The White Room
Never before had I seen the light.
Never before had I known what they called sun, or moon, or land.
Sometimes, I hear the scientists speak
words like children, school, cars. Things that belong to a world I've never touched, things that sound more like illusions than memories.
I imagine them often.
How beautiful it must be to walk outside this place, to see colors other than white and black.
Every day here feels identical, a cycle without beginning or end.
They call me No. 367.
I don't know if I ever had another name.
Is life supposed to be fair? Or is unfairness its only truth?
Why do feelings turn into emotions, and emotions decay into silence?
Why does pain become something secret
something sacred
over time?
I've learned to merge with it.
To let pain breathe through me until it becomes indistinguishable from my thoughts.
Slowly, the experiments changed me.
I no longer recognize the boundary between myself and what they made of me.
The needles, the whispers, the endless tests
each one stretching the limits of my mind. They call it expansion, as if my consciousness were a field they could cultivate.
If imagination is a cage, and dreams are just fragments of nightmares, then what is my fate in this white room?
I want to see the world.
Not through glass, not through memory
but through my own eyes.
A fantasy becomes reality
and reality becomes the lie we tell ourselves to feel alive.
If lies can make life seem real, then what is truth?
I've always wondered why we lie, even knowing it corrodes us from within.
Lies are like a disease slow, deliberate, silent.
They bury themselves in the veins of the mind until even memories begin to rot.
What is a lie?
A virus.
One that dismantles every part of who we are, piece by piece, until nothing remains but the illusion of control.
The truth is what we are meant to seek, yet it is always the hardest to face.
And sin
sin is simply the echo of the first lie we tell ourselves.
First, you sin.
Then, you call it a mistake.
You laugh "It's just one mistake."
But the mistake grows. It attaches itself to your soul like a parasite,
feeding, mutating, rewriting.
The lie becomes your reflection.
Your reflection becomes your identity.
And your DNA the very blueprint of your being shifts to fit the illusion.
Until at last, you are no longer yourself.
You are the lie.
Can we ever break free?
Can we rewrite our own code?
Yes, perhaps. But the answer isn't written it must be discovered.
Sometimes I wonder why the world presses so heavily against my skull.
Is it because I am different?
Or because I am a project
a manufactured soul inside a synthetic body?
Then one day, everything changed.
The Authorities intervened.
They created a system to "cure" us the ones altered by science.
Under their rule, the Psykes were born: humans with awakened abilities, both feared and protected.
The world built a sanctuary for them a school known as Psyke High.
A cage disguised as safety.
A barrier separating them from the ordinary world.
Experimenting on Psykes was now a crime, punishable by eradication.
That was the day I ran.
It was Thursday when I escaped.
The sirens screamed behind me as I stumbled out onto the highway.
And then
light.
The sunlight pierced my eyes for the first time.
I froze, blinded by its beauty.
A rush of warmth, and then impact.
A car came from nowhere, struck me, and sent me rolling across the road.
For a moment, I couldn't tell if I was alive or dead.
People gathered around, shouting, "Kid! Are you okay?"
I stood up, dusted myself off, and bowed. Apologizing was the only thing I knew how to do.
Their eyes followed me confused, afraid as I ran again.
All I wanted was a quiet place, something unlike the White Room.
I ran until the streets blurred beneath me.
Leaping across rooftops, I felt almost free.
The air was sharp, the world too loud.
But I was alive.
Then I slipped
and fell through a window into water.
For the first time, I felt it
water.
Cool, fluid, real.
It was peace.
Until a voice screamed.
A girl stood at the edge of a bathtub, pointing at me.
"Perv—!"
I blinked, confused. "My name is… No. 367. Are you… what they call a girl?"
Her face twisted in disbelief before she hit me on the head. Everything went dark.
When I woke up, I was tied to a chair.
Three girls surrounded me.
They whispered—about me, about what to do with me.
Something about being in a school.
"A school…" I repeated aloud. "So this… is what they call a school?"
They looked at me as if I were insane.
The smallest one sighed. "You don't even know that?"
She introduced herself. "Momo."
Then pointed at herself proudly. "Yes, this is a school."
I nodded slowly. "I am No. 367."
They stared.
"Why are you calling yourself a number?" the tall one asked. "Do you not have a name?"
"That is my name."
The tall girl crossed her arms. "Makima. We should either let him go or keep him. We're the only ones without a Treasure."
The third girl—the one I'd seen in the bathroom—spoke quietly.
"Maybe we use him. He seems… different."
"Use me?" I asked. "What is a Treasure? Some kind of object?"
They exchanged glances.
The bathroom girl sighed and finally said, "My name is Anna. You'll understand soon."
They untied me, changed my clothes, and gave me a black uniform.
My hair was cut, my body cleaned, my reflection unrecognizable.
And that was how I entered Psyke High, the school for those with unnatural gifts.
Children of high status.
Children born from the wish of science.
And each one was assigned a personal attendant
a Treasure.
That was what I had become.
A servant to power.
A shadow in the halls of the gifted.
But deep down, I knew
my story didn't begin in the White Room.
It began the moment I escaped it.