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Twenty-Two: Chapter 1

"Twenty-Two, it's time to wake up." The small metal box in the corner of the room spoke to me like it always did each morning. I think it was each morning, there were no windows to let me know. Now that I think about it, I had never seen a window that looked out into the outside world. There were windows inside that looked into other rooms where people watched me, but there were no windows to the outside world.

"Wake up, Twenty-Two." The box repeated to me in a more stern voice.

I knew that I would have to get up eventually or the box would get big people in white scrubs to pull me out of bed. They were mean people and always had a needle that was filled with some vile, clear liquid that burned my veins and made me feel unnaturally awake and aware. I hated it.

I threw the thin white covers off of me. Everything was white here, the walls, the furniture, the clothes, everything. I think it let them see any dirty spots. They were obsessed with cleanliness.

"There you go."

I hated it when the box spoke to me as if I was a child. I wasn't a child. Was I? I had no recollection of what age I was, but when I looked down at my hands, I saw strong and capable hands, my hands, not the hands of a child. I would look at a mirror, but they took that away from me when I looked at it for too long. They did that occasionally. Told me that it was a distraction.

"What did I say about sleeping naked?" The voice scolded me when I rolled out of bed, completely undressed.

"It's indecent." I sighed as I walked over to the dresser that was bolted down to the floor.

It was a simple dresser with only two drawers, one for my underwear and socks, the other for my own white scrubs that I had to wear every day and then discard into a bin before going back to sleep. The only thing that stood out on the scrub was the "22" that was stitched onto the left breast, it was who I was.

"That's right." The box said as if he were congratulating me on learning something new.

I hated that box.

It took me only a few minutes to get dressed into the clothes. They hung on me as if they were a size too large, but it seemed that way for everyone here. There were a lot of people here. The staff who could be identified by a small blue cross that was embroiled on their chests and the... prisoners? Subjects? I don't know what I was to them, but it felt like a prison.

Backing away from the dresser I crossed the room which was nothing more than just a box that was painted on the inside and sat on the only chair in the room. I waited there as I always did each morning, the box didn't even have to tell me, I knew the routine. In a few minutes, a man, or woman sometimes, would come and open the steel door, the only thing of color here and usher me out into a very long hallway that had doors to what I suspected were other rooms like mine. From there, I would be escorted to another, larger room that had more tables and chairs and be provided food, a disgusting mash that tasted like nothing. Then from there, the day changed from day to day. Some days I would exercise for hours and hours, running miles and lifting until I couldn't anymore. Other days I would study. I would study history, English, things that any person would be taught in school. Not everything was boring and dull, occasionally I would get to go and box or practice fighting with the other non-staff members here. It was strange, I couldn't figure out what they wanted with me.

Minutes passed, but I kept waiting since there was nothing else to do. I had become good at waiting, the people who ran this place loved to make me wait. If they wanted to do something at a specific time, it would be done at that time, no later, no sooner. I had been waiting for what I could only assume was a decade. Waiting for something to happen since I was taken away from my family when I was thirteen years old. I don't remember that life, it's been washed away in white and I've stopped trying to remember that past life.

When nothing happened for another few minutes, I began to get nervous. Nothing like this had ever happened, someone always came six hundred and fifteen seconds after I got the wakeup call. Always. It had been nearly seven hundred at this point. Something was wrong.

Unsure of what to do, I got up and went over to the door. In all my time here, I had only ever touched the door once and that was the day I had arrived. I needed to use the bathroom and knocked on the door. That had been a mistake. The men in smocks had come in and beaten me. They didn't beat me hard, but it got the message across, I couldn't even shit if it wasn't part of the routine.

Hesitation gripped me. Something was wrong and I could feel it in my very being as if it was some sixth sense. Though, I couldn't get myself to try the door, years upon years had trained me to simply wait for the next part of my day to start.

I ended up staring at the door for a few minutes before I built up the courage to try and yell.

"Hey." I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled at the box.

Silence. There was no reply or any indication that I had even been heard by anyone. I was going to start panicking when there was a pop and hiss, the telltale sign that the door was opening.

I stepped back and away from the door and I was glad that I did when a person came charging into the room with a knife in his hand. That extra distance gave me just enough time to get out of the way of the blade, only to be hit by the person's body.

We both fell to the ground and I cracked my head on the hard ground. There was carpet in the room, but it was thin and didn't cushion the blow any.

Stars danced around my vision as I felt and arm try to wraps itself around my neck to put me in a chokehold. I didn't know what to do and was unable to stop the person from getting me into a dangerous position with an arm around my neck, his legs wrapped around mine and his other arm raised above us with the knife ready to plunge into my chest.

Time seemed to stop as I looked at the blade. That panic I had felt seemed to vanish completely. I felt calm and clear headed, minus the throbbing at the back, but something just clicked in me. All that training for the past decade kicked in. I had been in a similar situation when I was fighting another person. They had gotten me into a hold, much like the one I was in now and the world had been going dark as he strangled the consciousness out of me. Using my last vestige of strength I had done something that was often looked down upon, I fought dirty.

Both of my arms were free. One was grabbing the knife arm, keeping the person from killing me. The other arm was trying to pull the man's arm off of my neck to no avail. If I kept doing this, I would eventually lose strength and it would be over so I changed tactics. Using the arm that was trying to break me free of the choke hold, I reached back and down and grabbed the man right between the legs and squeezed as hard as I could.

