After that day, 08A became my shadow. He was most often silent, but he was always there, a solid presence to keep me grounded in a scary and violent world. We children spent most of our education at Imhullu as a large group, with younger kids observing the older ones in weapons training or creature lessons then taking part when the guards or minders ordered us to. 08A was always by my side throughout all of this... barbarity.

Because life in the facility was barbaric. It was brutal, and now as an adult reflecting on it all, I'm surprised I'm not more fucked up than I am. All my siblings preyed on weakness, which meant that we all lived in a constant state of fear that crushed our wills but made us excellent weapons. 

As another year passed after that day with the murdered moth, the day when I met my brother, it had become glaringly apparent that I had an uncharacteristic aversion to violence. In combat training, I always hesitated before delivering the final blow. Unlike the other children, I never fought when settling childhood squabbles. I didn't like weapons. I didn't like hitting or punching or kicking or hurting. Even at such a young age, I knew that this Imhullu existence wasn't the existence I wanted for myself, but I didn't know how to challenge that. Or even why I should try to challenge it. This was the only world I knew, so why did it feel wrong?

And all this internal conflict made me feel broken, as if there was something wrong with me in the way that it wasn't wrong with the other children.

My mercy and aversion to violence were weaknesses, cracks in the sword that would easily shatter the weapon. I had seen children culled from the group for showing far less fragility than myself. I knew I needed to toughen up, to fight like the rest, but I was just so tired of it all. 

It wasn't long before the attendants and trainers noticed my propensity for mercy. They began trying to get me inline with the others. When I hesitated to go for the kill while sparing, the trainers would beat me. They forced me to train twice as long and twice as hard as the others, but even with all this sadism, I still weapt or froze when fighting. Other children, sensing my weakness, sought me out, targeting me with their violence, especially when we were allowed free time in the recreation room.

One day, while the attendants were distracted observing a fight between two ten-year-olds, 08A spoke to me in a hushed, secretive tone while we were sitting on the floor of the rec room. As I looked at the sickening tiles, I remembered that it had been in front of me. That's where the moth had been murdered over a year ago, although the cleaning crew had long gotten rid of the smears of moth guts.

"You have to fight," 08A said, startling me by speaking when he almost never spoke. I still remember how soft and calming his voice was, something that contrasted with the darkness and pain in his eyes.

"A," I replied, my own eyes clouding with tears even though I knew I'd be in trouble if the attendants saw me crying, "I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm just... so tired of hurting and fighting. Maybe they'll come and take me away." 

Following my words, 08A's jaw clenched, and his expression darkened. Yet I ingored that worried look of his and continued. "When they take one of us away, I know what they do, A. They decomission us. I'm ready for that. I'd rather die than to live like this. It's just... so hard. I can't do this anymore."

For reasons I didn't understand at the time, my brother was angered by my words. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher and harder than I'd ever heard him speak to me before, making me wonder what I'd done to anger him like that. Perhaps his reaction was because he was going through the change into adulthood. Our teachers had told us what to expect when that happened, the physical changes and the mood swings, but... whatever it was that made him talk to me this way, his voice shook me. 

"You have to fight to survive in this world, B. You will not let them win. I won't allow that to happen."

"But-" 

08A cut me off with a glare that had me shrinking back against the wall. When he saw my reaction, his gaze and voice softened. "If you let them win..."

He trailed off then, pausing to think while I watched panic dance over his features. After a moment, he continued. "If you give up, then I'll give up. I'll stop fighting, too. They'll come and take me away like they're going to take you away. Then we'll both be dead, and what good would that do us, B?"

"No!" Just the thought of 08A dying because of me tore at my heart and stole my breath. "You're a real warrior, A. You're meant to do this, to be here. You can fight like they want you to. You're good, and you will be able to kill so many monsters and save lots of humans. You can't let them kill you!"

"Then fight back, B. That's your only option. If you die, then I die, too." 

With that, he shrugged then stood as the attendants indicated we were to head to our lessons, leaving me sitting alone against the wall thinking until an attendant barked at me to get off my ass and get in line with the others. For the rest of the day, I mulled over 08A's threat. In the end, my decision was easy. I had to become a fighter like him. Otherwise, 08A would die, and I couldn't bear the thought of that. 

I realize now that 08A's words to me were born from love just as my decision to fight like him was born out of my love for my brother. It's sad, really, that we had love, but the world we lived in robbed us of the ability to even recognize that emotion for what it was. 

With myself commiteed to beoming stronger, I began fighting harder, exhibiting the brutality expected of us Imhullu children. Seeing my changes and the strides I was making in our lessons and trainings, 08A began sparring with me me in our free time. 08A was a better teacher than any of the trainers. He could guide me in using all my preternatural gifts. Maybe he was a better teacher than the facility employees because he and I shared the same abilities. The trainers couldn't fathom what it was truly like for us children wo were able to move with abnormal speed or anticipate the movements of our opponent with startling accuracy.

They didn't know what it was like to be us genetically modified children.

08A also taught me to never hesitate, and his lessons coupled with my dedication worked to impress the Imhullu Project. Noticing my dramatic improvement, the teachers began pairing  08A and me up in physical training exercises. I never held back, and neither did 08A. At the time, I was happy with my progress, although I hardly managed to win against my older and stronger brother. But my winning every time didn't matter. What mattered was that I was becoming what Imhullu wanted me to be. 

