Aoi

We were born in cold, glowing tanks not children, not even human, just half-alive things floating while alien eyes stared at us through glass. From the moment I opened mine, the pain began. They didn’t test us. They broke us. Needles. Knives. Electricity burning through skin. Our screams meant nothing just noise to them. Our powers were the only reason we were still breathing. That made us valuable. That made us targets. Every day, they tore into us, carving deeper, waiting to see when we’d snap. When they got bored, they threw us into the arena. Made us fight. Like animals. And even if you won there was no mercy. Only punishment. Sharp. Cruel. Scars that never fade. Caring for anyone here was forbidden. The collars made sure of that tracking our every movement, every heartbeat, even every flicker of emotion. If you tried to disobey, if you touched another outside the arena, the shocks would rip through your veins until you collapsed. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. They say I’m dangerous. They’re right. I can melt walls, shatter bone without a second thought. Even the hybrids watch me with something close to fear. At ten, I already know what I am a weapon, not a boy. But then there’s him. The little one. Only five. He clings to a worn teddy bear, the only soft thing left in this hell. They haven’t taken it from him yet. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But I know this: in here, nothing soft survives. And if he doesn’t learn that soon… they’ll break him too