The walls are white.  The florescent lights are blinding, and they flicker too much to be ignored.  There are no windows; I’m pretty sure that’s some kind of building code violation, but no one comes around here too much to notice.  The bed frame creaks every time I so much as roll over, and my mattress is just as bad.  It’s all lumpy and uneven.

The blankets are scratchy and itchy and too hot in the summer, but they’re the only covers I get, so I hold onto them tightly.  The food here , and not in the good way.  Everything about this place is just awful.  The only reason it’s still running is because of that secret government funding, which basically only covers the costs of the tests and machines.  When it comes time to buy new clothes, sheets, food, or hot water, suddenly the money runs short.  Only the cheapest for the country’s secret test subjects.

I don’t know what they do here.  I know, you’d think that since I’m the one they’re running tests on I’d know what’s going on.  But like a guinea pig or a lab rat, I’m only here to be poked and prodded.  No one tells me .

Oh, I’m 07-18L, by the way.  My body is unusually strong for my size and that’s why I’m here.  I’ve been locked away so the scientists can figure out why a lanky teenager like myself can lift four-hundred pounds without breaking a sweat.  It’s all part of this government project to engineer some ing super soldiers.  As if this idea hasn’t been thrown around since forever. 

My room is specially designed to keep me inside.  I’ve tried to break out, but they’ve figured out how to keep me in.  The sedatives help them keep me calm while they observe my body’s normal functions.  They let me work out for two hours a day, but I rarely do anything.  I don’t like to exercise, and if you were as strong as me, you wouldn’t see a point to it, either. 

The only good thing about being locked up here is that I’m not alone.  There are a bunch of other freaks at this facility, too.  There’s a deaf girl in the West Wing who can play popular music that she’s never heard before and there’s a little boy upstairs who can eat metal.  Literally, they feed him empty, metal food trays when he’s hungry.  I don’t even want to know what the contents of his diapers look like. 

And then there’s my roommate, 12-09C.  He doesn’t speak, and considering why he’s trapped here, he doesn’t need to.  I don’t know exactly what he does, but I do know that he can have an entire conversation without ever opening his mouth.

Some people have tried to describe it as mind reading or some other such nonsense, but I don’t think of it like that.  He doesn’t seem odd to me.  Whenever we talk, it sounds just like he’s chatting with me.  I know his voice when I hear it in my head.

The tests they run on him must be hell.  When they take him away everyday between one and two in the afternoon, I never know what they do, and he never tells me.  All I know is that when he gets back, he’s real quiet.  He just lies on his bed and reads one of his numerous books.  He likes to read, almost as much as he likes to work out.  He’s got this thing about being a scrawny weakling.

Most people don’t know this about him, but he was a real lanky guy like me back in the day.  I’ve been here since I was little, so I’ve known him for a long time.  Trust me, he was way different before.  He was quiet and reserved, always very thoughtful and polite.  Those were not the qualities of a super soldier, though, so the people who make all of the decisions decided to make us roomies.

I didn’t know him well before, but apparently he didn’t talk too much before I came along.  Now I can’t get him to shut up.  Christ.

Hey.

“What,” I ask carelessly.

Did you know that the was the fifth domestic appliance to be electrified, after the sewing machine, fan, kettle, and toaster?

“Why would I know that?”

I’m not really irritated by him, you know.  He tells me a lot of funny things from the books he reads, that way I don’t have to waste my time if the book is disappointing in the end.  He’s a bit odd, but then again, everyone here is ‘crazy’ in some way or another.  That’s the only way they’re allowed to keep us locked up here, you know.  They convince our parents that we’re sick and we need to be treated.  They tell the people we trust the most that they can help us, even if there’s really nothing wrong.

And if the parents refuse to let them ‘treat’ us, they take us by force.  Just to make sure their secrets are safe, they slit Mom and Dad’s throats before leaving.  No one will ever know, and the people who do don’t care.  I will die here, you know, and 12-09C will die here, too.  We all will.  That’s kind of depressing, now that I think about it. 

Hey, are you thinking about us dying again?

“No!”

You are, aren’t you?  I can tell.

“You don’t know anything,” I tease.

You could break out of here if you really wanted to.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” I whisper, because I don’t want the microphones to pick up on our conversation.  They don’t tell us, but I’ve always known about the little cameras and microphones hidden throughout the room.  They’re always watching, listening, waiting. 

The budget cuts have hurt everyone, even The Facility.

The Facility is where they take us for testing.  Everyone’s testing is different, but we all come back damaged.  For me, they like to put electrodes all over my body and sedate me so I can’t move or break anything.  They press buttons and read reports and take my blood and they never tell me anything.  All I know is that when it’s over, I have to be taken back to my room via wheelchair. 

The security standards for The Facility and the East Wing have been lowered substantially.  You could break out of here.

“Please, you know I’d never do that.  Who would take care of you, then?”

I like to , but we both know that I’m being serious.  I don’t know what kind of tests they run on 12-09C, but every time they bring him back, he doesn’t move for a long time.  I don’t think he has a choice in the matter, either.  They have two big, muscular guys carry him back in, and they’re none too gentle about laying him down on his bed.

I’ve only seen it a few times, when he comes back, but sometimes I don’t even know if he’s alive in there.  When they bring him back, his eyes stay open, but his mind is empty.  You can just tell by looking into his eyes that something’s missing inside of him.

He has to work his way back to reality, back to reading and thinking and talking without talking.  He works really hard to keep his mind intact.  The scientists, or whoever the hell they are, they try so hard to break each and every one of us.  They want us to be vegetables, you know.  They don’t say it, but you can tell.

They’d like us all better if we never said anything.  If we never complained or cried or told them when something hurt, they’d be a lot happier.  If we never put up a fight, maybe they’d be a little nicer.  Or maybe they wouldn’t.  Maybe they’d be even crueler to us, just because they’d know that we’d never say anything about it.

It’s not like any of us can tell anyone in the outside world about how awful it is here. 

This book is dull.  Wanna play cards?

“Sure, why the hell not,” I shrug.

Alright, perhaps not everything about this place is terrible.