Chapter 3 Chapter 3

CLEO’S POV;

​The chemicals bled out of my system like ice melting into sludge.

​My fingers twitched first, then my toes. The paralysis receded, leaving my muscles raw, heavy, and aching from the sudden influx of nerve signals.

​I sat up slowly on the edge of the room’s single iron cot, rubbing my wrists where the cold metal bracelets chafed against my skin.

The white ceiling lights were on full power, humming lowly, and ​below me, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back against the bedframe, was Kenji.

​He didn't notice me move. He was staring intensely at a small, crumpled photograph held between his thumb and forefinger.

In the photo was a girl wearing the same white track uniform as us. Her dark hair was pinned back, her tag reading SUBJECT 00.

She had wide, bright eyes and a soft, striking face that looked wildly out of place in a death trap like this.

​Kenji was leaning his head back, murmuring to the glossy paper in a low, dramatic, ridiculous voice.

​"Hey, baby girl," he whispered, holding the photo two inches from his nose, his tone dripping with theatrical charm.

"My name is Kenji, but you can call me yours. I know you're probably thinking, 'Wow, who is this gorgeous, perfectly coiffed prince standing in front of me?' Don't worry, baby. Your prayers have been answered—"

​I leaned over the side of the mattress, my pony tails falling on either side of my face as I peeked right over his shoulder.

​"What are you doing?" I rasped.

​"Jesus Christ!" Kenji jumped out of his skin, scrambling backward across the floor like a startled cat, slapping the photo face-down against his chest.

He glared at me, his face flushing crimson.

"Do you have to slither around like a phantom?!"

​"You…. talk to paper," I noted, my eyes blank as I sat up straight.

"Is paper your friend?"

​"It's a photograph, you absolute alien," he hissed, hurriedly tucking the picture into the hidden lining of his jacket.

He stood up, smoothing his front, trying to regain his composure. "And it's none of your business. Get up. The door's unlocked."

​I looked toward the front of the cell. The heavy steel door was slitted open by an inch. A harsh, electronic bell echoed down the hallway, accompanied by the cold, digitized voice over the wall speakers:

​"Morning cycle initiated. All subjects report to sanitation bays before morning assessment."

​The corridor outside was a long, blinding white artery, lined with dozens of steel doors.

Dozens of teenagers—all clad in identical white sportswear, all wearing metallic collars and anklets—poured into the hall like ghosts moving toward a meat grinder.

​At the end of the hall, the corridor split into two arches. One had a blue icon over the door. The other had pink.

​Kenji walked toward the blue arch, pulling me along by the invisible five-foot tether of our collars.

​Inside the male sanitation bay, heavy laughter, shouting, and the echo of running water boomed off the tile walls. Dozens of male subjects were moving around inside.

​I stopped dead at the threshold, my sneakers gripping the linoleum.

​A sharp, violent memory hit me—the sound of heavy male voices echoing in the alley, footsteps splashing against puddles, the smell of stale meat and alcohol. My pulse spiked into overdrive and my throat locked.

​"No," I said, my voice rising. I dug my heels in.

"I am not going in there."

​"Cleo, it's just a shower," Kenji sighed, turning back to me, looking exhausted.

"We have twenty minutes before morning assessment. I am not going to spend the day smelling like a walking biohazard."

​"I am not going in there with them," I spat, turning on my heel to walk toward the women's room.

​"Hey! Wait—"

​I took three fast steps toward the pink door.

Kenji stood his ground near the blue entrance.

​Five feet.

​CRACK-THACK!

​An agonizing surge of high-voltage electricity erupted from the metal band around my neck, shooting straight down my spine into my heels.

A sharp, high-pitched scream tore from my throat as my legs buckled, slamming me hard onto the cold floor tiles.

​Beside the male door, Kenji collapsed onto his hands and knees, clutching his neck, gasping for air as blue sparks danced across his collar.

​"Fuck!" he choked out, his voice raw. "Ah, god... okay! Okay! The collar is real!"

​My heart hammered, my muscles trembling violently from the current. On hands and knees, I forced myself to crawl forward, my nails dragging against the smooth tile.

