'Tis calm indeed! So calm, that it disturbs 
And vexes mediation with its strange 
And extreme silentness.

Samuel Taylor Coleridgde, Frost at Midnight

PROLOGUE

"DO YOU HAVE EVERYTHING ready?" Somewhere in Venice, within an enclosed and dense forest, stood a man, a sword stripped to his back and a scar marring down his perfect features. The trees ruffled his neatly trimmed hair, giving him a dark and foreboding look. The few rows of his suit were unbuttoned and undone, showing off a well-built and toned chest.

There was a few rustling heard in the bushes, but eventually, a tall, grey-haired man graciously emerged from the shadows, cigarette hanging in a scowling mouth. "Did you really have to fucking call me all the way here from town? Do you have the slightest clue in how extremely fucking difficult it was to trudge all the way here on foot?" He huffed, furrowed his eyebrows at the lack of response, and slowly fished out something from his pocket and lit another joint; puffing a few smokes out of his nostrils.

His friend frowned at this and discreetly swatted away the pollution coming out from the grey-haired man's mouth. "Hayato, you know how important this is to us." He gave him a hard look. "If you actually aren't as solemn as I thought you were, it'd be best for all of us if you just leave." The grey-haired man paused, eyes flickering over to the raven-haired man in disbelief; then, in a matter of seconds, he had the latter slammed against the wall, sneering.

"Don't you fucking dare tell me what to do, you fucking bastard," he snarled. "I know how important this is to us. So the next time you try getting rid of me, I'll shove of dynamite down your damn throat to make you shut the hell up." Thy both remained quiet at this declaration, a heavy veil of silence engulfing them.

Then, the raven-haired man laughed and shrugged the arm off. "Of course, of course, how could I possibly have thought otherwise?" He tossed Hayato a thin smile. "And it's Takeshi to you, not bastard."

Hayato gave Takeshi a look that you would give a retarded fool and shrugged. He lit another joint. "Like I would call an idiot by his given name . . ."

Takeshi smiled. "Well, he used to do it."

Pause. Everything suddenly turned still. Hayato stopped smoking and Takeshi takes a step back, head lowering down and regretting the words the instant they came out of his mouth. 

The world seemed to have caved in on itself.

Hayato turned to look at Takeshi, face unreadable. "Do . . . do you really think we could get him back?" His voice was uncharacteristically small, and very, very, unheard of. He folded his arms neatly across his chest, fists curling around his joint in a tight hold.

Takeshi stared at him for a while, before turning his head to the other direction. "I don't know," he replied tentatively.

Hayato scowled and threw the cigarette to the ground, twisting it with his polished shoe. "If you don't know," he said, glaring, "then don't bother answering." He turned on his heels and left without saying another word.

Takeshi released a breath of resignation and raked a hand through his black locks. He should've known better than to call Hayato all the way from town, but he desperately needed information, one that his companion didn't seem willing enough to give.

"None of us know, Hayato." He turned his head to miserably look at the darkening sky; thunders seemed to roll in behind a condensed bank of cloud. It's a sign that it was going to rain soon. "None of us know."

ONE

IT WAS VERY DARK and eerie, and a vague beam of moonlight poured through the cracks of the wall. The ramparts were dour and covered in cobwebs, every nook and cranny eroded and timeworn, basically giving the small space a very uncanny look.

The only sound I heard was the dripping of water from one of the gaping cracks of the cavern-like walls, the dull pit-pat sound of raindrops resounding through thick walls and the whimpering of the other children as they fumble with the shackles that bounded them to this hellhole. The youngest of them let out a startlingly loud wail, big fat tears rolling off their face as the elder rubbed shaking and comforting circles around his back, whispering reassuring lies into his ear.

The other new experiments came in about a month ago, but now they had bandages loosely wrapped around their cranium, crimson blood seeping through the whiteness of the damped cloth. The reluctant ones were thinner and soulless and their skulls were chipped off, dead, a reminder to the newer ones that this was the end result to children who don't listen. Who don't obey.

 Only seven of them remained; the others had died within a week. Their bodies dumped down the moors.

The child beside me played with the dirt, drawing stick figurines that resembled what might've been his family. He's young; far too young to be here.

Rough footsteps came through my left, sending shockwaves of dread climbing up and down each child's spine. "Alright, listen here you brats!" he yelled. His accent was thick, an inflection that belonged somewhere in the far north maybe; Scotland? I don't know; I've never been there myself. He looked like he belonged to a carnival, or, more befittingly, a circus. His moustache practically reached his stomach, and it was singed on the end, and unstylishly curly, a dull brown of sort. The children stilled. "The boss wants one of you to come to the laboratory; didn't tell me which one though, so I'll just pick whoever. You better all behave yourselves!" The new children let out a stifled scream. I tried distinguishing what was going through their heads; with the bandages and the bloodied and soulless body, it was quite obvious that they knew of the things taking place in this god-forbidden place. Their fear was etched deeply on their face.

The man turned to look around the room and circled smoothly around each child, a ferocious grin curling around his lips in some kind of twisted satisfaction as the children continued their silent crying.

Then, his eyes met mine.

"27," he called, reading the mark on my neck. The number rolled off oddly on his tongue, as if spoken in an alien language. I stood.

"Yes," I replied. The children looked at me fearfully, as if they were afraid whatever would happen to me, the results would also reflect on them.

