Dr. Vahlen sat alone in his office, feet propped up on his cluttered mahogany desk. He didn't wear his signature lab coat, but did sport a gaudy green turtle neck sweater. Behind his wheeled computer chair was a beautiful painting of a 19th century battle complete with horses, muskets, sabers, and cannons. Flanking this art piece on either side were slim bookshelves which extend all the way from floor to ceiling. In front of the desk was an ovular red and gold rug as well as a chair for guests to sit in. It was far and away the swankiest room in the entire facility, which meant it was still kind of a dump, especially compared to what he was used to.

Idly, he swirled a glass of red wine in his left hand. He took a sip and grimaced upon lowering the drink. If he ever found a halfway decent bottle in this godforsaken country, it would be too late. Still, some wine was better than none at all. He took another unsatisfying sip.

Vahlen paused and gave a sigh. He put the glass down on an out of the way corner of his desk. Transitioning into a more natural sitting position he rifled through one of the drawers on his right side, loudly shifting around its contents. After a few seconds he extracted his prize, a small digital recorder. Vahlen swung his legs around to the other side of his chair and leaned back. He held down a button on the side of the device and began to talk into it.

"Dr. Vahlen, audio log for the week of July 17, 2005. Group A still shows very little in the way of progress. All seven of them have stagnated. This is... disappointing, to say the least. As both the first and largest group, I had high hopes for them. But, many improvements have been made to the technology since then, so I guess it isn't really their fault. I'm looking into the possibility of replacing their implants with a newer model. We still can't be sure what kind of side effects this would have. It could cause severe brain damage, or kill them outright. Either one would be an acceptable result, I just want to know which to prepare for.

"My decision to stop bringing in new subjects after the acquisition of Group F is still a hot button topic more than five months later. Almost all of my scientists disagree, but they don't understand my reasoning. Until we perfect the implants, bringing in more children is pointless. We're just wasting time and resources. Our sample size as it is now is perfectly acceptable. It's more efficient to just study the patients we have now, and learn from our past mistakes. I don't know how long the soldiers can keep my dissenters at bay. I may need to enact my authority before long.

"While it is true the children get more powerful with each new generation of implants, there was always the possibility of exceptions, and boy is Group D an exception. I saw something in Subject Twelve when she came to us two years ago. She continues to shatter expectations. Countless brain scans haven't revealed any chemical or electrical bias toward use of the implant. For all intents and purposes, she's just a normal eight-year-old girl. Purple explosions notwithstanding, of course. I can't figure out exactly what it is which makes her so much stronger than all the others, but I'm determined to find out."

Vahlen paused, perplexed. "I was going somewhere with that, somewhere specific, but I don't remember where. It probably wasn't important. This is Dr. Vahlen, terminating the audio log for the week of July 17, 2005."

The Doctor opened a drawer on his desk, a different one than before, and tossed the recorder in. Talking into that blasted contraption was by far his least favorite part of the job. He understood the importance of keeping consistent and thorough logs, and a recorder was definitely the best way to do so, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

No sooner had he sealed the accursed thing to it's fate, did a knock come at his door. He pinched the bridge of his nose. First an audio log and now unexpected company? This day just kept getting better! He sat with neutral posture to make himself presentable before answering the summons.

"Come in," he said pleasantly. The leader, the man who coordinated most of the subject acquisitions, entered. "Ah, General. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I think we need to talk," The leader—the General—closed the door behind him, mindful it should make not a sound.

"Oh?" Vahlen raised an eyebrow. "What about?"

"About the operation. I'm sure you know there's been dissent in the ranks." The General shifted his riding crop from one hand to the other.

"You never had a problem with my methods before, why start now?" Vahlen asked.

"Because there never was a reason to have a problem. I understand why we only went out to get test subjects once a year. You needed time to study them and improve the technology, but now we've stopped completely. We need more test subjects if you want this project to succeed."

Vahlen ran a hand through his hair. "I can't believe we're still talking about this. Why are we still talking about this?"

"Because it's important," the General answered. "I know it won't be time to go out for a while—"

"And when that time comes, you'll see I made the right choice." Vahlen looked down and adjusted his glasses. "Tell me, General, what meaningful advancement do we make whenever a new group is brought in?"

The General pondered this for a moment. "I'm not a scientist, you know that." He attempted to dodge the question.

"Just take a guess," Vahlen insisted. "There are no wrong answers in science, only happy mistakes."

"Well... the kids obviously get stronger. You improve the technology, I think." The General gave his best wild stab in the dark.

"But how much better?" Challenged Vahlen. "Increments, General. Increments." He stood and began to walk around his desk over to the aging soldier. "You see, that's how invention works. Edison worked on a hundred different ways to create a light bulb, making small changes between each version, until one day," he mimed an explosion with his hands, "breakthrough. It just worked. We need a breakthrough, we have a breakthrough. I just need more time to study it."

"You're talking about Twelve." The General said. It was not a question, but a statement of obvious fact.

