"Subject 23!" Trainer Nelson spat, cracking his whip against my shoulders and ripping me from my daze. His voice was muffled through the headphones over my ears. "Focus!"
I tried zoning back into reality, but the throbbing slashes across my back demanded all my attention. Without even glancing back, I knew Subject 28 was frowning at me in disapproval.
Trainer Nelson's livid face emerged from the side of my glass cubicle as I raised my rifle, aiming at the target hanging thirteen feet in front of me. Fifteen-foot-long glass cubicles lined opposite sides of the room, with weapons, equipment, and workout gear in cupboards or racks on the walls in between. The hardwood flooring and blue walls used to be much darker, but their colour had faded from the constant washing of blood, sweat, and spit.
I shook my head, brushing away the stupor I'd been trapped in. That was the worst part of Burning Days; even after their agony was over, you couldn't shake away the after-effects for hours—sometimes even days. If only my stupid Gift would form already, I wouldn't be so damn dizzy.
I wouldn't be so terrified with each passing day either.
Stop. You still have a few months before the Cutoff. You aren't one of them.
The doctors won't take you away.
Trainer Nelson bent so his red, bull-like face was mere inches from mine and ripped off my headphones. The booms of other bullets ripped through my eardrums, but it didn't drown out his voice. "If I catch you slacking off again, I'll send you to the Chamber overnight. Understood?"
Come on, I thought, fear spiking at Trainer Nelson's threat. Just a couple hours, and you'll be in the lounge again.
I nodded and Trainer Nelson thrust my headphones back to me, marching away to torment someone else, muttering, "Won't even be ready for Osipyan at this rate."
That comment would've given me pause if we hadn't been hearing about "Osipyan" for years. Sometimes "Osipyan" took the name "those bitches" or simply "them." Over the years we'd formulated our own theories about its meaning, but with no change our entire lives, we gave up trying to decipher the staff's mumbling or whispered conversations.
God, I hated the Ungifteds. Why'd I have to be the last Ungifted Subject left?
Today was a Weapon Circuit, and I'd already made the mistake of losing concentration. Slipping my headphones on and raising my gun's scope to my eye, I aimed at the bullseye. My finger hovered over the trigger a moment, then pulled. The bullet hit its mark, but it wasn't something to celebrate. Anything less was cause for punishment. I guess I should just be grateful we weren't using live targets this time. It never got easier, but the death of defenceless animals...you quickly learn not to dwell on such things.
I numbly fired bullet after bullet until Trainer Nelson finally blew his whistle.
"Switch over to knives," he barked from the centre of the room, gesturing toward the shelf of throwing knives. "Put your rifles away and grab three knives each."
I allowed my eyes a second of rest before stepping out of my cubicle, the one labelled 23, and strode toward the gun rack. Coming from across the room, I was the last to arrive in the flock of Subjects surrounding the stand, returning their weapons and headphones. Resting my gun over my shoulder, I waited at the back for an opening.
On the left of the rack, Subject 28 stood and marched toward me.
"Be careful," she mumbled, eyes trained on the shelf of knives as we brushed shoulders.
28 had a face that was difficult to read when she chose so, and it wasn't her thin lips, high cheekbones, or round nose that made it that way. Her emotions hid beneath iron walls when it wasn't safe for them, but having known her all my life, I picked up on the worry and disapproval in her expression like it was a radio.
Annoyance bubbled inside me, but I was already shaking it off. She was always looking after me, always so protective, as if having her Gift somehow made her superior.
Well, that part is true, said a resentful voice from the back of my mind.
But then again, wouldn't I do the same? I sighed, sidling into her vacant spot and settling my gun and headphones against the wood.
We only have each other now. I moved to the wooden ledge of knives and picked three up, turning them over to inspect for bends. The steel seemed straight enough, so I turned back to my cubicle. We only have each other.
I knelt to the edge of my cubicle and dropped two of the blades in my hand. My knife throwing wasn't spectacular, and extra weight in my hands didn't help. I'd already managed to get on Trainer Nelson's shit-list; I didn't need to make him do good on his promise.
I pinched the tip of the blade between my thumb and index finger knuckle, flung it, and bent to pick up the next one.
Thwap, thwap, thwap, the knives went, wedging themselves into the target.
Step, step, step, I went, retrieving them to start again.
Stupid Trainer Nelson.
Thwap, thwap, thwap.
Stupid Dr. Saeva.
Step, step, step.
Stupid fucking Ungifteds—
The dismissal alarm bellowing overhead broke my train of curses.
I let out a breath, slackening my clenched jaw as I tugged the knives from the wood once more. After putting away our blades, the Subjects trudged toward the door and formed a line in perfect sync.
We faced Trainer Nelson, who was reorganizing the rifles.
