"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."
- Anton Chekhov

Snow fell in slow, deliberate drifts, blanketing the forest in silence. Trees loomed tall and skeletal, bare branches tangled against a silver-gray sky. I stood amongst the foliage, my breath misting in the icy air. The weight of unseen eyes touched my back. The world felt alive, with frostbitten wind carrying whispers too faint to decipher yet unmistakably calling to me. Shadows flickered between the trunks, their shapes too quick and fluid to be human. My pulse thudded in my ears, but I couldn't run. This place stabbed at my subconscious with an intense ache of memory just out of reach. I didn't belong here—or perhaps I did.

The aura shifted, transforming the once-soft whispers into piercing, almost accusatory tones. Shades slithered closer, no longer hiding, their presence suffocating. My chest tightened, and every instinct screamed at me to move, to escape, but my feet remained fixed on the snow-covered ground. Then, a clap of thunder and an irresistible force yanked me backward. The woods splintered into darkness, and the icy chill gave way to smothering heat. I woke with a start, drenched in sweat.

Something was wrong.

My head swam, making it difficult to think clearly as I roused myself. The alarm's tune was off. For a second, I fooled myself into thinking I'd woken up preemptively, a frustrating realization.

Yet, that wasn't the most confusing part.

My body stayed stiff and frozen as I lay on a firm surface far removed from my cozy, fuzzy-lined sheets. My chest sank, and anxiety flooded my senses when I finally forced my eyes open. Emptiness engulfed me, and I could make out an unknown ceiling made of cement blocks. Recollection hit me like those same bricks crumbled on top of me.

I was on a date with a guy I'd met through a pairing website. He had been courteous, made me laugh, and undeniably attractive. The evening had been perfect—until he excused himself to use the bathroom after our meal and never returned. Ashamed as I am to admit it, his sudden disappearance fueled a rage that demanded to drown at the restaurant's bar.

The welcoming atmosphere didn't lessen the bitter taste of whiskey on my tongue. I remembered the alcohol coursing through me, dulling the sting of embarrassment and anger after being abandoned. But the warmth quickly turned to a haze.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the bar's mirror—my meticulously applied makeup accentuating my sharp cheekbones and my favorite dress hugging my curves. The russet of my hair gleamed under the overhead lights, glossy and deliberately curled, falling just past my shoulders. I looked ready for a fantastic evening. The sight electrified my irritation, and I promptly ordered two more shots.

Deep into a drunken stupor, a patron took my keys and called an Uber to get me out of their hair. One of the servers guided me outside and helped me down onto the curb as gently as she could. I told her she was beautiful and ranted about my hatred for mankind. I recall being grateful that just words were coming out of my mouth.

Time seemed to stretch strangely, and I couldn't determine precisely when the woman had left my side. Alone and swaying slightly on the curb, a van pulled up. I barely registered the sliding door when solid hands grabbed me. My struggle was brief as the alcohol rendered me nearly helpless. A figure pressed a cloth to my face, and the last sensation I recall was the fierce, acrid scent of chemicals, and unconsciousness enveloped me.

The noise of someone stirring nearby jolted me from my thoughts, and panic gripped my gut in an even tighter squeeze. As my vision adjusted to the dim glow, I saw a familiar figure huddled on the floor. It was the same lady who had helped me outside the restaurant, though her uniform was now torn and dirty—a striking contrast to the calm professionalism I had seen.

Fearful exhaustion etched cavernous lines on her face. She looked up at me with a mix of recognition and desperation, and then her eyes darted around the cemented room as if searching for a way out.

I became aware of the other women scattered around us, their presence adding to the crushing significance of our predicament. The sight of the waitress, once a fleeting symbol of kindness, now a fellow prisoner in such disarray, shivered me.

As I struggled to comprehend the scene, the door to the chamber slowly creaked open, admitting a man dressed in a dark suit that seemed to absorb the faint light. His commanding presence drew immediate attention from all of us. He held a clipboard with a practiced grip, and although he kept his face hidden in shadow, his piercing, calculating stare was impossible to ignore.

"You are no longer allowed to use your names," he warned in a tone that bore no argument. "Any attempt to do so will be met with severe consequences."

The air fell into a tense silence as the man's words washed over us. The captives exchanged uneasy glances, their terror palpable in the cold, overbearing atmosphere. My heartbeat quickened to a pace I worried I couldn't maintain as I peeked around, taking in the foreign surroundings.

His gaze fixed dispassionately on the person closest to me. His smooth voice was devoid of warmth. "Name?" he asked, pausing with unsettling expectation as if he anticipated us offering titles we no longer possessed.

She met his question with a defiant stare. "Olivia," she said firmly, her voice trembling but resolute. Her declaration cut through the oppressive silence, a bold challenge against the impersonal authority surrounding us.