"Of course I'm talking about Twelve." Vahlen walked back around his desk and leaned both his hands down on it. "She's extraordinary. You have to agree she's extraordinary."

"I think dammed frightening is the word most of the men would use," suggested the General.

"Ehh, tomato tomahto" Vahlen made a dismissive gesture. "The point is, I need more time to study her, specifically her." He straightened and turned around, inspecting his painting. "The key to everything I've been working toward is locked up in that adorable little head of hers somewhere. I just need to find it." He turned again, this time to the General. "I won't make any meaningful progress until I do. Implanting more children in the mean time is useless."

"I'm not sure that's true," the General challenged. "What if the breakthrough is in some other child, not Twelve? You'd never know that unless you have more patients."

Vahlen conceded. "That's true, you have a point, but I think it's stupid to ignore the potential right under our noses. I think you can agree implanting more children for the sake of predictable results is a waste of resources. I need actionable data, not bloated data. I already know I can replicate the results, now I just need to take them to improve upon them. Twelve is the key to doing that."

The Doctor let his words hang in the air, waiting for a response. The silence, coupled with the stony expression on the General's face, told him the man was not convinced. Vahlen sighed. He walked over to the General.

"Look, she has a bout later today. I'll pull some strings, make it interesting. If I can convince you of her power and dedication to our cause, will you continue to support me?" Vahlen made his plea. The General thought for an uncomfortably long time on the proposition. The air grew thick and awkward. Vahlen was beginning to think of ways out when he finally made his decision.

"Alright, fine. You have a deal."

"Excellent. I knew you'd come to your senses." Vahlen clapped his hands to indicate the case was now closed. The General shook his head. He began to leave, but craned his neck to look back at Vahlen with a hand on the doorknob.

"You're putting a lot of faith in just one girl, Cyrus. I can't protect you if she doesn't pull through." He warned.

"I know that, General. Twelve won't fail me. She hasn't yet." Vahlen gave him a dire look over the frames of his glasses. The General departed, disappearing behind the door.

…

The Afternoon of that same day. Many children, along with their armed escort, had gathered in the observation room above the testing chamber to witness the day's festivities. There was to be a fight, and it promised to be a good one. And, if not good, at least short.

On the far side of the testing chamber stood Ayda, strong and silent like a sentinel, silver staff in one hand down by her hip. On the other side was a boy she knew well, much better than the others. He had blonde hair and blue eyes so pale they appeared pure white from a distance. He was the boy who spoke to Ayda on her second day, who warned her not to struggle. While they barely ever got the chance to talk, that boy was the closest thing she had to a friend.

Ayda was noticeably older. Two years had passed since she'd been taken to the facility. Two years of servitude, of poking and prodding, of fighting. She was taller, her facial features more defined. Her hair, while only a few inches past her shoulders, was an unruly mane. It hadn't been trimmed or taken care of at all, only occasionally cut shorter with a dull machete. A fresh scar broke the naturally tan skin on her left bicep.

Now she stood across from her cellmate, forced into a battle neither of them wanted. She was confident in her ability to come out on top. In contrast, the boy—she only knew him as Subject Eight—hunched his shoulders and stood with rather buttoned-up posture. Even an idiot could tell he was nervous. Ayda would make this quick, minimize the damage to him.

The loudspeaker made a click, followed by Vahlen's voice. "Today's bout will be between Subject Twelve of Group D, and Subject Eight of Group C. Combatants, are you ready?"

Ayda nodded and assumed a ready stance, left side toward her opponent. Taking her staff in two hands, she held the low end parallel with her hip. The other pointed directly at Eight's nose. The boy took on the same configuration, although his balance was not nearly as solid. They'd already been shocked to turn on the implants. Now, they just waited for the go ahead.

"Fight!" Vahlen ordered. His words came through loud and clear, but neither participant moved. They remained perfectly still, unwilling to engage. "Good God, not this again. I said fight!"

Vahlen flipped a switch. A short spurt of electricity took the children. Eight fell to one knee, while Ayda took it like a champ. She hardly flinched. It lasted exactly three seconds. Even after it ended, neither made a move.

"NOW!" Again, Vahlen shocked them. Exactly three seconds. This time, they got the hint. The children began walking toward each other. They didn't want to fight, but the idea of being zapped again appealed to neither of them. If the alternative was to engage in combat, then they would.

The two children met in the center of the chamber. They stopped for a moment, careful to remain just outside one another's strike range.

"I'm sorry, Eight," Ayda said. "He won't stop unless we fight."

"I know," the boy replied. "It's not your fault, don't worry. And don't hold back. He'll know if you do."

"I know."

Ayda opened the competition, striking laterally at him with a blast. Eight negated her blast with one of his own, comparable in strength. The two forces met and equaled each other out. It was the only way to defend against a blast other than dodging.

