Chapter Text
This pain. This misery. This dread. The thought waking up again sickens him. Let it end now... He thought, closing his glowing purple eyes. As his eyes closed, his head flickered through the memories he had. Of before now. He opened them up, gasping. He felt the black liquid drip from his eyes and down his face. Ender tears. He didn't cry real tears, he can't touch water, in which tears are a form of. He clawed at the mask covering his mouth. More of a muzzle, really. It prevents him of using his magic. His magic he never learned to control. He was taken at too young of an age. His oldest memory is of The Night. He refused to think about it again. It was all a blur anyways. He sat up on the dark bed and shifted. He stood up and moved towards the bars that locked him away. The halls florescent lights flickered grimly. A recent discovery for humans, but for his people, they've had artificial light longer than he could remember.
He stuck his hands through the bars. He reached and reached, farther and farther, until a small red light flashed and water began to pour down. He pulled his hand back immediately, preventing the burn. They used that water to keep them all from escaping. He turned away, his eyes tracing the walls of his cell. He walked up to the mirror in the corner, a small shelf underneath. He didn't know why it was there. Why give him a shelf and nothing to put on it. He looked up into the mirror, his piercing gaze staring him right back into the eye. He inspected himself. His skin, a deep, nearly black color. No human eye would be able to see him in the shadows if his eyes didn't glow so bright. The orange uniform he wore, that all of them wore, was ripped. It was fraying at the sleeves and the collar. The buttons all were loose, the fabric itched, and the writing on the front pocket and back were fading.
No. 42. Number 42. Number forty-two. That was his name. No, not his name. It was his label. His assigned number. The way the humans differentiate them. The kidnapped ender-folk, or as the humans call them, enderman. They're all their little lab-rats. They test everything they can on them. They even bleached his head. He looked up in the mirror and stroked his fingers through his hair. He didn't know why it made him so emotional, but it did. In any other circumstances he would think it looked good. When he was feeling more positive, he does consider it to look good, but in reality, all he can think is that the humans ruined him. It was a sloppy dye anyways. His mother dyed his hair once when he was little, because he asked for it. She did it perfectly. The humans practically wiped bleach across his head and called it done. They had wanted to see if his hair would have a different reaction. Surprise surprise, it didn't. His natural hair color was growing back, and he hoped the humans would cut it once it was back, but alas, they were heartless pricks. Why would they do something that one of their test subjects wanted.
He heard movement outside and quickly slipped in his bed, closing his eyes. "Oh come on, Dap. Quit pissing and moaning about your hair." 43's voice whispered through the hall. He sat up, stood out of bed once again and walked back towards the bars. "I'm not." He said. 43 was leaning against the bars of his own cell, across from his. "Yes, you are." He said, raising his eyebrows. He glared at 43. "I'm not. I was just looking at it." He tried to convince him, but it still didn't work. "Dapper, you hate your hair. Why is it? I for one would like you to know that you look very attractive." 43 told him. "Why do you call me Dapper? It's not a name, just so you know, it's just a descriptive word." He said, ignoring 43's question completely. "Have you seen yourself? Do you know who you are? You came from the richest family in our city. Your parents-"
"Stop. I get it. You can shut up now." He interrupted. Mention of his parents meant memories, memories meant pain. He'd rather forget everything he'd been through than go through that pain day after day. He wished he could forget about that terrible night, wished that he could believe that he was born in this stupid research center. "I'm going back to sleep." He said to 43, getting into his bed. He turned onto his side, facing the wall, but didn't sleep. Sleep was impossible here. Any second the humans could take them for new tests. He didn't know whether it was morning, noon or night. Time is a hoax here. Almost on cue, footsteps echoed down the hall. He heard an aggressive banging on the bars along with the deep, obnoxious voice of the guard.
"Wake up monster. We've got a fresh set of tests to run." He groaned and sat up in bed, stepping up to the bars. He pushed his forehead up to them and glared down at the guard. "Thanks, asshole. What fresh hell are they throwing me into today?" He said sarcastically. The guard smiled grimly. "We gonna go find out."