Chapter 14 | Dakota Williamson

  The door shuts quickly behind me as I step out. My footsteps echo in the hollow space, each one carrying me closer to the unknown. Weapons glint in the dim light, scattered across tables and strapped to backs. A drop looms in the center of the floor, a gaping hole leading down to the first level. But none of these things are the real danger.

  The real danger is them.

  The worst part about looking at them is how normal they seem.

  Normal. The word hits me so suddenly that I lose focus for a second. What does normal even mean? Am I normal? How would I know? Everything I know has been told to me. And who’s to say any of it was the truth?

  I scan the area, my eyes locking onto a set of stairs at the far end of the platform. My fingers twitch at my sides. I can still hear the voice from earlier.

  "It's your time to join them, Ghost. Go meet your new coworkers."

  The words don’t leave my head. My back still aches, phantom pain from something that isn’t even there. Nothing makes sense. Everything is loud, chaotic, suffocating.

  The stairs creak under my weight as I descend. The background hum of the room grows clearer—metal scraping against metal, knives being sharpened, the unmistakable sound of gun chambers clicking into place. The air smells like oil and something else, something bitter, like burnt rubber.

  At the bottom of the stairs, they’re waiting.

  The prototypes. The others like me.

  I freeze. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.

  They look at me the way a pack of wolves might examine a new member—curious, amused, maybe even hungry.

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  A man with short, buzzed hair leans against a pillar, flipping a knife between his fingers like it’s an extension of his hand. He glances at me, then smirks.

  "Fresh meat."

  A few chuckles ripple through the group. A woman with dark eyes and a scar running down her cheek tilts her head.

  "Didn’t think they were making more of us," she mutters.

  Another man, broader than the rest, crosses his arms. "Guess we’re not special anymore."

  I keep my face still, unreadable. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act.

  "What’s your name, newbie?" the woman asks.

  My throat tightens. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My name. What is my name?

  Silence stretches between us. "That’s rich,” the buzzed-hair guy snorts,

  “Already forgot his new name!”

  There’s a murmur of amusement, but none of them seem eager to push me away. It’s strange. They’re cruel, but they aren’t rejecting me. Like they already know I belong here.

  Like they’ve decided for me.

  I don’t know what’s worse—the idea that they’re wrong about me, or the possibility that they’re right.

  A noise makes my head whip around toward a stage I didn’t even realize was there, a voice. The voice.

  “Hello, all. I hope we have found the time to welcome our new recruit!” Every head whips around to see me but I’m still stuck on the very man that stands on the stage. While he covers his face with a mask of stitched leather, I can clearly see his build.

  He’s tall, skinny, and wears a nice suit. His skin is a lot paler than mine, and his hair much longer, and much darker. He has two men on either side, all of them also in suits with large guns strapped to their chests.

  “How about we welcome this man? What do you all say?” The man waves his hands toward me, and this causes the crowd to chant in an eerie manner.

  “Welcome, coworker. We are excited to work with you.” Every face is close to expressionless, but the hint left screams anger.

  Anger toward what? I wonder, Anger toward me for taking someone’s place? Anger toward themselves for taking lives? Anger toward the man in the mask for keeping them here?

  My thoughts are quickly interrupted, “Very good, prototypes. The newest of you all is named Ghost.” He looks away from me and looks toward a girl, still staring at me. “Thread, would you mind telling Ghost our rules?”

  She nods, “We live by three rules. Never leave a job undone, never remember, and never disobey the Grandmaster.”

  The man, who I assume now to be this Grandmaster, nods, “Quite right, Thread. Ghost, you will learn quickly that it’s live by these rules or endure pain.”

  The rest of the prototypes nod in agreement, then turn back to The Grandmaster.

  The Grandmaster opens his folder, “Now, shall we go over mission assignments for this week?”