Experimental subject 07815 grew up in an extreme army boot camp surrounded by emotionless people that look just like him. Then he develops feelings.
Unlike others, he thinks. He refuses to kill. He feels bad when he hurts people, and he doesn't know...
* 6:30 am * Everyone was waking up. No exceptions. 07815's eyes were crusted shut. He couldn't open them. He tried washing them out, peeling, scratching, crying more. "Come on, open stupid eyes!" He whispered to himself. An idea popped into his head. It was something that never happened, first he was confused what just popped into his head, but he tried it anyway. He felt around for his pocket knife, opened it and rubbed his eyelids open using the sharp side of the blade with shaking hands. He opened his eyes, which had thick crust on the lashes. In the mirror beside the bed he scratched the hard stuff off with his short, worn nails. So the water that comes out of my eyes turns into this? A lot of it must've come out. But why? All I remember from then is feeling... feeling? Sick? I don't... what should I call it? Know? Knowledge. I know things, but... only to do with hurting others. I want to help... but if I tell them I don't want to kill... they will exterminate me... he punched his stomach again and started getting ready. * 7 am * Everyone was in orderly rows and collumns of ten. There were a hundred boys per squadron, and there were a thousand squadrons. 100,000 soldiers of the same face in total. Plus the lieutenants and generals, which were the only ones that aren't clones. All of the young boys were wearing rough grey shirts and pants, black rubber boots with metal-enforced toes and were carrying a rifle, pocket knife and a pistol in a plastic and seatbelt-like material holster belt. Only now 07815 realized how ugly this view was. Thousands of young boys, no more than 15, all looking at the world with hollow, blue eyes and holding rifles. It made him want to break down and cry. All the times spent with these people, who only have numbers as a name, differing only by fingerprints, was to make them into the perfect soldiers. Killing machines. Monsters.
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How come am I only noticing this now? I knew all along I was only meant to be a killer, but why only now am I noticing my wrong doing? Why? He wanted to punch himself again and again until he felt pain no more, but he knew he would be sent to extermination. "07815, what are you doing?" The clone beside him mumbled. "If you look at the world with those eyes at a gathering, they will catch you." "Your number's 07814, right?" 07815 asked. "Yes. But call me June." "Like the month?" Why does he want me to call him a month? "Why?" "Because I don't like being called a number." June replied. "It's a called name, and you can't live in the outside world without one." "... Outside?" "Yeah. I heard some of the lieutenants talking about it. Behind the barbed wire and walls apparently there's a dessert and then cities, with huge buildings, nice looking trucks and clothes, much less guns and parks, which have these green things called trees, bushes and grass." "Sounds great." How does he know all of this? When did he develop these 'feelings'? "Since when do you have... these... feelings?" "Emotions? I've always had them. I just acted like everyone else, and they thought I didn't need the insensitivity training." He mumbled, bearly audiable. "I've never seen you in that state you were last night, so I guess you only developed them yesterday...?" "I guess. Something must've changed around in there from the drug I was handling at an execution I was preforming." "You need a name." "What?" "A name. Everyone here who made it out alive with feelings gets a name. Meet me in the bunk under yours at midnight, I have to show you something." I don't really trust June... but I hope I'm not alone. I want to see the outside world.
