• The first memory I ever had was of my body falling, mist from the cryo-chamber surrounding me. My face hit the concrete floor, and my eyes watered. One of the guards kicked me in the ribs, and I heard one or two crack. I groaned in pain and the guard pointed his gun at my head. "Six. Get up, or I swear I'll blow your brains out." He snarled at me. I stood up slowly, wobbly on my feet. Dazed, I faced the two guards. "Come on." That was all the other guard ever said. I walked without hesitation towards the gleaming metal doors.

    I was guided to a pair of swinging, double doors. A doctor came out of the doors in a rush, a red splat on his lab coat. He stopped in surprised, and looked at me. "This is Six, I presume?" He questioned the guards. The guards nodded silently. "Good." The doctor said, turning around. "Bring her in." They pushed me towards the doors and a very bright light.

    I walked into a room with white walls, chrome shelves and tables. The doctor signalled for the guards to leave, and then for me to follow him. He walked to a long, stainless steel table. "Lie down." He said to me. I did so, and found the metal to be extremely cold. The next couple hours passed in a blur. All I remember is pain, lots of it, and then nothing.

    I woke up hours later, in a small room, with another guard standing by the door. He was holding a pile of black fabric, slightly shiny, with other equipment on the chair next to him. When I sat up, he tossed the fabric at me, which turned out to be rather heavy. "Get dressed. I'll be escorting you to the briefing." He then left, leaving me to get dressed.

    I walked out of the room a quarter-hour later; wearing what I thought was a uniform. (Turns out it was, one that sparks chaos…) It consisted of a long sleeved shirt and pants, both made of some shiny, black material that was somehow flexible, yet extremely tough. The combat boots I wore made a thump sound as I walked, plus I wore a military-grade belt, with some kind of a loop on the side. For what I didn't currently know. The guard looked me over, making sure I didn't forget anything. He then started to walk away and I followed.

    I was brought to a large room, with about a hundred others dressed the same. Guards, all dressed in a monotone grey, lined all the walls but one. Only one man stood there and I could see a single long scar running across his face. He glanced around, and stated to speak everyone. "Everyone," he started. "You were bred for a war. A war for the planet." A detailed map lit up on a screen behind him. "This is a village, numbering about five hundred people. We have received word from an intelligence officer that they are planning to revolt, and will be asking the neighboring villages to help. We need to stop them before this can happen. The only way…" He paused; a deathly silence filled the room. "… Is to kill them all. Leave no survivors."

    We were all given swords, one each, a wickedly sharp katana. We all walked to this village that was going to "revolt". When everyone started to enter the village, chaos erupted. Mothers protected their children and screams echoed off the trees. I ran swiftly after a man brandishing a rusty sickle, the katana cleanly separating his head off his shoulders. His limp body fell to the ground, blood flowing from the stump of his neck like a red river. I looked at this and felt sick. Not only in the stomach but in my head, I felt bad for killing him. But I kept killing, I had to. Even today, I wonder what would have happened if I didn't. By the time everyone left, I was covered in blood from head to toe. I felt even sicker, looking at myself. This was wrong.

    A couple days later, I was brought back into the "War room" as the guards called it. This time, the "mission" was in a city suburb, with four times as many people. Instead of walking, CH-147D Chinook helicopters would fly us in just outside of where the attack was. This was not what should be done, at all.

    We arrived, with me leading, and ran into the closest area, a park full of kids. As soon as they saw me, screams erupted, and the kids ran as fast as their short legs could carry them. The rest of the pack fanned out, chasing after the other kids. I singled out one child; he looked like he was ten or eleven years old. He ran into the woods near the park, and I followed suit. Branches and twigs snapped under his feet, yet not under mine. Strange, as I was the one wearing huge combat boots, not him. I closed the small gap between us, and his foot caught on a tree root that stuck out of the ground. He tried to get up but couldn't. I stood over him, katana raised to kill. But I couldn't. The katana stabbed the ground nest to him, and I sank to my knees, a single tear sliding down my face.

    The youth uncovered his head, and looked at me, curiosity in his eyes. I raised my head to look at him, black bangs covering my eyes. I was breathing hard and so was the kid. "I-I-I can't." I panted. He scrabbled against the forest floor, and sat up. "What do you mean?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice. "I can't kill. I'm supposed to, but I can't. Why?" He blinked a few times before his answer came. "Maybe you're different. And that's not a bad thing." "H-how?" I stuttered. "Sometimes you're better at things than others, or have different opinions. My teacher always said I understood things better than kids older than me." He paused. "Maybe you should run away." I started to speak but another solider came up behind me, and the boy screamed his alarm.

