Children of The Spheres

Chapter 10: The Children

I wake to the sting of cold metal biting into my wrists and ankles. Each movement sends a sharp pain, the restraints digging deeper. A harsh light pierces my closed eyelids, forcing them open to a world washed out in sterile whiteness. My muscles protest, heavy and sluggish—feels like they've pumped me full of something.

I blink rapidly, my vision swimming before settling on the white walls. A cold realization hits me—I'm not alone. The room is filled with other children I don't recognize, all bound to identical chairs arranged in a wide semi-circle. Some stir weakly, eyes glazed and distant. Others hang limp, heads lolling forward, their minds vacant. A girl across from me catches my gaze; her blue eyes mirror the confusion and fear churning inside me. She doesn't cry out—just one tear, like that's all she can manage.

This is where they've all gone—Sylvanis Abyss's lost children. Questions swirl in my mind, each one heavier than the last. Why were they taken? What do they want with us? The uncertainty tightens around my chest, a cold dread spreading through me. I need answers, but all I feel is fear.

A figure moves methodically between us—a doctor in a pristine white lab coat, his face obscured by a surgical mask. His gloved hands adjust settings on a gene sequencing module, the device beeping as it processes each child's genetic material. He moves with a detached precision, as if we're specimens rather than people.

I recognize him. He's the one Liora and I found in the lab, but he just ignores me, his gaze sliding over me without a hint of recognition, like I'm as irrelevant as the rest of the kids—like I didn't just fight the Vossks tooth and nail. That indifference grinds at me. Anger flares briefly, cutting through my fear. How the hell can he look at me like that?

I tug at my restraints, testing their strength again. Nothing. My pulse races, but I force myself to breathe, to think. Where am I? Some underground facility? An abandoned building? The last thing I remember is chasing Evander through the alleyways. He knocked me out cold. Bastard. No sign of him or Aurelia here, though.

I watch as the doctor presses a scanning device against the neck of the boy next to me. His eyes widen, fear spilling over as he realizes what's happening. After reading whatever's on the screen, the doctor gestures to two of his assistants. Without a word, they unstrap him and drag him out of the room, his screams echoing off the sterile walls.

What the hell...

Panic claws at my throat, but I choke it down. Stay sharp. I need to observe, to understand. The doctor moves with detached efficiency, his actions precise and unhurried. Testing, scanning, discarding. Those who fail the tests are removed, like a broken machine part. But why? Are we being sorted? Culled? What's that doctor looking for?

I scan the room for exits. Besides the main door, there's a service hatch near the back—small, probably locked. Surveillance cameras nestle in the upper corners, their lenses sweeping over us, back and forth—automated. Weapons? None visible. But these people wouldn't leave themselves unarmed. Think, Ander. There has to be a way out. There has to be something here—something they overlooked, something you can use.

The doctor approaches me, his expression unreadable behind the mask. He holds a datapad, his gloved fingers dancing effortlessly across the screen. "Subject 27," he says flatly, his voice devoid of any hint of humanity.

"Ander," I correct. "Short for Iskander."

He ignores me, pressing the scanning device cold against my neck—a sharp prick as it interfaces with my neural pathways. Feels like fire crawling through my spine. Data flows across his screen—DNA helices spiraling, neural activity spiking, and cyberware compatibility indexes fluctuating. His eyes narrow as he reads.