The hollow clink of metal doors sliding shut echoed down the dim corridors of the Pandora Institution. I had been here for years now, assigned to monitor Block C—the place where twenty children, all created to serve, were about to face their grim fate. No escape. No mercy. Just survival.

The project was called "The Culling." Its purpose, according to the deranged director, was to determine the "King of the Culling," much like the ancient Gu Poison ritual where a jar of poisonous creatures was left to battle until only one remained—the deadliest. Except here, the creatures were children, bred with powers beyond comprehension, but still children.

I stood in the surveillance room, the weight of everything gnawing at my soul. I'd protested when I first arrived, trying to hold onto some thread of morality. These were children, super-abled or not. But the director had quickly silenced me with a veiled threat. He told me the story of a woman who once stood where I stood, who tried to fight back. She disappeared, leaving behind only whispers of rebellion and death. That was all I needed to hear to understand the message: challenge the system, and you don't leave this place alive.

So I stayed. I watched. And every day, the walls closed in tighter, my guilt becoming a part of me like a second skin.

But today was different. Today, the event was happening.

I glanced at the monitor, my eyes drifting to the faces of the children in Block C. Twenty of them, each with their unique powers, sitting together, unaware of the horrors about to unfold. My gaze lingered on John—a boy who had been created with telekinesis. He was kind, quiet, different from the others. While some reveled in their gifts, flaunting them, he remained reserved. I had taken an interest in him. He was smart, too smart, and I feared his kindness would be his downfall in a place like this.

The doors to the house in Block C sealed shut with a thud that echoed through the halls of my mind. The experiment had begun. I clenched my fists, watching the children scatter, instinctively knowing something was wrong. My chest tightened, a familiar dread washing over me.

And then it started.

Samantha was the first to strike. Flames erupted from her hands, bright and vicious, as she cornered the others, picking them off one by one. Screams filled the room as her fire consumed her peers. One child tried to fight back, but her flames engulfed him, leaving nothing but ash in seconds. Eighteen fell within minutes. I feared for John, who had hidden in the shadows, terrified and too kind to fight back.

The test was almost concluded. Samantha was the last one standing—or so the director thought. But John was still alive, hiding, his powers untouched by the flames that Samantha wielded. The room grew quiet. The silence was suffocating.

The director's voice crackled over the intercom. "Send in the execution team."

I felt my heart sink. Samantha joined the team, eager to finish the job. John would be found, and they would kill him. That was the plan.

But then, something unexpected happened.

The execution team moved through the house, searching for John. One by one, their numbers began to dwindle. Confusion set in. Samantha's flames crackled at her fingertips, her eyes darting around. They suspected John, but they were wrong.

It wasn't John. It was her.

Sera. The name lingered in the back of my mind. She was the daughter of the woman who had tried to defy the director. She had infiltrated Pandora as a cleaner, waiting for her chance to strike. And today was that day.

The remaining guards huddled together, but it was too late. Sera took out the commander with a single shot, her aim sharp and swift. Then, before anyone could react, she turned her gun on Samantha, killing her with a single pull of the trigger.

I watched in shock as Sera turned to John. "Now!" she screamed. "Use your powers!"

John's eyes widened in fear but did as she asked, flinging the remaining guards across the room with his telekinesis. I stood frozen in the surveillance room, watching the events unfold. My hands trembled as I made a decision I never thought I would.

I turned to my coworker. He was pale, hands shaking as he reached for the emergency call button to alert the director. I couldn't let him. I couldn't let them stop John.

Before I knew it, I had grabbed a scalpel from the table beside me and plunged it into his neck. His eyes widened, betrayal flashing across his face as he slumped to the ground. I stared at the blood staining my hands, the weight of my actions crashing down on me.

There was no turning back now.

I bolted from the surveillance room, racing down the corridors. Sera and John had made it to the exit, but I was just behind them. My heart pounded in my chest as I burst through the door, only to see Sera crumple to the ground, her body riddled with bullets.

For a moment, I froze, panic gripping me. But I couldn't stop now. I picked up John, my mind racing. "Block the bullets," I whispered. John nodded, his telekinetic power enveloping us, the bullets slowing as they neared.

I grabbed the gun from Sera's still-warm hands and fired at the guards, catching them off guard. In the chaos, I sprinted into the forest, John protecting me as we fled. The trees blurred around us, and my breath came in ragged gasps, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.

Blood trickled down my leg from a bullet wound, but I pressed on. I could hear the shouts behind us, the dogs barking, the pounding of footsteps drawing closer. But we kept running, deeper into the forest, hoping, praying for an escape.

And then, we saw it—a road. A glimmer of hope. A car. Two people stopped, their faces kind but filled with suspicion. I spun a story, a lie that might just save us, and they believed me.

Three days later, after healing and recovering in a rundown motel, I looked at John and knew one thing for certain: we weren't done yet.

Pandora would pay. And we would free the rest of the children.

One way or another.