Hammya lay on the floor, trembling with fear, tears streaking down her face.

  Barely two hours had passed since her confinement when the door swung open violently. A woman with short hair, a white coat, and an expressionless face entered the room.

  “Get up. This isn’t a hotel.”

  Hammya tried to sit up, but fear held her in place. Her neck wouldn’t respond, as if her body refused to move.

  “Now,” the woman barked.

  Then, without hesitation, she kicked Hammya in the stomach.

  “It hurts…” Hammya whimpered through clenched teeth.

  A second figure appeared and immediately knelt beside her, visibly concerned.

  “Don’t do that,” she said firmly.

  “You’re always so soft with the objects,” replied the first woman coldly. “Remember, they’re imitations, not humans.”

  The second woman gently lifted Hammya into her arms.

  “You’ll be alright,” she whispered.

  “You’re still clinging to that lie,” scoffed the first, turning to leave. “She’ll either die or end up a vegetable.”

  “Could you be quiet?”

  “Heh. Handle it yourself. I’ve got someone to see.”

  The woman disappeared through the door. The other let out a resigned sigh.

  “So vulgar,” she murmured, then looked down at Hammya and added in a sweet, calm voice, “It’s okay. I’ll take you to the medical wing.”

  She held her firmly and carried her down the corridors.

  “I’m sorry for that brutality,” she said as they walked. “If this experiment works, we’ll have cured every disease in the world with a single vaccine. Just… just hold on a little longer, please.”

  Hammya didn’t trust her. And yet, the tenderness in her voice, the warmth of her embrace, and her gentle words filled her heart with a strange and unexpected hope.

  When they reached the so-called medical wing, Hammya realized it wasn’t what it seemed. It wasn’t a health center, but a colorful indoor park, decorated to conceal the truth: a zone filled with cells. A fa?ade.

  They brought her to Cell Number 15.

  “I’ll bring you some clean clothes. Just wait a moment,” the doctor said before walking away.

  Hammya sat on the bed. Silence hung heavy… until a voice startled her:

  “Hey, newbie.”

  She jumped, slamming her back against the wall in fear.

  “Whoa, whoa! Easy,” the voice said, trying to sound calm.

  Out of the shadows stepped a girl with pale skin and short black hair. She wore a blue uniform with a barcode on the right side of her chest. Her jet-black eyes and lips gave her an unusual look.

  “I’m Dimitra Pe?aloza.”

  “I’m… Hammya,” she replied, trembling. “Hammya Saillim.”

  “Hammya? What a strange name.”

  “I get that a lot,” she said with a small, bitter smile.

  Dimitra approached slowly and sat across from her, keeping a respectful distance.

  “Where are we?” Hammya asked.

  “You don’t know? This is the medical wing.”

  “No… that’s not what I meant.”

  Dimitra tilted her head, amused.

  “We’re prisoners of the agents.”

  “No… That can’t be…”

  “Sad, but true,” she said with a faint, ambiguous smile.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because you’ll be safe here. They won’t hurt you.”

  “They… won’t?”

  “Not as long as ‘Mother’ controls them.”

  “What?”

  “This place holds the valuable specimens. We only take pills. Nothing else.”

  “You seem okay with that…”

  “I’ve been trapped here for three years. ‘Mother’ has been very careful. Even loving.”

  “How many are here?”

  “Counting the walkers? Thirty-two.”

  “Walkers?”

  “Oh, they’re twenty of them. Boys who failed the experiments. They lost their identities. They don’t speak, don’t look, don’t think… they just walk.”

  “And you can smile at that?”

  “I’m not happy. I’m sad. But the pills erase the chemical that causes sadness and fear. Even if I wanted to worry, I couldn’t. ‘Mother’ says the effect fades after three days.”

  “I see…”

  At that moment, the doctor returned with a clean uniform in her hands.

  “It may not be stylish or pretty, but it’s better than walking around in rags, don’t you think?” she said with a melancholic smile, gently stroking Hammya’s head.

  “Dimitra…”

  “Yes, Mother,” he replied instantly.

  “Take care of your new sister,” the doctor said, her voice serene, though her eyes betrayed deep exhaustion.

  “Of course. I will,” Dimitra replied with a faint, sincere smile.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  The doctor straightened slowly, and with measured steps, left the room, leaving Hammya alone with the short-haired girl whose eyes and lips bore the same dark hue. Dimitra’s blue uniform was slightly worn, with a barcode printed on the chest. Still, her presence felt warm, a contrast to her grim appearance.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “Don’t worry, no one will hurt you here,” Dimitra said gently.

  Hammya approached cautiously, each step weighted with doubt, until she finally sat beside her.