I was becoming a machine like my brother, and that thought brought me happiness.

In one sparring match, 08A slashed me in the arm with a dirk. The wound was about ten inches, bad enough that I'd needed stiches after the match. Then, later, when we weren't being observed by the attendants, 08A apologized in hushed tones for hurting me. That apology was confusing.

"A, we have to fight. It's how we survive. You're always saying we should fight to survive. That's what you were doing. So, why would you apologize for that? Even if you accidentally killed me, that wouldn't deserve an apology. It would just show that I wasn't good enough to survive."

My brother nodded in agreement, but my words did little to wipe the look of despair from his face, leaving me to marvel at him as the two of us fell into another contemplative silence. 08A was on one of the oldest children at Imhullu. He was part of the first-generation of super weapons, and whether it was his superb genetics or his personality, 08A took quickly to everything taught to him by the teachers. He was good enough that I noticed people avoiding him. Not just other children but even the trainers themselves didn't engage with 08A in the same way that they did all the other kids. 08A commanded respect. That's what I wanted, too. 

I wanted to be like my big brother.

After we began training together and A shared his knowledge with me, I soon began to follow in his footsteps. Looking back now, I'm sure we were a formidable pair, a twelve-year-old and a six-year-old who could kill a human in less than a minute with nothing but their bare hands. 

The only area where none of us engineered children seemed to succeed was in the use of magic. According to the teachers, magic flowed from within. It was an elemental force comprising the universe that could be controlled by witches, incredibly rare supernaturals that were really more myth than fact. I was sure that if they'd ever found a witch, the Imhullu Project would've spliced that magic into the DNA of newer children.

As it stood, though, the fact that none of us kids had magic didn't deter the teachers from trying to train us in its usage. As hard as I tried, I could never tap that force of power. None of us could. In my desire to be the best, I tried desperately to feel the energy within, employing every magical tactic taught to us from generalized meditation to the method of loci in an effort to remove whatever internal mechanisms might be blocking my abilities. But the answer to my problems was simply that I didn't have magic, not that something was blocking me. Anyway, that's what 08A and I theorized about why none of us could use magic.

Regardless, what I lacked in magic ability, I began to make up for with my prowess in physical combat.

One night during the Arctic midnight sun, two years after we had first 'met,' I sat by the window of the dormitory looking at the haunting isolation surrounding the remote facility. 08A silently approached and sat beside me.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, voice devoid of emotion to outsiders. But I knew my brother well enough to hear the concern in that tone.

As I frowned, I turned from the window to look into his unnaturally green eyes. All the engineered children had some sort of unusual features, some endearing, some menacing. My brother had emerald eyes that reminded me of a cat. I had violet ones. Sighing, I pulled my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them in a childish attempt to self-soothe.

As I returned my attention to the scene outside the window, I finally responded. "It looks so beautiful outside, A. Do you... do you ever wonder what it's like out there? In the real world beyond Imhullu?"

08A shrugged again and began absently folding a small square of paper he pulled from the pocket of his pajamas. "The world outside is a vicious place. The citizens don't even know about the dangers that walk among them. The inhuman monsters are poised to win in the global war. Humans need us to fight for them. So, I believe the world outside here is very, very frightening."

"How do you know that, A?"

My brother continued to fold the paper, which was now taking the form of a delicate origami rose. "That's what the teachers say to us about the outside world, B."

I doubted the truth of the words he spoke, doubted the truthfulness of our teachers, but I didn't dare to tell A my thoughts that night. We had bigger concerns, worries that I couldn't get off my mind. 

I was consumed by the worry that my brother might not live beyond the next day.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" My words were a haunting whisper that escaped into the cold air of the room. 

08A paused in his folding but didn't look up at me. "No." 

His words were a lie. We were conditioned to read minute changes in body language, and not even my brother could hide his deception from me, the one person on earth who really knew him.

Still, 08A put on a brave front as he contined speaking. "We've trained our whole lives in preparation to fight the supernaturals, the inhumans. I should be prepared for tomorrow. If I fail and expire, that simply means I'm ineffectual and shouldn't be allowed to go into the field."

"But a vampire?" I asked, my voice cracking with emotion. "Are you ready for that? I mean, can you even win?"

"We all have to do this sooner or later, 30B. It's a rite of passage. The trainers have selected the subject I'm to fight. We have no right to question their decisions."

"Remember 04A's combat trial, though? He only fought a low-level bear shiftier. The thing ripped him apart, and the blood was..." 

I couldn't finish my thought. I trailed off as I remember thinking about how much 04A's death reminded me of that moth that got smeared all over the floor. After a moment of quiet where the only sound was the soft rustle of 08A's paper and the air coming from the vents, I'd collected myself enough to continue. "You... you're fighting a vampire, A. No one's fought one of those in their trials. And... and if you do pass, then I won't ever see you again because you'll be in field training. Either way I'm losing you. What if you-"

My words died in my throat as I choked on my worry for the only family I had.

08A didn't say anything, but he placed his hand on my shoulder and passed me the newly constructed small purple rose he'd been working on as I'd spoken. Neither of us said anything while we both turned our attention to the unsettling midnight sun on the other side of the window.