They watched me as I watched them.
But nobody said anything.
Silence hung in the air. Tension hummed under our skin like the side effects of the injection.
At last, I lay down again. Not to sleep—just to forget. Pain, hunger, fear—they dissolved better when you didn't think. Somewhere during the process, I slept.
The lights were out. Night, I supposed.
I awoke.
Number 3 wept softly in the corner.
Number 1 groaned in his sleep.
Number 2 slept peacefully, his chest rising and falling with unnerving serenity.
Two days went by. We counted them by the light panels that came on and went off. Two cycles. No food. No answers.
Elsewhere, in a conference room hidden deep in the huge complex, men in white jackets and black uniforms sat silently before a big screen.
A projector was turned on.
An assistant read from a tablet:
"We have harvested 10,000 children. 1,000 per facility. Survival rates after MMS Trial Phase One are as follows:"
• Facility 1: 657 survivors
• Facility 2: 789 survivors
• Facility 3: 678 survivors
• Facility 4: 589 survivors
• Facility 5: 345 survivors
• Facility 6: 589 survivors
• Facility 7: 580 survivors
• Facility 8: 623 survivors
• Facility 9: 561 survivors
• Facility 10: 517 survivors
Applause broke out.
"Congratulations to Facility 2 for the most survival number," a voice cried.
A smug-faced representative stood up and bowed. "Thank you. We just happened to be lucky."
Then a gaunt, beady-eyed man with a sandpaper voice stepped forward.
"Now that Phase One has been completed, all facilities will begin Phase Two as outlined in their mandates."
He handed out electronic tablets to all representatives.
"Each facility will administer doses of MMS every year. The dose is equal to their facility number. Facility 1 gives one dose a year. Facility 2 gives two. Facility 10 gives ten."
The room buzzed in a chorus of dismay.
"Greater dosage equals greater data," the man continued. "More pressure, more potential. But."
He stroked his screen, which blew up a graph.
If a child displays exceptional tolerance, beyond their facility's standard, report it immediately. Further injections can be sanctioned—under observation.
A second man stepped forward, his overcoat adorned with military emblems.
"We will be replacing missing subjects soon. A second transport is en route."
Some of them nodded. Others looked disinterested.
"Also, I recommend that poor children in higher-numbered facilities be moved to lower ones," the officer went on. "It's a waste of resources to invest in dead."
"No," the chief scientist snapped. "This project is for building mecha warriors from the cream of what humanity has to offer. We do not downscale. Exceptions will be made upward."
The military officer grunted but did not say another word.