  “I’m scared… but someone once told me I had to be strong,” she murmured.

  “Oh yeah? I’d like to meet that person.”

  “You might love them… or maybe not. They’re not very sociable,” she replied with a wistful smile.

  “Ha, ha… Sounds interesting.”

  Hammya walked through the area with slow steps and restless eyes. The place was much larger than she had imagined—broad, cold corridors that smelled of disinfectant and loneliness. There were no windows. Everything was concrete, steel, and silence. It wasn’t just a prison—it was a cage, carefully designed to break whoever lived inside it.

  Some children glanced at her sideways, with a fear that dared not become words. Others didn’t look at anything at all. They walked like automatons, repeating meaningless paths, dragging their feet as if they had forgotten what it meant to be human. Some stayed completely still—standing or sitting—staring at a fixed, invisible point on the ceiling or the floor, immersed in a bottomless stupor. A few played silently with purposeless objects: a piece of plastic, a button, a frayed string—trying, perhaps, to remember how to play, how it felt to be alive.

  A tightness seized Hammya’s chest.

  Despite the frigid atmosphere, one thing drew her attention more than anything. The doctor. Among the machinery of abandonment and the passive surveillance of the guards, she was the only figure moving with human intention. She knelt before some of the children, spoke to them with a gentle voice, touched them carefully, as if there was still something sacred within them. Though she was alone—without an assistant, surrounded by eyes watching from above without ever intervening—she cared for them all. She watched, fed, comforted. Her movements were tired, but her eyes still held a faint light, a flicker of resistance that seemed impossible in a place like this.

  But after walking a little longer, Hammya began to feel ill—and suddenly, she lost consciousness.

  The next morning, Hammya awoke with a strange feeling. It took her a few seconds to realize that her head was resting on someone’s lap. She bolted upright, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

  "Ah! I’m sorry..."

  "Did you sleep well?" asked the girl, her eyes filled with gentle understanding.

  "I... well... I suppose I did."

  "I’m glad to hear that. Hey, I don’t usually feel glad in a place like this… but I’m honestly happy to have a... roommate, I guess? I’m only saying this because the drug’s effects will probably wear off by tomorrow. And then, you’ll need someone."

  "Thank you..."

  "No need," the girl replied with a shrug.

  A low hum ran through the corridor. One by one, the cell doors opened, and the children began to walk out in silence. Many moved as if not entirely present. Some stopped at corners, hitting the ground for no reason, or spun in circles aimlessly until they collapsed from exhaustion.

  "Those are the walkers," explained the girl—Dimitra—as they stepped out of the cell together. "I suppose you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting them. Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you."

  "Poor souls..." murmured Hammya, a knot in her throat.

  "Yeah... I always wonder if I’ll end up like them. But I cling to the hope of seeing my mother again someday."

  Just then, a very small boy—barely five years old—bumped into Hammya. His eyes were completely white, like the life had drained out of him. He didn’t react, just kept walking.

  Dimitra gently took Hammya’s hand and led her aside.

  "That little one’s Axel. He arrived two months ago. He always walks around this area. He’s become part of the scenery."

  Hammya didn’t respond. She just held Dimitra’s hand tighter.

  "Come on, it’s breakfast time. I’m starving," Dimitra said, trying to lift her spirits.

  The dining hall was spacious and brightly colored—a deceptive decoration for a place so full of pain. Hammya sat at one of the tables, and Dimitra, out of habit, took the seat beside her. More children began to arrive, many in a vegetative state.

  The doctor—her name was Toledo—appeared shortly afterward, pushing a large metal pot. The food was simple: rice with bits of chicken. But what struck Hammya most was the care with which the doctor served each child personally. For those who couldn’t swallow, she gently moved their jaws.

  "By the way, Hammya," said Dimitra, glancing sideways at her, "what’s that on your waist?"

  "What?" Hammya quickly turned to check her back.

  "I don’t know. It showed up recently. And I can’t figure out that tail—it seems to have a life of its own."

  "Strange... There’s something else, too. Wings."

  "Wow, a real angel. Lucky me. Shall I offer a prayer to this humble servant of the heavens?"

  "Please... no."

  Hammya looked down, unsure if she should feel embarrassed or just confused. She ate a sort of tasteless polenta with resignation. It wasn’t bad—but it wasn’t good either. It was food… nothing more.

  When the meal was over, the children began to collect their dishes and place them on a shared tray. One of them stumbled and fell, spilling everything. Hammya instinctively got up to help—but the doctor was faster. She reached the child first and assisted him tenderly.

  "She’s the one in charge here, right?" Hammya asked softly.

  "Yeah..." Dimitra answered. "Someone with a heart like that, in a place like this… it’s almost a miracle."

