* * * Chapter 2 * * *

The next day they came for me, just like they always did. Two guards came and gripped my biceps, dragging me out of my cell for my daily training. I put up no strong resistance, though I let my feet drag a little so they would have to pull me along.

Soon we came to a large door with a man standing in front of it. He was dressed in a long white coat and was holding a clipboard in his hands. I had come to know him as "The Researcher." He glanced up at me and his face remained expressionless.

"Are you ready, Subject S?" he asked icily. All I could do was nod my head. In truth, I was not ready, but what choice did I have? "Good. You know what to do; the next step of training and your breakfast are at the end. Let's see if you can beat your record."

The Researcher opened the door and stepped aside. The guards tossed me in and the door slammed shut. I looked up at the dimly lit halls in front of me. They didn't look any different than the halls I had just left, but I knew better.

Breakfast was my motivation for this. I didn't know how long it had been since I had eaten, but it had been long enough to make me extremely hungry. At this point I was willing to eat a pineapple.

Pineapple? I don't like pineapple?

No, I don't.

But why?

A small beep sounded and I took a deep breath. Maybe Subject R is right. Running for food. I'm not a human. But is that their fault . . . or mine?

My legs began moving and I started to run as fast as I could. Charging down the hallways and around corners, just to please them. I ran as if I was running for my life—for all I knew, I was.

It didn't take long before the flames began to shoot out from the holes in the walls. I gasped and ran even faster. I pushed my body as hard as it would go, and soon it was screaming at me to slow down. But I could not.

The flames licked at my heels and I felt the sweat accumulate on my forehead. It was so close to me. One misstep, one trip, one mistake, and I would be toast—quite literally.

The fire was meant to push me as fast as I would go. They were watching, trying to get me to beat my record. I needed to run, run, run. It was tiresome, and, frankly, painful. Did they care? The answer to that would be a big, fat "no."

As I came around another corner, I saw the rope that was the next part of my challenge. I gripped it just as the fire spread under my feet. With all my strength, I began to climb up the rope. My muscles screamed at me to stop, but I had to keep climbing.

I heard the sizzling sound that I had come to anticipate. The bottom of the rope was on fire. If I wanted to survive, I would have to climb much faster.

My hands began to ache—I think it's called rope burn—as I slid them up and struggled to keep going. Just one slip would seal my doom. I squeezed the rope and sucked in my breath.

Almost there. Keep going. You're so close. Don't die!

That last thought terrified me. The fact that I needed to think that was horrifying. My life was a game of survival. That was all. If I was only surviving, then I certainly couldn't be human. I was barely alive. This was not living, and I knew it.

Let me out! Stop this madness! I can't go on! Let me go! Let me go!

Finally I reached the top of the rope. I climbed onto the nearby platform and dropped to my hands and knees. The next thing I had to do was the easiest part of the training—at least for me.

Straight ahead was a door. I walked towards it and pressed on the nearby wall. A large, holographic screen appeared. All I had to do to get out was answer ten questions correctly.

It wouldn't have been so bad, except every time I got a question wrong I got shocked. I didn't understand how they expected me to know all the answers since I didn't even remember my real name—if I ever had one—but sometimes I found it surprisingly easy.

"Who was the first President of the United States of America?" the computer read. I didn't know how, but somehow I knew to put in "George Washington." My brain refused to tell me precisely who he was, but I knew it was the correct answer. I typed it in and sighed with relief when no pain shot through my body.

The next question was harder. "What is the Jacobson's organ?" Unfortunately, my brain couldn't give me that answer. The time slowly ticked away and I felt the jolt go through my body. I cried out in agony.

It took about seventeen tries to get the required ten correct answers. The door opened and I slowly walked through it. I rubbed my tingling fingers on my arms and blinked back the tears that pushed at the corners of my eyes.

I walked into a completely white room that was well-lit. I blinked a few times to adjust my eyes. In the middle of the room was a table. There were two circular chairs sitting across from each other. One of them was occupied by a young woman.

"Sit, Subject S," she said coolly. I obeyed.

She picked up a bowl that was sitting on the table and handed it to me. I picked up the spoon and began to eat the . . . gruel. There was no better word. It was a bunch of brown mush. It wasn't very appetizing, but it did give me energy and satisfy my hunger.

The woman, who I had come to know as "The Counselor," watched me eat for a few minutes. Finally she said, "Well, you didn't beat your record."

"I figured not," I said after I swallowed another mouthful of the tasteless "food."

"We're disappointed in you," she said smoothly. "We had hopes for you, Subject S."

Something about her tone made something shift inside of me. "I can still do it," I said. "I just . . . I was tired."

"You don't have any excuses. We don't understand why you haven't unlocked your powers yet."

"Maybe I would if you would tell me more about them."

"No!" she snapped. "You have to find them on your own!"

"Okay, okay!" I said. I took another bite of my food and attempted to swallow the lump in my throat along with it.

"We do think you're getting closer," The Counselor said. "Soon you'll have new challenges. Some of them may involve others like yourself."

"Like Subject R?"

"Oh, so you met your new neighbor."

"Yes."

"Maybe him. Maybe others, like Subject Q. Subject S, there are some things you need to remember. Mostly about appearances."

I put my bowl down on the table. "I don't understand."

"We've worked hard to make sure that you're ready for the challenges you're going to face. But some of this is up to you. You need to make sure that you don't pay much attention to how people look. They may look very friendly, but they are your enemies. Like Subject R. He is your enemy."

"What?" I asked. "I thought he was in my group!"

"He is. You and him and Subject Q were somewhat of a . . . package deal. You came together. But they are both your enemies. Not your friends. They never were."

I looked around at the white room. I knew I shouldn't believe her words but . . . I did. Not voluntarily. I found myself nodding, but I never commanded my head to do so. She smiled slowly.

"Good," she said. "So if we ever make you fight someone, you can't think too much about it. Just do what we've told you to do. Don't ask questions, Subject S, and things will be much easier for you."

"I understand," I said mechanically, not of my own free will.

The Counselor stood up, as did I. We walked to the door and she opened it for me. Outside were the two guards, ready to take me away. I turned back to the woman.

"No experiments today?" I asked her.

"Not today," she said.

Internally I sighed with relief, but outwardly I remained passive. The guards grabbed me and marched me back down the hall to my cell.

When I got back, they shoved me inside and slammed the door like they always did. I collapsed onto my cot, groaning. All my limbs ached.

"Subject R?" I called out weakly, wondering if he was there.

"Yes, Subject S?" He was.

"Did . . . did you know that we're enemies?"

There was a pause for a minute. "Yes."

"Did you know that we might have to fight each other someday?"

"Yes."

"And you're okay with that?"

"I don't mind talking to you now, Subject S. But I know that someday I might have to destroy you. If they tell me to do it, I will. No questions asked. That's why I didn't want to talk to you. I can't get close. Someday I may have the pleasure of killing you."

The way he said it so nonchalantly made a shiver go up my spine. He was prepared to do whatever was "required" of him. If the time came when I needed to fight, would I have the same strength?