CHAPTER ONE
cw: violence, blood, medical procedures, child soldier themes, abuse/manipulation, disordered eating, death/killing, grooming undertones
please let me know your thoughts! xx
wake up call
the light flickered.
a low constant hum from a generator filled the halls, then a soft lullaby played over the speakers.
her eyes opened.
five a.m.
she sat up, slowly.
the thin mattress creaked underneath her as she swung her legs over the side and stood up.
“number eight.”
she turned her head towards the door.
a tall man stood, dressed fully in protective gear with a shaved head.
she sighed.
“medical before breakfast.”
she nodded.
laughter filled the halls.
they were treating this batch differently.
like girls, real ones.
but beyond that, she could hear the boys waking up and trudging through the building.
she exhaled through her nose as she peeled her tank top off her blood soaked side.
she didn’t remember why she didn’t stitch the wound last night, why she was still slowly bleeding.
she fixed her hair, tying it in a ponytail, didn’t bother changing before she left her room.
she earned the freedom of not having uniform standards.
down the hall, to the right, she found the med bay.
a woman sat, waiting for her.
“fifth time this week, eight,” the doctor sighed. pulling open a metal drawer, she searched for what she needed as the girl sat down.
the doctor shook her head and gave her a sideways glance, tugging blue latex gloves on.
“she’s getting pissed.”
eight just stared ahead, pulled her tank top up.
and let the woman stitch the wound over her ribs.
the antiseptic stung as it cleaned and protected her skin.
she didn’t flinch, didn’t whimper or cry. it hurt—of course it hurt, but that was the only thing she felt now.
deep down there was a voice in her head that said she deserved it.
her eyes flickered over to a scalpel resting on a metal cart.
too heavy to throw properly, the centre of gravity on the weapon wasn’t right. but still, eight wondered how she’d be able to use it.
her blue eyes moved to the doctor.
she’d slit her throat, if she had to use it. quick and easy.
wait.
why was she thinking that?
why was she thinking?
she heard heels clicking on marble tiles and instantly straightened her posture.
so quick and sudden, the doctor sucked in a breath, and accidentally stabbed the needle deeper into eight’s skin.
she didn’t react.
a woman moved into the room, black heels, long legs and dressed fully in white. brown hair tied into a bun, red lipstick and cold blue eyes.
their handler.
they could only refer to her as “ma’am”.
the handler’s voice carried through the halls, strong and firm, unmistakably british.
“hello, darling. how was last night?” she sounded tired, like she’d been the one who was running around the city last night.
eight blinked once, took in a deep breath and ignored the way her heart started to race.
“successful.” eight rasped, her eyes falling to the floor. “target down, no witnesses.”
“and yet,” the handler sighed. “here you are being stitched back together.”
“i got caught on a wired fence.” eight replied, holding back the bite in her tone. she looked up to meet the handler’s gaze.
“you know better than that. you should be faster, more agile.” the older woman raised her brows, looking disappointed.
she still wasn’t good enough.
“yes ma’am.”
the handler cleared her throat and looked over her shoulder, then back to eight. “you won’t get breakfast.”
“i wasn’t planning on allowing myself it.” she replied through gritted teeth, clenching her jaw and swallowing down a groan.
the handler smiled. with bright, pearly white perfect teeth.
“good girl, number eight.” the older woman praised.
“self punishment is a good thing.”
and eight’s tension melted away. her chest felt a little lighter, like it was easier to breathe.
“understood.” she nodded, looking up at the handler again.
“you’ll train the girls today.” the british woman said softly, a kind look in her eye.
why couldn’t the boys do it?
the final stitch was made, her skin felt tight and warm, throbbing in a dull, aching way.
“she can’t do anything too physical, she’ll split or tear her stitches.” the doctor announced, cleaning up her work space as eight tugged her tank top down.
“she’ll deal with it.” the handler shrugged. “won’t you, sweetheart?”
eight nodded, rose to her feet and followed the handler out. her handler did a double take and sighed, turning to face her fully.
“oh, my sweet girl,” the older woman whispered, lifting a hand to the her cheek.
“you look absolutely drained.” she sighed, her brows pulled together and eyes worried.
eight stared up at the woman, feeling her thumb brush back and forth over her cheek bone.
she tried not to react, to lean into her touch like she used to.
the handler smiled, slowly, her expression relaxed and she leaned in closer. rubbing her nose against eight’s.
“perfect.”
she gave eight’s face a little pat, then spun back around and started walking.
“sixteen and twelve need to practice their aim.”
eight’s hands clenched into fists.
“fifteen needs help with her stance,”
why did she have to train them?
“twenty needs to practice throwing punches.” the handler sighed, then laughed.
“and god help eighteen, the poor thing. she’s incredibly inexperienced.”
they walked into the dining room—more like a cafeteria—and all the chatter suddenly died down.
a few boys snickered at the young girls reactions.
eight’s eyes found an empty table, ten seats.
she used to sit there. across from seven. stuck in between six and ten.
but across from it, right in the centre, was a new table. ten young girls sat, waiting and watching.
eleven to twenty. the first set of the new generation.
the boys were the back, scarfing down food, watching the scene unfolding.
number nine and ten gave her a nod. the male version of eight rolled his eyes. and five?
five smirked. cocky, defiant almost.
eight nearly copied the other eight.
“good morning.” the teens mumbled.
the girls weren’t teenagers—just named after them.
eight found it easier to call them a group, rather than the term ‘numbers’.
because they weren’t the original numbers.
no, they were the back ups.
now that her own was gone.
when the new set was brought in, it was girls this time.
she guessed when the boys died out, they’d replace them too.
“training begins in half an hour, eight will be teaching.”
she watched a few girls light up, a few look away.
one girl—eighteen—smiled so widely she stood out.
“finish up and prepare.”
sixteen, the oldest of the group, around thirteen years old. their eyes met, hazel, almost green—
—she laughed as they walked, soft hazel eyes. almost green. freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose, dry rosy lips with slightly crooked teeth—
eight sucked in a quick breath and looked down.
she kept getting these flashes. memories almost, maybe déjà vu?
like she had lived another life.
she knew she wasn’t…born here. that she was saved.
she didn’t remember when or how, only that every night she would remember different things.
stop.
she clenched her jaw. dug her nails into her palms.
“eight.”
both looked up. glancing at the handler. but the older woman only looked at her.
“go get ready.”