The lights activated in the room, and a voice echoed from above.
"Wake up and go wait by the door for a guard."
We didn't know what was happening, but we obeyed without question. All of us were afraid—afraid of what might happen if we didn't follow orders.
We stood by the door, silent, tense, our hearts pounding in our chests. For about five minutes, we waited like that—glancing at each other, then back at the door.
Suddenly, the door opened automatically with a soft hiss.
A guard stood there, dressed in all black. His uniform was different from the others we had seen before—sleeker, more intimidating. On his hip was a pistol-shaped weapon.
A futuristic pistol? I thought.
"Follow me," the man said sharply before turning and walking down the corridor.
We stepped out, falling into line behind him. A group of children had already gathered ahead of us. Number 2 stepped out first, followed by Number 1. I went after Number 3, who stayed close behind me.
As we walked through the corridor, more children joined the group. Guards flanked both the front and back of the line, and sometimes they would stop and enter side rooms, emerging with more children to join the procession.
It seemed like they were gathering a specific number. Once our group was full, we were instructed to walk faster. We passed many corners, zigzagging through the cold, sterile hallways.
"What do you think is happening?" Number 3 whispered.
"Well… maybe we're being moved somewhere else," I said. "Or maybe we're going to get more of… you know what."
I couldn't help but shiver at the memory—the burning pain in my veins, and the terrifying sight of white threads crawling under my skin.
"Stop," said the guard.
We all halted. The man approached a metal door, and as he stood in front of it, a red light scanned his face.
So that's how these doors work… I thought.
With a soft beep, the door slid open.
Inside, we saw a large room. Dozens of children were lining up in front of long tables. Behind the tables sat more guards, handing out bundles of black clothing—long-sleeved shirts and pants. Three people in white lab coats stood nearby, directing children to different lines based on size and body type.
Number 2 and Number 1 were guided into separate lines for different sizes. I stepped forward next.
One of the scientists examined me silently, then pointed me toward a line—coincidentally, the same one where Number 2 was standing.
A few seconds later, Number 3 arrived and was also pointed to our line.
We stood there together, waiting for our turn to receive the black uniform.
None of us spoke. There was something heavy in the air—an unspoken tension. A feeling that something was about to change.
We didn't know what came next.
But we would soon find out.