"Look at the target. Throw this dart at the red dot," said a scientist to a five-year-old boy.
The child, dressed in what looked like a patient's uniform, stared at the dart in his hand. He hesitated, then threw it. The dart missed entirely, clattering harmlessly against the wall.
"Hmm… looks like the subject still needs further enhancement in the eyes," the scientist muttered, shaking his head in disappointment.
The boy was led into another room—a cold chamber filled with faint mechanical sounds. He was fastened to a chair. An A.I.-operated robot began the procedure, performing adjustments to his eyes while faint electric currents flickered through the air. The boy didn't react. His body was still, dulled by advanced pain suppressants and anesthesia.
When the procedure ended, he was brought back to the testing room.
Inside, several children around his age were undergoing different forms of evaluation. One little girl was using telekinetic ability to make a Rubik's Cube float, her concentration so deep it made her small hands tremble.
The boy's eyes met hers for a brief second.
She quickly looked away, cheeks flushed. He did the same.
The cube dropped.
A scientist standing behind her sighed loudly, then struck her across the back of the head.
"Useless!" he snapped.
The little girl whimpered and curled up in the corner, silent tears running down her face.
The boy couldn't look away.
Soon, he was called again for target practice. This time, too, his darts missed.
"Tch… Enhance his vision to the maximum," ordered the lead scientist.
"Sir, if we go further, there's a chance he might lose it completely," warned an assistant.
The scientist didn't hesitate. "Doesn't matter. Do it tomorrow."
After they left, the boy was alone. A small basket sat on a table nearby, holding a few cookies. He picked one up and took a tiny bite. It was dry, but sweet.
When he turned, he saw the girl still sitting in the corner, crying softly.
He walked up to her, holding out the half-eaten cookie.
She looked up, confused, her eyes red from tears.
Instead of taking it, she leaned forward and took a small bite from his hand.
The boy froze, surprised—but didn't pull away.
He smiled faintly and let her finish it.
The next day, he was taken back to the experiment room.
This time, the pain was different —sharper, deeper. His limbs were restrained, his neck locked in place. Even with the anesthesia, he could feel it. His body trembled, and soft sounds escaped his throat.
"Continue," said the scientist. "Do the same procedure for the next two days."
When they finally released him, his eyes were unfocused, his face pale.
Back in the testing room, the little girl successfully floated and solved the Rubik's Cube. But when she saw the boy, her expression lit up.
He looked tired, but when he saw her, a faint light returned to his eyes. He reached out to her again with another cookie. She smiled through tears and hugged him tightly.
For a brief moment, the white laboratory didn't feel so cold.
The following day, the procedure failed.
The boy woke to darkness. His eyes were open, but he couldn't see. No light, no color, no outlines—only endless black.
He screamed. The sound echoed through the sterile halls until it faded into weak sobs.
"Vision failure," the scientist noted without emotion. "Take him out. Bring in a new subject tomorrow."
The assistant clenched his fists but said nothing. He knew what "take him out" meant.
When the boy was carried out, trembling, the assistant quietly asked, "Is there anything you want before you rest?"
The boy's lips quivered. "I want to see her."
"You mean subject thirty-one? The psychic girl?"
The boy shook his head. "Her name is Roxanne."
The assistant hesitated, then sighed. "Just for a minute."
He led the boy into the testing room.
Through the thick air, the boy heard the sound of crying—and the thud of a boot.
The scientist in charge was shouting. "Useless again! Can't you control it?!"
The girl sobbed, clutching her head. "Please! I just want to see him!"
The man's voice dripped with disdain. "Who? What's his name?"
"Leo." The answer came from behind.
The scientist frowned and turned around.
A sharp whizz cut through the air.
But the last thing he saw was a dart flying towards him through the air. The dart buried itself deep into his eyelid, silencing his words with a scream of agony. He collapsed, writhing on the floor, clutching at the blood pouring from his face.
The assistant scientist turned around —and met a pair of eyes that were no longer lifeless.
Leo looked at the man in lab coat withering in pain.
Leo stood in the doorway. His sight had returned, but now it burned with something different— fury.
The assistant gasped. "How—"
Before he could finish, a dart struck his hand pinning it to the console. Another scientist went down with a gurgled scream, clutching his throat.
"Stop him!" someone shouted.
A guard rushed forward and struck Leo across the face, knocking him down. The guard raised his Gun—
But it didn't shoot.
The weapon trembled, lifted on its own, and turned in midair.
The guard's eyes widened as the bullets struck him.
Roxanne stood behind Leo, her small body shaking, eyes glowing faintly. Blood trickled from her eyes, but she smiled.
Leo got up, staggering. He rushed to her and lifted her from the ground. She clung to him tightly, crying into his chest.
The room was silent now. The other children stared in shock.
Leo reached down and picked up a fallen pistol. He aimed it at the control terminal by the door.
A single shot. Sparks burst, and the door lock protocol shattered. The recoil threw him back. The entrance was sealed.
Outside, alarms blared. Scientists and guards pounded on the door ....
"Open the door...."
---
"Big Brother! Open the door!" someone shouted from beyond.
"Big Brother."
The voice echoed faintly in Leo's ears.
He opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him was old, cracked concrete, not metal. The morning light leaked through holes in the wall. He rubbed his face and sat up slowly.
"That dream again," he murmured.
He opened the door to see a line of sleepy faces staring at him— his family.
He smiled, lifted a hand, and ruffled the girls' hair one by one.
"Brother!" they cried, half annoyed, half laughing.
Leo chuckled softly.
Once, he had nothing— no name, no home, no money. Now he had them. And for him, that was everything.
At breakfast, the children sat around a small table, eating buns they'd scavenged the night before.
"Brother, don't skip breakfast," said Anya, the youngest, breaking her bun in half and offering it to him.
Leo smiled. "Starvation? Nah. I call it a diet."
He pretended to eat, but he pushed it back toward her until she took a bite.
The others didn't speak. They all knew the truth — Leo often skipped meals so they wouldn't go hungry.
In the silence that followed, the room felt warmer than any light in the lab he once knew.
There was a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall, its handle already broken. They had managed to acquire one, just in case a fire ever broke out.