In my dreams I'm haunted by monsters.
Glowing purple eyes are all that I have ever seen of them, but I know to be afraid. No matter where or how I hide, they always find me. But all they ever do is stare.
Unblinking.
I'm running away down a dark tunnel.
Five eyes pursue me.
An itch at the back of my neck warns me that they're about to–
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
The wake up tone saves my life.
Sitting up in bed with a groan, I hold my head in my hands. The symptoms of my terror are visceral and lasting. My hands are shaking. My breath is short. My chest is tight. Five eyes. That's a lot. Usually it's only one or two.
It feels like an omen. But that's ridiculous.
"Dreams are just dreams," I remind myself, shrugging off my fear as best I can, then standing to make my bed. "They're figments of the mind…"
As far as I know, anyway.
Our dorm rooms are compressed for perfect spatial efficiency–big enough to be easily navigable without being hindered, but nothing more than that. I think it's a perfect size, but if a friend were here visiting it might get a little cramped.
If only I had a friend to visit…
There's then a strangely long single wide bed, a compact but comfortably sized desk with a shelf above it in the corner, and a small closet to the left of the desk. Inside the closet is a rod with hangers holding several pairs of gray sweatshirts and gray sweatpants, and a small cabinet with two drawers for underwear and pale blue traction socks.
The socks are great. I love these socks. They're really comfortable and warm. Which is great, because I always run cold. The sweatpants and sweatshirts are slim, light, and breathable, but still cozy. I like them a lot. Some of the other girls are already wearing sports bras but I don't need them yet, which I'm fine with.
They're too tight. Feels like being choked.
Once dressed, I check around my room to make sure it's perfect for morning inspection. The bed is made, the desk is clear, and the closet is tidy. We're only allowed to have things out on the shelf, so long as they're small enough to fit. Like little trinkets or something from our art classes or maybe a few books.
Mine is neatly organized. Four library books stand side by side, with a big cool rock as a bookend. I found it out in the Field. I have a few other cool rocks too, but that one's the biggest. Aside from them, I have a dead cicada and a dead dragonfly too.
People dislike them but I think bugs are interesting…
Double checking everything, I hesitate at my door and prepare myself to face other people. It's kind of the worst. Being around them is… agitating. Too much noise and activity makes me very uncomfortable. Not that I have much choice.
The day is starting.
Whether I'm ready or not…
My door opens on a magnetic slider at my touch, disappearing into the wall. Ninety nine people are in the hallway. With a deep breath, I make that one hundred. All of us in Centa Five stand at attention outside and to the left of our open doorways.
Subject Five-Five-Four is across the hallway from me. She's my assigned numerical partner, and a shorter, gloomy looking girl with black hair and narrow eyes. Most of the time her nose is in a sketchbook, or she's tormenting me alongside Five-Five-Eight.
I wish we could be friends, but Four hates me.
I don't know why. She's the second worst.
We don't look at each other.
The long hallway is a sterile white, made of spotless coated metal from the walls to the floors to the ceilings. White light glows from LEDs along the top corners, tucked away and mostly out of sight.
The light can be a little harsh but I like the way the Archway Complex is built. Every other hallway looks just like this one, and I appreciate the consistency. The design is geometric and efficient but not uncomfortable. It feels clean, spacious, and bright.
There isn't a sound aside from the Orders doing room checks and morning vitals. Orders are humanoid shaped robotic orderlies in gray jumpsuits with opaque white faces, featureless and flat.
I think they're supposed to be approachable yet unremarkable, but to me they're looming and unnerving. One of them blankly faces me while the other checks my room. When it steps back out and nods, the one staring at me lifts a finger and a horizontal bright blue light scans over me down then back up.
A circular waveform of the audio output pulses blue in the Order's face as it speaks in a flat robotic voice. "Subject Five-Five-Five. Female. 145 centimeters. 39.97 kilograms. Under target. Dietary control necessary to increase nutrient consumption."
