It's a dark and gloomy day. The rain wasn't just falling — it was coming down hard, beating the streets like it had something personal against them.
Everything looked quiet and kind of dewy at first glance, the sort of calm that makes you think nothing's happening. But if you listened properly, you'd hear the truth: cars splashing through puddles, dogs barking somewhere behind the houses, and people banging on doors, yelling for someone to open up already.
High above all that noise, outside one of the skyscrapers, in the far distance someone was running. Fast - too fast, like they were out of time or maybe trying to outrun it. Their footsteps echoed sharp off rain puddles though and uneven down the hallway until they skidded to a stop at a dead end.
They stared, breathing hard — no, not yet, they thought — and spun around to try another way.
But they didn't get far. They turned straight into something, solid enough to knock the breath out of them. The world tilted, sound drained away, and then everything went black.
And as the sounds and colors of the world slowly seeped back in — all of it still grey and blurry, like someone smeared rainwater across his vision — there was something he heard. Not outside. Inside his head.
A faint click at first, like some tiny machine being switched on.
He tried to open his eyes, but they felt too heavy, so he let them stay shut. The sound grew clearer, mechanical and strangely calm, almost like a system starting up in the back of his skull.
[Scanning…]
A soft hum followed.
[Identity confirmed.]
His pulse jumped. He wasn't imagining it.
Then the voice — metallic, emotionless — continued:
[Replaying… last few memories from three days ago.Error. Unable to fully process everything.]
[System. Confirmed.
We'll play memories. We'll play memories in fragmented space.]
And then it started.
He—or maybe it wasn't him yet, just the memory—found himself in a white room. Sterile, blinding. Other children stood in a straight line from left to right, perfectly still, eyes forward. A scientist walked past, clipboard in hand, calling out names as if nothing else existed.
"14… 37… 29… 40… 43."
The scientist stopped in front of him. Waiting. Patient, but sharp, like a blade hidden behind calm eyes."Did you not hear me? I said 43."
The memory flickered
Blue glitches danced across the edges of his vision. The scene shifted: him, fighting. Fighting something, or maybe someone—but the details kept breaking apart, vanishing like smoke.
Glitch~The image snapped again.
Now he was sitting on a test tube, the sound of a machine pulsing in his ears. Beep… beep… beep… Numbers rising, falling. The scientist's voice came through, cold, clinical.
"43 has started… to grow much quickly, and less stable now."
And the glitching, fragmenting memory continued, both terrifying and strangely familiar, replaying in fits, in pieces, like a puzzle he was never meant to solve.
[Error. Error. Memories will appear at random points between the first time and the last as it glitches again.]
While sitting on a bed watching the other children performing various activities like exercising. As one performs pull-ups on the bed edge, the others meditating in complete silence. And the others all do nothing more than read or lie on the floor staring as the ceiling,he hears a female voice talk to him.
"Forty-three, what made you?
Her face acted as if it's been glitched. But the only thing that she could tell was the same clothes, same height, and the only thing from her face that was visible was her voice and her blue hair.
"So, Thirtee," he continued, "do you think we'll ever leave?"No.
She tell him, 'I don't think we will. It's all… too planned. Tomorrow is the next investors' meeting and they want to see our progress."
"I have decided," he said.
"I know. You're in the bottom tier again," she replied, and you? Will you make it?"
"I'm… quite sure, Thirteen," he answered.
He leaned closer. "Why don't we have names?"
"Because names give identity… and meaning. We're people… but to them, we're just numbers meant to grow."
He sighed softly. "Honestly… that's sad."
[The memory glitched violently.]
Flames, screaming, running through rain-soaked streets. Scientists sprinted for the exits, gunfire tore through alarms.
"GET THE KIDS OUT!" someone yelled.
"Don't let the scientists escape!"
"Lock everything down!"
Forty-three ran. Bodies fell around him: scientists, guards, children. Sparks from broken equipment flew.
"Make sure you protect the assets!" a scientist screamed.
"The assets—look! Over there! I found that— yes, guess what, Forty-three—"
[Snap.]
A blue screen replaced the chaos:
[Memory sequence unable to continue.
Current memories are unknown.]
The rain returned, heavier this time. The system spoke again:
[Scanning…
You are currently in danger.
Survive.]
Forty-three opened his eyes. Someone had caught up to him in the alley.
---
Forty‑three backed up, step by step, until his shoulders hit the same brick wall he'd slammed into earlier. The smear of his blood was still there, fresh and dark against the wet stone. His breath hitched. He had nowhere left to go.
One of the captors stepped forward, knife already drawn, rain dripping off the blade.
"Relax, relax… no where to go you , devil," he muttered. "We don't wanna hurt you more than we have to, kid."
The second man groaned, brushing wet hair off his forehead."Dude, he's just a kid. He can't be older than nine."
"Shut up," the first snapped. "We don't get paid to care. We're told to get the asset back, and that's it. Nothing more."
Forty‑three's heartbeat hammered so hard it made his chest shake.
A third man laughed, loud and ugly.
"Ha! Just look at him—he's terrified. I don't know why they told us to be cautious with these things. These damn vinman—" he spit on the ground "—they're nothing but human imitators. They'll never be like us."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," the fourth muttered, stepping closer.
The first man grabbed Forty‑three by the collar and yanked him upright.
Forty‑three's voice broke as he begged, "Please… don't do this. I'm begging you…"
"Well look at that," the knife‑man smirked. "This one talks. The others we hunted down barely even learned how to scream once the pain started."
