Silent Soldier

Chapter Three - Danny

    I woke up in the same, boring, uncomfortable mattress just like every other day. With as much money as they make, why couldn't they afford to get us better living conditions? The answer is, they could, and we all know it, but we also know what will happen if we protest. Good times.
    I hear a familiar set of foot steps approach my room. Using the term "room" very lightly here. It feels more like a prison cell. It is a prison cell.
    Surrounded by four light grey walls, sat a slightly darker grey mattress- although, I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be white -barely large enough to fit me. I'm suprised the thin yellow tinted blanket doesn't have a hole in it yet.
    Oh, wait, I'm sorry. The wash cloth they decided to call a blanket. My mistake. The thing doesn't even cover half of me, but who needs blankets? The vents are only blowing out cold air that would make Elsa jealous. But you learn to let it go.
    In the corner on the opposite side of the lovely bed, was a toilet covered in dust, dirt, stains- of a lot of different colors -and only God knows what else. But it's incased in a stall- of equal grossness -so bonus points for privacy. Besides the white, rotating camera. Always watching me. It is spotless by the way. The effort is ridiculous. I'm jealous. I truly admire the effort.
    My favorite part of the room was a mini bookshelf. Grey in color and covered in who knows, just like the rest of the room. Only one level out of two are filled with books. Books that I've read a thousand times. They couldn't even be bothered to switch out the books. I've been here for 20 years and they are really slacking on the care part of this arrangement.
    All of this cramped in a 10 by 10 room. So it's safe to say that everything here is relatively small.
    I've always been curious what happened to the previous owner of this room. The fear is overwhelming sometimes. All the time.
    The owner of those footsteps is the only thing keeping me alive. The only person that cares for me. He would do anything for me. I only wish I could tell him that I would return the favor.
    The footsteps stopped at my door, and knocked, confirming that it was who I thought it was. The others never knocked. They just came in and did whatever kind of twisted game they had planned. Maybe that's what happened to the last person that survived here. Survived, not lived. No one could ever live here.
    The door clicked open and Matt slipped inside. He was a guard here, so he had full clearance to go, and do almost wherever he wanted. Including private visitations with all the subjects. The cameras didn't have audio, so as long as Matt keeps the appropriate body language, they won't suspect a thing.
    "You alright, kid?" Matt asked, already knowing the answer. I was surviving. That was that.
    I nodded my answer, and watched as Matt scanned my body for any new injuries. He knew that there would be a couple, but he wanted to gage how bad they were. He looked at me with the tenderness that I would expect to see from a father. I didn't remember my dad so Matt has been the closest I've gotten over these past years. He was old enough to be my father. He's been a guard here for 34 years. He started when he was 27. He was in too deep before he knew what he really signed up for.
    He gave me a slight smirk after confirming I wasn't in danger of any infections. My wounds hadn't been as deep as some of the others.
    I give him a questioning look, making sure to keep it slight and away from the camera. He dips his hand into his leather jacket pocket and pulls the device out just enough to put it in view. It was a remote of some sorts. I never really understood what it was, but I appreciated its job. With one click of the center button, the camera in the corner stopped rotating, and a flashing red light blinked on the side, indicating that it was offline.
    After a couple seconds, Matt's whole expression changed as he walked over, and plopped on the side of the mattress next to me, where I hadn't moved a muscle.
    "Are you really alright?" He said with a usual softness that always got me to crack. The look on his face somewhat familiar. though I can never figure out why.
I didn't answer him this time. I only looked away. I couldn't stand that look.
    "Danny, it's okay." He reached a hand over to the back of my head, the act reassuring. "I promise." He adds.
    I couldn't take it anymore, the lump in my throat growing larger as tears stung my eyes. I couldn't stop the falling tears as I rolled over so my head was now in his lap, and his hand slid down to slowly rub circles on my back. The action only making me sob harder. It wasn't the physical pain that bothered me. It was the emotion pain, the helplessness, the fear of doing the same thing over and over until I died. I've hurt too many people.
    I was 9 years old, the youngest subject they had taken in so far. Matt was assigned to keep watch in the childs wing. He had an interest in the runt of the litter, and that was that. I wish I could tell him that I appreciated what he was doing. I wish I could say that he couldn't always protect me, and that was okay. I wish I could tell him, he didn't have to be in the room with me while they were working. Hearing the screams are bad enough, but seeing is some else entirely. He's hard enough on himself. The only thing I could do is sit and cry in his arms.
    I'm tired of the pain, of the torture, of the death. I need a way out, but there is none, and there will never be one.
    I'm trapped.