Another fragment of memory is to be dug up.
In the process of erasing unnecessary memories, there are things that come to mind. Ths chapter is updatd by novl(ꜰ)ire.et
“Take your seat and state your name.”
State your name—.
The brain received the instruction, and the brain quickly transmitted the signal to the throat. It was something that was natural, something we had already developed.
“001.”
It was a symbol. A sequence of numbers.
An important element to distinguish humans.
All of the children here were given numbers as names as one of the ways to identify individuals.
From what I had observed, this place tended to be a place where the children with no parents were brought.
But when I came here for the first time, I immediately sensed the tension in the air.
The atmosphere was thick with hostility, and the looks I received from the other children were cold and unwelcoming.
I was a newcomer, an intruder in a world that had already established its own power dynamics and alliances. It seemed that whatever was happening here, some children came a lot earlier than others.
Seemingly from the name or number given to us, it seemed I was from the third generation of children here. The first generation likely didn’t have any zeros at the front of their names, whilst the second generation did have one.
It seemed I was the first one of this batch, most likely because of the test that they had subjected me to before giving me even any food.
The existing factions within the facility eyed me with suspicion and disdain. They had formed their groups, alliances forged through shared experiences and the need for mutual protection. I was an outsider, a threat to their established order.
However, even if that looked disadvantageous at first, I knew these types of places quite well and experienced firsthand how easy it was to just simply break those so-called ‘bonds.’
After entering here, from that moment on, my life took a drastic change. At that point, I was no longer in control of my life. I operated the way they wished me to while being subjected to the tests they had prepared for us.
At first, the most important of these was a written test for me, as my body was malnourished and weak.
But that didn’t mean others were not subjected to it.
All children straightened their posture and faced the test papers.
The test consisted of simply writing.
Since they’d probably already spent their recent times being thoroughly taught reading and writing when they came here earlier, there was no hesitation in their fingertips’ movements as they held the pen.
The students were most likely penalized if they didn’t achieve a certain level of performance in a limited amount of time.
In addition, the students were also required to have good handwriting, as I could see how they were trying to pay attention to their writing even though the time was limited for them.
Even if your handwriting was good, you wouldn’t receive any rewards if you got the answer wrong, but from how they paid this much attention to their writing, it was most likely that if you wrote poorly in a hurry, points would be deducted from your score, so we had to be careful.
No one at this facility asked whether or not we can solve the problems we face.
This is only true because the only children who were still here even after the tests were the ones who could solve them.
That meant that if I couldn’t solve everything, I would be left out, but to keep the information secret, the fate awaiting me was obvious.
Following me, many other children also came, and in a matter of two days, everyone in my batch was also filled.
After that, we spent the whole week learning how to write properly, how to read, and how to do math.
Whether or not I was talented at it, I had given my everything, and then the test began.
The written test was 30 minutes long, but there was enough time to complete it in about half to two-thirds of the time limit if we solved the questions without hesitation.
This was the way it was supposed to be.
******
Solve the equation and move on to the next. Determine the answer and write it down.
At the same time, you review the previous question to see if you’ve made any mistakes.
When I finished, I raised my right hand straight up.
After signaling that I was done, I turned the paper over.
Getting a perfect score on the written exam was the minimum requirement. At the same time, you were required to be a neat and speedy writer.
This was the 7th written exam since I entered here, and I’ve won first place four times in a row. The first time I took the written test, I was ranked 32nd; the second time, 19th; and the third time, 11th. I didn’t have a good start.
It took me a while to figure out how the written exams worked, its logic, and its efficiency.
Once I solved that, I wasn’t overtaken, and I myself have been improving my certainty even more.
The gap between me and the second-place finisher was widening with each written exam, and now the time gap was about five minutes.
Regardless if I got a perfect score or first place, I would never be praised by anyone.
When everyone finished, we moved on to the next part of the curriculum.
“Now, we’ll start with martial arts. Everyone, please change and follow the instructor to another room.”
Martial arts. This was another curriculum added when we turned four, as was the written test.
I’ve already been taught judo for months.
