Chapter Text
They say people are born different. But why does it feel like we’re all the same. Us, brainwashed into the same system. They expect perfection. So how can we be different? It wasn’t until I saw my reflection, that’s when I woke up and realised that the truth had been hidden away from us. A sign. An omen. A—a glitch.
Chan wakes with a start to the six o’ clock alarm, ringing out through the speaker in his small, sterile white room. The lights flicker on, reflecting off the pale white walls, ceiling, floor and furniture. It would give anyone a headache, but Chan was used to it by now.
Just like clockwork, he rose, washed up and dressed, and left his room by 6:15, where he met with the other eight subjects on his floor, all leaving their rooms at the same time. They never really looked at each other, there was no point, since they weren’t allowed to speak to each other during this time.
Chan did his usual routine, a task given to him by the staff, scanning the other kids’ vitals and handing them their morning medication. No idea what it did. They were told it helped so they took it to save trouble.
There was a moment, a couple of days ago, where one of the kids got frustrated with the staff and rebelled by making a scene; refusing to take his meds and complaining non-stop about the prison-like environment, from the moment they left their rooms until half-way through breakfast, just as he started trying to rally troupes for a riot, when they took him away to isolation. He was still shouting down the hallways even as they dragged him out of sight. Chan watched him now, being led through a separate door while everyone else went to eat breakfast together. His eyes and composure gave dare you to challenge him, with a mien of someone you’d rather not mess with. But they all learned a lot about him that day; other than being impressively loud, they learned he was either brave or stupid, but he’d picked up on things the others had looked over or ignored, and asked the questions everyone was too afraid to ask. Why are we here? When can we leave? Who are we? What are we?
They had been taken into the institute a few years ago, had their memories erased, and had been tested and disciplined ever since. They only knew that they were special. A group of kids born with the potential for abilities beyond what humans have ever been capable of. Some already showed signs of their individual skill. Others, like Chan, had no idea. His tests covered every possibility and it seemed, over the past few weeks, they’d been doing less and less as if they were slowly giving up on him. He often wondered if he should be worried; what would they do with him if he turned out to be a lost cause? But more than that, since that one kid had his outburst, he was just curious about what the institute was planning to do with those who excelled.
***
Changbin obediently followed the member of staff, who’s face remained hidden behind a mask and hood, as always. They never saw any face aside from those of the other subjects. Why? No idea. Why isolate them like that? There were so many questions he knew would never be answered. His little stunt only proved how dangerous it could be if they stepped out of line. He didn’t like to remember the pain he went through to pay for it. And now? Now he got to eat alone for the remainder of his time here, however long that would be, and sit through orientation all over again from the very beginning. How long had it taken before? Days? Weeks? He sighed. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take of video after boring video. If he knew what his special ability was, he wondered if they would have gone a little easier on him.
The food was punishment in itself; just a slop of nutrition to fuel them for the day. This wasn’t the ‘Special Enhancement Training Institute’ that they claimed it was. This was a prison. And he wanted out.
***
Han sat at the table and stirred his near liquified food. And stirred. And stirred. And—The kid next to him kicked his ankle, making him jump and splash his food over the table. He quickly glanced around at the supervising staff before wiping the drops up with his sleeve. They didn’t need to see his prediction ability failing. He glared at his attacker. Don’t do that! But the boy had a more effective look that he shot back in warning. You think that’s bad? Eat!
Han spooned a serving into his mouth, still glaring but knowingly defeated. They both went back to focusing on their meals. And Han continued to stir. And stir.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the dream he had. It was so vivid. Images of shattering glass and clouds of dust. Miles of barren wasteland. A world outside these walls that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember ever being a part of. He wondered if—
Ouch!
Another kick. This time hitting his ankle bone so hard he nearly cried out, opting instead to silently scream into his bowl and clench his fist as hard as he could against the pain. He gave him a wide-eyed warning. What the hell, man! But the other boy just jerked his head at Han’s food. Eat! Han replied with an Okay, geez! motion and took another bite. Happy?
He had to put it out of his head. He was right, if the institute sensed that he was out of sorts, they’d give him more attention and watch him around the clock. He was already watched enough. But something about his dream still bothered him.
***
Minho watched Han through his peripheral vision, making sure he ate his food before someone started asking questions. He couldn’t kick him every time he had to take a bite. But thankfully he’d gotten the message and spooned his food to a steady rhythm with the rest of them.
After breakfast, they all went their separate ways to their individual test rooms. Minho sat in a classroom with a small group of other kids from different sections. He was the only one from his, while Changbin was still being punished for his stupidity. They went over algebraic formulae from an advanced mathematics syllabus, which to him was child’s play. His biggest strength, however, was trigonometry. He had the ability to recognise and predict angles to the exact measurement. So, looking down at his pencil, he knew the exact angle of how it sat against the edge of the desk, without moving it or measuring it. He just knew.
While he was the only one in the classroom who could do that— others were human calculators and the like— he didn’t care for his gift. He didn’t know how it could ever be useful, and often wondered if he even belonged here.
