I'm scared. Everything's so white—the walls, the floor, the ceiling, even the bed. It's too bright, and so, so cold. There are no doors or windows anywhere. I scream as loud as I can, hoping someone will come let me out, but no one does. My throat hurts. I just want my mommy.

It was my birthday. I remember Mommy and me, smiling and laughing, and there was cake with candles on it. I just blew them out, and then there was a knock on the door. Mommy went to see who it was, and then… and then what? Why can't I remember? How did I get here? I just want my mommy.

I curl up in a ball on the bed, my face all wet from crying. I'm tired. My hands hurt from hitting the walls, but maybe if I wait a little, I'll feel better, and I can try again. I don't know how long I've been here. My tummy keeps growling. Maybe when Mommy comes, she'll bring ice cream.

Then, the wall in front of me slides open with a soft whoosh, and two men walk in. I sit up fast –excited, thinking it was my mommy but instead two men walked in. Tears sprang up in my eyes in disappointment and fear as I quickly scooted back against the head of the bed, my heart pounding. The first man wears a gray suit and a silver mask that covers half his face, like he's at a costume party. But his mask isn't pretty; it's scary and shiny. The other man has messy gray hair and a white coat that barely fits. Are they doctors? Maybe I got sick, and Mommy brought me to the hospital? I don't like doctors—they always have needles.

"Jay Winters," says the man with gray hair, reading from a clipboard he brought with him. His voice sounds strange, like he's talking into a big, empty room. "Five years old. Born to Jacob and Eloise Winters. Lost her father two years ago. Blood type O negative. Test results show she is healthy overall."

The other man—the one in the suit—tilts his head, staring at me as he steps closer. He has black hair, all neat and shiny, but his eyes are the worst. They're so dark, so black that it's like he doesn't have any eyes at all, just holes that look right through me.

I start to shiver. My heart's going too fast, and I can feel my hands shaking. "Can I go home then? You said I'm not sick, right?" I ask, my voice tiny and shaky. "I want to go back to my mommy."

The man in the suit doesn't answer right away. He just pulls off one of his white gloves, and his hand reaches for my arm. "I just need to do one more test, child," he says, his voice soft and scary. "Then I'll decide if you can go back to your mommy or not."

As soon as his hand touches my skin, fire shoots through my arm—so much pain, worse than I ever felt before. I scream, my voice ripping out of me, and try to pull away, but he holds on tight. It hurts, it hurts so much. My veins feel like they're going to pop, like something's trying to crawl through them.

I grab his hand and bite down, my teeth sinking in until I taste something warm and icky, like pennies. He finally yanks his hand away, and I flop back on the bed, dizzy and shaking. My ears are buzzing, my eyes going dark, and my whole body hurts.

"Fascinating," Suit says, like he's not even mad that I bit him. His voice sounds funny, like he's interested, like I'm some kind of puzzle. He puts his glove back on. "Add her to the program."

"Isn't she a little young?" The other man's voice sounds confused, like he's unsure. "She's only five."

"No one older or younger has lasted that long with my touch, let alone fought back," Suit says, sounding almost happy. "She's strong. I need someone like that. Maybe she'll survive what we have in store for her."

"But Sire… the recommended age is at least ten years old. I don't think—"

"Are you questioning my orders, doctor?" Suit's voice turns cold and sharp. "Because then I'd have to ask why there's a five-year-old among this batch if you already knew the age limit. And you really don't want me asking that question. Trust me."

The man with gray hair goes quiet, his voice small. "I'll get started on her right away," he says, his voice shaking as the darkness pulls me under, quiet and safe.

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