The inside of the building was worse than I expected. The ceiling lights flickered, casting long, uneven shadows over cracked tile floors. The air was thick, a mix of sweat and something metallic—maybe rust, maybe something worse. The walls, once white, were stained with age and neglect, marked with peeling paint and grime that no one had bothered to clean. And the people. There were so many people.
Hundreds, maybe more, all crammed into the front hall, shoulder to shoulder. Some were younger than me, Others were older, closer to twenty, their expressions harder, more resigned. A low murmur of conversation filled the space, whispers of nerves, frustration, and quiet acceptance. Everyone was trying to keep their heads down, to act like they weren't scared, but it was written on every face. A line formed ahead of us, leading to a row of automated kiosks. A cold, robotic voice droned over the intercom:
"Step forward. Place your hand on the scanner to receive your assigned number."
One by one, people moved forward, pressing their hands against the cracked screens. The machine would hum, scan their palm, and print out a small slip of paper with their testing room number. Some of them checked their numbers with blank expressions; others swore under their breath before disappearing down the halls. Raegan nudged me. "Guess we better get in line." I nodded, my jaw tight, and followed him.
When it was my turn, I placed my hand on the scanner. The screen flickered, scanning my palm before spitting out a slip of paper.
I glanced at the slip of paper in my hand, squinting at the numbers printed there. I had no clue what they meant, but I wasn't about to admit it, I mean I knew numbers here and there. I could at least make out the three and the two, we were taught as kids 1-5 so we at least know the tier order, but instead of trying to figure out the middle number, I just held it out to Raegan with a resigned sigh, silently offering it up like a hostage.
"Here," I muttered, "You figure it out."
Raegan raised an eyebrow, taking the paper from me with an exasperated look. He didn't even bother with a sarcastic remark this time, just glanced at it and let out a long, dramatic sigh that could've rivaled a deflating balloon.
"Really? You can't read three numbers?" he grumbled, more to himself than to me. "It's not rocket science, man. You're just lucky I'm here to babysit."
I rolled my eyes but didn't protest." I can read the first and last one," i mumbled. He squinted at the paper for a moment, doing the mental math in his head. "It's a three-zero-two," he said slowly, as though explaining it to a toddler. "Not that hard to remember, right?"
I shrugged, feigning innocence. "I'm busy thinking about more important things," I said, tossing him a sarcastic smile. "Like, you know, survival."
Raegan just shook his head, muttering something about "getting through the basics, and your suppose to be the older brother looking out for me." before he tucked the paper into his pocket, still grumbling. I couldn't help but chuckle under my breath, it was oddly comforting in a way, this familiar, back-and-forth with him. We'd been through worse. besides its not my fault I lack in education.
When we were younger, things were different. Or at least, I told myself they were. I was pulled out of school early to help work when the city's taxes skyrocketed, and mother couldn't handle it all alone. It made sense in the worst way—she was exhausted, trying to keep us afloat while the world seemed to squeeze tighter and tighter around us. My little brother had it a bit better. He stayed in school longer, but He didn't last long, though. The weight of it all crushed him too. He ended up helping with his half of the bills, just like the rest of us. We were all doing what we could to survive.
seeing the sea of people around me, all marked with different numbers, only made the situation more real. Most of us wouldn't make it past today. I had no illusions about that. Raegan must've seen something in my face because he nudged me again, this time with his elbow. "Come on. Let's just get this over with." I nodded stiffly, my fingers tightening around the slip of paper. As we stepped away from the kiosks, the crowd around us moved like a slow, shifting tide, swallowing us into its current. There was no turning back now. we soon followed the crowd down the halls going up different levels till we would reach our destinations.
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Raegan stole one last glance at me, his gaze flickering for just a split second before he turned away, heading toward his designated testing room. The brief look—sharp, almost searching—was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that all-too-familiar mask. It was the same mask he always wore, the one that suggested none of this mattered, that it was all just another game to him. His shoulders were squared, his stride confident, as though the world had no power over him, as though the weight of the situation couldn't touch him.But I knew better. Beneath that impenetrable facade, there was a weariness, a quiet dread he kept buried deep inside, the kind you only saw if you looked hard enough. Raegan was good at pretending—too good, sometimes. He'd perfected the art of acting like he was in control, like he didn't care about the numbers or the cold efficiency of the system that was about to decide our fates. It was easier to wear that mask, easier than facing the reality of what was happening.
"Wait," I said, grabbing his arm before he could disappear inside. "Before we go in, remember… it's an IQ test. Just play dumb, but not too dumb. Don't let them catch on."
Raegan snorted, rolling his eyes. "I know." He patted my shoulder lightly. "I'll see you for dinner."
I didn't respond, just nodded and watched, I caught a glimpse of his expression again just before he stepped through the door, the briefest flicker of something—fear, uncertainty, maybe even regret—as he walked through the door labeled 303. Then, with a deep breath, I turned and stepped into my own testing room.
