Solin fought with all his might, punching through as many robots as he could. His bare fists crushed their metallic skulls with raw fury.
But fists couldn't win against guns. A shot hit his leg. As Solin collapsed, bleeding, he felt a strange mix of emotions—fear and happiness.
Happy, because maybe now he could finally join his friends—friends who were now just part of a growing pile of corpses.
Afraid, because... well, he didn't know why. A chill ran down his spine. Maybe he was just instinctively afraid of death. He was human, after all.
But then, the bullet meant for his head missed—grazing his ear instead.
He heard a wave of silence.
No—not silence, he corrected himself. It was a noise unlike anything he had ever heard. Everything else had become inaudible. And then, he saw the person who had grabbed the robot's arm—causing the bullet to miss.
Too late.
Before Solin could make sense of that person's face, his vision and consciousness faded.
As he lay unconscious, memories returned. Memories he wished would stay buried.
Solin was the son of a prostitute—or so the doctor had always told him. It was the only thing he never questioned.
He remembered vividly: his mother, drunk every day, entertaining men while he counted the money she earned. Food came once a day if he was lucky. Sometimes, he had to eat her vomit when she drank too much.
"Thank god, you little brat, that I didn't kill you while you were in my womb," she'd sneer. "You were once inside me, and now you complain to eat what came out of me too?"
After a few drinks to freshen her breath, she would beat him. Solin could only endure. Until one day, when he was around five, he ran.
Maybe she had truly wanted to kill him. Or maybe she simply couldn't afford an abortion.
He never killed her. Not out of love—but as a twisted repayment: for not killing him when she had the chance.
The doctor found him on the streets. Warm voice. Kind eyes. A mask.
"I guess your mother was a slut," the doctor had said. "Well, you can stay with me."
At first, life in the orphanage felt like salvation. Two meals a day. Clothes without holes. Not paradise—but not hell either. Solin thrived. He became stronger, smarter, sharper than the rest.
But everything changed when he was twelve.
One day, he saw a military official arrive—one who didn't even look fully human. Solin overheard the doctor speaking to the alien general.
"Yes, sir. I have another kid ready," the doctor said. "When will we receive the funds for the next three years?"
"Cut it out, Doctor. From now on, we need a kid every year. I'm being generous—I'll give you two years this time. Be prepared."
"No way, you must be joking! Every three years was already hell—now you want one every year? I'll go insane. You make these kids kill each other, just for power!"
"The kids will fight each other anyway, Doctor. That's how humans are. We're just accelerating the process. New policy: one kid every year. Actually… since you nag so much, let's make it six months."
"No, no, I'll do it in two—"
"Too late, you bastard." The general paused, then grinned. "You insulted my dignity. Six months. Or I'll kill all of you."
The general left.
Solin learned the truth: the doctor wasn't a savior. He was a seller. Of children.
And Solin—perhaps the brightest of them all—was next.
But what lay ahead would be worse than even this truth.
But I know he is not human. Both literally and symbolically.
I didn't know much about what the general meant, or even what he was. But what I did know was this: he wasn't human—literally and symbolically.
My life at the orphanage had been good up till then. I had friends. I had Elari.
All of us orphans had seen sadness. Bloodshed. That was the price of admission to this place. But Elari—she hadn't. Somehow, she was still untouched by it. Bright. Kind.
She was the only one among us who hadn't changed.
That's when I realized: humans are born good. They're meant to love.
From Elari, I gained hope. Hope that I could escape my past. Be more like her.
Aside from Elari, I had two more friends: Wansai and Tansa. Wansai had a bad memory—always forgetting things, even people. And Tansa? He asked more questions than anyone I knew. They tried to cheat and beat me in every kind of competition, but they failed. Eventually, we understood each other.
From what I could tell, I would be the one chosen by the doctor within the next six months. I was the top student in every category. But I was terrified.
What if that place was even worse than I feared?
I felt the corpses of all the children sacrificed before me pulling me down, making me a part of their pile. I couldn't go. I was already part of something here. A friend to three. That was enough.
I couldn't carry anything more inside me. Never. It should be my choice whether to go, shouldn't it?
...But I knew it wasn't.
I was just too scared to leave the ones I loved. Because humans—when they have nothing to hold on to—that's when death arrives.
Death is something everyone fears. And so do I.
So I must not go where only death waits.
Then he came.
I still remember it clearly. It was night. Rainy. I'd woken up and wandered the corridor to hear the rain. I loved the rain. It sounded like a place where everyone cried.
A place where I could cry, too. For my future. My demise. The place I'd be sent in a few months. The loss of love, friends, identity. My futile resistance against fate.
But as I stood there, listening to the patter of rain—I saw him.
He was about my age. Someone I'd never seen before.
I couldn't see his face clearly, but in the dim moonlight, I made out that he was a boy. Even in the rain, his hands... they were stained. Dark. Sticky. Blood, I thought. What else could it be?
I was terrified. I jumped back and choked out, "Wh-Who are you...?"
...
...
No reply.
I tried to see him more clearly, but when he stepped toward me, fear overtook me. I punched him—instinct. Self-defense. I couldn't afford more problems. How could I not be scared if someone who might've just killed someone was walking straight at me?
I woke up in tears.
I saw myself bound by chains I couldn't see. I thought: what now?
A desperate, broken laugh escaped me—as if to mark my happy memories, and the end of them.
Then I heard footsteps.
Approaching.