with a low hum, revealing the vast chamber beyond. Maya stood at the threshold, her bare feet pressed against the cold floor.
Her eyes slowly adjusting to the harsh fluorescent light that flooded the room.
Dozens of teenagers filled the chamber ...
They wore the same grey uniforms as Maya, but there was something different about them.
Something in the way they carried themselves—
A weariness that seemed to have settled into their bones, a hardness that had replaced the softness of childhood.
Dozens of pairs of eyes shifted toward the small figure standing in the doorway. The conversations faded.
Even those who had seemed completely absorbed in their own thoughts lifted their heads to look.
Maya stood motionless beneath their gaze.
A tall boy leaning against the far wall folded his arms across his chest. A long scar ran from the corner of his eyebrow to his jaw.
He looked at Maya for a few seconds before looking away again as though he had already reached his conclusion,
"Too small, She won't last."
A girl sitting cross-legged on one of the metal benches lowered the worn book she had been pretending to read.
Her dark eyes lingered on Maya's oversized clothes and bare feet.Something softened in her expression, Recognition.
She remembered arriving here herself. Remembered standing exactly where that little girl was standing now.
Her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something. Instead, she lowered her eyes again.
Another boy snorted loudly.
He looked older than the others, broad-shouldered, his knuckles covered with fresh bruises.
"They're sending children now?"
His voice carried open irritation, "What a waste."
He shook his head and looked away before Maya could meet his eyes,
"They'll be dragging another body out before the week's over."
A few nearby teenagers exchanged tired glances.
Near one of the observation windows, a thin boy with round glasses barely glanced at Maya.
His attention returned almost immediately to the loose thread he was pulling from the sleeve of his uniform.
A girl with cropped black hair rested her elbows on her knees.
She watched Maya carefully, her sharp eyes moving from the faded bruises on the child's hands to the stiffness in her posture.
Calculation. She silently counted the signs.
Bare feet, oversized uniform, recently transferred.
Her mind reached its own quiet conclusion.
Three days, maybe four if she was lucky.
Then— a voice, It came from behind Maya, sharp and impatient, "Move."
The woman's hand pressed against her back, pushing her forward.
Maya stumbled into the room. She stood in the center of the chamber, surrounded by dozens of teenagers.
Her heart was beating faster than she wanted it to but her face remained still, her expression carefully blank.
The woman had already turned away, walking back toward the door without a backward glance.
The door slid open, she stepped through.
[Click ]
Silence pressed against Maya from all sides.
The boy near the front let out a quiet laugh, "Well, they're getting younger."
A few of the others murmured in agreement.
The boy studied her for a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away.
"Welcome to Phase One, kid. Try not to die... at least not too quickly."
The others slowly turned away, their attention drifting back to their own conversations, their own silences, their own private battles.
Maya's bare feet pressed against the floor ... her eyes slowly moving across the room.
The chamber stretched before her like the inside of a machine built to wear people down.
The floor was scarred. Deep grooves ran across the concrete in irregular patterns—
Some were fresh, their edges still sharp, still raw. Others were old, worn smooth by time and repetition.
She traced them with her eyes, following their paths across the room.
They led in every direction. Toward the walls, where metal benches sat in silent rows.
She saw a dark stain near one of the benches— almost invisible against the grey concrete. But unmistakable.Old blood. Dried and faded.
Along the far wall, rows of metal racks stood in a formation.They were filled with weapons not the kind she had seen in the hands of the guards.
Blunt instruments designed to hurt, but not to kill.
Weighted chains that hung from hooks, their links gleaming faintly under the harsh light.
And other things she did not recognize.
Strange, angular devices with unfamiliar mechanisms.
She looked at them for a long moment,
she remembered the metal pipe that had shattered her hands.
These things were no different, They were tools of the same machine.
She looked away.
Near the center of the room, a series of thick mats lay scattered across the floor.
They were supposed to be training surfaces— Some were torn, their edges frayed and ragged.
