Different (book 1)

My home is a box. Eight feet long, eight feet wide, and shrouded in semi-darkness. Smooth, flawless gray walls stretch up into an impenetrable black void. No windows, no view of the outside world. I sit with my back against the cold wall and my knees pulled up to my chest, staring at the opposite wall. If I look hard enough, I can see a faint outline of a door.

I don't know how long I have been here. The guards that deliver food don't speak. I've never even seen their faces. Their heads are covered by reflective black visors, so all I see is my own haggard face.

Logic says it's been over a month since the ambush, a couple of weeks since the ship, and a few days since I was shoved in here, still trying to recover from their drugs.

But something tells me time is different here than back home.

I have seen the sun once since arriving here. One day in the back of an armored vehicle, with one tiny, barred window. The sun moved much faster than it should have, the daylight fading before I knew it. I wanted to know why.

But I was locked in here before I could observe anything else on this strange planet.

If anyone were to look into the cell right now, they would see a disturbingly thin seventeen-year-old female with silver eyes and short, cool-toned white hair staring almost unblinkingly at the wall opposite her, as if in a trance. I am trapped in my own head, and my head is a dangerous place to be for too long. My thoughts chase each other, my brain trying to figure out the situation.

A subtle hissing noise interrupts my thoughts. My eyes snap to the door across from me. It glides open smoothly, revealing four of the black-clad guards. They are wearing traditional military-style pants and chunky vests, which I assume are used as protection against their guns. Each one has a large gun that looks similar to our rifles, and two small parvas on each hip. Everything about this planet is odd, even their weaponry. Just looking at their guns, I see several flaws that need to be fixed for the weapon to reach its maximum potential. Each of their heads are once again covered by the reflective visors, giving them an eerie, inhuman appearance.

Two of them train their larger guns on me, while the other two grab my arms and roughly yank me up. They drag me after them before I can even find my feet, scraping my exposed knees against the abrasive floor. It takes me a few seconds before I can get my feet under me, still struggling to keep their pace. The two guards holding me have one hand on one of the small parvas on their hips. The other two guards take up their positions, one in front and one behind us. I don't need to look back to know the guard behind me has their gun trained on my back, ready to shoot at a moment's notice.

The four guards lead me through identical hallways, their gait never faltering. I try to count the turns, but it is pointless. We wind through hallways, the guards pulling me roughly along and poking me with their guns.

I assume that we are underground. There are no windows in the halls. Just evenly spaced artificial blue lights. Each step we take fills me with dread. I know what is coming, and I hate it. I might not be human, but I am an intelligent being. Probably more intelligent than all of them, but they don't need to know that. I don't deserve to be scanned and experimented on like some animal.

Humans are barbaric. I don't think they've ever found a peaceful solution to anything. Maybe if they had talked to us, instead of invading my home and destroying it, they could have found out what they wanted. All they know is war. That's probably why their planet is such a dump.

We reach the end of the last hallway we turned down and stop in front of two reflective silver doors. An elevator. The guard on my left roughly shoves something over my head, before leading me into the elevator. I don't see what level they enter, nor can I see what floor I am being kept on. These guys are cautious, I'll give them that.

The elevator stops with a slight bounce and I hear the hiss of mechanics as the doors open. The guards yank me out of the elevator and I stumble after them. they lead me through what I assume are more hallways, but now I can feel warmth on my skin, which means there might be windows here.

I am shoved roughly into a room and the door slams behind me before I can regain my balance. My arms no longer held by the guards, I reach up and yank off the thing over my head and take in my surroundings.

My stomach tightens and a lump forms in my throat as I recognize the familiar interior of the testing room. The table, a giant metal tray, in the center of the room, surrounded by humming machinery. Cords dangle from the devices tipped with needles ready to be inserted into my skin. Tools used for their version of "science" lay neatly arranged on trays as if they were as harmless as a place setting at the dinner table. Locked cabinets line the walls, containing who knows how many other torture tools just waiting to be used.

I take it all in in seconds, the layout of the room already seared into my mind. Even though I know it's locked, I turn and twist the door handle, hoping I could get lucky. I know it's pointless, though.

"Hello, Quenin," says a smooth, haunting voice.

My shoulders stiffen and my jaw clenches. That voice… it sends chills down my spine. Haunts my dreams. Freezes me like a deer in headlights.

"Come here, Quenin," the voice says.

But I can't move. "Quenin!" the voice says sharply. I stand motionless, hand still on the doorknob.

Something smashes into the side of my head and I collapse onto the cold floor. Spots dance in my eyes. A cold hand turns me onto my back. She stares at me, her head tilted at an angle and her cold, lifeless eyes boring into me.

"It's rude to ignore people, Quenin," she says smoothly, her voice cold.

My hands shake as I try to push myself away from her devouring stare, pure terror overwhelming me. Nothing has ever scared me as much as the person kneeling next to me. Not even the war.

A cold, pale hand clamps onto my wrist. "Now, now, Quenin. I can't have you running away. There is still so much more to learn."

My mouth goes completely dry at the statement. I struggle harder, writhing against the ground. The door opens and four more people in all-white garments enter. None of them terrify me as much as the pale, blond woman in front of me.

"Do you want to get on the table, Quenin?" she says in the same haunting tone.

I shake my head rapidly as I try to pry her hands off of me. They send chills all over my body, making me cold and clammy.

"It wasn't actually a question." her eyes flash dangerously and she pulls me up off of the ground. My legs shake. "Get on the table, Quenin."

I try to back away, still shaking my head.

Her eyes stop me in my tracks. "Do you remember what happened last time you refused, Quenin?" I force myself to swallow. "That's what I thought. Now get. On. The. Table."

I walk towards the table, shaking uncontrollably.

Don't do it! Run! Fight! Use their tools against them!

But pure terror completely and effectively crushes all logic and reason. I could never make it out of here alive.

Before I even reach the table, two of the others rush forward and grab my arms, yanking me forward and slamming me onto the table. They pin me down roughly, and before I can even scream, they plunge a needle into my neck. My body seizes up, and the room fades to black.