Kenji scrambled toward me at the exact same time, both of us desperate to close the distance.

​The second we were three feet apart, the current cut off.

​We lay on the floor for a long moment, breathing heavily,

​"Fine," Kenji panted, sitting up and rubbing his neck, glaring at me through dark, irritated eyes.

"We go to the women's room. You shower first, I wait by the door. Then I shower, you wait. Happy?"

​"Fine," I rasped, pushing myself up.

​The female sanitation bay was vast, filled with individual glass shower stalls, heavy steam rising into the cold air. It was currently empty, the quiet hum of the drainage pipes the only sound.

​I walked to the nearest glass stall. Without a second thought, I grabbed the bottom hem of my Adidas sports bra and pulled it over my head, tossing it onto the dry bench.

I pulled my sweatpants down, letting them drop to my ankles, stepping out of them until I was standing bare.

​Kenji, who had been leaning against the outer sinks waiting for me, turned his head to say something—and froze dead in his tracks.

​His eyes went wide as saucers. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

​I turned the shower knob, stepping under the spray of lukewarm water. I looked back over my shoulder at him. He was still standing there, staring at me, his jaw practically on the tile floor.

​Slowly, Kenji blinked, snapped his jaw shut, and violently whipped his entire body around to face the mirror, covering his eyes with both hands.

​"Are you completely out of your mind?!" he choked out, his voice cracking.

"You don't just... strip down in front of people! What is wrong with you?!"

​I wiped the water from my eyes, watching his back in the reflection of the glass. "Why you yelling?"

​"Because you're naked!" he squeaked, his neck turning a dark, furious red.

"Why don't you speak English properly anyway? You look English! Did you not go to school?!"

​"I no go to school," I said flatly, rubbing the soap over my arms.

​"Why not?!"

​"Because I was in a basement," I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. "There were no schools down there."

​Silence fell over the room, heavy and awkward, save for the patter of the water. Kenji didn't ask another question.

I could see his shoulders tense up, his posture stiffening as he stared blankly at his own reflection in the mirror.

​Suddenly, the heavy outer doors of the sanitation bay clicked. Heavy, echoing footsteps and female voices echoed from the entryway, approaching fast.

​Threat.

​My instinct flared before my brain could process the context. I reached out of the glass stall, grabbed Kenji by his jacket collar, and yanked him backward into the shower stall with me.

​"Whoa—"

​He stumbled into the running water, fully clothed, soaking his jacket and hair instantly.

Before he could yell, I slammed my wet palm firmly over his mouth, pinning his back against the glass wall. My bare, wet body was pressed flush against his chest, keeping him pinned, keeping him quiet.

​Kenji’s eyes blew wide open. A deep, vivid pink flooded his cheeks. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, terrified to touch me, until his left palm accidentally brushed against my bare waist.

He flinched as if he had touched white-hot iron, immediately pulling his hands up to his chest, locking them into tight fists.

​His eyes darted frantically everywhere—the ceiling, the glass wall, the showerhead—doing absolute backflips to avoid looking down at my bare chest.

​I raised a eyebrow, slowly lowering my hand from his mouth. "Why… you do that?"

​"Doing... doing what?" he whispered through gritted teeth, his chest heaving under his soaked clothes.

​"You're acting weird," I murmured, leaning slightly closer to look at his eyes.

In my mind, a strange realization clicked. He isn't trying to grab me. He isn't trying to tear my clothes off–no wait they are already off.

He's... afraid to look. "All the men I met before... they grab. They touch. They try to take. Why are you pretending like you've never seen a woman before?"

​Kenji swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his face burning bright red under the spray. "What? They what? I mean…it is... highly inappropriate... for you to be pressing your bare body against mine!" he hissed under his breath.

"Have you no sense of personal space?!"

​Before I could answer, the glass door of our shower stall slid wide open.

​A girl standing there holding a white towel froze.

​It was the girl from the photograph. SUBJECT 00.

​Her wide eyes darted from my bare, wet body, to Kenji—soaked to the bone in his full uniform, pinned against the glass—and her mouth fell open in utter, horrified shock.

