The room was stark and white. No windows. No exits she could see. Just one bright ceiling light above, casting hard shadows on the polished floor.
Selica sat on a padded bench. Her bare feet dangled just above the floor — still too weak to stand.
The door slid open with a soft hiss.
Three figures in lab coats entered. One carried a tablet. Another wheeled in a machine bristling with tubes and black cables. The third held something worse — a long, glistening metal needle, connected to a snake-like cord that writhed softly with synthetic movement.
Selica's heart — whatever it was now — beat faster.
"Subject is awake. Prep for command line installation."
"Initiate response protocol. Have her stand."
A sharp ping echoed through the room.
Something inside her clicked.
Her body moved on its own.
Legs trembled. Knees locked. She rose slowly, unsteadily — a puppet pulled by invisible strings.
No. Please, no. Not like this.
But her body did not listen.
"Good. Step forward."
One step. Then another. Her muscles ached, but she obeyed.
Fight it. You have to fight it.
The technician gestured to the wall unit. A panel extended outward, revealing a steel arm ending in a segmented injection spike — thick, like a scorpion's tail.
"Turn around. Remain still."
She did. Because she couldn't not.
The needle slithered closer. The tip gleamed.
Then—
Puncture.
Straight into the back of her neck.
Pain shot through her like lightning.
Her knees buckled. She bit down a scream as something cold, electric, and alive surged into her spine.
No. No no no no. This isn't me.
"System override engaged."
Her vision swam. Her teeth clenched.
She couldn't move, couldn't speak — just tremble, caught between shock and agony.
"Installing primary directives…"
The voice from the speaker was flat. Emotionless. Final.
"Your top priority is absolute obedience to authorized handlers. You will not question. You will not resist. Your purpose is to serve, obey, and execute without hesitation."
But I won't obey. I won't be their tool.
"Secondary protocol: Emotional dampening. Personal attachment is nonessential. Loyalty is mandatory."
My feelings aren't gone. They're buried. They're screaming.
"Tertiary directive: Your body is a weapon. When activated, you will eliminate designated threats with maximum efficiency."
This body is mine and not mine. This pain, this numbness — I'm still here.
Selica's eyes were wide, unblinking. Her body trembled, but she didn't cry.
She couldn't.
"Directive tree complete. Command line secure."
The needle pulled back with a wet click. Something dripped.
She slumped to the floor. The pain left an echo.
Damn it. What the hell are they doing to me?
Minutes passed, the room silent except for the quiet tapping of fingers on keyboards.
One researcher cleared their throat.
"Command protocols loaded. Now initiating free will subroutine."
"Subject will retain obedience protocols, but has restored capacity for self-directed thought and emotional processing."
Selica blinked slowly. The fog in her mind shifted.
For the first time, a fragile sense of self returned — a whisper beneath the machine code.
The lead technician stepped forward, voice steady and cold.
"Now speak."
"I give you permission to act."
Selica swallowed. Her throat dry.
She tried to move her hands. To speak as herself.
A breath.
A word.
"I… understand."
Her voice trembled — uncertain, but defiantly human.
The researchers exchanged glances.
"Good. Subject shows successful reintegration of autonomy with obedience. This is crucial."
The heavy door slid open with a hiss, and Selica was gently guided into a spacious white chamber. The harsh light overhead made every edge and corner sharp, sterile.
Inside, four others sat scattered around the room—naked, fragile, and as uncertain as she was.
Each girl was a reflection of bewilderment, their eyes wide, scanning limbs and torsos as if seeing them for the first time.
One lifted trembling hands, fingers flexing slowly, marveling at the sensation.
Another cautiously touched her face, tracing the curve of her cheek as if confirming it was real.
Selica lowered her gaze, her own hands exploring the soft skin, the delicate curves, the strange weight of breasts she'd never imagined having.
They were newborns.
Alive but unknowing.
The door shut behind them with a sharp click.
A voice crackled through the room's speakers — cold and clinical.
"You are all part of Batch 7A. You are bio-adaptive units designed for combat and integration. This room is for your initial orientation."
"Introduce yourselves. Speak your designation and begin familiarizing yourselves with your bodies."
Silence fell.
Then a soft voice, hesitant but clear:
"I am Selica. Core designation S-12."
A second voice, breathless and uncertain:
"I'm Lyra. S-7."
"Nara. S-9," another whispered.
The third and fourth introductions followed — names and designations falling like fragile petals into the stillness.
They moved slowly now, each navigating the alien terrain of their own flesh.
Nara hugged herself. Lyra whispered her name again, as if trying it on. Selica watched them and wondered if they all felt just as wrong.
Selica flexed her fingers, feeling the strange new sensitivity.
Lyra tried standing, legs wobbling beneath her.
Nara's eyes widened as she tilted her head, marveling at the weight of her hair.
The researcher's voice returned.
"Continue to explore. Learn your limits. Acceptance is the first step to control."
The door locked with a final thud.
Alone, together, these five were left to confront the vast unknown of their new existence.
Selica looked at her hands. She didn't know if they would obey her, or someone else.