All students in the Nursery are seated quietly in the large room with several rows of seats occupied, not a single sound coming from anyone, although the numbers are reduced for the past seven years.
"It appears all the rooms are here today, isn't 42?"
"I suppose you're right, 44….. but aren't you thinking it's a little odd that we are lut together in one room"
" Yes, it is quite odd but i don't know, i feel excited"
Excited? that not the word i would describe my self right now in terms of feelings,
Though the numbers of the students of the Nursery have dwindled the past few years, i wasn't expecting the numbers to be that low.
Adults came to the room, they weren't instructors this time but different individuals with masks on.
They took away students one by one, row by row, until it came my turn.
I was curious.
Where are we being taken to, this isn't part of our daily curriculum so it is natural my curiosity grew.
The man in a mask had a triangle facing down as a symbol.
He took me by my hands gently and urged me to follow him.
I wasn't going to object anyway, cause we are taught to follow orders without hesitation.
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I was led to room with cameras at each corner of the wall, two seat and a table in between.
The walls was grey just like the atmosphere of the Nursery in a whole.
The man walked out of the room, leaving without a single word.
I stared at the wall briefly, i took my seat and stared at nothing in particular.
It has been an hour when i got here. i wasn't planning on getting up, nor was i really going to seat still.
I stared at my reflection on the surface of the table and to be honest i haven't really seen myself before, at least for a very long time. Maybe i have but never really payed any attention.
The room was a tomb.
42 sat in the center of it, his hands resting on the cold metal table, fingers tracing the faint grooves etched into its surface. The walls were gray—not the sterile white of the Nursery's training halls, but the gray of storm clouds and ash. Cameras blinked in the corners, their red lights like tiny, unblinking eyes.
He'd been here for an hour. Maybe two. Time stretched and warped in the Nursery, a malleable thing shaped by the whims of the adults who controlled it.
The door clicked open.
A woman stepped inside.
She was older than he'd imagined, her face lined with shadows and regrets. Her hair, a dull brown streaked with gray, fell loosely around her shoulders. She wore a faded dress, its fabric frayed at the edges, and her hands trembled as she clutched a small, tattered handbag.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other.
"Do you remember me, dear?" she asked, her voice cracking like brittle paper.
42 didn't answer. He couldn't. The word *mother* felt foreign, a relic from a life he'd never known.
She sat across from him, her movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid he might bolt. When she reached for his hands, he didn't pull away. Her skin was warm, calloused, and it sent a strange, unfamiliar ache through him.
"I… I am your mother," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
42's chest tightened. *Mother.* The word echoed in his mind, hollow and heavy.
"Why are you so sure I'm your child?" he asked, his tone flat, detached.
She flinched, her hands withdrawing as if burned. "I am your mother, Klein. You are my son."
*Klein.* The name hit him like a punch to the gut. It didn't belong to him. It couldn't. He was 42. A number. A weapon.
"You don't have to push yourself," he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. "You don't have to feel guilty."
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked like a cornered animal. "What are you talking about?"
"Coming back to your son won't wash away your guilt," he continued, his words sharp and precise. "In fact, it's disrespectful to think it could."
Her face twisted, anger flashing in her eyes. "What do you know about being a mother, you little shit? I've been asked to come meet with you, and this is what I get?"
42 tilted his head, studying her. "Why are parents being brought here? It's pointless to try to reconnect with children you've already given up."
Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. "You know nothing about the circumstances of those adults who had to give up their children to this horrible place."
"When speaking about other parents," he said, his voice calm, "are you projecting yourself into that sentence? Perhaps you still have concern for your son after all these years."
She stared at him, her lips trembling. "Interesting how your perception has improved. You've done well in the Nursery of this set."
Her words stung, though he couldn't say why. "Do you not care about your son?"
She leaned forward, her hollow black eyes locking onto his. "Hahahaha."
The laugh was sudden, jarring. It filled the room, sharp and brittle, before fading into silence.
"You're one hell of a kid," she said, her voice dripping with bitterness. "I thought you might understand… but it seems like you're still the child I gave birth to. Why would I care for an abomination like you?"
The words hung in the air, sharp and suffocating.
42's hands twitched, but he kept his face blank. "You're an unwanted child," she continued, her voice rising. "I never wanted you to begin with. Yet I couldn't do it… I couldn't abort you. And your father? He's another bastard."
The silence that followed was deafening.
42 broke it first. "I never wanted a mother. I wished I'd never met you."
She froze, her breath catching.
"No," he continued, his voice soft but cutting. "To be honest, I've never thought of you even once during my stay here. I never hated you. You were nonexistent to me. I just knew I came from a woman, and I appreciated it. I was glad to be born."
Her face crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"But I never gave a damn about your well-being," he said, his tone final. "If you breathe or if you're dead… you've fulfilled your part. Now you can enjoy life to the fullest. You're still young, Mother."
She wiped her tears, her hands shaking. "I suppose we've come to a conclusion. You're mature enough to understand."
"Don't feel sorry, Mother," he said, his voice softening for the first time. "We didn't even have enough time to make a bond, so why the tears?"
She stood, her chair scraping against the floor. At the door, she paused, her back to him.
"I hope to never meet you again, Klein."
The name lingered in the air like a ghost.
When the door clicked shut, 42 exhaled, his hands trembling for the first time.
*Why?*
Why had he pushed her away? Why had he refused to let her in?
The answer came unbidden, whispered from the darkest corners of his mind:
*Because I'm scared.*