She let out a sharp gasp.

​Behind her, three other girls gathered around, peeking over her shoulders.

​"What the hell?!" one of the girls shrieked.

"Why is there a boy in the female showers?!"

I just turned my head, locking my eyes on the girls, giving them a flat, glare that made the two behind Subject 00 take a step back.

​"Subject 00, wait!" Kenji blurted out, scrambling to push himself off the glass, waving his wet hands frantically.

"It's not what it looks like! I swear! We have these stupid proximity collars! If I step more than five feet away from her, my brain gets fried! I wasn't... we weren't doing anything! I was just... she yanked me in here!"

​Subject 00 looked at the thick metal collar around Kenji's neck, then at mine, her expression shifting to disgust.

​"You are a disgusting pervert, 02. You said you were single this morning," she said coldly, wrapping her towel tighter around herself before turning on her heel and walking away.

​"Wait! Princess, listen to me!" Kenji called out, but the girls slammed the main door shut behind them.

​Silence returned to the wet tile.

​Kenji turned to me, his face twisted into an expression of pure, desperate agony. "You ruined my life," he whispered, whisper-yelling at me.

"I have been trying to get to know her since the very day i came here! And now she thinks I'm a degenerate!"

​His eyes accidentally dropped down toward my chest. The second they did, he slammed his eyes shut, turning his whole body around to face the wall.

​"Woman, put your fucking clothes on!" he yelled at the tile.

​I let out a slow sigh, turning off the shower valve, stepping out onto the dry mat. A small, strange feeling settled in my chest. I didn't have to fight him. I didn't have to snap his neck to keep his hands off me. He doesn't want to hurt me.

​"I thought you men liked seeing me like this," I muttered softly, pulling the dry white sports bra over my head.

​Kenji went completely still and slowly, without turning around, he asked, his voice unusually quiet, "What... what does that mean?"

​"Nothing," I said, pulling my sweatpants up.

​He turned his head slightly, his eyes still carefully fixed on my face now that I was covered. "Look... it's not appropriate for a guy to see a girl like that unless... unless they're together."

​I paused, tying the waistband of my pants. "Why?"

​"Because," Kenji said, rubbing his wet hair back, looking strangely uncomfortable. "It's... intimate."

​"What does intimate mean?" I asked, looking at him genuinely.

​Kenji stared at me for three long seconds. The frustration on his face slowly melted away, replaced by a strange, heavy quiet as he took in my blank, deadpan expression.

​"You know what? Never mind," he murmured softly. He looked down at my fully dressed frame. "Are you done?"

​"Yes."

​"Good," he sighed, wringing out the sleeve of his jacket. "I'm not showering now. I'll do it later when the facility goes dark. Let me get out of these wet clothes first."

​As we walked out of the sanitation bay, the other girls standing near the lockers shot me sharp, hateful glares.

I tilted my head, genuinely confused by their faces. Why were they angry? Did they want the water?

​Kenji reached out, his hand hovering over my arm for a second before he gently grabbed the sleeve of my sweater—not touching my skin—and pulled me out into the corridor.

​Standing outside our cell door was a tall guard holding two glass-like digital tablets.

​He handed one to me and one to Kenji without a word.

​"These are your tactical interfaces," the guard barked.

"They contain the blueprint of Section Nine, your daily schedules, and your performance metrics. You two are ranked in the top five percentile of combat assets in this facility. You have been assigned to the Elite Training Sector."

​The tablet chimed, the screen glowing bright blue:

​[SCHEDULE UPDATED]

[CURRENT TASK: ADVANCED COMBAT EVALUATION - ARENA 4]

[TIME REMAINING: 04:59]

​"Failure to arrive on time will result in immediate disciplinary action," the guard added coldly. "Do not be late."

​Kenji looked down at his tablet, then at me, the sarcastic smirk slowly returning to his face despite his wet clothes.

​"Well, Subject 01," Kenji hummed, tapping the glass screen. "Looks like we have a date in the arena. Try not to break my neck, its very delicate.”