Alex awakens in a new room—isolated, monitored, and drugged. Through a narrow view into the hallway, he witnesses the children like him, silent and broken. And then, something small… a gesture that changes everything.
---
He woke on the floor.
This time, not strapped down.
His body ached—but less. His muscles still pulsed, like they hadn't stopped twitching in his sleep. The memory of the needles still lingered, not in his flesh, but somewhere deeper. Like a stain.
The room was smaller now.
No surgical arms. No medical slab. Just a single cot—thin, rusted—and a silver wall-mounted toilet with no seat.
A reinforced glass slit stretched across one side of the room, just below ceiling height. From it, pale white light bled into the room.
Alex sat up slowly.
Every breath felt like his lungs were learning again. His shoulders cracked when he rolled them. His back popped as he stood.
He moved to the wall. The window.
On the other side was a hallway. Long. Clean. Too clean. Pale tile floor. Metal walls that reflected everything like a dull mirror.
Doors lined both sides—windowless doors marked with numbers.
Cells.
Alex leaned forward.
Directly across from him, another window. A boy sat inside. Younger than him. Maybe ten. Curled up in a corner, knees to his chest, arms around his shins. Thin. Too thin. His shirt was baggy and gray. Skin pale, eyes wide.
The boy looked up.
Saw him.
Didn't move at first.
Then—just for a second—he raised his hand.
A wave.
Weak. Tired. But unmistakable.
Alex stared.
It wasn't the wave that hit him. It was the smile that followed.
Small. Quiet. Brave.
The boy mouthed something.
Alex couldn't hear through the glass. But he could read lips well enough.
"You okay?"
Before he could respond, a door beside the boy opened.
A guard stepped in. No words. Just an order. A jab of a baton toward the hallway.
The boy stood without complaint.
He didn't wave again.
He didn't look back.
Alex waited at the window for five minutes.
Ten.
Twenty.
The boy never returned.
---
A mechanical tray slid open from the wall.
Food again. The same gray sludge. The same cloudy water.
Alex didn't touch it.
He sat with his back against the wall. Eyes locked on the hallway.
He didn't blink.
Didn't sleep.
---
Later, the guards came again.
No weapons drawn. No words spoken.
They opened his door, stepped inside, and jabbed a needle into his neck.
He didn't fight.
He just looked them in the eyes—his glowing hazel-gold eyes already starting to narrow.
Not afraid anymore.
Just quiet.
---