"Wake up, you spoiled brat!"
A boot slammed into the side of a boy who looked no older than fourteen. All around him, similar scenes played out as adults barked orders and kicked awake kids, all between the ages of ten and fifteen.
One by one, the children stirred, confused and shaken. Most of them looked around with wide, terrified eyes. Some cried quietly. Others mumbled prayers, hoping this nightmare would somehow vanish.
In a dimly lit corner, a woman who had been sitting silently through all the chaos finally stood up. She cleared her throat with a soft but commanding rasp.
"Welcome, everyone... to your new home!" She announced with a smile.
But it wasn't the kind of smile you wanted to see. It was a cold and crooked smile that didn't make your stomach twist. The kids went dead silent, their fear turning to dread.
Not even glancing at them, the woman continued.
"You may call me 'The Sixth Finger'. That is the only name you need to remember."
Then her tone dropped into something colder.
"Enough chit-chat. Tomorrow, each of you will face your first trial. If you pass, congratulations, you'll become a full-fledged member of our esteemed organisation."
Then she clapped once.
The sound echoed through the space, and the men, as if signalled by that single clap, began dragging the children away again.
....
'Where am I? What the hell is this place? '
'Who... who even am I?'
The boy's mind raced. He couldn't remember anything before that brutal kick had jolted him awake. No name, no past , just fear and confusion.
With no answers and no other choice, all he could do was follow these men and think about what happened. That woman who introduced herself as 'The Sixth Finger' had spoken about a trial. He had no idea what that meant. But something in her voice, in her eyes, told him one thing for sure.
If he failed that, it means death or something even worse.
They walked for what felt like forever until they reached a huge stone junction. Six paths met there, one behind them, the one they'd come from. The other five yawned ahead into pitch-black tunnels.
The men broke off into five pairs. Without saying much, they began organising the kids into groups based on age.
It was almost too coincidental, as there were exactly ten kids in each group. As if this had all been planned in advance.
The boy was placed with the fourteen-year-olds.
At least that told him something.
'I'm fourteen.'
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
...
Their group was led down one of the tunnels until they reached a wide, circular room. The walls were stone, the lighting dim. There were ten simple bedrolls laid out in a rough circle. A bare, hollow space.
Definitely temporary. Definitely not home.
"Listen up," one of the two men growled. "This is where you'll stay for today. Rest, sleep, do whatever you want. I don't care if you talk or make friends, though if you're smart, you won't."
He looked around slowly, like he was taking note of faces he wouldn't remember by tomorrow.
"From now on, your old names don't matter. Forget them. Forget who you were. You'll each get a number from 0 to 9. That's who you are now."
The second man started walking around, handing out a circular badge with numbers scribbled on it in bold, black ink.
The boy looked down at the one pressed into his palm.
"6"
After giving all the instructions they were supposed to and handing out the badges, the two men left.
The heavy gate at the entrance of the tunnel slammed shut behind them.
Silence followed.
No one dared to speak, even after the men disappeared. The warning that it's better if you don't make friends lingered in everyone's mind.
Quietly, each child made their way to their assigned bedroll, lying down stiffly.
The dim lights overhead flickered once, then faded into darkness, signalling it was time to sleep.
For a while, there was only stillness.
Then the sobbing began.
"...Mom...!!! Dad...!!"
"Please save m-me... I'll be good, I promise..."
"I'm scared... please... let this nightmare end..."
"Save me... oh seven..."
One after another, the kids broke down.
Some cried quietly; others wept into their pillows, clutching their sides like it would hold their world together.
Everyone wanted a miracle.
Everyone wished someone would barge in and end this nightmare.
But this wasn't a fairy tale.
It was reality.
And reality didn't care how scared you were.
The boy 'Six' was no different. He didn't remember who he was or where he came from.
But fear... Fear was primal. It lived deep in the blood and bone, and right now, he was completely under it.
He curled tighter into himself, trying to disappear into the thin blanket.
Trying to hold on.
And like that, the night that felt longer than eternity finally dragged itself into morning.
The next day, the heavy gates creaked open, and the same two men from yesterday stepped inside.
The atmosphere was thick — gloomy and heavy — as the kids huddled together, already knowing in their guts that something terrible was coming.
They didn't know what.
But they knew it would be bad.
"Good morning, kids!" One of the men greeted with a wide, forced smile plastered across his face — a smile that somehow made everything worse.
He was in a good mood. Whether because of what had already happened or what was about to happen, none of the kids could tell.
"Today", he continued casually, "you will participate in your first trial to join our organisation."
At his signal, the second man — carrying a large bag — stepped forward.
One by one, he started pulling out knives.
The second the first blade glinted under the dim lights, a wave of dread rippled through the children.
Their faces turned pale.
They understood, without needing words, that if they didn't perform today, they wouldn't survive the night.
'Six' was no different.
He clenched his fists tightly, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs.
His mind screamed at him to run, to hide, but he could not do any of those things.
Instead, almost without thinking, he began taking slow, deep breaths.
Huff.
Huff.
The simple action helped, grounding him at least a little — as the man finally reached him and thrust a knife into his small, trembling hands.
For the first time, 'Six' looked properly at the man handing him the weapon.
Yesterday had been too much of a blur, but now, he saw him clearly.
The man was tall, easily over 180 cm, but was thin, almost like a walking shadow.
His outfit was all black: a black shirt, black pants, and black boots.
His face was carved sharply, with a strong jawline and hollow cheeks. His skin was dark, and his buzz-cut hair only made his predatory eyes more noticeable — cold, patient, like a hunter sizing up prey.
The second man was the complete opposite.
Shorter by a head, maybe 170 cm, but his presence was heavier.
He had a brawler's build – thick arms, thick legs, and a heavy belly – wearing the same dark uniform.
His face was round, chubby even, but his eyes were the same: cold, hungry.
predators. Both of them were predators.
Once the last knife was handed out, the skinny man stepped back silently.
"Now that everyone has their weapons," the fat man said, drawing out the words with a wicked grin, savouring the rising panic in the room.
Finally, he dropped the bomb.
"The trial is simple," he said, almost laughing.
"You must kill everyone else. Only one of you gets to survive."