My heart pounded with the question burning through my head: Would we be excused to our bunks or sent back for further tests?
After aligning the final gun, Trainer Nelson approached the door. Eyeing us, he fished his ID out of his cargo pants pocket and jammed it into the wide machine standing beside the entrance. Trainer Nelson typed into the glowing screen with one hand and pulled the door open with his other.
With one final beep, the dismissal slip printer activated.
A flaming red slip emerged from the mouth of the machine, and the first Subject in line tugged it away before stepping out of the room.
When she turned left, I almost fell over with relief; we were being excused to our bunks.
One by one, the printer spat out a dismissal slip, and one by one, Subjects accepted them before filing out of Training Centre C.
Trainer Nelson was still glowering at us with his arms crossed when I reached the front, but honestly? I could not have cared less as I wrenched the slip from the machine and practically dashed into the hall, speed-walking to the dorm that housed Subjects 21 to 30. Technically we were supposed to stay in line, but the staff were busy plotting in whatever meeting room they were holed up in; watching some Subjects over the cameras or patrolling the halls took a backseat to finding the killer.
My nerves feeling like they'd been doused in ice-cold water, I swallowed. Damn, even in my downtime the killer haunted me.
I rushed around the last corner, my spirits lifting at the sight of the steel door at the end of the corridor.
I fed my slip into the machine sitting by the entrance. After a beep, I yanked the door open, emerging into the dormitory. Subjects 25 and 27 were already inside, crawling into one of the five bunk beds against the gray walls and white-tiled floor. Letting out a blissful sigh, exhaustion slugged through my limbs as I dove toward the forest green bunk labelled 23 and wrapped myself in the beige covers. Dinner wasn't for another two hours, meaning I had more than enough time for a nap.
I'd barely rested my eyes for two seconds when someone parked themselves on the edge of my stiff mattress and slapped my calf.
"Get up, fuckface," a voice hissed. "How could you space out like that? In the middle of training!"
Groaning, I rolled over to see Subject 28's full height towering over me, her arms crossed and scowling.
"28, stop acting like you weren't the same after a Burning Day when you didn't have your Gift," I said. "Besides, you know I'd never wanna spend another night in the Chamber." I shuddered at the mere thought, but forced it behind me before I could delve too deep.
"You'd better not," 28 snapped before leaning down and lowering her voice. "We're still on for sneaking into the lounge, right?"
For what felt like the first time in years, a smile cracked my lips. "Of course—neither of us have picked names yet."
"Guess Holly got ahead of us with that, huh?" 28 whispered, letting 21's chosen name sit between us like a boulder.
Right. My smile faded as quickly as it'd come. She picked hers yesterday.
28 lowered her moistening eyes to her feet. "I—I'm gonna miss her."
I sat up and shuffled close to 28's side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Me too," I said softly. "The lounge won't be the same without her."
"It's like she knew something like this would happen. She'd always say the doctors were out to get her...guess she was half right."
My heart ached. Up until three years ago—way before the weekly killings—Holly would nervously joke her time was ticking. None of us had missed the disappearances of Subjects who still hadn't developed their Gifts by the time they turned sixteen—the age we took to calling the Cutoff.
If your Gift hadn't manifested by sixteenth year, then you didn't have one, and you were Ungifted.
And the doctors took you away.
But unlike the weekly killings, the doctors knew what happened to those Subjects—the ones still here on the eve of their sixteenth but gone when dawn came—even if we didn't. And those Subjects were rare to begin with; only four in all my life at the facility.
But 21's symptoms surfaced two months before her sixteenth; we all thought she was safe—Gifted. She'd escaped fate's clutches.
Only to fall into them three years later by different hands.
"It's not fair," 28 said thickly. "She finally picked a name—she was happy."
My grip on 28 tightened, tears falling from my eyes. "I...I know. She didn't deserve this."
28 pulled in a deep, ragged breath before lifting her gaze back to me. "We'll get there, won't we? We'll pick our names too?"
"We will, I swear it."
28 rubbed her hands against her eyes as she stood and smiled. It was small, but the smile was certainly there. "Then let's get going."
And that was it. No matter how much we ached for her, no matter how much our hearts wrung at our friend's disappearance, that was it. There was no extra room for sorrow or despair, not when our lives were already filled to the brim with it.
I rose to my feet and moved toward the dorm's door, 28 close behind. As my hand hovered over the doorknob, I turned expectantly toward Subject 27, who laid in bed, hands behind her head.
27's dirty-blonde hair swirled around her pillow, and she brushed it out of her hooded green eyes as she raised her head to face me. "Again? Seriously?"
I nodded, half smiling. "Sorry ma'am, but you'll never get a break from this gorgeous face."
27 raised a brow. "You're not at all concerned about getting caught, are you?"
"Nope! Now come on, woman!"
