016 woke to a blinding light stabbing into his eyes.
He turned his head to the right, trying to escape it. A figure in blue stood there, hands buried deep in his chest cavity. The man didn't so much as glance at him—just kept working in silence, fingers slick with blood.
016 shifted to the other side. Another figure. Same uniform. Same stillness.
The anesthesia had worn off again.
The pain was suffocating. It pressed into him like shards of glass being dragged through wet flesh, tearing with every shallow breath. His ribs ached with each inhale, sharp and ragged, the sound wet and faintly bubbling.
He stared back at the light, eyes burning red.
This wasn't new. Waking up mid-surgery had long become routine. The first time, he'd thrashed, choking on the tube down his throat, screaming through a wired jaw until darkness stole him again. The second, his body betrayed him—no scream, only tears sliding silently down his cheeks. After that, he stopped reacting.
The doctors never cared. Even if they noticed his eyes opening, their hands never stilled. Perhaps one glance—indifferent, detached. Then the cutting resumed.
If he had to guess, tonight they were carving into his lungs. He knew because of the poison.
Measured doses every night—always exact, never too much. Each sip burned him hollow, searing the lining of his lungs until every cough left blood dripping into his palm. It was meant to make him stronger. To adapt.
Unfortunately, it hadn't killed him yet.
He lay motionless, chest split open, ribs pried apart by steel clamps. His wrists were strapped down, but it had been a long time since he'd bothered struggling.
"His lungs are barely showing decay," one of the doctors murmured, too cheerful for the scene.
"The professor's formula works. He's adapting."
016 blinked once, slowly. His fingers twitched. His lips parted, but no words came. The blood loss was dragging him under again.
He opened his eyes again. The first thing he saw was a bed above him. For a moment, he simply stared.
Something was wrong.
Back in his room, yes—but not his bed. He didn't remember blacking out, didn't remember being carried back. He hadn't even fallen asleep.
He exhaled softly, turned onto his side.
The smell hit him. Not his sheets.
His eyes snapped open fully. He sat up, gaze sweeping the room.
Wrong. Lower bunk. Left side of the room. His was the top, second bed on the right.
So why was he here?
He rose without a sound and crossed the room. His hand gripped the ladder, climbing—until his eyes landed on the figure curled where he should be.
Asleep.
A girl. Fine-boned, long lashes, cheeks touched pink as if she were lost in some pleasant dream.
016 stared. Blank. He knew her. And hated her.
Too clingy. Disgustingly so.
And now, in his bed.
He said nothing. Just reached down, grabbed her ankle, and yanked.
Her body hit the floor with a violent thud.
She gasped awake, dazed, eyes locking on him as he climbed into his rightful place.
"016… I-I'm sorry. I didn't know it was your bed… I-I was too sleepy to notice," she stammered, tears beading at the corners of her eyes.
He didn't respond. Didn't even look at her. He lay down, head sinking into the pillow.
The scent hit him at once. Heavy. Sweet. A cloying perfume that had no place here.
"You like it?" she asked softly, smile trembling bright. "I stole it from one of the doctors. Since I stole it, it's mine. So… whenever you smell it, it'll remind you of me."
016 sat up without a word, climbed down, and walked toward her.
Her heart raced. Finally. He was coming to her. Acknowledging her. For the first time, he was looking at her.
Her breath caught. Her cheeks flushed.
And when he stopped before her, with her sitting on the floor, her gaze landed directly at his waist. Her mind spiraled.
No way… he wants me to—
Before the thought could finish, his hand fisted her hair and smashed her skull against the tiles.
The crack echoed sharp and final. Her vision exploded white.
Then the pain came—hot, blinding, ripping through her skull like fire.
She gasped. Not a scream, not even a sob. Just a single broken gasp.
He released her.
018 folded in on herself, trembling, clutching her head.
She didn't understand. She'd smiled. Spoken. Shared something personal. That's what people were supposed to do… right?
Warm wetness streaked her cheek—blood, or tears, she couldn't tell.
Above her, 016 turned away without a word. He climbed back into his bed. Lay down. Motionless.
The silence that followed pressed like iron against the air.
018 stayed on the ground, still trembling. Her chest hurt more than her skull.
And yet, slowly, her lips curved upward.
"…He touched me," she whispered.
Her fingers brushed the swelling side of her face. The pain pulsed, sharp, constant. But no tears came. She only bit her lip and held the moment as if it were precious.
Time passed.
016 stirred, eyes snapping open to darkness. The room breathed around him—slow, even sounds of sleeping bodies.
He sat up, one hand drifting to his chest. The place once torn open was whole again. Regenerated. Technology had spared him a cripple's fate.
He didn't know how long that dreamlike stupor had lasted, but by the stillness, it was past lights-out.
His fingers tightened against the sheets. Restlessness gnawed inside him, twisting into nausea. He climbed down the ladder slowly. The instant his foot touched the floor, the sickness dissolved—leaving only a hollow fury behind.
It spread through him. His veins throbbed. His teeth sank into his lip until hot blood slid down his chin.
Something was wrong with his body. He knew why.
In the far corner, he knelt and pulled up a loose tile. Beneath it lay five things: a flashlight, a mirror, a knife, a needle, and thread.
He took the light, flicked it on, and dragged the beam across his skin. His eyes flared crimson. His pupils shrank to pinpoints.
Hickeys. Smears of lipstick. Stains that did not belong. Perfume.
His body trembled, rage crawling beneath his skin.
He tore the sheets from the bed, marched to the steel door, and pressed his fingerprint to the lock. It hissed open. He walked through the corridor with the silence of a predator.
At another door, he paused, staring at the CCTV camera. His glare was enough. The door opened.
Inside the security room, two guards stiffened.
"018… she's obsessed with the wrong one," one whispered, rising from his seat. "He already has Professor L's favor. He isn't… human anymore."
Cold sweat ran down the other's temple. "In this era… when natural births are almost known existent, and Technology taking over, of course there would inhuman and unstable people out there."
Their eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
On it, 016 emerged, blood soaking him from head to toe. The sheets he carried sagged heavy with something wrapped inside. Too large and eerily suspicious.
As he walked, his foot caught. A leg slid free. Both guards froze, their faces drained white.
Another leg. Two arms. The bundle spilled open.
016 groaned, dropped the sheets, and turned back into the dark corridor.
The guard nearest the screen whispered, voice shaking, "Is… is she dead?"
The other shut his eyes tight. "Don't… don't look."
The silence dragged like a blade against their nerves.
"I-I shouldn't have opened the door," the pale guard stammered. "I—shit…"
The other cursed and bolted for the exit, desperate to call for help.
Meanwhile, 016 returned to his quarters. He did not climb to his bed. Instead, he lay down in the corner, curling into the shadows.
And slowly, as if nothing had happened, he drifted into sleep.