Chapter 2: 087 (Expanded, Part 1)
Pain was the first thing Theo registered as he regained consciousness. It wasn't the sharp, fleeting kind that came from a simple injury. No, this pain was deep and lingering, seated in his muscles and bones, as though his very essence had been torn apart and pieced back together wrong. His head pounded with the rhythm of his heartbeat, each throb a reminder that he was still alive—though he wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse.
His eyes fluttered open, only to be greeted by dim, flickering light. The ceiling above was smooth and metallic, reflecting the sickly glow of a single bulb that swung lazily from the ceiling. His nostrils flared at the scent of iron, sweat, and something sterile, like the faint tang of antiseptic. The air was cold, biting at his skin.
Theo tried to sit up, but his body refused to obey. That's when he realized why—thick restraints bound his wrists and ankles, locking him into a steel chair that was bolted to the floor. Panic surged through him as he tugged at the bindings, his movements frantic and desperate. The metal didn't budge.
"Where...where am I?" he croaked, his voice hoarse and weak. He couldn't remember how he got here. The last thing he recalled was the alley, the strange man with the emblem, and Seraphina's cold smile. And then…nothing. Darkness had swallowed him whole.
A mechanical hiss filled the room as the door slid open. Theo froze. Two figures entered, their footsteps sharp against the metallic floor. One was a tall man, clad in a long black coat that flowed behind him like a shadow. His face was hidden behind a mask adorned with intricate, ominous carvings. The other was Seraphina. Her presence was suffocating, her piercing gray eyes locking onto Theo with an intensity that made his blood run cold.
"087," she said, her voice devoid of warmth or emotion.
Theo blinked, his confusion evident. "What are you—"
"You no longer have a name," she interrupted, her tone sharp and final. "Names are for people. You are not a person. You are a tool, a weapon, and weapons do not need names. You are 087 now."
Theo's mind reeled. "What are you talking about?" he spat, anger flaring in his chest. "You can't just—"
His words were cut short as a surge of searing pain coursed through his body. He cried out, his back arching against the restraints. It felt like fire and lightning had merged, tearing through his nerves with merciless precision. Through the haze of agony, he saw the device in Seraphina's hand—a small, sleek remote with a single glowing button.
"You'll learn quickly, 087," she said, her tone as cold as her gaze. "Resistance is futile. The more you fight, the more you'll suffer."
Theo gritted his teeth, his breaths ragged and shallow. He glared at her with a defiance that refused to be extinguished. "You think this will break me?" he snarled, his voice trembling but firm.
Seraphina smirked. "Break you? No, not yet. We're just beginning."
---
The First Week
The days that followed were a blur of pain, exhaustion, and confusion. Theo was dragged through a labyrinth of steel corridors, his every step watched by masked guards. The facility was vast, cold, and unwelcoming, a maze of shadows and secrets. He was thrown into a cell with little more than a thin cot and a bucket in the corner.
Every morning, the door would open, and he would be escorted—sometimes dragged—into a training chamber. There, the real nightmare began.
They called it "conditioning." Theo called it torture.
The sessions started with physical drills—push-ups, sit-ups, and running laps until his muscles screamed for mercy. When he collapsed, they shocked him with that infernal device, forcing him to keep going. Once his body was battered and bruised, they moved on to his mind.
"Use your power," a faceless instructor commanded during one of the sessions.
Theo stared at the dummy before him, a crude mannequin made of dense metal. His Void magic was still foreign to him, a wild and untamed force that he didn't fully understand. He had no idea how to summon it on command.
"I...I can't," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
The instructor's response was immediate. He pressed a button, and pain exploded in Theo's chest. He screamed, his knees buckling beneath him.
"You can," the instructor said, his tone eerily calm. "You just don't want it enough."
Theo clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. Rage bubbled beneath his skin, a storm of frustration and fear. He focused on the dummy, willing something—anything—to happen. For a moment, nothing changed. And then, faintly, the air around the dummy began to ripple. A small, dark distortion appeared, barely the size of a pebble.
"Good," the instructor said, though there was no praise in his voice. "Now do it again."
---
The Descent into Numbers
It didn't take long for Theo to notice the others. There were dozens of them—boys and girls of all ages, all clad in the same gray uniforms, all wearing the same vacant expressions. None of them had names. They had numbers, etched onto small metal tags that hung around their necks like collars.
They didn't speak to one another. They barely even looked at each other. They moved like ghosts, their steps mechanical, their eyes devoid of light. Theo hated it. He hated the silence, the lifelessness, the way the cult had stripped them of their humanity.
But more than that, he feared it.
"Is this what they'll turn me into?" he thought, staring at the girl across the hallway. Her tag read 042. She couldn't have been older than ten, yet her eyes were empty, her small hands trembling as she carried a tray of food. Theo's stomach churned.
---
The First Flicker of Rebellion
One night, as he lay on the cold, hard cot in his cell, Theo stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. He replayed every conversation, every order, every flicker of pain. He wasn't just afraid anymore—he was angry.
"I'm not a number," he whispered to himself. "I'm not a weapon. I'm Theo Beaumont."
For the first time since his capture, he allowed himself to feel hope. It was small, fragile, but it was there. He didn't know how or when, but he would escape.
And when he did, he would make them pay.