Page 27

"V," I try to pry her hand away, using the end of my shirt to scrub some of the blood away.

"I'm fine." She shrugs, giving me a smile.

But it's not too long after that another guard comes to our cell. This time specifically for Vanya.

"But we're always together," I add as they try to pry her from my side. "You can't take her."

"Orders are orders, kid. He only wants her. " He points toward Vanya. And when I try to physically put myself between him and my sister, he easily swats me aside, the back of his hand connecting to my cheek and sending me flying.

"It's okay, Vlad. I'll be fine," Vanya adds with a sympathetic smile, and I can only watch as she's taken away from me.

I spend the next day and night without closing my eyes for a second.

Where is she?

My body simply can't relax as I'm picturing thousands of scenarios, all of them ending with my sister dead.

But the dreaded wait comes to an end when the cell door opens, and Vanya struts inside wearing a pink dress, her long hair braided in two pigtails.

"V?" I take a step toward her, surprised at her change in appearance. Even her wound had been taken care of.

Yet for all the clean clothes, there's a haunted look to her.

"V," I rush to her side, my hands on her shoulders. "What happened? Are you okay?" I ask, patting her down. Her reaction is immediate as she pushes me away, recoiling at my touch.

She moves to a corner of the cell, lying down and drawing her knees to her chest.

"V," I ask tentatively, for the first time truly worried.

Whatever had happened to us, she'd never given me the silent treatment.

Never.

The exclusive visits continue and slowly, even Lulu fails to rouse Vanya's interest. She barely speaks to me, and when I try to comfort her she rejects away all of my touch.

"V, please talk to me," I beg her one day when she comes back wearing yet another new dress, but with tears falling down her cheeks. "What happened?"

"He said I was his special girl," she whimpers, her hands on her face as sobs slowly rack her body.

"V…" I trail off, not knowing how to help her.

"It hurts… but I have to pretend it doesn't," she whispers.

"What does? What hurts?" I immediately imagine Miles hurting her even more, trying to take her pain threshold to a different extreme every time. In my mind, I can't help but see her bloody and bruised, but there's barely a mark on her flesh.

"He likes it when I'm on my hands and knees," she starts, her voice small, "naked…" she drifts off and I frown.

Naked?

"There's something poking inside my body, and it hurts. Every time…" She takes a deep breath. "And you're not there to help me through it," she says the last words on a sob, tears flooding down her cheeks.

I move closer to her, slowly wrapping my arms around her body, and for the first time she allows my touch.

I don't understand what's happening to her at first. It takes me some time before I fully realize what's poking her body every time, and what Miles is doing to my sister.

And I only do when it happens to me too, during one of Vanya's absences when a guard sneaks inside our cell.

Pinned down, and stripped of everything, I can only hope it doesn't last. Almost triple my size, I don't stand a chance as he pushes his elbow into my nape, holding me in place as he fondles my butt.

No matter how much I try to move, or yell in protest, it's in vain as he shoves himself inside of me, my body screaming in pain as he tears me apart.

As much as my body wants to reject him, the strength of his assault is no match for a child's body.

I feel his nasty hardness buried inside me, the pain unbearable as he digs himself deeper before retreating.

At some point I just stop fighting, holding myself still as he thrusts in and out of me, the smell of his sweaty body on top of my own threatening to make me sick.

But even as I hear his grunts on top of me, all I can think is my sister. My baby sister who had to endure this violation time after time, withdrawing deeper into herself and rejecting even her brother's touch—blood of her blood.

It's only then that I truly understand what Vanya has to go through every time Miles calls on her, and I don't think I can bear it.I don't think I can live knowing that someone hurts my baby sister like this.

I need to do something about it.

It's the turning point as I realize I must save my sister somehow. Because she's all that matters. I can take anything.

Rape. Pain. Torture.

I'll bear everything as long as I can spare her.

Armed with staunch conviction, the method to get the attention off her comes to me during our consults.

Each time he cuts into my skin, asking my pain level, I close my eyes, willing my body to obey me, and I say the lowest number I can. I continue to grit my teeth even as his experiments grow in size, when he's no longer satisfied with needles and now requires knives to cut into our flesh.

I bear it even when I see him peel the skin back of my arm, unveiling my veins and muscles.

In fact, this particular experiment finally gains me his attention.

"Maybe I was wrong," he notes, studying my reactions as he pokes and prods at my exposed arm.

After so much time around blood and knives, I'm already desensitized to even seeing my own naked flesh.

"We'll see," he comments, moving back to Vanya.

This ishertime to put on a show. I'd asked her—begged her—to cry and wail the moment he'd cut into her flesh. To not hold it in and not take refuge in me. To simply let it out.

One questioning gaze in my direction and I nod. The moment the knife touches her arm, she starts screaming in pain. Miles' eyes widen in horror as if he can't believe what's happening.

He keeps on cutting, but Vanya keeps on screaming.

Until he's done.

Removing his gloves, he throws them on the ground, stomping out of the room and letting one of his assistants come in and sew us back together.

And I know I finally have his attention.

And just like that, Vanya's special visits stop.