  Later, Hammya wandered through the halls, looking for a possible way out, but quickly realized it was pointless. There was only one large door at the end of the wing—completely sealed. The walls were steel, cold and impenetrable.

  Suddenly, a harsh bell rang out.

  "No..." the doctor whispered, alarmed. "What now?"

  The door opened with a mechanical squeal. A man in a white coat, accompanied by two armed guards, entered with a firm stride.

  "Oh, Dr. Toledo," he greeted with a fake smile.

  "Advisor Sid," she replied, with suspicion.

  "I’ve come for the new specimen."

  "She is under my supervision."

  "And I’m not here to take her from you. I’ll only share the guardianship. It’s not illegal, and it’s in the regulations."

  "But..."

  "You can file a complaint with the Patriarch if you wish. But that won’t stop me from having access to her."

  Sid walked towards Hammya, but the doctor intervened. One of the guards, without saying a word, struck her in the face with his weapon. She fell to the floor with a groan.

  "Hey! No violence," Sid said hypocritically, flashing a twisted smile.

  "Yes, sir," the guard replied, lacking conviction.

  Sid grabbed Hammya by the arm. She looked at the doctor, bleeding on the floor, her heart aching.

  And she was dragged out of the pavilion.

  Hammya struggled desperately, but every time she fought back, the scientist responded with violence. First, it was a sharp punch to the cheek, followed by a slap that left her dazed.

  "God... we’ll be like this until tomorrow," Sid grumbled, annoyed, before looking at the guards with disdain. "Tie her up!"

  The men obeyed without hesitation. They pinned her down brutally and threw her to the ground as if she were an object, while Hammya cried silently, her face pressed against the cold concrete. Dr. Toledo tried to intervene, taking a step toward them in desperation.

  "Leave her alone! She’s just a child!"

  But Sid didn’t tolerate her interruption. He turned to her and, without thinking, struck her across the face with the back of his hand.

  "It’s people like you that hold back science," he growled, his face twisted with almost fanatical rage. "How many times do I have to say it? They are not human!"

  He stepped on Hammya’s back with force, pressing his boot cruelly into her spine.

  "Look at her... Is it natural for someone to have green hair?"

  He immediately grabbed her tail with savage force.

  "Do you think a human has a limb like this? What is she, a person or an animal? Human or monkey?"

  He yanked violently, tearing a scream of pain from Hammya. Her back arched reflexively from the suffering. The guards barely blinked.

  "Putrid creatures, abominations that think they’re human," Sid muttered with hatred as he let go of her. "They’re parasites! They feed off humanity like ticks, and yet they dare to have emotions."

  Suddenly, without warning, he slammed his boot into her face, pushing her deeper into the ground.

  "They should be grateful," he continued with dry contempt. "We offer their bodies to science. It’s an honor they don’t even understand."

  Hammya cried. Not only from the physical pain but from humiliation, from powerlessness. She clenched her fists, small and vulnerable, while rage burned inside her.

  "What? Are you angry?" Sid laughed, sadistic.

  He removed his foot from her face only to kick her in the stomach. Hammya curled up on the ground, sobbing, her voice escaping her throat like a broken wail.

  "Mr. Sid, please, stop!" Dr. Toledo pleaded.

  The response was a slap.

  "Watch your words, Doctor," he said in a low voice, laced with venom. "I’m the one who gave you this position... and I can also take it away."

  Suddenly, an alarm blared through the halls with a metallic shriek.

  "What the hell now?" Sid growled, turning his head.

  A soldier burst into the room, panting, his face drenched in sweat.

  "Mr. Sid! We’re under attack!"

  "What?"

  A few hours earlier

  In a cold office at the Kanghar barracks, Candado Barret studied a map spread out on the table. Alongside him were the sector leaders and a handful of military experts. The atmosphere was thick, charged with tension.

  "I can't believe it."

  "I know, Jaqueline," Candado responded, frowning.

  "They're in Corrientes," Héctor said, surprised, after checking a coordinate. "Now what? How do we proceed?"

  Candado looked up from the map and met the gazes of those present. His expression was hard, relentless.

  "Simple, cleanup. Call in the squad dedicated to this."

  Murmurs erupted immediately. Everyone knew what that meant.

  "Candado, are you sure?" Banu asked, her voice deep.

  "They're agents," the boy replied without hesitation.

  Banu sighed, defeated.

  "I vote against it."

  "Me too," Héctor said, with great regret.

  Candado nodded respectfully and looked at the rest of the group.

  "Anyone else?"

  Silence. Only Banu and Héctor raised their hands.

  "Then it's approved."

  "When will they mobilize?" Nelson asked.

  "Today," Candado replied without blinking.