"Just make it quick," the fourth man said, annoyed. "Money won't get itself."
Forty‑three shut his eyes tight. His whole body trembled. Then—
[Warning.]
A faint blue flicker.
[You are in current danger.
Beginning self‑defense mode.]
His eyes snapped open just a little, but the system's light was too bright to focus on.
[Self‑defense mode activated.
Searching for requirements.
Your heartbeat is currently exceeding 122 beats per minute.
Adrenaline levels rising dramatically.
Self‑defense sequence will begin shortly.]
His vision blurred. The world tilted sideways. His hands felt numb.
The last thing he heard was:
[Defense mode activated.
You will now be safe.]
Then everything—sound, touch, smell, fear—bled into pure black.
When his eyes opened again, he was standing.
The alley was silent.All four captors were on the ground.
Dead. Their bodies twisted unnaturally, their blood mixing with the rainwater and running toward the drain. Forty‑three stumbled back, choking on the shock. His white clothes—already dirty from running—were now splattered with red. Not all of it was his.
One of the men was somehow still alive, barely. He reached out with a shaking hand, coughing blood."You… damn… Vinman…" he wheezed. "I'm… gonna… kill—"
He didn't finish.
A force—fast and sharp like a tear in reality—ripped him away from sight. The body vanished, leaving only a faint distortion in the air.
And in his place stood a woman.
A lady dressed entirely in red, holding a matching red umbrella as if the storm didn't bother her at all. Her presence was calm. Too calm for someone standing in a killing ground.
She looked at the boy.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft but impossibly clear through the rain.
Forty‑three's dungarees were too tight and too short, clinging to his legs and restricting every movement. He tried to take a step back, but the fabric caught awkwardly.
The lady's own red‑dressed dungarees swayed as she stepped closer-slow,deliberate—until she noticed him shrink away.She paused.
Her eyes drifted across the alley, observing everything with an eerie level of calm, like the sight of three's dead men and rain running red was the most normal thing in her day.
"Was that one…" she muttered under her breath, then sighed. "Okay. The one that just disappeared… it had to be one of them."
She crouched a bit, counting the bodies with her finger as if taking inventory.
"Two,three,and four… so they're currently dead. One of them is barely living. And I don't remember—" she tilted her head to the side "—I don't remember where I took him to."
Her eyes slid toward the boy."Did you do this, small boy?"Forty‑three didn't answer. He didn't even blink.She hummed, almost approvingly.
"Hmm.
Okay. Look, I won't hurt you."She lowered her umbrella—its red fabric shining in the rain—and slowly knelt, bringing herself to eye level with him. She kept a safe distance though, like she knew he'd bolt or break if she got too close.
"You know," she said with a tired laugh, "I tried getting here as quickly as I could, but… a lot of my valuable things are scattered all over the city, so…" She ran a hand through her wet hair. "So I was moving around like a headless chicken."
Forty‑three remained silent. Too scared. Too small. Too… trained. He looked at her—really looked—and the scent of roses drifted from her like a whisper. Strong enough to be noticeable even under the heavy rain. And her red outfit… it almost glowed, practically singing against the grey world around them.
Before he could pull his gaze away, she asked him softly:
"What's your name?" His eyes widened. A question like that felt illegal. He swallowed, voice trembling, barely a breath."Forty‑three."
"Forty‑three?" She blinked. "Silly, that's not a name. Those are numbers." Her expression softened. "What's your real name?"
He repeated it, even quieter than before, almost disappearing under the sound of rain.
"Forty‑three."
The lady's smile faded. She studied him—his hollow stare, the stiffness of his shoulders, the way his frame looked like it was trying to grow into something he wasn't allowed to be. Empty. He looked empty.
"Okay, Forty‑three… that's not right," she said softly. "What they did to you shouldn't happen to a kid. Or anyone." She gestured toward the dead men with a flick of her hand. "And these damn morons who agreed to do this for money? They're society's scum. Honestly, society itself is corrupted inside and out."
She leaned in slightly, voice low and firm, the kind that made you listen even when you didn't want to.
"But it's going to be up to people like me and people like you if you what … who are going to save it okay?", With faint smile.
"Listen, 43," she said, voice soft, almost a whisper. "I know you don't trust, and I also don't know who you are. But… you look like you need a safe place. Someone to care for you. Do you know who your parents are?"
"Parents… you mean the people responsible for making me, taking care of me, or even just allowing me to exist?"
Her eyes softened. "Wow… I wasn't expecting that. So, 43… how old are you exactly?"
He didn't answer."Who asked? Is it really relevant? Wow… okay," she said, shaking her head.
"My name… Tie Ciss. I'm a Vin Finder. I help find Vinman like you—hurt by the world—and make sure they have a safe place. I can take you to one, if you want. Somewhere you don't have to live in constant fear."
She paused. "I could take you to one of the facilities… but judging from how you act… these people have broken you. Almost made you mechanical. I know someone personally… someone who needs someone special, someone who can understand her. She also needs to be shown love. If you trust me, I can take you to meet her. Do you agree?" Forty-three thought for a moment. Then nodded.
"Good. Now… come closer. We need to leave if we're going to get there in time."
And without warning, he ran into her. Hugged her tight. She picked up her umbrella, lifted him onto her shoulders, and whispered softly, "I got you. And you… you're going to have a real name this time." Forty-three's eyelids grew heavy. Darkness crept in again.
[Current memories are too traumatic for Beryl to use.
But we feel memories behind memory vaults classified level 4.]