By now I've realized what Miles seems to be looking for—the test subject who performs best on his experiments.

And if that ensures that my sister will be left in peace, then I'll be the very best one.

No matter what I have to do.

I know my plan works when the following day I'm the one called to his office.

Stepping inside, it's nicer than anything I've ever seen. Everything is so shiny and new, and there are lots of devices everywhere.

As soon as I'm pushed inside by a guard, Miles rises from his chair, his smile wide as he takes in my small form.

"Vlad, wasn't it?" he asks, and there's a fake air around his entire demeanor. But knowing that this is the only way to spare Vanya even more pain, I nod, playing along.

"Yes, Sir," I answer, and he motions me to a chair next to him.

I sit down, trying to ignore the way my dirty clothes or my even dirtier body stains the shiny leather, or how Miles flares his nostrils when he catches a whiff of me.

After all, whose fault is it for my sorry state?

"I've been watching you, Vlad." Miles crosses his legs, bringing his arms forward and resting his chin on his hand. "And I think you've been hiding your potential from me."

"I don't know, Sir," I answer, trying to seem baffled at his question.

"Here," he says, grabbing my recently sutured arm roughly. I internally wince at the pain, but on the outside, I don't show it.

I just blink once, staring at Miles and showing him exactly what he wants to see—no reaction.

"I thought your sister was above average. But you my boy," he whistles, "you might just be my little miracle."

"What is this for, Sir?" I ask before I can help myself.

He narrows his eyes at me before chuckling.

"An inquisitive mind. I like it," he says, getting up from his chair and telling me to follow.

Pressing a few buttons on a keyboard, another door opens in the back of the office. As we step inside the room, I see computers and other machines, all surrounded by rows and rows of books.

"Interesting, but you're the first one to ask me for the purpose," he notes, and I can tell there's an underlying pleasure in his voice.

He stops in front of a huge blackboard, the entire surface scribbled in white signs.

"This." He pulls down on a paper, bringing it down and showing me an illustration. "Is the brain," he starts explaining. "And this," he points to a region in the center, "is the amygdala. To put it simply, it regulates some of the basic emotions in humans—particularly fear."

He walks around, chatting enthusiastically.

"You see, there are people out there, psychopaths, who do not have the full function of the amygdala, and as such they cannot feel what regular people feel.

They don't know fear and they don't know remorse.

But there's one catch. Psychopaths are unpredictable.

Too unpredictable," he mutters under his breath.

He stops and I wait for him to continue, curious what the point of this was.

"But then there's also people like you. Intermediaries," he says, his mouth curving upwards. "Your amygdala is developed in such a way that while you're not as far gone as a psychopath, you're not completely normal either."

"You mean my emotions are not so strong," I comment.

"Right and… wrong. I've studied your kind for a long time.

" He smirks. "I'm older than I look," he sneaks in a joke.

"And while not every specimen is the same, I've noticed a pattern.

There isn't a lack of feeling per se, but there is a difference inwhatyou can feel.

Everyone is different." He shrugs. "Some people don't know love, some don't know hate, and others just don't know fear. "

He turns fully toward me.

"Of course, I'm only interested in those that lack fear. You see, fear is one of the worst human traits. Acceptable, from an evolutionary point of view. But not from a mercenary one." He taps his foot anxiously. "But for what I have in mind, it's the requisite trait to have."

"What do you mean?"

"Super soldiers." He smirks again. "The perfect human weapon that knows no fear, nor," he nods at my arm, "pain. A killing machine if you will."

"What about remorse? Don't some people have it while others don't?" I ask, his theory stirring something inside of me. For all my apathy toward the man for hurting my sister, I can't help but be intrigued by the way his mind works.

"Smart," his mouth draws up, "we just erase itoutof you. One step at a time." He comes closer until he's sitting right in front of me. "And you, my little miracle, might just be my winning prize."

"Me?"

"You think I haven't observed you until now? Your intellectual attributes are perfect. But I've never been quite sold on your physical or emotional abilities," he says jovially, "until now."

He strokes his jaw pensively before adding, "And if your physical form is better than I'd hoped, then that only leaves one thing."

He stops, and I raise my head to look at him.

"Your emotions," he declares happily, giving me my first ever assignment.

"Show me how wrong I was about you, Vlad, and together we'll conquer the world," he tells me, after which I'm once more taken to my cell.

The first thing I see is Vanya petting Lulu, her features light for the first time in forever. And the dilemma in me grows.

Take away her happiness, or take away her pain?

But in that moment, I know there's only one correct answer.

I shut myself down as I stomp toward her, wrapping my fingers in Lulu's coat and yanking it from her arms. Taking a few steps to the middle of the room to give the camera the best view, I raise my emotionless eyes to the red lens.

Lifting a struggling Lulu toward the camera with one hand, I use the other to feel for his neck. Finding a proper grip, I twist painfully until I hear a crack.

Lulu's motionless body falls to the ground, and I blank everything out.

Vanya's cries, her condemnation and most of all her small punches as they hit my skin.

I just block everything.

That day marks the birth of Miles' little miracle.

A killing machine.