Page 8 of The Order: Rise of the New Empire (Order #4)

Chapter seven

Melanie Blackburn- Years Ago

" T est subject Number Thirty. Active and awake," I say through the intercom, its scratchy tone blaring through the speakers, the child's wide eyes wincing each time I speak.

Looking through the double-sided glass, test subject Number Thirty, the Apparatus, shakes uncontrollably, the chillier months of the year no kind companion to our development.

One of the downfalls of keeping our work concealed is the conservation of energy, leaving most of us to bundle up in as many layers as we possibly can.

"It's ice cold in here," her small voice says, her head covered by her blanket, her eyes holding no trace of amusement.

"I told you we would work on trying to warm it up," I sigh, tapping the glass so she knows where I am.

Despite my ability to see her, her side is much less transparent, giving only one of us a one-way look into the other side.

"Remind me again why I am in here?" she questions, defiant as ever.

Over the past few months, her face has finally begun to gain some of the genetic structure we implemented, bits and pieces of her father and mother, and a dash of the Lockland bloodline, all mixed together to create the beauty that she is.

"You've done three of your five traits. I need you to try and use your Deception once more," I plea. "Then, I'll let you out and it's free time for you for the rest of the day," I smile, hoping the bribery of sweets and painting will be enough for her to try her hardest.

"Melanie," my husband's soft voice utters, his eyes heavy with the presence of sleep. Creeping into the observational space, he takes a cautious look around, the presence of two other bodies behind him startling me more than I'd like to admit.

"Trying," Number Thirty's voice mutters, her eyes rolling. "Trying-"

Hitting the button that feeds her noise into my space, she grows silent, containing on with her protests as if I can still hear her.

"What is this, Jacob?" I question, narrowing my eyes behind him, my hand instinctively reaching behind me, grazing the hilt of the pistol resting behind my back.

"No need for violence, Melanie," Jacob sighs, urging the group further into the space.

Wearing two dark cloaks and thick leather masks, the third body in the group is much smaller, a boy, no older than Number Thirty, his hair rich with the presence of gray.

Another Marked.

"These two are from New Hope, the compound we have been looking into. This boy has been scouring the outer lands for quite some time. He says his parents recently fell ill-"

"They were killed," the young boy states, numb to the idea of emotion. "Not ill," he pushes, giving us both a wide-eyed look.

Slowly nodding my head, I look around the room, all of us averting our attention to Number Thirty's face now pressed against the glass, giving us her best attempt on making us laugh.

Hearing the last thing I expected to, a small giggle exits the boy's mouth, his mouth pulling into the slightest of grins.

"Active today?" Jacob questions, my only response a small sigh.

"Why are you here?" I question toward the men, both of them exchanging a look.

"They want us to watch over the boy-"

"He seems to have a high Marked blood count," one of the men says, handing over one of their readings, the boy's blood rich with the presence of Marked DNA. "His abilities and conditioning are beyond what we can provide at the compound. Jacob overheard this and-"

"We can take him in. Just until he's old enough to get a grasp on his abilities. Number Thirty and him can stay separated, or if you want together-"

"No," I warn, shaking my head before he can continue. "She must remain isolated-"

"Why?" the young boy questions, all of our eyes averting to him.

Keeping his focus on Number Thirty on the other side of the glass, she patiently waits, hours of refining her Marked abilities eating away at her ability to stay focused. "Why keep her away from other people?" he questions, taking a step closer.

Saying something no one can understand, Number Thirty's breath fogs the glass, her eyes focused ahead of her.

Hitting the button to get some clarity, I look past the young boy's question, asking her to repeat whatever it is that has her so interested.

"Can you repeat that, dear?" I question, her eyes narrowing.

"Who is with you?" she questions, Jacob and I exchanging a long glance. "I can sense another Marked," she mutters, dragging her finger across the glass until she is pointing in the boy's general direction. "Right there."

Saying nothing, Jacob and I eye down one another, both of us unsettled by the foresight she seems to have.

"My name is-"

Hitting the button, I clamp my hand over the boy's mouth, stopping him from saying another word.

"She cannot know your name," I hiss, lowering my eyes. "She can't know any of our names. A name and her Call will find more information than a DNA strand could ever provide on a person."

Looking over the numbers the men have provided once more, I look over his potential, racking through the possibilities that having another Marked child here could create.

I suppose if he disappoints me, perhaps he could be a worthy energy supply for Number Thirty.

"We can take him," I sigh, looking over the wild set of gray curls on the boy's head. "Only for a few months. I'll see what I can do with him. Whatever happens to him during our care is out of my control," I warn, both men nodding in agreeance.

"He has a family set to take him at the compound once his aging has hit his teenage years. Figure out what you can, then hand him off. We have someone very curious about the potential in a strong Marked like this one," they smile, giving the glass a long look. "What's her story?" they question, Number Thirty's eyes filled with boredom.

"Nothing that pertains to all of you," I smile, patting the boy on the shoulders, his body rigid at the feeling of touch. "Jacob, see them out."

Saying nothing else, Jacob urges the men out of the space, both their eyes lingering on Number Thirty as they leave the space. Glancing at the picture of Katiana and Andrew rested on my desk, both of their young faces are flowing, the reminder of why I have done any of this settling in my mind.

"I have two rules," I snap, addressing no one in particular

"First rule down here," I warn, getting the boy to look at me. "No names." Taking a piece of masking tape, I write in bold #31 on the strip, plastering it across his chest.

"And the second?" he questions, tugging at his shirt to eye the tape.

Touching the glass with a shaky finger, I land my pointer above Number Thirty, giving him a warning look.

"Don't ever speak to her."