She looked past me at 28. "What is it about Ungifteds that make them so stupid?"
My smile faded, blood boiling at being lumped into the others' fold. 27 was comparing me to the damn doctors?
I wasn't one of them, no matter what anyone else said.
Stop it, I told myself, clinging to the same old thought like a lifeline. You aren't Ungifted—just a late-bloomer.
28 grinned. "Aw, don't be like that. It's not very nice."
27 rolled her eyes and rose from her bunk, cracking her knuckles as she turned to face the camera tucked into the corner of the dorm. I pushed down my pang of envy as she snapped her fingers, and the device shut down, its red light flickering off. 27 approached the door.
The dorm's entrance was bolted down with an electrical lock, so under normal circumstances, we never could've opened the door.
But these weren't normal circumstances.
Every day for the past four years, I thanked my lucky stars Subject 27 was assigned to our dorm; her Gift of electricity manipulation gave the lock an easy fix.
Shutting her eyes and letting out a breath, she laid her palm flat against the lock. Crackling light erupted from her hand, and a beep signalled the doorknob was unlocked.
I smiled. The doctors weren't concerned whatsoever that 27 was capable of opening the lock. They assumed we wouldn't dare try or simply didn't know how. It was those rare moments that made me feel powerful—when we rose above their expectations.
27 lifted her palm, groaning and raising it to her head. "Don't expect me to do that again anytime soon. If this headache keeps up, I won't be able to unlock the door for a while."
"Yeah, no problem," 28 said, hand hovering over the door. "Thanks!"
"I'd say 'you're welcome,' but that'd be a damn lie."
"Yeah, yeah, we know." I impatiently shoved 28 away from the door so I could wrench it open myself. "Seeya at dinner."
Latching onto my elbow, 28 dragged me out of the dorm toward the lounge. Neither of us worried about getting caught roaming the halls; there were never Keepers on patrol. The few that weren't tracking down the killer were probably on break in the cafeteria since the doctors didn't think we'd do anything of the sort.
28 and I strolled down the corridor, but...it just didn't feel right.
For the first time, Holly wasn't with us.
Subject 28 must've sensed the difference too; she went silent and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her beige uniform pants. It might've been the sickly yellow LED strips, but she seemed paler.
Numbness consumed me as my feet guided me down a familiar path.
Holly deserved to be here—to live, and be happy.
Only when we reached the lounge's door did I manage to brush off my trance.
Unlike our dorm, the lock to the lounge wasn't electrical, meaning it was easy enough to open with 28's telekinesis. She focused her gaze on the doorknob and raised her hand over it. When she twisted her wrist, so did the lock, clicking open.
Swinging the door open and stepping into the lounge area took a thousand pounds off my shoulders. Although the lounge belonged to the staff, it always felt like a sanctuary.
It was a cozy little room, one of the only ones in the facility lit with lightbulbs instead of LED strips. An emerald green velvet couch stood atop the dark oak flooring, facing the television across the room. In the corner to the left of the TV, a white pantry was bolted against the sage green wall, filled with snacks and leftovers.
The only difference from the norm was a palm-sized glossy Polaroid lying on the corner of the couch.
It wasn't the Polaroid's presence that jarred me, knocking the oxygen from my lungs—the doctors often left indecipherable notes or annotated photographs of the facility in here—but the contents of the Polaroid.
28 and I met each other's wide eyes before diving toward the photo, snatching it up with one hand each and holding it between us. We hadn't needed to say a word for us to know this photo differed from the others.
It wasn't of the facility, but a tiny piece of what must've been the outside world, suspended in time.
We angled the Polaroid away from the light to reduce its gleam, but it didn't help with the grainy quality whatsoever. It looked as if someone had taken sandpaper and rubbed it over the photo of a towering concrete wall and indigo gate. Compared to the blurry dark-haired woman standing at the foot of the gate, I'd estimate it being fifty feet tall. I couldn't make out any distinctive features or marks, but the woman's palm was open and out in front of her, displaying a black smear. All of this from the inside of a vehicle sixty feet away; the edges of a windshield were visible around the perimeter of the photograph.
"What...." 28 squinted at the photo. "What the fuck is it?"
I pursed my lips, furious at the blurriness. My first glimpse of a world outside the facility and the damn photographer couldn't even get it in focus. It seemed someone had sped by the gate, snapped the photo, and zoomed off without stopping once.
"I don't know." I huffed, trying to cool my temper. "Lemme see it."
28 released the Polaroid, and I flipped it over, hoping for a note and was not disappointed. My pulse spiked at the word, OSIPYAN, written there in thick black permanent marker.
28 noticed it the same moment I did, and her brows furrowed in thought. "Isn't that what the staff keep talking about?"