***
Jeongin had already begun his chores. They didn’t keep him for many tests, other than trying to get him to move things with his mind. He always failed and they never kept him long. Instead, they monitored him at night, while he slept, as this was the only time his ability ever showed itself. The only proof he had that he even had one was waking up to a whole mess; drawers open and clothes spilled all over the floor; stationary scattered over the desk; even furniture had been turned over every now and then. He would have believed someone was playing a prank on him, but the staff were sure it was him who moved them, so he supposed he should be too. It kind of sucked that he didn’t have any control over it though.
So, he just swept the cafeteria floor, back at the dormitories, while everyone else was still in their classes, at the main building. He let his mind wonder, often about the other kids and their abilities. He’d watched Han and Minho at breakfast communicate so easily without words, and wondered if they both had telepathy or if they could read minds. He thought that might be nice. He’d like to be able to talk that freely with the others. Maybe he’d even have someone he could call a real friend—
Just then, a figure caught his eye. It stood at the edge of the room looking right at him from under its hood. Jeongin squinted to try and make out a face underneath. It was one of the subjects for sure—they wore the same white hoodie as himself. But as the figure raised its head and moved to pull down its hood, it started to flicker. And just before it fully disappeared, Jeongin swore he saw himself smiling back at him.
***
Hyunjin sat in the same chair he sat in every day, with a headset that was always uncomfortable and too big for his head. They showed him images of people and places within the institute, through the small screen in the headset, and he would give them the directions to find them. He could see it with perfect clarity, as if he was flying through the hallways himself.
They called him a Clairvoyant. He had the ability to scan the nearby area, sensing the location of a specific thing or person that they wanted him to find. It started with visualising it on a map laid out in front of him, and then he found he could visualise it in his head.
They were always impressed with the results, but what they didn’t know was how lost he got on his way there, since he literally had to search almost the entire institute and couldn’t sense their location perfectly.
Although, he kept that to himself, in case they would see it as a failure. Or worse, they’d realise he was glancing more than he should.
***
Seungmin sat in the art room, painting the same face he’d painted before. He wasn’t a very adept artist, but after weeks of practicing the same picture, it started to look fairly decent. They hated it when he repeated a face for too long, but he didn’t fully understand his gift. He only understood that he had seen people he had never met, like people who had been at the institute before he’d even arrived. All he knew of his ability, was that there were people he saw that no one else seemed to be able to see. He would have sworn they were ghosts, but they told him that was impossible, since no one had died here since the institute was built. He believed them at first, but the more that he saw of the same kid sitting at the table at breakfast, the more he thought they were hiding something. Because he had recently started to listen, when before, he ignored them, when all he could hear were murmurs. They all seemed stuck in an echo, saying the same lot of dialogue every day, or nothing at all. But this particular kid, who looked like another subject, intrigued him. His echo was always the same, always hushed and urgent, but the things he said…
It’s not safe here. He would say. Nowhere is safe. And You can’t trust them. You can’t trust anyone.
If what he said was true, what else had they been hiding.
***
Woojin spent most of his training time alone at a table in the middle of a classroom. Other subjects sat at the tables lining the walls, all with their backs to him, doing their own thing. He would be given a tablet and his task was to write down what he heard from the staff member in front of him, who was trained to control the thoughts in his mind. He would think a word, and Woojin would write it down. They had tested his proximity and the other staff members stayed at the edge of it. If he heard anything other than the given word, they asked him to write it down also. The other subjects were there as a distraction, to throw him off and test his focus. Or so they claimed.
Some of the things he heard he kept to himself. It wouldn’t be wise to allow them to hear the endless questions that the other subjects had, and their doubts, as much as he knew that was what they wanted. It also wouldn’t be wise to allow them to realise that the proximity in which he could hear their thoughts had grown.
Some days were harder to take than others. Some were loud and some were full of doubt. But whenever he was overwhelmed, he always thought of the subjects that he sat with in the cafeteria. Even though they could not speak freely to each other, he knew each of them well and was fascinated by the sense of calm they each gave to one another. Thinking about sitting with them calmed his mind and calmed the endless stream of voices. He was especially fascinated with the way that everyone just seemed to have a kind of understanding, like they were all in the same boat. For Woojin, however, he felt like he was on the outside looking in, already knowing everything but not being able to communicate it. His understanding was different, and he thought maybe they could sense that.
Or at least one of them could…
***
Felix.
Felix was different. Felix was powerful. He terrified the staff members. Given the right circumstance and the wrong emotion, he could destroy them all. And he was getting more irritable day by day. The more curious he got with very little answers, and the more isolated he felt, the more ready he was to snap.
So, they kept him to the rooftop, where he could do the least amount of damage. A doctor stayed near him with a sedative when moving from place to place, in case he showed any signs of an impending outburst. In the end, he chose to be there. He stayed on the rooftop and meditated. He stayed and trained in martial arts to control the flow of his energy. The aim was so that he didn’t rely on his power and kept it, instead, as a last resort. It didn’t do much to help, as he felt the energy within him grow stronger and less bearable by the day.
And it wasn’t just that. He could sense the energy and emotions from the staff members around him, waiting to use the sedative, waiting to use all the toys and mechanics they wanted, to watch him suffer. Watch him like an ant squirming under a magnifying glass. The only time he ever felt he had any control over his power, was when he was in the company of the other subjects, who all felt just as uncertain and scared as he did.
And the one who knew everything. He could feel Woojin’s loneliness like a blinding pain and tried his best to communicate that he understood how he felt.