Number Thirty

Having been let out of confinement hours ago, I rack my brain trying to sort out how I could have been more efficient in triggering a way to use my Deception.

Time and time again, the woman in the lab coat has asked me to push myself, using every form of fear or adrenaline she could to get me to phase in and out of all the abilities she thinks I am capable of using.

Cold baths, the frequency, guards. Anything she can to drive enough fear into me to fight back.

Initially, I thought showing her the mercy I carry for others would be enough for her to leave me alone.

Forcing the empty promise of one day meeting my mother, the patience to stay here has been near impossible, making it harder to exert the energy needed to get results that would help me see the light of day.

Staring at the food left for my dinner rations, I kick the tray across the room, eyeing the bland mush meant to keep me in optimal physical condition.

Glaring at the dozens of children's books lining the small rickety shelf in my room, I envy the families plastered on the covers of each book, wondering if normalcy is ever a reality that I will ever be able to obtain.

"Deception," I scoff. "Why don't you show me what a real family looks like?" I question, driving a small tennis ball into the wall, watching it clatter around the space, knocking over the empty cup once filled with blood nestled on my nightstand.

Sometimes, it feels as if that is the only thing that makes me happy down here.

"Bad day?" a voice questions, my body immediately whipping around, my hands grabbing at the metal detention collar around my neck, forcing back my abilities.

Startled once I see no one, I gulp back my confusions, keeping all of my senses on high alert.

"Was that you?" I question, eyeing the camera in my room, its light red.

Everyone has gone home.

"I'm not with the lab coats," the male's voice says, his voice void of the age most of the other males down here have.

Touching my temple, I replay the sound of the voice in my head.

I'm losing it.

I told that woman-

"You're not losing it," he retorts, some humor lingering in his tone. "At least I hope you're not. Who else am I going to talk to while I'm stuck down here?" he questions, a smile creeping along my face.

Thinking of my words mentally before speaking out loud, I creep around the space.

"Where are you?" I question, a warmth flooding my chest.

"I believe on the other side of this wall."

Hearing a loud bang, the wall closest to my bed rattles, my body moving closer, pressing my ear against the layered drywall.

"Can you hear me now?" his voice questions, the smile growing across my face.

"So, they dragged someone new down here?" I question, suddenly much less interested in ridiculing myself.

"Dragged? More like I was given up," he laughs.

What a nice laugh.

"Dragged would mean you were taken here. You've seen the outside world?" I question, eager to get to speak to someone who doesn't expect something of me.

"Seen?" he questions. "Yeah, it's nothing special. At least the people down here seem clean," he jokes, my smile quickly fading.

"All that open space, and you're worried about cleanliness?" I question, another laugh leaving his mouth.

"Figuratively," he warns. "Everyone's hands are dirty up there," he hisses.

"Clearly, you have not been here long enough if you think the people down here are any better," I sigh, pressing my head to the wall.

"They seem awfully interested in you..." he starts, trailing off. "I'm sorry, normally I associate people with their names," he answers honestly, hitting me like a punch to the stomach.

Perhaps I would prefer that right now.

"Number Thirty," I sigh. "That's my name down here."

"So I've heard," the boy laughs, utterly unamused by my comment. "I don't like it."

Rolling my eyes at the boy's attitude, I scoff at the wall, nudging it with my hand.

"And what would you do? Last time I checked I was born here. Not many options for naming me when your only use is to be used as a weapon for a bunch of paranoid radicals," I snap, listening to yet another laugh.

"All this time, and you haven't even considered giving yourself a name?"

"The woman in the lab coat-"

"Her name is Melanie Lockland," the boy says, startling me. "I saw it on her name tag before she shoved me in here."

Melanie Lockland.

"So, that name?" he questions, moving the conversation. back in his initial direction. "Let me hear the options."

"You seem real pushy on names," I scoff. "What's yours?"

"Down here?" he questions. "Number Thirty-One," he snorts. "Above ground? Nothing that matters."

Se creative.

Perfect.

"Melanie says names only add attachment."

"Well, it would seem you and I are stuck down here, and name or not, you are pretty much the only thing I think I will get to interact with, so name or number, I'd say I will become pretty dependent on these conversations," the boy jokes. "The least you could do is give me a name to call you by."

Taking several moments to think about the boy's proposal, I look around the space, my eyes landing on the something that has any value into this horrid room.

Poking out from beneath the mattress, a picture of the woman who volunteered to carry me stays hidden, stolen from Melanie's desk in passing one night she was a tad too sleep deprived to notice it as gone. Signed and dated on the back, her name sticks out to me, her cursive writing bold against the worn photo.

Giving little clarity to how and why my mother passed, my father is a mystery entirely, Melanie's face growing sour each time I prod her on the issue, as if she knew the man more than she'd like to let on

Forest.

"Forest," I whisper, tucking the picture back under my bed. "You can call me Forest."

"Forest?" he questions, thinking over the name. "I like it," he says with delight.

"And you?" I question, trying to get more information. "What's your name?"

Watching the lights go out, the start of resting hours has begun, the darkness swallowing me whole.

"I think it's time for you to get some rest, Forest," the boy says, enunciating my new name.

"I hate the dark," I sigh, creeping closer to my bed.

Pulling myself under the sheets, I face the wall closest to the boy, letting my body curl in on itself.

"Good thing I'm here," he says, another warmth taking over my chest, something new latching to my mind.

Rolling onto my back, I try and close my eyes, hearing nothing but the faint heartbeat settled on the other side of the wall.

"Xavier," the boy says, my eyes flying open.

"My name is Xavier."

"Xavier?' I question, my own smile finally reaching me.

Sleep has never greeted me quicker.