The space was nothing like the chaotic waiting area outside. The room was cold, clinical, and eerily silent—so different from the overcrowded chaos outside. The walls were smooth, metallic, and colorless, like the entire space had been stripped of anything unnecessary. A faint chemical smell lingered in the air, sharp and sterile. Dim blue lights ran along the ceiling's edges, casting a faint glow that made the shadows stretch unnaturally. There were no windows, no decorations, nothing to suggest that this was a place for people. Just a single piece of equipment at the center of it all.
A Pod.
A single medical pod.
It looked like something out of a science fiction nightmare—sleek, white, and unnervingly coffin-like. Its curved glass lid sat open, revealing a cushioned interior lined with embedded wires and small, blinking sensors. The base was attached to a mechanical arm that extended from the floor, allowing it to shift and recline at different angles. Along the sides, rows of thin metal tubes ran into the machine, feeding into the hidden compartments beneath.
Despite its smooth, futuristic design, something about it felt wrong. It wasn't just a machine—it was a trap.
A nurse in a pale uniform stood beside it, her expression neutral as she gestured for me to approach.
"Please remove your shoes, jacket, and any accessories, then lie down in the pod," she instructed in a clipped, emotionless tone.
I hesitated but did as she said, toeing off my boots and shrugging out of my jacket before stepping into the pod. The surface was cool against my back as I lay down, the overhead lights buzzing softly.
"Okay," I said, my voice unnervingly loud in the quiet. "Now what?"
The nurse moved to my side, pulling out a set of wires and small monitors. "I'm going to attach these sensors to you," she said, sticking cold pads to my temples, wrists, and chest.
She held up a small plastic cup filled with a clear liquid, its contents shimmering faintly under the fluorescent lights. Her expression was inscrutable, her lips curved just enough to suggest a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. I couldn't quite place the look in her gaze—there was something guarded about it, something hidden.
I eyed the cup warily, a sense of unease creeping into my chest. "What is this?" I asked, my voice edging on suspicion.
"It's only a glucose test," she said smoothly, her voice too calm, almost a little too practiced. The words seemed rehearsed, like she had said them a thousand times before, but something in her tone made the reassurance feel hollow. "Standard procedure," she added, her smile never faltering.
I narrowed my eyes, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to this than she was letting on. The room felt colder now, the sterile white walls pressing in, as though they were closing around me, suffocating me with their silence. The air seemed heavier. My stomach churned with an instinctual, gnawing suspicion. But what choice did I have? She was the one in control here, and I was at her mercy. The weight of the situation sank in—escape was not an option. Not here, not now.
"If you say so," I muttered, my voice thin with reluctant acquiescence. With a hesitant hand, I took the cup from her, feeling the faintest brush of her cold fingers against mine as I grasped it. Her skin was ice-cold, sending a strange shiver up my spine, though I wasn't sure if it was from her touch or the dread coiling in my gut as I lifted the cup to my lips.
I had expected it to be sweet, the familiar taste of sugar, something harmless and routine. But the moment the liquid hit my tongue, it was anything but. It was bitter—sharp, metallic, and wrong in every sense of the word. My throat burned as I swallowed, and my stomach rebelled violently, an intense nausea rising from the pit of my stomach. It felt like poison.
I tried to push the cup away, but my limbs felt sluggish, heavy, as if they were no longer entirely mine. A sudden wave of dizziness swept over me, and my vision flickered at the edges, like static on a broken TV screen. My head spun, the world tilting, the room around me warping and blurring. Darkness was creeping in from the corners, like an encroaching tide.
My heart began to race, panic clawing at my chest. I tried to sit up, but the effort was useless. My body felt leaden, unresponsive. "What's… happening…?" My words slurred, my tongue thick in my mouth as if it didn't belong to me. Every syllable felt like an immense effort, my body betraying me with each labored breath.
The nurse didn't respond. She was still—too still—moving methodically, her hands steady and impersonal as she adjusted the monitors beside me, checking the readings with a practiced air. Her motions were so mechanical, so emotionless, they seemed almost robotic. I could hear the soft beeping of the machines, their rhythmic hum a cold reminder of the life I was losing grip on. The sound seemed to grow distant, like it was fading into some other reality that I was slipping further away from.
"You… lied… to… me…" The words barely escaped my mouth, a whisper lost in the sterile air. My eyelids fluttered, the effort to keep them open growing impossible, and I could feel the last traces of awareness slipping from my grasp. I was drowning in a haze, the edges of my consciousness fading to black.
My body gave in, my limbs going limp as I sank deeper into the pod, the world around me dissolving into a blur of shadows and distant beeps. My last coherent thought was a frantic plea—escape, but the word was swallowed by the darkness before it could leave my mind. It was too late. The trap had been set, and I had walked right into it.