He was lead into the back of a caravan at gunpoint. Twelve men, all with weapons trained on him. The masks covering there faces showed no emotion nor remorse. There was not a doubt in his mind they would kill him if he did not obey their commands.

Yet he did not feel afraid.

Up the ramp he went, into a moving prison. It was strange, but he felt at peace with everything. That he was safe, even. Was it because he was confident in his safety, or did he subconsciously choose to believe that these people would not hurt him. Either way, it would mean he was an idiot. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of superiority on these people. Like he was amused they were trying.

"Just keep it moving." One of the muffled voices said to him. He was not paying very much attention to them, however. Lost in thought, he was oblivious to there orders. He simply walked into the large vehicle and sat down where he would be secluded, away from all the other people.

And then he got that strange feeling. It was one of...he couldn't even describe it. It was familiar, almost like a memory. This situation, surrounded by hostile people, alone and secluded, felt...normal.

Maybe it was.

The rest of the men in the black armor boarded the vehicle, and the ramp closed behind them. Slowly, the caravan started to move forward, the giant metal vessel loud and shaky. He sat there, letting the enemy that surrounded him study his presence, as he looked out the back, towards the giant structure of ice he had climbed down from. The night sky made it's light blue and white stand out, against the dark backdrop. He watched it get farther away from him, shrinking into the distance, and he felt a if a part of him was left back there.

Suddenly, he yearned to go back. He knew he couldn't, but he felt as if he needed to go back to that iceberg. As if an important part of him was left back there.

He felt the feeling fade as the iceberg became farther and farther, until it became nothing more than an insignificant dot in his field of view.


A black bag had been put over her head, which muffled all sound and sight. He did not show any panic or fear however. He just sat there, waiting for whatever came next. For what seemed like hours he had been sitting on this uncomfortable metal seat in the caravan, not a word being exchanged between any of them. During this time, he did nothing but think about himself. He thought about what his past was, who he was, what he could've been. He had no identity, no memory, no life. He was nothing.

Something about that sentence drove an unfamiliar sadness deep into him.

He continued to contemplate the manner of his existence. It seemed ever since he...woke up he had been in danger and threatened. Was this the way the world worked? Was there nothing but danger and threats? He had been in this world a long time, but it seemed a somewhat logical conclusion. But it felt...wrong. Logic said it was right, but something deep in him pulled him away from that. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Immediately, he was calm and content.

He felt the vehicle below him begin to slow as commotion began to pick up around him. It lurched to a stop with a hiss, giving one final moment of resistance before it was completely at rest.

"Okay, get up." Someone said. He was grabbed roughly and hoisted up by his arms and wrists. He was hastily led out of the caravan, the men not giving him ample time to keep up.

He often stumbled and tripped over himself to the beat of heavy footsteps on the seemingly metallic floor. Still, they did not slow down. There were no words exchanged between any of his captors. He gave that word to describe them even though he did not completely understand if he what he was in relation to these people. All the signs pointed to him being a prisoner, though he wanted to find out just a little more before he decided that.

He was brought to a uneasy and sudden stop. There was a pause before he heard four consecutive robotic beeps. There was a hiss and the sound of metal sliding against itself, and he was shoved forward. Even though he couldn't smell very well through this thick bag, he noticed the thick smell of metal and a strange unpleasant substance. Medicine?

He was forcefully laid down on a surface. Although it wasn't completely soft, it was undoubtedly more comfortable than the cold metal surface of the caravan. Laying down there, he felt some thick fabric being tightened around his wrists and ankles. The bag was pulled off of his head with little difficulty, to which his eyes were introduced to a sudden bright light overhead. The pain on his eyes caused him to close his eyes and turn his head. A final piece of fabric was strapped tightly around his torso.

"Please treat him with a little more restraint, Lieutenant. I will not have my patients caused more harm while in my care." Someone said. Despite this warning, his head was forced to look up and another strap was added uncomfortably tight to his forehead. In an attempt to get more used to the bright light, he slowly opened his eyes. Thankfully the light was getting dimmer.

"Just figure out who this is, and we can get on with it." Someone said. He looked over to the left at the men who had brought him here. They had taken off their black masks so that he had a clear view of their faces. He had to be honest, without the masks, they were not as intimidated. They were...humanized. Not just faceless monsters, but actual people. Although he felt surprise inside him he did not show it on his face.

"Fine, just get out so I can do my job." Someone said with a sigh. Looking over to the right, he saw a man in a white lab coat was standing at his feet. He was short and pudgy, his hair white and balding. He wore thin wire frame glasses and carried a clipboard over his chest in the crook of his left arm. "I have enough problems to do with without you underdeveloped monkeys interrupting my work."

"Just get it done, before we're forced to give you a little more incentive." One of the men in black said, a crooked smile on his face. Apparently, the rest of the men in the group found such a comment humorous, as they were laughing. He did not understand what they found so funny in the statement, but he did not particularly feel like asking. Nevertheless, they left the room one by one, their laughter echoing in the small room he was in. As the last on exited a wall of glass and metal slid behind him, successfully shutting off the entire room from the outside hallway. As the wall stopped with a sound similar to a hiss the man in the lab coat spoke to himself. "Goddamn idiots."

