Thirteen found himself losing his humanity bit by bit as they trained him to be the perfect tool. He had found that the moment he was branded, he was a number, not only was he a number he was also a guardian, one of the very few with virus implanted in him. After the branding of his number that burned his flesh and carving the roman numeral into his arm, his name, he was forced to endure hell's training. If he didn't complete it he would be whipped until he could, he would be beaten down for breaking any rules or requirements, punished for anything that was outside of regulation, his uniform, his posture, all of this had to be within protocol. It started light, something on par with a harsh exercise routine of running several miles with weights wrapped around his ankle, dozens of sets of push ups, sit ups, pull ups, and the sort. After gaining his endurance, strength, and agility they had to strengthen his skills. Hand to hand combat, sword fighting, and shooting where all part of the next corse. But after he learned how to hit still targets, he was forced to hunt. At first it was something as simple as shooting a bird, killing a squirrel, leaves even, but as he advanced he was forced to kill his first human.
Thirteen probably will never forget the first time he was required to kill another human being. The whole thing was embedded into his memory, he remembered the man was strapped to a chair with deep cuts scattered along his body, his entire body shivering from a multitude of reasons, his nails ripped and his teeth gone, the disgusting amounts of sweat stenching the air along with the staining sent of his blood. Thirteen could even remember how there was a dark stain between the man's legs, the vile smell of the man pissing himself tainted the air. But what Thirteen remembered the most was the silent screams that seemed to be within the man's eyes, the deep fear of pain and death flooded the man's dark colored eyes, the type of color that Thirteen once had before he became Thirteen. The man had his tongue cut, unable to say words, but if he could he would be begging for mercy, something they all seemed to forgotten along with their humanity. As per ordered, Thirteen raised his gun and shot the man right between the brows, to end the man's misery as soon as possible, along with his own.
After that Thirteen seemed to have forgotten how to speak. He remained silent, as if it were a long lasting respect towards all those who were murdered under his own hands. Thirteen felt his voice never mattered to begin with, if anything the staff around him preferred if he just shut up and did as he was told to begin with. After his first kill, thirteen was advanced to the next course of requirements, torture and assassination. Within this course it was not only torture for others, but for himself. This was when he was required to learn about his skill, Excel. His skill was something no human should have to withstand, the increase of all senses of a scale of ten fold. What child should be forced to see miles away? Hear all sound as if he was being blasted by speakers every second that his ability was activated, making him feel as if his eardrums were bursting. Thirteen continued to endure, to advance.
Thirteen managed to complete all of his required training in an exponential pace. Becoming an empty shell, or rather a boy who had locked his heart deep into his soul creating a robotic personality as a shield. The only reason why he had yet to shoot himself was rather because he had a slight hope of being saved. The utopia in this dystopia. Garden city, the place that the soldier children could be placed in as a facade of freedom. Only those who have completed training along with a solid track record of one hundred completed missions. The best of the numbers were placed there to make sure that they didn't go insane. There was only a few that could be relocated there. It was a city where adults didn't enter. A place where others like him were placed. For currently, all the people around him were eighteen year olds who were too old to become numbers, but young enough to become staff. There was a deep divide between staff and the numbered. Numbered were the children that were forced to work, th staff were the older teenagers who didn't need to be killed off and placed as brainless foot soldiers, well unless you were naturally gifted and didn't become the guard dog with a taser. Staff had there own ranks, but it was rather vague to thirteen, for he saw all of them as monsters.
Thirteen felt that he was so close to freedom, a long two years of torture and the decomposition of his humanity was all worth it to get a chance to escape this. He could almost reach it, this chance to advance to a higher plane.
"Get Thirteen over here." The women who he had met a few years ago when he had first awoken. These past couple years had cleared his head, rather it had opened his eyes to the memories of what had happened to him before, his forgotten peaceful past that quickly turned into the destruction of everything he once loved. He remembered the most beautiful smile coming from a slightly aged women which he believed to be his mother. He remembered the large gentle hand that was slightly callused, yet always warm filled with kindness that would ruffle his hair that he assumed was from his father, he remembered the boy who held him close, and the annoying girl with the blue dress with white frills, her blue ribbon, and the outstretched hand. His mind was set on one goal of advancing.