The captor's expression remained unchanged as he moved with a blinding, inhuman speed. One moment, he stood in front of her, and the next, he was upon her. His swift movements seemed unreal. With a quick, brutal twist of his hand, he snapped her neck in a single, fluid motion. The abrupt, sickening crack of her bones echoed through the enclosure, and her body fell to the floor, lifeless and still.

An exhale caught in my throat at the shock of what I had just witnessed. There is no way a human could move that fast! No way someone could be so detached after ending a life. The unease I endured earlier now seemed trivial compared to the horror dawning on me. This being was something entirely different. I wasn't just trapped but at the mercy of myths far beyond my understanding. My situation was worse than I had imagined.

The demon calmly returned to his position, his face as impassive as ever and his movements deliberate. "Next," he said, his tone chilling, as if the brutal act he had just committed was nothing more than a routine part of his job. His sight shifted to me, gaze piercing through the renewed apprehension.

"Name?" he asked. I opened my mouth to respond but hesitated. The reality of consequences hit me in full force. The violence I witnessed made it nearly impossible to think straight.

I cast a final, terrified glance at the woman crumpled on the floor and decided it would be safer to keep my lips tightly sealed. The monster nodded grimly and scribbled on his clipboard as he returned his attention to me.

"You will be identified as 281," he announced with devastating finality. The number echoed in my mind, a painful reminder of the impersonal and dehumanizing nature of my new life. I glanced around and saw that the others were also assigned their numbers—282, 283, 284, and so on. Each number punched a new thud in my chest, stripping us of our identities and reducing us to mere data in this grim world.

His assessment swept over us one last time, expression unreadable. "Welcome to the Academy," he announced, his voice taking on a formal tone. "You will be trained here for one year to serve your new masters. Supernatural beings who see you as nothing more than property. At the end of your training, you will be sold to the highest bidder."

The man's words echoed in my mind, their meaning absorbing like a slow poison. Creatures of nightmares I had merely imagined in fiction—were real, and we were going to train to serve them. My spirit stuttered as the walls closed around me.

The same shock on my face mirrored the expressions around me. A sense of dread settled over me, heavy and suffocating. My predicament is not simply captivity—but a death sentence for our former lives.

Every instinct screamed at me to deny it, to find some logical explanation, but there were none. The sheer impossibility of it all threatened to overwhelm me. The edges of my sanity frayed as I grappled with this horrifying new reality.

"This is just the beginning," he continued chillingly calm, oblivious to the new wave of hopelessness he had dropped on us. Obedience will be rewarded. Defiance will be punished. Severely." His gaze lingered on the broken body crumpled on the floor as if to emphasize his point.

"Tomorrow, you will begin your training," he said, his expression shifting from emptiness to a more predatory gleam. With one last sweeping glance around, he grabbed the corpse of the female who defied him. He dragged her without a care of how he handled her and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

"Did he just say we will be sold?" one of the women asked in a hushed whisper, breaking the deafening silence.

A brunette trembled as she answered, her tone straightforward but shaking. "Yes. And that we'll be trained to serve those things. This can't be happening. It's a nightmare."

"We need to stay calm. If we panic, we'll make matters worse. We have to think of a way out of this," said another voice at the far end of the room, her face round and innocent. Despite her quivering hands, she tried to comfort us with fierce determination.

"A way out? We're in a prison; he isn't human and made it clear we're just numbers to them. How do we escape from this?" One of the blondes asked through sobs, tears flooding her cheeks.

The first girl responded, biting her lip as if trying to hide her distress. "There has to be a way. There's always a way. We can't give up."

The blonde continued to cry, the hysteria evident in her voice. "But what if there isn't? What if this is it? What if we're stuck here, waiting to be sold?"

"Then we need to stick together. We need to support each other. Maybe if we show them we're not broken, we can find a crack in their system." The brunette offered, trying to give hope to the situation.

"Okay. Let's stay focused. For now, we wait and watch. We need to know more about this place before we make any moves." The four of them agreed while the rest of us were listening.

As I tried to steady my breathing and focus on a plan, one of the quiet women stared intently at the far wall. Following her gaze, my heart skipped a beat. There, barely visible, was a small camera, its red glare blinking rhythmically. They were watching us.

I'm happy to be back! I have big plans for this story; this is only the start. If you are reading this after the first attempt of Project Servile, I hope you enjoy the changes and see the flow of the story better. For those joining me for the first time, welcome! I'm glad you're here and a part of the journey. 

Parts will be released every Wednesday with a total of 35 chapters! 

Within the next year, I'll be working extremely hard to publish this and have the second book complete before I post the last part. I would love your encouragement! Please leave comments as you see fit, and don't forget to ★ V O T E ★

FINAL EDIT: 01/25/25
I will not edit this again on Wattpad. Any further changes will be kept in a published-only version.