He motioned for me to come closer, so I followed suit. The hold he had around my hair didn't feel as painful as it should. "Today is your lucky day," he said, grinning. His breath smelt of alcohol and something else, a ghastly odor that hung between the two of us.

I dimly noted in how the bounds around my feet were set loose, but my hands were still bounded by the metal shackles. An angry red blossomed on my too-pale skin, wrapping around my thin legs like a scar. He smiled knowingly at me, as if expecting gratitude. His fingers lingered on my leg a little too close to my thighs for comfort. "Come along now then." He jolted me, shoving me towards the exit of the cell.

Out of nowhere, one of the children shot upwards with such speed, the others' didn't notice him but of a scant second later, when he was running towards the agape door. The man holding my wrists stood suspiciously still, watching uncaringly as one of the facility's precious experiments try and make a run for it.

Instead of encouraging his efforts, I shot him a dull glare.

Turn around, I urged. He continued for his little escapade, his eyes lighting up with foolish hope.

Turn around, I urged again. The man beside me yawned and lazily fingered the pistol strapped to his side. This boy didn't know what dangers awaited him if he doesn't stop his thoughtless efforts in escaping.

"Turn around . . ." I whispered, but it was far too quiet, a clamor of words lost to the wind, and I watched, expecting the inevitable as the child paused midway to the entrance and cry out in sheer agony as one of his legs got shot, blood seeping out profusely from the bullet wound. His eyes blazed with such pain and agony that I had to avert my eyes elsewhere, forcing myself to be ignorant. It was the same routine everyday: the heartless beating of the disobedient, the lectures, the trauma, and the uncountable experimentations.

Witnessing another's suffering would always leave an aching hole throbbing in my chest, regardless of my efforts into trying to be unaware, to be insensible. 

The man whistled and tucked the gun back to its holster. "Whoa, he almost made it through, didn't he?" He laughed, a dry, rusting sort of sound, and shook his head, as if he was actually expecting us to whoop and applaud the scene, and took four long strides towards the bleeding body, stepping on the injured leg and twisting it with his shoe, eyes shining with joy from the pained reaction he got. "Listen here you little shit . . ." he trailed as he kicked the boy's face. A few rows of his teeth got knocked out. I noticed this all, even if I didn't want too.

"Nobody can escape this place," he whispered – almost delicately, almost gently – into the shaking child's ear. "This is your home now, we are your family. Be glad that you're still alive." He kicked the body towards the wall and the boy stopped struggling, the will to fight back seemingly leaving his tiny form as he fell down the ground with a dismal thump.

I noted that he was the child who drew the stick figures of his family. He must be one of the seven to still be alive.

He turned to look at the shaking figures of the children who had witnessed the entire thing. "Be glad that you're all still alive." The children muffled another scream. The eldest child hugged her brother tighter to her chest, preventing him from seeing the bruised and possibly dead body of the young boy.

The man turned to me next, smiling amusingly at my obedience. "You've been here the longest, eh?" He grabbed my wrist, pulling it towards his face as he studied it with a malicious glint within his murky orbs. "Then you'll surely enjoy what the boss will do to you up there in the laboratory." He grinned.

Oh, I know, I thought as he tugged me towards the blinding entry. I know everything that you do, and you sick bastards are going to burn in hell for all the atrocity you forced on these kids. I could feel it in my bones. But what could I do in such an impossible situation that I have no control over? I feel sorry for them, but that's as far as my interest goes.

"You look pretty good for an experiment," the man beside me said, snapping me back to reality. "Why don't you and I head for my room later on this evening and have a little fun?" He winked at me. My stomach churned with repulsion.

Instead of shooting down his offer, I gave a sullied nod.

He grinned and let his fingers trail behind the small of my back for a moment. Only for a moment though, because someone else came into view, the whiteness of their lab coat nearly blinding me. The doctors really do like their color – never mind the fact that white isn't a color at all. The added presence of another didn't really ease down my nerves, if anything, the white lab coat made my stomach stir in uneasiness.

"27." He nodded at me in acknowledgment, before turning his gaze over to the obese man beside me. "You chose well, Adam."

Adam belched and laughed. "Of course I chose well!" He patted my head like he was praising me for a job well done. "This kid here followed suit without a single peep coming out from his mouth."

The doctor nodded and smiled thinly. Adam's disheveled and ugly demeanor seemed to piss him off greatly. "I know." He took my shackle bound wrist, and with one swift tug, the metal bounds fell to the ground with a dull thump. Adam stepped back and did a double take of the situation, eyes rounding with disbelief.

"Ready for today's experimentation, 27?" he asked, smiling warmly.

I nodded. His smile grew.

He ushered me into the spiral steps, his expression easygoing and warm as he casually dismissed Adam with the flick of his wrist.

We continued our way, the coldness of the marble tile hard and rough against my bare feet.

"A few weeks back," the doctor started, smiling. "The last experiment gouged his eyes out with a nearby scalpel one of my careless students had left unattended and slashed his chest with it; right across his essential organs. We didn't even have time to react to this, and his head was severed at that time, having gone into one of our daily researches. So we decided to dump his body down the clearings. Anyways, the foxes needed feeding." His tone was so light and casual; he could've been talking about the weather.

After a while, we arrived in front of a white door, beautiful in its simplicity, yet the insides were morbid and saturnine. It was a place of blood and the conducting of tests results.

The doctor gave me another cryptic smile. "Shall we continue?"

I nodded. He opened the door.