I can only smell the scent of Clitoria flowers. My feet rest upon a field of blue blossoms, an open and limpid space. A calm breeze whispers in my ears. A humanoid figure stands before me.
For some reason, she feels familiar. At that moment, tears stream down my face, and a single sentence hammers relentlessly in my mind:
— Mother... don't cry, you'll get better!
[15 Minutes Later]
With my eyes still closed, I feel a sense of comfort beneath my head. I gently place my hand on the surface, my fingers gripping instinctively. I feel a woman's skin. A sweet fragrance fills my nostrils. A hand caresses my head with tenderness, while a calm, sweet voice says:
— My little one, are you awake yet? We have much work to do today.
In an instant, I hear a metallic snap: "Crack!". I feel something cold and heavy tightening around my neck. I snap my eyes open, desperate. My hands fly to my throat, fumbling with the metallic shape of a collar. The figure before me was still a woman.
She was beautiful: orange eyes and hair, freckles on her face, and golden earrings. The woman smiled at me with a relaxed expression. As I looked around, I realized we were in a four-wheeled vehicle. In the center, where a driver would be, there was a panel and five ropes. Four of those ropes were taut, being put to use.
In front of me, I saw four men wearing only loincloths, running on all fours at high speed, pulling the vehicle. They all wore metallic collars identical to mine. I looked back at the woman sitting in the driver's seat as the landscape of destroyed buildings blurred in the background.
She maintained that "little smile." Within seconds, as our eyes locked, she made a swift move, tethering my collar to the last rope, which had been loose until then. My body was violently jerked to the ground. The vehicle slowed for a moment, and the men in collars stared at me. I saw a silent plea in their faces: "Help me."
Turning back to the woman, I saw her brandishing a worn, black whip. With a sharp flick, the lash struck my back. I scrambled up in a jolt as her words hit me:
— Get up, you filthy hound! Do as you're told, or you'll taste more of the whip!
The gentle smile had twisted into a sickening, pleasurable expression. I only screamed, feeling the trauma of my past echo:
— Please, don't hurt me. I beg you!
I had no idea, but my situation was about to get much worse...
[10 Minutes Later]
We approached a tall building that, once luxurious, was now nothing more than a concrete carcass.
— Halt, hounds! We've reached the hideout — the woman barked.
Looking to the side, I saw the other four men: they were malnourished and exhausted. I could no longer feel my feet; my body cried out for an impossible rest. The woman gathered the five ropes in her left hand, leading us through the underground parking lot. The path shifted; we turned right, and the men lined up in single file toward the fire escape. As we climbed, she hurried us along:
— Move it, you pigs! You stink.
"How can someone be so deplorable?" I wondered. "She reminds me of someone... I hate this!"
Upon reaching the 15th floor, we were led into a vast hall, decorated with golden lights and a dance floor at its center. Looking up, I saw galleries where women laughed at us, as if we were a circus act. We crossed the stage and entered a prison area. There were three cells; the woman threw us into the center one with a look of pure disgust, locking the gate and leaving immediately.
In the silence that followed, I turned to the oldest man, but received no response. It was the youngest who called out to me:
— If you want to know something, you'd better talk to me. Those ones have already given up on life.
— My name is Arata. What's yours?
— Unfortunately, we don't have names. I'm Number 4. That's 3 — he said, pointing to a slightly older man. — That's 2, and 1 is the one who didn't answer you.
4 explained the cruel hierarchy: the platoons went from A to F. Ours was E. Every night, they forced us to fight our own "Platoon Owner," Uiyiki. Even if we won, it would be a defeat, for we would be forced to kill each other afterward.
As I formulated a plan, another woman with white hair and a black coat appeared, opening the gate to Platoon D. Screams for help echoed. I had to act. I remembered my class: [Recreator].
I pointed my palm at a stone on the floor, trying to "scan" it. [Unable to Analyze]
I understood the error. I needed "Objects" made by humanity. I focused on the cell's iron bars. [Do you wish to analyze this item?] [Yes] [No]
After selecting [Yes], the blue panel suddenly shifted to a pulsing red: [WAREHOUSE]
— This "Warehouse" stored what I analyzed... — I whispered. The panel showed slots; the first held the sheet I had recreated earlier, and the second displayed the structure of the bars. Selecting the bars, the system asked if I wished to delete the object. I canceled quickly. — I need to be careful where I click.
I noticed a [Rewards] button below Status. The panel returned to its glowing blue. [Do you wish to receive your rewards now?] [Confirm]
As I pressed the button, a searing pain exploded in my hands. It was so intense I threw myself to the floor, agonizing. It felt like my bones were being ground to dust. The pain spread throughout my entire body, finally concentrating in my eye. I blacked out for hours.
I woke up with the sun streaming through the window and Number 4 staring at me. — It's today — he said. — In a few hours, our owner will come to take us to that hellhole where we'll fight her.
He hesitated, staring fixedly at me. — What is it? — I asked aloud. — I wanted to know if you're okay... because your eye isn't.
I focused my vision on him. The system fired frenzied messages:
[Upgrade Successful!][Target Identified: Human][Do you wish to Decompose and Recreate him?] [Yes] [No]