While being trained in the basics, we progressed to the stage where we had to fight in actual combat.
“Haa!”
My vision shook, and I felt a strong pain in my back.
In the confrontation with the instructor, the children were always made to taste this bitterness.
I was no exception.
“Get up!”
The relentless slamming into the floor, making it impossible to breathe, didn’t allow you a break.
If I didn’t get up immediately, I would be reprimanded again and again. Next, arms that were many times thicker than mine flew at me.
I was slammed to the floor again, and I tried desperately to catch myself, but I couldn’t absorb the damage.
While I was being knocked down to the ground, similar occurrences were happening all over the place.
All the kids were crying and sobbing while being thrashed around.
“I can’t… I can’t stand up…!”
As if begging for forgiveness, one girl, whose name was Hazel, clung weakly to the instructor’s leg. It was the girl I had been eyeing for a while
“Still, get up!”
The girl was forced to stand up as the instructor forcibly shook off her hands, but her body seemed to be immobilized.
The fact that it’s a girl wasn’t taken into consideration here.
“I told you to stand up!”
The girl was kicked, spun around and around on the floor, and sprayed vomit all over the place.
Of course, the adults weren’t kicking seriously.
Even so, it was obvious to everyone that the force of the kick was unbelievably strong.
“I don’t give a damn, even if you’re a kid! You already know that!”
The average mind would have a strong resistance to hurting a child this much.
But the instructors who’ve been called to this place are never ordinary. No, they are even more savage than the adults of the streets.
I know when I see one. Those people here killed countless different people in their lives with those hands. I can see it with my eyes. It is obvious from their even small gestures.
They are the kind of people who had no qualms about sending women and children to the brink of death.
“No one will cry if you disappear! Stand up and face them on your own!”
Hazel, convulsing and unfocused, put her hands on the floor and tried to get up.
“Yes! That’s it! Show some spirit!
“Uh, uh… Ugh… gh…!”
But the previous kick Hazel took was critical, and she collapsed and lost consciousness.
“Damn! You gutless bastard! Get her out of here! Get out of my way!”
The instructor, who had been making irritating footsteps, shouted angrily as he forcibly removed Hazel from the room.
Do you believe such a scene is tragic?
If so, you should change how you think. After all, those reactions are just a way of showing weakness, and that’s it. Even the children outside live a different life, and some of them always take it easier while those like me are more severe.
Though this is never a complaint, it is just a comment.
This is only the beginning. Excessive reactions like Hazel’s were decreasing day by day, and even the expression of pain was fading away.
Even human instincts were eliminated by the brain as superfluous functions.
It was natural to be thrown. It was natural to have difficulty breathing. It was natural to hurt yourself to the point of sobbing. And even thinking about it was a waste.
The only way out of the situation was to keep trying to reduce the number of times you get thrown within the time limit.
Of course, the most ideal situation was to defeat your opponent.
But the opponent was far superior in strength, size, and skill.
Needless to say, it wasn’t easy to bridge the gap between adults and children.
After being forced to fight intensely and breathlessly, everyone rose to their feet, battered and bruised.
After an intense education from our instructors, we were obliged to take part in hand-to-hand combat with three others at the end of the day.
The children never look tired.
But one thing was certain. We were being raised as guinea pigs, and I was never going to accept that.
For me, my freedom is the most important thing, and I only work for myself.
*******
CRACKLE! FOOSH!
“Someone….There is a fire here.”
No matter what happens, there are always beings that can never be confined in places and can do whatever it takes to reach their goal.
BOOM!
“What-“
“HELP!”
“AAAAAAHH!”
They can kill others and destroy lives just for the sake of themselves.
Like me.
While reading continuously, I learned one thing. People like me are far from normal, and they will never be.
It is incredibly hard to define this constitution of mine, as I don’t know whether I am a psychopath because something inside me is always missing or something else.
But that is no longer important.
After all, I have now achieved what I had hoped. Free from anything binding me, now I can do whatever I want without thinking about any other thing.
It is now to try and understand what I really wished for in my life.