𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙 : 𝔸 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕫𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟...

I despised the place I called home. According to the books I devoured, a home should be a sanctuary—a haven of peace and serenity. For me, however, it was a fortress of confinement, a place where nostalgia felt more like a poison than a balm. My existence was nothing but an experiment, a bizarre concoction of the unnatural, alongside others like me.

In this so-called home, my only human contact was with two individuals I knew as my parents. The rest were my "siblings," though we bore no resemblance to one another—a fact that struck me as odd, given the familial norms described in the library books. I barely knew their names, as they were too dull to pique my interest. The only one I remotely tolerated was '745', though her intellect left much to be desired.

That fateful day, '745' and I were ensconced in the library. She, as usual, showed no interest in the vast knowledge around her, which I found amusing in a sad sort of way.

"468, is there anything else we can do besides reading?" she asked, her voice laced with boredom.

I rolled my eyes, annoyed. "No, I'm almost finished with this book—HEY!"

Without warning, she snapped the book shut, erasing my place. Fury bubbled up within me, but before I could retaliate, we were summoned for dinner. She flashed a mischievous grin at me.

"You got lucky today," I muttered, trying to hide my annoyance.

She only grinned wider as we trudged to the cracked, cemented dining hall. I sat next to '734', the second least boring person I knew.

"Oh, hey," he greeted me.

"Hey," I replied, my tone flat.

The cook served us a dismal meal of soup and bread, a culinary atrocity. I ate in silence, not wanting to draw attention to my disdain. Once the meal was over, it was time for the nightly roll call, where Dad would call out our numbers. When he finally called "468," I trudged to the needle room.

Inside, the room was as sterile and cold as ever. Dad, sporting a new scar, patted the chair, signalling for me to sit. Mom noticed my gaze lingering on the scar.

"Don't worry about him, dear," she said with a reassuring smile. "Luthor can be clumsy."

Dad looked at me with a paternal warmth that felt almost genuine. "You don't seem tired, 468," he observed.

"You need your rest," Mom added, her voice soft. "You're so beautiful; I want to see you grow even more lovely."

I was often told I was beautiful, with my blonde hair and crystalline green eyes—a rare combination. As usual, Mom handled the needle. She smiled as she injected the serum into my arm, wishing me goodnight. I returned the sentiment out of habit more than affection.

(...)

The next morning, I joined '745' for breakfast, watching her devour pancakes with an enthusiasm I couldn't muster.

"Morning," I greeted her.

"Oh, morning," she replied, her mouth full.

The pancakes were surprisingly good, a rare treat in our otherwise bleak menu. Afterward, we engaged in our daily workout, honing our abilities. My telekinesis was an enigma, even to me. Despite countless sessions, I had no idea how I came to possess such powers.

The rest of the day was spent in the library, lost in a book about schools—a concept that fascinated me. The idea of learning with others, of existing outside this sterile environment, seemed like a distant dream. '745' interrupted my reverie with her usual complaints.