In a nightmare world ravaged by misery, the Imperium offers utopia to a select few. When Arya and Everett are recruited into this elite society, they choose to leave their homes against their families' wishes.
Naive and young, Arya and Everett are...
". . . Did M929 not tell you that they are all dead?"
I open my mouth to make a sound, only to have a pathetic squeak escape my throat.
Has Everett really been hiding this from me?
Immediately after the thought forms in my mind, a stab of guilt pierces my gut for openly trusting the Foreman's accusation. Surely, Everett wouldn't keep something like this from me.
But he hasdefinitely been hiding something, I think to myself with a frown, my gaze sliding towards his sleeping form behind me. Just then, the dull throb in my skull intensifies, threatening to form into an excruciating, teeth-grinding, ear-splitting headache. I blink hard and force myself to focus.
"He didn't tell you. I see," the Foreman says. When I stay speechless, he continues coolly, "I'm sure you have questions."
"What happened to the past recruits? How did they die?" I ask despite my chagrin, lowering my eyes to the floor.
"Over the years, we have had one failed Chip in every batch of recruits. Those recruits performed poorly in their pursuits and could never adapt to the Imperium. They all died either by suicide or were attacked by the other citizens, much like the two of you. Except, unlike you, they didn't need to be saved."
"What do you mean, they didn't need to be saved?" My words come out in a slurred string as I grasp the sheets on the bed to stop the room from tilting on its axis.
"None of them lasted even half as long as you two have. We barely gained any fruitful insights from them. They died within a few days of their Chips failing - two-and-a-half weeks at the latest. By surviving until your first performance evaluation at the botanical garden, you have outlasted them all. But there is still more to learn from you."
"'More to l-learn from us'?" I mutter feebly. "You make us s-sound like an experiment."
I shake my head in a desperate bid to steady my blurry vision. There is a long, cavernous pause that is interrupted only when the wall-to-wall screens let out a series of urgent beeps. My blood roars in my ears as I watch the Foreman clicking the soft buttons on the remote hanging from his belt.
"You need another treatment," he says before pulling a tube from the confines of the smooth pocket in his suit.
I don't notice the Foreman walking closer until he's right in front of me, leaning to press the tube against my wrist. My vision sharpens briefly as though a light switch has been flicked inside my brain. Gradually and blissfully, a wave of drowsiness tides over the pain.
"You must sleep now," the Foreman says tonelessly. "We will notify you to leave the Wellness Hub once both your treatments are complete."
I tip my head back to look at him, flinching as my gaze connects with his light, steely eyes. He stares at me for an uncomfortably long moment, his face devoid of any expression, before his mouth curls in a gruesome half-smile.
"A self-aware lab rat," the Foreman murmurs - more to himself than to me - before turning and swiftly walking out of the room.
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