"Yes, we can," the suited man said, his voice bright with that eager edge, a note too sharp for the sterile room. His polished shoes shifted slightly, a nervous tic beneath his composed facade, and he clasped his hands tighter behind his back.
The words hung in the air, unanswered, and a heavy silence descended. Subject 24238 stood rigid in the line, his breath shallow, the ache in his body a dull pulse beneath the rising unease.
He stared at the white walls, their pristine sheen mocking the grime he still felt clinging to his soul. The speaker remained mute, its silence stretching into an eternity, and he wondered, had the connection severed?
The prisoners around him stood like statues, their stillness unnatural, their faces masks of exhaustion and dread. He shifted his gaze to the suited man, whose eyes darted briefly to the ceiling, as though seeking the source of the voice.
The pause dragged on, thick and suffocating, until Subject 24238's ears began to ring with the absence of sound. His chest tightened, a knot of anticipation coiling tighter. Then, without warning, the speaker crackled to life, its boom shattering the quiet like a thunderclap. "Subject 20201."
The suited man pivoted sharply, his polished demeanor snapping into focus as he scanned the line of prisoners. Expectation gleamed in his eyes, a predator's glint beneath the veneer of civility.
A man stepped forward, an average figure, unremarkable save for the bloodshot eyes that stared out from a sallow face. His shoulders slumped, his movements slow, deliberate. There was no fear in his gaze, only a tired resignation, as though he'd long since surrendered to whatever fate awaited.
He stopped a few paces ahead, standing alone under the weight of the room's scrutiny, and Subject 24238's stomach twisted. What was this?
The speaker didn't hesitate. "Subject 20450," it intoned, its mechanical voice cold and relentless.
Another figure emerged from the line, this one older, shorter, broader, his stocky frame hunched with age or weariness. His steps were heavier, his breath a faint rasp in the silence, but he moved with the same grim acceptance as the first.
His eyes, shadowed beneath a furrowed brow, flickered briefly to the suited man before settling on the floor.
Subject 24238 watched, his pulse quickening, a drumbeat of unease echoing in his ribs. The air grew denser, charged with an unspoken threat.
"Subject 20167," the speaker called next, its tone unchanging, a machine grinding through its list.
This time, a young woman stepped out, her frame slight and trembling. Her hands shook visibly as she moved, her head bowed as though to shrink from the attention.
Her breaths came in shallow gasps, audible in the stillness, and Subject 24238 felt a pang of something, pity, perhaps, or recognition of her terror.
She stopped beside the others, a fragile silhouette against the white expanse, and the room seemed to close in tighter around them all.
His chest pounded now, a frantic rhythm he couldn't still. He didn't know what they were being called for, didn't understand the purpose of this strange roll call, but the weight of it pressed down like a blade against his throat.
Something terrible was coming, he could feel it in the way the air thickened, in the way the suited man's eager smile faltered at the edges.
The selected prisoners stood apart, a trio of sacrificial figures, and Subject 24238's mind raced. Was this a judgment? An execution? A test? The possibilities clawed at him, each more dire than the last, and he clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms.
Another pause followed, longer this time, Subject 24238 held his breath, the silence deafening, his ears straining for the next sound. The speaker crackled, a low hiss of static, and then it boomed again, its voice cutting through the stillness like a guillotine. "Subject 24238."
The name, his name, or the only one he had, struck him like a blow. His heart lurched, a wild stutter against his ribs, and he froze, the world narrowing to that single moment.
The suited man's head snapped toward him, his eyes widening in a flash of surprise, shock, and something darker, horror, perhaps. "What?!" the man exclaimed, his voice breaking from its polished restraint, raw and unguarded.