Chapter 3

  Tod clutched his stomach, the sharp pangs of hunger stabbing at him like a sword in his gut.

  He couldn’t tell how much time had passed since he was kidnapped, but judging by the intensity of his hunger, he guessed it had been at least a day. He had stopped moving around, opting instead to conserve his energy. To distract himself from the gnawing emptiness in his stomach, he focused on thinking through the implications of his situation.

  First, he knew he was in some kind of facility—that much was clear. He also knew there were others like him somewhere in this place.

  Second, while he didn’t know what his captors planned to do with them, he could rule out organ farming. The effort they had gone to in isolating each child in their own room suggested a different purpose entirely.

  The why

  As for the idea of suicide… yes, it hurt. Yes, it was unbearable. But Tod had come to a realization:

  He resolved to keep pushing forward, no matter how broken he felt inside. Succumbing to despair would be an insult to his mother’s love and memory.

  ---

  Time crawled by as Tod lay still, moving only when absolutely necessary. He began counting seconds to occupy his mind and stave off the creeping sense of hopelessness. Something deep inside told him that if he allowed himself to sleep, he might never wake up again.

  By the third day—at least according to Tod’s counting—the hunger had become so unbearable that he briefly considered chewing on his tongue but quickly dismissed the idea.

  His eyes had grown so accustomed to the darkness that he sometimes forgot they were open at all.

  During this time, Tod made a startling realization

  It was so loud that it felt like something tangible—whispering in his ear, pressing against him like an invisible force.

  On the fourth day, something changed. The intense hunger and crushing fatigue disappeared almost entirely. Tod felt a faint return of strength in his body—a cruel trick, he thought bitterly. He tried to laugh at the absurdity of it all but managed only a weak cough. Somehow, he knew his time was running out; this newfound energy was likely his body’s last desperate attempt to keep him alive.

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  Then suddenly—a flash of light pierced the darkness.

  For a moment, Tod’s mind went blank from the sheer brightness. As quickly as it had appeared, the light vanished again as the door slammed shut.

  It took him a moment to process what had happened: someone had opened the door. A surge of joy bubbled within him—but reality quickly crushed that hope. There was no one left to come for him.

  As the excitement subsided, Tod noticed something new: . His mysterious visitor had left behind a gift.

  Food.

  The suppressed hunger roared back with vengeance, threatening to overwhelm him completely. But Tod forced himself to stay calm—he knew that eating too quickly after starving for days could kill him.

  Crawling across the cold concrete floor toward the aroma's source, Tod found a plate waiting for him. Slowly and methodically, he placed small chunks into his mouth and swallowed without chewing. When the plate was empty, a wave of emotions threatened to drown him—despair mixed with relief—but he held himself together.

  At least now he knew one thing:

  ---

  In the days that followed, food arrived regularly—first once per day and then twice daily as time went on. Gradually, Tod regained some strength and allowed himself brief moments of sleep. Though nightmares haunted him and suicidal thoughts occasionally crept into his mind, he felt a small sense of recovery both physically and mentally.

  By Day Ten (according to Tod’s count), everything changed again.

  The door opened once more—but this time it didn’t close.

  Tod stared at the blinding light spilling into his cell and realized something:

  Cautiously moving toward the doorway, Tod took time to adjust to the brightness before stepping outside with great difficulty. What greeted him wasn’t freedom but another form of imprisonment—a long hallway lined with identical cells stretching endlessly toward a single door at its far end.

  Looking back at his cell reinforced this thought in his mind:

  As Tod moved down the hall alongside other children emerging from their cells, he occasionally passed open rooms containing rotting corpses—grim reminders of those who hadn’t survived their captivity.

  All the children seemed to understand what their captors wanted—they began moving slowly but steadily toward the door at the end of the hall.

  ---

  When Tod finally passed through it, he entered a massive room resembling a conference hall. Rows upon rows of chairs stretched across its expanse, occupied by more children than Tod could count—easily over two thousand by his rough estimation.

  Finding an empty seat among them, Tod sat down quietly like everyone else and waited.

  After what felt like hours of silence and anticipation, someone finally stepped onto a stage at the front of the room—a man dressed impeccably in a white suit.

  Raising one hand dramatically, he spoke in English with an accent Tod couldn’t place:

  “I welcome you all to our facility.”

  His voice carried an unsettling calmness as he continued:

  “You must all be wondering why you are here—or perhaps some of you are curious about where ‘here’ even is.” He paused briefly before smiling—a smile devoid of warmth or humanity.

  “Well… there is only one answer for all you kids here: THAT IS NO LONGER YOUR CONCERN.”

  The man’s voice grew sharper as he continued:

  “Instead of occupying your minds with useless questions like those… you will focus solely on how ready you are to execute *the orders* you are given.”

  His tone became commanding:

  “From now on—you will eat when told… sleep when told… speak when told… laugh when told… and yes—even die when told.”

  Tod sat frozen in place as these words echoed through the room