"Impossible... am I going to die like this? Alone... Pathetically?"

  I stood up with difficulty. My body was trembling, but not from the cold. From the void. The internal void that had devoured everything.

  My age. My reputation. My family.

  I sacrificed everything. Everything! Just to be recognized. Just for the government to see that I existed. I was thirsty for love... for attention... I wanted to write my name in history.

  Heh heh heh...

  My tears fell onto the gray floor. I was no longer crying from fear. I was crying from regret. Regret that I had placed my life in the hands of those who see me as nothing but a number.

  6-8-859.

  A number. Nothing more.

  ---

  We were all lined up in a horizontal row. Death awaited us at the end of this line.

  I heard the clicking of rifles being cocked. I closed my eyes.

  Suddenly...

  Everything stopped.

  The soldiers lowered their weapons. They made way. What was happening?

  Someone was coming.

  An old man. So strange-looking that for a moment I thought I was hallucinating. His ears were long... very long... like those creatures in fantasy elf stories.

  But this wasn't a story. And he was real.

  The old man advanced slowly, his steps confident, until he stood before Maceilwa.

  His voice was like a snake's hiss:

  "Number 814... Do you want to escape the death sentence?"

  All our eyes widened. Even us, lined up for death, felt something resembling hope. We all listened in silence. No one dared to move.

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  Maceilwa looked at the old man. Calmly. Then he said:

  "Yes."

  The old man smiled.

  My God... that smile. It was terrifying. The wrinkles on his face creased so deeply they almost reached his eyes. Then he leaned in and whispered something in Maceilwa's ear.

  I saw Maceilwa's face change. I saw terror creep into his features. What did he say to him?

  The old man turned to the squad leader:

  "Sergeant Kashber Joland... Release Maceilwa's head. The mission is over now."

  "Wait!" I screamed involuntarily. "Wait! Wait!"

  Everyone looked at me. The old man didn't turn. Maceilwa glanced at me for a moment, then turned away and followed the old man.

  "Does this mean... you've pardoned us?"

  Some of my colleagues smiled. Thomas Hall smiled. Jack Park smiled. They thought they had survived.

  But the old man had already left. And Maceilwa with him. No one looked at us.

  ---

  I looked at Sergeant Kashber. With foolish eyes. Then I said in a calm voice, the voice of a man who knew he was going to die:

  "Hey... what's the difference between us? We're not criminals... there's no reason to execute us..."

  My hand moved slowly towards my trousers. There was something there. A small notebook.

  I raised the notebook slowly.

  At that moment, the soldiers raised their weapons.

  "Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom"

  I don't know how many bullets pierced my body.

  I only know that the gray floor turned crimson red. And I know that the small notebook fell from my hand... and was stained with my blood.

  ---

  I lay on the ground. Breathing with difficulty. The air entered my lungs like broken glass.

  Regret...

  Regret crept into the depths of my heart. Each breath increased the pain. Each breath brought the end closer.

  Around me, I heard the screams. My colleagues were dying one by one. Blood sprayed into the air. The floor drowned in red.

  One minute. Just one minute of terror and screaming.

  Then...

  Darkness.

  ---

  Asser no longer heard anything. He no longer felt anything. His lifeless body lay on the gray floor, his eyes wide open, staring at the cold ceiling, but seeing nothing.

  Sergeant Kashber, the old man who led the execution, stepped forward towards the body. No emotions showed on his face. No regret. No sadness. No triumph. Only emptiness.

  He bent down. He squatted. He reached his hand towards the notebook stained with Asser's blood. He took it carefully, wiped some blood off with his finger, then placed it under his inner clothing.

  He stood up.

  The soldiers lined up behind him. Fifteen soldiers, their faces hidden behind black masks. They stood in a single row, then all bowed in a solemn scene. They bowed to orders. To Grade Zero. To death itself.

  Kashber raised his head and looked at the scattered bodies on the floor. Eight bodies. Eight numbers. Eight dreams ended.

  He said in his dry voice, the voice that knew no mercy:

  "The traitors have been executed... in implementation of the orders of the great Grade Zero."

  He paused for a moment, then added:

  "Bless your efforts."

  He turned and walked towards the exit. The soldiers followed him. They left it all behind.

  The hall became empty. Quiet. Except for the smell of gunpowder and blood.

  On the floor, eight bodies remained. And Asser's glassy stare remained, gazing at nothing. And in Kashber's pocket, a blood-stained notebook remained, waiting for someone to read it.