Others were stained with dark, faded marks that could have been anything— blood or something else entirely.
One mat had a long, jagged tear running across its surface, as though something sharp had been dragged across it.
Maya looked at them and saw the echoes of every child who had fallen on them ..... She wondered how many of those children were still alive.
High on the wall above the weapons racks, a large electronic display glowed with a steady blue light.
Its surface glowed, broken only by thousands of rows of illuminated data that scrolled downward.
Each entry was followed by a circular status indicator that shifted between different colours.
[SUHANI: TESTING COMPLETE.
ORANGE — ACTIVE TRAINING
RED — MEDICAL / CRITICAL
BLUE — RESTRICTED OBSERVATION ]
Maya's eyes followed the endless columns almost without thinking.
SUBJECT 0001 — ● ORANGE
SUBJECT 0002 — ● ORANGE
SUBJECT 0003 — ● RED
SUBJECT 0004 — ● ORANGE
SUBJECT 0005 — ● BLUE
The list continued.
The panel seemed almost impossibly large, its processors constantly updating the information as subjects moved throughout the facility.
Orange indicators dominated the display.
Column after column.
Maya found herself counting, she didn't know why, she simply counted.
By the time her eyes reached the bottom of the panel, a rough total had formed in her mind.
[ REGISTERED SUBJECT :460
ACTIVE TRAINING (ORANGE): 350
MEDICAL / CRITICAL (RED): 97
RESTRICTED OBSERVATION (BLUE): 17 ]
Blue was extraordinarily rare, Red appeared often enough to draw attention.
Orange overwhelmed everything else, covering the display like a field of dying embers.
Above the display, engraved into the steel wall in stark white lettering :
[SUBJECT STATUS MONITOR ]
Her eyes moved across the display, searching for a number she had not expected to find.
[ 17 A — STATUS: ORANGE ]
She stared at it for a long moment, something shifted inside her—
a faint, almost imperceptible tremor that she quick lay suppressed.She was still alive, still surviving.
But for how long?
The display scrolled again and her number disappeared from view.
[ APPROXIMATELY 460 REGISTERED SUBJECTS ]
She stared at the number, something stirred in her chest— a feeling she couldn't name.
Faces surfaced in her mind.
The Suhani phase...The arena, the dogs. The cold metal collar around her neck.
She remembered the other children— dozens of them, hundreds of them— screaming, crying, fighting to survive.
There had been over 1,200 children in Suhani.
She had seen them with her own eyes. She had heard their screams echo through the corridors.
She did the math in her head, her lips parting slightly as the numbers settled into place.
1,200 And Now...Only 460 Remained.
Her eyes remained fixed on the display but her mind had already drifted elsewhere—
To the faces she had seen in Suhani, to the children who had stood beside her, who had fallen beside her.
She remembered a boy with a crooked smile and a voice that never stopped talking.
He had been loud and his voice had been the only thing that made the darkness feel less suffocating.
She remembered countless others. Faces had blurred together into a sea of fear and exhaustion. Now they were gone.
Her fingers tightened against the fabric of her oversized shirt. Are any of them still alive?
She didn't know if they had died in the trials
or had been eliminated for failing to meet the program's standards.
Or if they had simply been... discarded. Like faulty equipment, like broken toys.
Maybe they were like me, maybe they were orphans.
Maybe no one is looking for them.
She didn't know if she was an orphan.
She didn't remember anything before the woman's house. Perhaps she had been like them—
A child no one wanted—no one would ever come looking for.
Her gaze drifted to the Red indicator scattered across the display. Some of them were alive, some of them were still fighting.
But for how long?
For how many of them would the red light turn to black?
How many of the 350 would live long enough to reach Phase Two?
She didn't need to think about them, she didn't need to care about them.
Caring was a liability. Caring was weakness.
But still—
A voice inside her, small and completely irrational— whispered the same question
over and over:
Does anyone know they're gone?
Does anyone even know they existed?