My life falls apart before my eyes. "Excuse me? Th–That can't be right."
"The scans have a zero percent rate of improper output, Subject Five-Five-Five."
Oh no. I know exactly why I'm underweight. Eight keeps stealing or messing up my food. Clawing at my arm over my sleeve, I hang my head and nod. I'm such a failure. It's all my fault. If only I could stand up to her…
"Pass with restrictions." The Orders both move on.
I can feel eyes in the side of my head, but I know it's Eight just waiting for her chance. Four glances at me with a cruel grin. I ignore her. I can't lose composure. I have to stop scratching. So I'm a little underweight. That isn't a big deal. I can fix it. Maybe. I'll just have to eat really fast so Eight can't do anything to my food. Maybe that will work.
I think I might scratch a hole through my skin.
When they finish room checks, we form a straight line in numerical order then head to the left. Four is right in front of me, and Five-Five-Three is in front of her, a tall blond boy who blocks both our views forward. I'm taller than Four so I stare at his back until we reach the Cafeteria where we're allowed to disperse and be at ease.
As if I'll ever be at ease around the others.
The Cafeteria is one of the largest rooms in the Archway Complex, with space enough for the entire First Kilo. The kitchens are on the far side, with tables of all shapes and sizes from here to there, as well as dispenser machines and trash bins scattered around.
In every corner is a little slice of manicured forest dropped right here within the confines of this room. I love the corner gardens. They're so pretty. Trees of all kinds play host to flocks of songbirds that chirp the tunes of long extinct species.
All underneath a wide open pale blue sky.
It's simulated. The whole thing. The trees, the birds, the streams, the bugs, the sky, all of it. None of it is real. I wish they'd remove the giant announcements board floating in the skybox so there'd be a little immersion.
At least then I could pretend it's real.
To my surprise, Three grins at me, walking backwards. "What's up, F–F–Fives? Triple Five? Five Cubed? You sleep alright?"
My voice is weak. "N–No…"
"Aw, shoot!"
He laughs as we get into the breakfast line, standing right beside me. We kind of talk a little sometimes. He's the only person who really speaks to me. Kindly, anyway. I want to be friends but I don't think he does. He's nice to me, but that's all. He's nice to everyone.
It's confusing. Sometimes he's here, sometimes he isn't.
With a heavy sigh, he groans, "Damn, I'm hungry. I'm so hungry. Are you hungry?"
"Don't say that word," I warn him, pulling my fingers through my brown hair. "The D word. That's religious diction. It's against the rules."
"It was an accident, I swear! Besides, it's not like we actually get in trouble for it."
"That's the rule, Three. We have to follow the rules."
"Not every breach of conduct warrants being dropped from the Program, Five…"
"But you never know which one will, do you?"
"Whoa. Whoaaa." He laughs a little more. "Maybe I should stop saying bad words… What are you getting for breakfast today?"
"Noodles."
"For breakfast?"
"I like noodles."
He snickers. "You're so weird."
That hurts. I don't say anything, shrinking away. I have to fight the urge to bite my nails. I'm not supposed to. Instead, I roll up my sleeve and scratch directly at my forearm.
Some girls walk past with their trays and give me dirty looks, muttering and giggling. I hear the word 'it' and then an 'eww!' I hate it when they do that, but it happens a lot. I don't bother anyone, but they all seem to be bothered by me. It doesn't make sense. I don't know what I did wrong.
Most of the time, I think I'm wrong.
Three gives me a look over his shoulder. I know he's checking on me, and some distant part of me appreciates that, but I look away and force myself to stop scratching. My skin is raw and red. I kind of like how it hurts, because now I'm thinking about that, and not about my hurt feelings.
I try to ignore it all and forget them.
It isn't easy. This happens all the time.
Three and I get our meals without another word.
Then we go our separate ways. My nerves get worse.
I have to get to the far side of the Cafeteria.