They walk around my pod taking notes on clipscreen with pens attached, as if afraid they would lose them. The tags around my neck float around in the pod goo. ‘Project GRACE’ one of them read, under it my ID number was punched in. The second has a single word written on it. ‘Zack’. I guess they added that in to make me feel better about going through the same tortures every day. You know, their lame attempt to try and trick me into thinking I’m not just a number. They even put my name on the sheets they’re writing on right now. I saw it once when they let me out for another bout of almost impossible combat training for when I get sent to Erebos. I saw a bunch of names once, most in red. A whole long series of them on the clipscreen, most of which were highlighted in red.

Failures.

I’m told on a frequent basis that I’m the only one that went right. I’m the only one who could survive. I’m the only success. I’m not going to let this happen to anyone else; I’d decided that years ago. No one else…

One of the night watchmen strode a few pods down from mine, gazing at each of the sleeping subjects before moving on to the next. I was supposed to be asleep, but tonight… I just couldn’t. I needed to get out of here. The man finally came to my tube. Opening my eyes, I stared back at him, pulling off my tags and pressing them up against the clear walls with my palm. I gazed at his eyes as he squinted to read the text embossed on the metal, and then how they looked up at mine, full of shock and fear and what else… what else. It almost seemed like he was too scared to pity me.

‘Please,’ I mouthed, unsure if he could see my lips move behind the air mask. He shook his head slowly, then turned on his heel and quickly marched away. Maybe it was too soon… I’d have to find another way out of this hellhole.

Hours later, they return with their clipscreens with the pens attached as if afraid they would lose them. I caught sight of the front of one of the screens as one of them walked by. More names highlighted in red. More failures. They quickly stride from one pod to the next, jotting down more notes and more things that mean absolutely nothing because they have ALREADY succeeded. They come by my pod, too, and write down meaningless things before moving to the next. I may be a success, but I mean nothing…



In the end, I’m just a name on a list