He took this moment to look around the room. Multiple tools were placed around the tools on tables and cabinets. They were all placed in some kind of comprehensible order, nice and neat, side by side. The walls had nothing on them. Besides the one to his left, they were pure metal with no glass or openings. The ceiling a tile-pattern. Each tile had the same picture on it. Three golden arrows crossing over each other so that they formed kind of a triangle. With the light that bounced of of the ceiling, it looked almost like they were glowing. Besides that there was nothing else in the room.

"Noticing the fine art?" The only other person in the room said. He looked up at the man in the lab coat and saw that he was standing straight over him. He took no notice and went back to looking at the ceiling.

"Just curious." He said. He studied the picture for a moment. "What does it mean?" The man in the lab coat looked up at the ceiling to study the picture as well.

"I haven't thought about it in a long time. But, all the arrows represent a whole. Each one a different part of what we do here, all of us combining to make a glorious insignia." The man in the lab coat went quiet for a moment, lost in thought.

Strange, he thought. Even if he did not know whether behavior like that was common or not, he deemed it unusual. And his explanation was certainly unhelpful. However, he did now know that there was a large group around here. That bit of information was quite worth the strangeness of the conversation. The man with the lab coat clapped his hands suddenly, causing him to jump.

"First thing's first. I would like to now your name." The man in the lab coat said. He blinked.

"I do not currently have a name." He said. The man in the lab coat smiled.

"Of course you don't. Well," the man in the lab coat shifted the clipboard to look at it, "Subject number two-fifty-three. Look's like we're just gonna have to get the information I desire the hard way." He blinked.

"Two-fifty-three?" He asked. "Is that my name?"

"No. But it will be for the remainder of your stay here." The man in the lab coat said. "You may address me as Dr. Trost for the remainder of your time here." Dr. Trost set the clipboard down on a metal table nest to 253. He hovered his hands back and forth over an array of scalpels. "Well, first thing's first. We're going to have to take a sample. Nothing personal, purely for identification purposes."

His hand slowed to a stop over a scalpel with a straight blade. He picked it up and put up close to his glasses, inspecting the blade. 253 looked blankly at the blade, not exactly sure what to make of it. To him, it was just a piece of metal that was simply there. He did not understand why it was necessary to obtain a "sample" from him. But from how well and sharp the blade looked like it was kept, he assumed it was for cutting. Was Dr. Trost planning to cut something from him? Perhaps a piece of flesh or of the clothing he was in. Interesting. Dr. Trost walked close to the left 253, the scalpel held up near his head.

"This won't hurt for long. I'll give you some anesthesia and antibiotics afterwards, but I'm afraid the uncultured swine here consider it crucial for the patients to understand their position here." Dr. Trost said. 253 did not completely understand the reasoning behind that. If it was to attempt to help the patient, then the pain was not in their favorite. If it was an attempt to subdue the patient, then the pain would cause them to be disobedient short-termed.

The doctor slowly brought the scalpel down to 253's chest, pressing the cold metal to his skin. Dr. Trost made eye contact with 253, and a sadistic smile spread over his face. With one hard movement, tilted the scalpel diagonal with 253's skin and pushed down. With a loud snap, the top of the instrument came clean off, bouncing off his skin and landing on the floor. 253 looked down at the broken tool that was still in contact with him.

"Is that a normal reaction?" He asked, looking at Dr. Trost. Dr. Trost was looking at the blade with an expression of disbelief. It was likely he did not even hear 253. "Dr. Trost?"

"...I...How..." Dr. Trost was speechless for a moment, before a smile that expressed pure enjoyment came across his face. "That's amazing. Your skin is most definitely denser than most normal humans. This is certainly interesting."

"Is that so?" 253 asked. "I don't know exactly what to make of that."

"Oh, I would not expect you too. You're not as educated as I." Dr. Trost said. "I'll just have to use a tool with more force for you. Interesting, indeed."

Dr. Trost turned, tossing the broken blade away in a metal bin on the floor. He slid across his hand on the metal wall opposite from the glass. Somewhere in the middle he pressed against the wall lightly. A small light appeared on his hand, separating into two and both going down and up as if they were cutting the wall. With a hiss, the two new pieces of wall separated and slid in opposite directions. They revealed a hidden cabinet, filled with multiple drills and tools. Each one was different looking, some extremely small and some extremely . Trost picked up the largest tool from the bottom, something that looked more fit to cut through rocks than to preform anything needed in the hospital. The handle was large and orange. It looked more like an extra handgun with a large twisted metal piece protruding from the end.

"Yes, yes. Interesting indeed." Dr. Trost said. He picked up to drill near his face and turned it over, studying it. It looked heavier than he could carry, but 253 assumed that it he would preform satisfactorily despite that.

"I would like to advise against this action." 253 said. Dr. Trost simply laughed at his comment.

"I expected nothing less from you." Dr. Trost said. "I would not be too worried about this. It should not take very long. Refrain from struggling and it will be over virtually quickly." He said.

253 recognized the present threat. It's not that he did not care, it was like it...did not matter. He knew that he should be threatened. Logic and common sense said so. But his pure instincts said he would be fine. So he did not panic. He did not struggle. He simply sat there and waited for Dr. Trost to get a sample from him.

Dr. Trost turned the drill up right and pressed a button on the side of it. Immediately the twisted piece of metal started to twirl at a rapid pace, so that everything but the center of the rod was a blur. With a smile on his face, Dr. Trost made his way closer to 253.