They called me C‑0047. No name, no history, no promises. Just a number stamped into my skin like a defective product in a warehouse. If you've never been reduced to digits, you don't know how it feels. Imagine being told that's all you'll ever be: not a daughter, not a person, not even a decent corpse-in-waiting. Just inventory.
The air in Abstein was metallic. Always. Like the whole place had been built out of blood and rust. The dormitories weren't beds, they were cages stacked like shelves in a library of suffering. People whispered in the dark, but whispers here had weight—they could drag you under if you listened too long. So I didn't. I kept my ears sharp and my heart dull. That's how you survived.
Then there were the Hounds. They weren't dogs, not really. Just men who'd been hollowed out until there was nothing left but teeth and obedience. They carried whips made of something that sizzled when it hit flesh. They didn't beat you to kill you. They beat you to remind you that dying would be a mercy you hadn't earned.
That night, I watched them work. A boy—too loud, too hopeful—was dragged into the mud. His screams were almost comical, like the punchline of a bad joke no one wanted to laugh at. The Hound holding him down grinned wide, eyes dead, like pain was just another tax he collected. I wanted to look away, but you don't look away in Abstein. Looking away is weakness. And weakness gets noticed.
And sure enough, one of the Hounds noticed me. He turned, whip dangling like a lazy tongue, and walked right up until I could smell his rot. His shadow swallowed me whole.
"Number Forty-Seven," he said, slow, savoring every syllable. His voice was a growl with a hint of amusement, like he'd found a stray cat that might bite. "You'll be more than this, or you'll die. Understand?"
I didn't answer. Not with words. My silence was a blade—I wanted him to cut himself on it. He just smirked, tapped the whip against my shoulder, and walked away.
That's how it started. Not with hope, not with some shining destiny. Just with a threat and a name I hated more than silence.
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