Elian often didn't sleep well… or, sometimes, he simply didn't sleep at all.Every time he closed his eyes, memories returned like knives, one by one.
"E-ELIAN, HELP ME!" was 1185's scream, just before S tore his arms off for failing the physical trials."C-Calm down, Elian… I-I don't… I don't feel anything…" 1193's trembling voice after losing and not dying in a fight, dragged away by S to a darker corner—the punishment there would be worse than defeat."E-ELIAN, do s-s-something…" 1200 begged seconds before S crushed his body like mud."Elian… help me…" the choked whisper of 1264, his rival in that deadly chess match. The timer hit zero, and a shot passed through his temple.
Six voices. Six echoes that never faded.Six deaths that Elian felt weighing on his conscience.Six failed attempts at friendship ended in blood, simply because S had chosen him as his "favorite toy."
Another night, Elian sat on his metal bunk, hugged his knees, and stared at nothing."Mom…" he whispered. "I couldn't keep my promise…"
That night he had struck another boy. Not in instinctive self-defense, but out of hatred.For a second he imagined his opponent's face as S's—and that made him feel alive.
Elian hated what he felt.He hated understanding, even a little, S's rotten philosophy.Natural selection.Survive or die.The idea that only the strong deserve to keep breathing.
But what terrified him most was feeling empathy for that monster.Because deep down he still believed life had value. That even the cruelest could change.
"MOM!" he screamed one night, waking drenched in sweat.He had dreamed of her again—lying on the ground, blood running across her dress, the black bullet still smoking.Elian cried silently.No one could see him cry.No one… except S.
And S always showed up when he shouldn't."HA HA HA HA… your tears are a unique melody, 1317," S would say every time he "happened" to pass Elian's cell.
Elian never understood how—yet S always knew when he cried.He always knew what he felt.That knowledge scared him more than death itself.
As months passed, Elian changed.He was no longer the child who searched for comfort or companionship.He grew withdrawn, aggressive, unpredictable.He didn't speak much; he answered with movements.If anyone tried to touch him, hug him, or get close, his body reacted instantly—ready to kill.
And he wasn't the only one.All who remained had been transformed.They weren't children anymore.They weren't human.They were survival machines, programmed by fear and pain.
That night, while silence stretched through the subterranean corridors, Elian hugged himself and whispered:"I want this to end.I want to wake from this nightmare.I want to be free… I want the power to kill him… to kill S."
His words faded into the dark.