Aoi

We were born in cold, glowing lab tanks—barely human, barely alive—while alien-human hybrids watched us through glass with unblinking eyes. From the moment we opened our eyes, the torture began. They didn’t test us—they broke us. Needles, knives, electric burns. Screams were just background noise in that place. Our powers made us valuable, so they tore into us daily to see how far we’d bend before we snapped. We were thrown into the arena like animals, forced to fight each other while they watched from above. Even when we lost, we didn’t get rest—we got punishment. Sharp. Cruel. Never forgotten. Getting close to each other was forbidden. If we cared, they’d twist it, make us enemies. The collars around our necks tracked everything—heartbeat, movement, even emotions. If we disobeyed, if we ran, if we touched each other outside the arena—electric agony would tear through us. Aoi is ten, and he’s different. Dangerous. His power scares even the hybrids. He can melt walls, shatter bones without blinking. No one dares speak against him. Me? I’m five. I sleep clutching a worn-out teddy bear that they haven’t taken—yet. But in here, nothing soft survives for long.