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**"Entering simulation.
Trauma-based penal experiment initiated."**
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Trey opened his eyes to a field, a vast expanse of tall grass swaying gently in the breeze. The sun hung low, casting a warm, amber glow that felt both comforting and isolating. He looked down to see dirt-streaked hands—small, yet calloused—and a simple, worn-out shirt. The name **Emmet** lingered in his mind.
A group of children played nearby, their laughter ringing out, innocent and carefree. Trey—Emmet—watched them for a moment, a yearning tugging at his chest. He recognized some faces, but the bond felt distant, like a memory that had long faded.
"Hey, Emmet!" a voice called. A boy his age, grinning, jogged over. "Come on, join us!"
Before he could respond, a whistle pierced the air. A woman's voice—sharp, commanding—cut through the noise.
"Emmet! Time to go!"
Trey's heart sank. He knew this routine—he knew the separation. The other kids glanced at him briefly, sympathy buried beneath their childish energy. He turned, trudging toward the source of the voice. A worn-out van idled nearby, its paint chipped and rusted. The woman—a caretaker—stood impatiently by the door, arms folded.
"Let's go, Emmet. You're late," she snapped.
The drive back to the group home was silent, punctuated only by the drone of the engine and the occasional cough of the caretaker. The house itself loomed gray and tired, a collection of forgotten souls under one roof. Trey walked through the familiar halls, each door a reminder of a restless night, each creak of the floorboards a whisper of isolation.
Dinner was a muted affair—metal trays clattering, whispered conversations swallowed by the room's silence. The caretakers watched over them with weary indifference. Trey—Emmet—kept his head low, barely touching the bland, overcooked food.
The days blurred together—routine, isolation, the distant echoes of families that never came. Some children left, taken by hopeful couples. Others stayed, lingering like ghosts trapped in the same cycle of waiting. Emmet had learned not to hope—not to dream of escape. He was one of the ones who stayed.
It was during one of the long, sleepless nights that it happened. The heavy rain battered the windows, thunder rumbling distantly. Footsteps creaked outside his room, a hesitant, shuffling sound. He sat up, heart pounding.
The door creaked open slowly. A boy stood there—trembling, eyes wide with a hollow fear. His name slipped from Trey's memory, but his face held the same vacant expression Trey saw in his own reflection.
"Can I... Can I sleep here tonight?" the boy whispered.
Trey's throat tightened, a refusal on the edge of his tongue. But the boy's eyes, pleading, desperate—he couldn't push him away. He nodded. The boy crept in, curling up on the edge of the bed, the silence between them heavy.
In the dark, the boy's voice trembled. "Do you think... they'll ever come for us?"
Trey's heart ached. "I don't know."
The storm outside raged on, lightning illuminating the room in brief, blinding flashes. The boy shifted closer, a quiet, suffocating need for comfort.
And then the door creaked open again. The caretaker's shadow stretched long across the room. Her eyes, sharp and narrowed, took in the sight of them. Disgust twisted her face.
"What the hell are you two doing?" she hissed.
The boy recoiled, his eyes wide, terrified. Trey stood, his heart hammering. Words stuck in his throat.
"This is what you do?" she spat. "No wonder no one wants either of you. Filthy, ungrateful little—"
Something snapped. The shame, the isolation, the endless waiting—an unbearable weight crushed him. The room spun, her voice a relentless drill, the boy's sobs a backdrop of betrayal.
Before he realized it, he had grabbed the nearest object—a metal lamp from the bedside table. His grip was tight, knuckles white. The caretaker's eyes widened, but she didn't step back.
"Go on, do it," she sneered. "Show everyone what you really are."
The rage, the helplessness, the suffocating silence—all of it erupted. The lamp came down, once, twice—her voice cut off, replaced by a sickening, hollow thud. The boy's scream shattered the air, echoing in Trey's ears.
Blood spattered across the floor, pooling beneath the woman's still form. The boy cowered in the corner, tears streaming, fear and betrayal painted across his face. Trey stared at his bloodied hands, the weight of guilt crashing down.
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Simulation over.
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