I nodded almost absently, my mind flying through all the times they'd mentioned this intangible, mystifying Osipyan. So was that what Osipyan was? A place? What did the staff want with it?
With every question, my mind muddled more and more until I raised my gaze from the Polaroid, about to ask Holly what she thought.
When my eyes fell on the empty air at my side, I caught myself, feeling like I'd been punched in the teeth. I'd been so fixated on the photo my surroundings faded, but the wave of numbness caught up to me all the same, leaving only the gray in my heart and Holly's ghost hovering over my shoulders. All the significance of the photo vanished—inconsequential compared to my need to forget. My curiosity didn't stand a chance against the sweeping numb.
"Just leave it," I heard myself say, muffled through the pounding in my ears. "Let's...let's just watch something."
Wiping the photo from fingerprints with my sleeves and setting it back on the armrest of the couch, I didn't give 28 a chance to argue before I draped myself over it. Her eyes locked on the photo for another minute before she caved, rising to her feet. While I adjusted the sofa's gray pillows, Subject 28 knelt in front of the case of DVDs beside the television.
I took in a ragged, steadying breath as 28 dug her hand into the box. "What're you in the mood for? Horror? Or do you wanna rewatch yesterday's movie?"
28 rolled her eyes. "Neither. What is it with you and serious movies all the time?"
I shrugged. "I just like their stories."
"Well, I'm in the mood for this." She held up a DVD with bright green text reading, Ben 10.
"What's that?"
"It's a cartoon about pre-teens and aliens."
"Sounds good to me." I patted the cushion next to me. "Sit."
Beaming, 28 clicked the TV on, slid the disc into the player, and rose to her feet. Using the remote, 28 raised the volume as she slumped into the couch beside me.
And when the first episode began playing, I felt myself relax.
I felt my spirits soar as I laughed along with the jokes, the giggling sounding foreign on my lips. I felt my heart ease as I allowed myself to be absorbed in the storyline, suspense building. I felt the day's sorrow and despair flow away as 28 levitated a bowl of popcorn from the pantry in the corner.
"Thank God for Gwen," I said, breaking the silence as credits rolled. "They'd all be completely screwed without her."
Subject 28 seemed to perk up. "You think so?"
"Well duh," I answered, smiling. "She doesn't take anybody's shit, makes all the reasonable decisions, and basically carries the team's brain cells."
28 nodded slowly to herself, leaning back into the couch as the next started. She seemed thoughtful for a moment, but brushed it off by the time the theme song started playing.
And as it turned out, Subject 27 was ready to—however exasperatedly—open the door again six days later.
Together 28 and I watched every single episode, stuffing our faces with popcorn every time a new one began.
It was day 7 of week 28, meaning someone would be taken tonight.
But for now, all was well.
***
"23," a voice muttered into my ear, waking me from my slumber, "get up."
Grumbling, I rolled in bed to face the voice.
As I blinked the sleep away, I made out 28's silhouette leaning over me, her hands shaking my side.
"28—what time is—what—?"
"I've picked a name," she whispered, smiling.
That shut me up in two seconds flat.
I burst from bed, nearly banging my head against the top bunk as I wrapped my arms around her shoulders.
"That's amazing!" I only released her so she could breathe. "What is it?"
Subject 28 took in a deep breath, trying to calm her giddy excitement. "Gwen."
I grinned and pulled her into another hug. "It's perfect."
Subje—Gwen's grip around my shoulders tightened, as if trying to push some of her happiness into me. But I was already feeling it—every ounce.
"Goodbye Subject 28," I said, pulling away, "hello Gwen."
Gwen shook her head, a dumbfounded smile on her face. "I have a name now," she whispered, as if she could only believe it if she said it aloud.
"Hell yeah, you do." I ruffled my hand through her thick black hair. "I'm so happy for you!"
It was a mark of how excited she was that she didn't even push my hand away. She always shoved it away when I touched her hair.
"Gwen," she mumbled before repeating it louder. "Gwen."
"I love it. It suits you."
"Thanks." She let out a breath. "I should go back to sleep, I guess."
I nodded. "You wanna be fully energized for your first Kitchen Duty with a name."
Before rising from my bed, Gwen gave me one final squeeze. "Thank you."
I chuckled. "For what? You earned this on your own."
"For everything."
I responded by tightening my grip on her.
Finally releasing my shoulders, Gwen stood and crossed the room to her bed, and I couldn't help noticing the slight spring in her step. Watching Gwen climb the ladder to her bunk and ease herself into her covers, my heart swelled with joy.
No more did she have to be held down by the cruel number she'd been labelled—her Subject Identification Code. Now she could give herself her own title. Now she was free, even if it was in such a minor way.
Yawning, I rolled back into my thin sheets and sleep lulled me away.
Maybe soon, I'd be free too.
Or maybe I'd be taken next.