    The other solider swung his katana up, ready to kill both this child and me. But I was faster. My katana was a silver blur, buried three-fourths of the way to the hilt. I twisted it, and a fine, crimson mist sprayed out of his chest. I withdrew my sword and his body fell to the ground, his eyes rolled back in their sockets. I faced the child again, and found his eyes wide, staring straight at me. "What does 'running away' mean?" I asked. The kid took a few seconds before he answered. "It's when you leave without telling anyone. I could help, if you like." I reached a hand out to help him up. He grasped my hand; I pulled him to his feet. "What's your name?" He asked. "A… name?" I was confused. "It's what people call you. I'm Matthew." "Oh. Well, the guards have been calling me 'Six'. So, I guess that's mine." Matthew smiled. "Come on Six. Let's go!"

    I followed him in the woods, and I could see he was tired. I picked him up, and carried him on my back. Running swiftly, he guided me to an area a good distance away when he told me to stop. We were outside a large, metal building, on a wharf. I put him down, and he went over to a small side door. "What is this place?" I looked around. "Oh, it's an old, abandoned warehouse." Matthew got the door open and looked inside. "Cost too much to take down, so they left it up. But I use it. I keep stuff here; like clothes, books, money, that sort of stuff." He walked over to a pile of old crates, stacked like shelves. From one, he brought out some large rolls. "Here. We can stay here for a while." Seeing the look of confusion on my face, he smiled. "That's a sleeping bag and a sleeping mat, silly."

    It took me a while to set up the sleeping bag and mat Matthew gave me, even with his help. I sat down on it, and Matthew did the same with his. "Matthew." I started. "Why do you have all this stuff here?" He looked down at the concrete floor. "My parents, well I don't know them. I'm an orphan, so whatever I can get, I keep some here." He shifted. "Some kids at the orphanage aren't very nice." Matthew looked back up. "I don't have much in the way of food here but do you want some? It's mostly cereal and stuff." I didn't know what 'cereal' was, but I accepted nonetheless. He reached up into one crate and brought out a blue box with an orange-and-black striped cat on it, marked "Frosted Flakes". He handed it to me, and I opened it to find this 'cereal' inside. I tried it, and found it to be very sugary, but I liked it. (I still like cereal.) He looked out a small hole in the wall and spoke two short words. "Uh oh." As he said that, a thin, silver object pierced through the metal wall.

    The object cut up, across and down to form a rough door shape. "Matthew," I hissed. "Hide." He needed no further instruction. He bolted for a large stack of packing crates and hid inside the pile. Just as he was out of sight, the crude door was kicked in, and half a dozen soldiers walked in, the man who directed us directly behind them. "Thought I might find you here. Don't you remember me, Six?" He smirked. "You're the one who gave me this." He pointed to the scar running across his face. "But that doesn't matter now." The other soldiers slowly crept forward. "Your fight for survival will." On his last word, the soldiers rushed me, ready for a fight.

    The first one ran at me and swung his katana directly for my head. I ducked, and slashed his stomach, causing something to fall out. One down, and five to go. Wait…. Make that four. One just got killed by their comrade, and I have no clue as to why. Two came at me, one either side of me. I twirled slicing one soldier's neck, and split the other's head open after blocking their attack. Pinkish beige matter fell all over the floor. Eww… Nasty. One left now. I ran at the last soldier, katana raised but the man dodged my swing. I spun around and faced him, beckoning for him to try. He tried the same tactic and I slashed his throat, blood spraying out in fine droplets while his body crumpled to the ground. I looked down at his body and turned around at the sound of slow clapping.

    "Well fought, I was surprised how well you did." The commander said. "I'm not going to force you to leave, now that you could kill me in the blink of an eye. Good day." He tipped his beret, spun around on his heel, and left the warehouse. I waited a few minutes after he left, to make sure he was gone before calling Matthew. "Si-Six?" he called out from his hiding spot. "I-is it safe yet?" "Yeah." I let out a sigh. "It's safe." Matthew crept out, and stopped at the sight of all the dead bodies, blood and gore that littered the warehouse floor. "I'm sorry you have to see this Matthew." He walked over without a sound, and did one thing. He hugged me. I could hear soft crying. "It's gonna be okay Matthew. It's gonna be okay."

    The commander sat in a black, military-grade jeep. "Well, that works." He whispered under his breath, looking at a laptop screen. On the screen was a map of the local area, all the warehouses on the wharfs. In one warehouse, there was a blinking dot labelled with one word; Six.