Bloodlust

-Prologue-

The Escape

~Where nothing really matters right now~
>Cinder Morgan<
╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

Errors are unavoidable. Errors cannot ever be fully solved, no matter how much you try. Reaction times, estimations, miniscule details that might just alter the final result slightly; those are errors.

And then there are mistakes.

Mistakes are avoidable. Mistakes are stupid. Mistakes happen when a fault occurs, due to lack of thought, or too much thought.

Oh, how many mistakes the Facility made.

By 20:57, everyone was waiting for the plan to commence.

By 20:58, the vents were open.

By 20:59, 124 children were in Room 471.

And by 21:00, the first doctor was dead.

***

I watch the blood pool out of his head - the doctor - I mean. Fluorescent lights bounce off the thick liquid, a crimson blindfolding my eyes and a nauseating scent of iron blanketing my nose. I feel like throwing up, but at the same time, satisfaction nestles in my chest like an eagle in a crag.

Disgusting.

But before I can get ahead of myself, I avert my gaze to the aluminium door.

There lies the exit. The exit to a free world, where no more needles would be injected into our bloodstreams, no more blood would spill from our mouths and noses, and no more doctors in white coats would visit us each and every day to monitor our each and every movement.

It sounded like heaven.

Too easy.

A voice whispered in my head. Quietly, but assertively. I tell it to shut up but it keeps making me doubt myself.

Fuck this.

Fuck everything.

There is nothing left to lose.

But there is so much more to gain.

And so I take the keys, I unlock the locks, I undo the latches, and I swing the door open.

The silence seems louder than before as all 124 of us take in the reality of what is happening. We are about to escape.

The Escape is happening.

As if given an unspoken signal, we all break into a run. We push each other out and away from the door, desperate for the freedom kept from us for so long. Our breathing, cries, and unsynchronised but rhythmic footsteps only stop when a voice yells out:

"They're over here!"

As quick as they stopped, the cacophony of noises start all over again, more loud, more panicked and everyone more scared for their lives than they ever were.

***

Alexander Carpenter was never a strong child. Physically, nor mentally. He was a sheep. He followed others.

But the adrenaline coursing through his veins keeps him moving - hopeful that maybe, just maybe, he could make it out.

Behind him, a few others are bringing up the rear. He can feel the footsteps of one subject's match alongside his, thumping and pushing against the ground.

And then they stop.

As soon as they do, a scream comes from the girl who was keeping pace with him. Knees weak, Alexander loses his momentum and feels himself pale as he turns to face whoever had let out such an alarming sound. There, in a guard's arms, is a writhing Haven, flailing and floundering around, short, wavy hair thrashing against him.

Run.

But he can't.

She doesn't matter.

And yet he feels like he has no choice but to wait.

Wait for what?

I can't m-

Pulling him away from his battle between thoughts, Alexander feels a guard scoop him up by the waist, forcing him away from the crowd that is rapidly dwindling in numbers. No matter how much he struggles, how much he tries to copy the others' actions, Alexander cannot break free.

He is following in the footsteps of Haven. He is being a sheep.

Maybe he won't be a sheep

In his next life.

***

I know the numbers are decreasing. I know the Facility has caught us. I hear the screams. I hear the struggles.

I hear the pain.

And yet I don't have the morality to turn around; to look back one more time and join my companions in their untimely fate; to take myself away from the life that awaits me like the others did.

I just keep running.

We run through halls and down staircases and past unsuspecting guards that take no time to scramble and grab another one of us. By the time I see the "0" highlighted next to the sign showing the levels, there are only five of us left. I turn back to see what's left of the group.

A thin, hazel-haired girl with big, chestnut brown eyes.

A pair of blonde twins with green eyes; one boy and one girl.

A tall, ginger boy with brown eyes and freckles dotted across his nose.

And me. Cinder Morgan.

Us.

Cinder Morgan.

I look up. There are no more guards. There are no more doctors. There is only a door standing in the way of my freedom. Our freedom. I look back one more time, looking for reassurance that I can and should open the door. A small nod comes from the blonde boy, and in seeing that I turn and walk until I am in front of the door. I reach for the handle.

The cool metal meets my small palm. I listen for anything; any sign that I should let go and run back. But there is nothing. There is nothing stopping me from opening the door and stepping outside to feel the cold air on my skin; to feel the foliage on my bare feet; to feel freedom.

The freedom taken from us for so long.

I turn the handle, and the door opens invitingly. My eyes are met with the most perfect welcome I could've ever hoped for. Silhouettes of tall trees frame a purple night sky, which holds no clouds, allowing pinpoint lights from stars to shine through and touch my skin. And the crescent moon, big and bright, a celestial being smiling down upon us, as if congratulating our escape.

My vision becomes blurry. Not because of the liquids the doctors inject into my blood, not because of the pain that eats away at my muscles, but because I am crying. I am crying because I am free.

We are free.

Tears roll down my face, the mix of overwhelming emotions too much for me to handle. As I cry, I realise the others are crying too. I am not alone. For once, I am not alone.

And we are exhilarated, thrilled, even happy.

Because we are finally going to live.