Talking- " "
Thinking- ' '
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Chapter 3 – Cafeteria in Hell
The sound of boots against metal yanked me out of whatever passed for sleep in this place.
"Subject 8341," a voice barked.
Ah, good morning to you too. Nothing like being addressed by your prison serial number to start the day. Really makes you feel special. Rise and shine, lab rat.
Two soldiers stood at my door, rifles slung across their chests. One of them stepped forward, holding a sleek metal band — thin, silver, ominous.
Before I could get a sarcastic comment out, they hauled me up by the arms. My joints screamed in protest.
The taller one raised the metal band and locked it around my neck. It clicked into place with a low whirr, cold and heavy against my skin.
I flinched.
"Power suppression collar," the shorter soldier said, like he was reading a label off a cereal box.
Perfect. A shiny, custom-made reminder that I'm not even allowed to be dangerous.
"Move," the tall one ordered, giving me a shove.
I shuffled forward, the collar's weight like a leash with no handler. The hallway outside was just as welcoming — bleach, rust, and that faint burnt-metal smell that clung to your lungs.
We passed the same reinforced glass wall. The glowing tanks were still there. Still humming. Still watching. I didn't look. I already had too many scars behind my eyes.
A few more turns, and we entered a space that almost felt surreal — a cafeteria.
If you could call it that.
Not a place with posters about food pyramids or trays of spaghetti. No, this one looked like a prison merged with a lab — cold gray walls, metal tables bolted to the ground, surveillance cameras watching every twitch.
There were others here — kids, teens like me. All collared. All looking like ghosts wearing skin.
A line moved slowly along the wall, where lab techs in white coats handed out food like they were afraid we'd reach over and bite them.
My stomach growled like it remembered what hunger was.
"Oh, a cafeteria," I muttered. "How thoughtful. Nothing says 'we care' like mystery meat in a murder factory."
The soldier nudged me forward. I grabbed a tray.
It held a scoop of gray sludge, some limp green beans, and a beige cube that might've been bread in another life.
The smell? Like despair and boiled disappointment.
I moved to the nearest empty table and sat, poking at the food like it might fight back.
First bite? Warm. That was the nicest thing I could say. It tasted like the color gray.
I was halfway through choking it down when someone slid into the seat across from me.
Older kid. Maybe sixteen or seventeen. Sharp gray eyes. Tousled dark hair. Bandaged arm. Confident posture like he remembered what it felt like to stand straight.
"Ray," he said, voice quiet but firm.
My fork froze halfway to my mouth.
It wasn't the name that got me — it was the feeling. Like my body recognized him before I did.
A flash of a memory — not mine, but the body's. Fists slamming into a wall. A voice yelling orders. Someone taking hits in Ray's place.
Dominic Marc Hale.
Marc.
He was the closest thing to a friend the old Ray had in this place.
The body knew him. Trusted him. Looked up to him.
I didn't know what to say, but luckily, Marc didn't expect much. He gave me a small nod and spoke casually, like we'd just run into each other at school, not in a torture facility.
"How you been?"
I blinked. Was that a joke? Or a test?
"…Alive," I replied slowly.
Marc huffed a breath. "That's more than most can say lately."
Before I could respond, three more figures joined us at the table.
Kara. Eli. Tessa.
They sat like they'd done it a hundred times. Like this table, this miserable place, was their routine.
Kara was all sharp lines and sharper eyes, her arms crossed like she didn't trust the food or the people serving it. She had burns on one wrist, partially healed, partially ignored.
Eli was smaller, wiry, jittery — like a live wire stuffed into human skin. He kept glancing at the cameras like they might blink back.
Tessa was the quietest, but not the weakest. She moved with careful grace, a bandage across her temple, eyes tracking everything.
The body — Ray's memories — stirred again. These weren't strangers. They were cellmates, allies, fellow survivors of experiments and tests they didn't sign up for.
They had talked, once. Whispered plans. Not escape, not exactly — that word was too dangerous. But out. Someday. Somehow.
Marc broke the silence first. "Food still garbage?"
Eli snorted. "I think it's worse. Pretty sure mine just moved."
Kara poked at her tray like she was considering violence. "You'd think after all the poking and prodding they do, they'd at least figure out seasoning."
Tessa just raised an eyebrow. "Maybe the seasoning is the experiment."
That got a snort out of me. A real one.
Marc leaned in slightly. "You alright, Ray? You seemed… off earlier."
I tensed. Did he notice?
I shrugged, keeping it vague. "Long night."
He nodded, accepting that.
It was strange — being here, surrounded by people who remembered me. Or at least, remembered Ray. They didn't know the soul behind the eyes had changed.
But their presence grounded me somehow. Their voices, their casual banter in the middle of this hellhole — it felt like a shield.
For a moment, we weren't test subjects or serial numbers.
Just five teenagers, clinging to whatever pieces of normal we could fake.
I didn't know how long I'd be here, or how long I could keep up the act. But if this body trusted them, maybe I could too.
Just for now.
Marc leaned back, chewing slowly. "You remember anything from containment?"
I hesitated. "Bits. Flashes."
Kara frowned. "They put you back in after the meltdown?"
Meltdown? Great. Add that to the growing list of things I have to pretend I remember.
I didn't answer.
Because technically, I didn't melt down.
They didn't press me — probably used to people keeping secrets to survive.
Just as the silence settled again, the cafeteria doors creaked open with a metallic groan.
Boots. Heavy. In sync.
Everyone at the table went still.
Two guards entered, their black armor pristine, visors reflecting the flickering ceiling lights like a pair of soulless eyes.
They didn't say a word. Just scanned the room.
And locked eyes on me.
Marc's shoulders tensed. "Here we go."
"Subject 8341," one guard barked.
I didn't move.
Not because I was trying to be brave. But because my body felt frozen, caught between instinct and uncertainty.
The guard stepped forward. "You are scheduled for Phase Three functional testing. Come quietly."
Testing.
Of course.
The collar around my neck buzzed faintly, like it was excited to see what I'd do.
"Wonderful," I muttered, standing. "I was just saying how much I missed being electrocuted and screamed at."
Marc stood too, expression unreadable. "You don't have to—"
"I do," I cut in, giving him the smallest shake of my head.
He didn't like it, but he didn't push.
As I passed, Kara said low under her breath, "They pulled Tessa for Phase Three last month. She couldn't walk right for days."
Tessa didn't speak. Just gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Like a silent apology.
Or a warning.
I turned toward the guards, who were already opening the exit doors.
As I walked out, I felt all four of them watching me — Marc, Kara, Eli, Tessa — the not-quite rebellion, the maybe-one-day escapees.
And for the first time since waking up in this body, I felt like leaving might actually be the harder part.
Because now there were names. Faces.
People.
And I wasn't sure how many more tests it would take to break whatever was left of them.
Or me.
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💎One Powerstone = one less mystery meat on Ray's plate. (¬_¬")