The sound that escaped the man's mouth as I felt the man's pride collapse into a pile of jelly in my hands was one of pure agony. The grip on me loosened, allowing me to roll away as the man dropped the knife so he could cup his ruined manhood.

I coughed as fresh air filled my lungs, ignoring the gagging and loud screams of pain coming from the side as the man was reduced to nothing but a whimpering eunuch. Normally, I would have felt sorry, like I did when I had first done that move, but there was no sorrow this time. He had tried to kill me and I did what was needed to survive.

The man, if he could still be called that ended up in the corner crying and I left him there. He was no longer a threat and I wasn't going to waste my time on him now that I had a way out. I took the knife which I could tell was from the mess room and went out into the hallway. It was a scene of carnage. There were bodies strewn about and the floor was covered in thin, sticky layer of blood. I felt a rush of nausea rise up from my gut and I covered my nose to block out the smell of fresh blood.

Almost all of the bodies had little numbers sown into their clothes as well. 55, 36, 29... the numbers went on and on. There were even a few with the blue crosses among the bodies, though not nearly as many as the numbered ones. I checked them for any kind of weapons, but if there were any, they had been looted.

I didn't bother to try and figure out what had happened at the time, I couldn't stop thinking about the blood and the scene. I'm sure I over exaggerated the amount that there were to myself, but every time I think back to the scene, I see them everywhere. Eyes open in looks of desperation, anger, fear, surprise or a combination of them. Some were tangled together, arms around each other, somehow dying in positions of struggle. I tried not to look, but I couldn't help it. Some of the faces were familiar, people I had seen here and there, but I didn't know anyone personally. Social interaction had been largely prohibited.

Eventually, I got to where I was heading to, the mess room. I had a layout in my head memorized from the years, but they all started in the mess since that's where I had started every day so it was a natural place to go to.

Going through the swinging double doors, I came to the scene of a struggle.

Two bodies grabbled at each other, both wore numbers in their breasts. They breathed hard as they tried to hit each other while defending themselves at the same time.

The larger of the two, a fair skinned and built monster of a man with a shaved head that was covered in scars was having difficulty grabbing the much smaller and younger appearing boy that darted from left to right, dodging all of the blows while dealing some of his own with a fork.

It was an odd scene to watch as the David and Goliath duked it out, neither capable of dealing any real lasting damage to the other.

"Stop moving you..." The larger man yelled as another punch hit nothing but air.

The smaller boy didn't reply, instead he took the opportunity to stab the fork right through the man's cheek. The man jerked back in pain, taking the fork which was still stuck in his cheek with him where it dangled from the bleeding wound.

If the smaller boy intended win through that move, he was terrible wrong. The pain sent the larger man into a bloodlust, as he threw out a flurry of attacks, using his arms, legs and even his teeth a few times to get the smaller boy who continued to dance circles around the man.

Even though the smaller boy was capable and extremely fast, he was still small and frail. So when one of the harder hits finally landed, a crippling blow to the side of the face, he was sent flying, much to the delight of the larger man.

"That's more like it." He said and then winced as he pulled the fork out of his cheek and threw it aside. He intended to finish the job with his own hands.

With one hand, the boy was lifted up into the air by his neck where he wheezed through the blood that was trickling down his face. He looked at the man in the eyes and then at me.

I don't what it was that got me to move, but something in the boys eyes pulled me in.

I soon found myself charging down the mess room, leaping over tables and chairs with my knife and jumping onto the back of the large man who was caught off guard.

As the large man reacted to me, the boy managed to wrangle free of the grip and fall to the ground where he landed on unsteady legs. I didn't see what he did after that as the large man reached behind him and grabbed me before I could bring down the knife between his shoulder blades.

His grip was tight as one hand grabbed me under the armpit and another just grabbed my entire face. My scream was muffled as he threw me across the room where I landed hard on my back, knocking the air out of my lungs.

"I'm tired of this shit." The larger man cried out. He didn't rush me or try to finish me off, instead he chose to yell at me from across the room. "What are we even doing here?" He threw up his arms and ran out, letting me slowly get to my feet.

What were we doing here? It was never explained why I was here or what was expected of me and now it was all falling apart. I didn't even know what I was going to do. I could head to any number of places that I had been to, but what good would that do me to go to the gym or the library? I had no plan, nothing.

"Mister." A small voice called out from behind me. It was the small child who was fighting the larger man.

I turned around, favoring my left side where I could feel a pull in my leg. The boy was definitely young with signs of baby fat in his face that was swelling where he was punched. He had bleach blonde hair that was matted and messy, he had recovered his fork which he held unthreateningly to his side, but the whites of his knuckles indicated that he had no intention of losing it again. On his chest was his own number, 47.

"Thank you for saving me." He looked down, avoiding eye contact, staring at his simple pair of sneakers that we all wore.

I didn't answer back, I kept looking at him. I didn't think that he was going to attack, or he would have already when I was down.

When I didn't answer he said his thanks again and began to walk away.

"Wait!" I quickly called to him.

He stopped and looked over at me expectantly.

"Do you know what's going on?" I asked him. "Why is everyone killing each other?"

"Don't you know?" He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "This is the final test."