They exchanged a flurry of blows. Eight struck low but was blocked. Ayda scooped his weapon up with the back end of her own. She twirled her staff around vertically in her hands five times. Each rotation was a pair of strikes, accentuated with small energy bursts. Eight walked backward at a steady pace, avoiding every one. On the final blow, Ayda came down harder, with a more powerful explosion.

Eight swung for her head. Ayda ducked under the blow and came up with the back of her staff. Eight dodged and attempted to stab at her. Ayda blocked at an angle and manipulated his weapon off to one side. She struck laterally once, and then came back the other way for a double combo. Eight dodged the first and parried the second. He realized much too late Ayda had only one hand on her staff. With the other, she directed a sharp blast into his kidneys. Eight flew back, landing hard on his feet.

Ayda pressed the attack. She charged at him, swinging once horizontally. Again, Eight dodged. She spun and twirled her staff to come again from the same angle. Eight blocked and tried to cease her momentum with a broad upward strike, but Ayda kicked it away. She brought her weapon down hard over her shoulder. Eight stepped back, but not far enough. Although the tip of Ayda's staff only brushed against his chest, the blast was more than strong enough to send him flying. He slid across the floor in an impressive display of physics.

Ayda jogged to keep up with him. When he came to rest after several feet, she put her staff against his neck, not hard enough to cause any pain, but with adequate force to pin him in place. She achieved her goal for the fight. It was almost laughably short.

"Don't get up," she warned. "I don't wanna hurt you anymore."

Eight raised his hands above his head, about to surrender when Vahlen interrupted him.

"Stop, both of you," he barked. "That was a... decent... fight, but what do you say we make it a bit more interesting, eh?"

"What are you talking about?" Ayda looked back at the blackened glass, the private viewing box, while maintaining control over her beaten opponent.

"Come on, Twelve. I think everyone knew you'd win this fight hands down, so I thought I'd make it a bit more challenging for you. Bring them in!"

At Vahlen's behest, the doors to the testing chamber creaked open. Two more children entered, escorted by a quartet of soldiers. They were older, both of them preteens. One was a tall girl whom Ayda knew as Subject Thirteen, and the other was a muscular boy she'd never met. Ayda did not like the sight of them. She backed away from Eight, returning to the center of the room. From here, she had equal space on all sides, just in case something went wrong.

"These are subjects Four and Thirteen," Vahlen explained. "They will be joining forces with Eight. They will fight together as a team against you, Twelve."

"What?" Ayda yelled. "Come on, that's not fair! I can't fight three people at once." Despite her protest, the soldiers deposited the new arrivals and started back toward the exit. Four and Thirteen helped Eight to his feet.

"You fought two at once before. What's an extra person?" Reasoned Vahlen. Bold words, coming from a person who couldn't battle his way out of a paper bag.

"Are you serious? This is bullshit!" Ayda stabbed the ground with the back end of her staff, creating an energy burst in frustration.

"My decision is final. If you refuse to fight, you will be punished." Vahlen said. That little threat straightened Ayda out. Vahlen's punishments could be... brutal. She didn't want to go through that. Not again.

"Fine, whatever." Ayda huffed and went into the same ready stance from before.

"I'm glad you could see reason," Vahlen said. "Now, fight!"

Eight stood with his newfound allies. Replenished confidence painted his face. Four and Thirteen mirrored him. All of them relished in the chance to take down the facility's best fighter. Ayda sneered. She would not give them the satisfaction, not without a fight. If they won, it would be a Pyrrhic victory. Ayda would make sure of it.

The team of three charged at her all as one cohesive unit. Eight was a few steps ahead of the other two, Thirteen was on the left, and Four ran parallel to her on the right. Ayda squared her stance, trying to remain as loose as possible. She required fluidity, not strength, at the moment.

Naturally, Eight reached her first. Ayda blocked his downward strike, countering his blast with a more powerful burst of his own. Eight's staff was knocked up out of the way. Ayda kicked him in the stomach with an explosion which sent him flying backward.

Thirteen and Four came upon her simultaneously. Attacking from each side, their torrent was relentless. A blast accompanied every strike. Ayda spun her staff around madly in a dizzying attempt to block all of their attacks with energy spurts of her own. The enemies were fast and strong, the product of greater experience and training. It was all Ayda could do to keep up her defenses, let along throw an attack.

She would break sooner rather than later. Some attempt had to me made to regain the initiative. Four struck high, and created an opening below his knees. Ayda blocked at an angle. While Four's staff slid along her own, Ayda spun her staff and thrust downward at his toes. The blast connected. He cried out in pain, falling to one knee. That's good. Ayda could almost feel the momentum of battle shift.

The act of incapacitating one, however, opened her up to retaliation from the other. Thirteen struck downward with the back end of her staff, catching Ayda on the shoulder. While there was no accompanying blast, the strike was still strong enough to bend her over. Thirteen followed up with a stab to Ayda's forehead, again without any energy, which forced her back upright.

That quick combo rocked her. It would take a few seconds for her to regain her balance. Four capitalized on the opportunity. He got to his feet, using the momentum to level a powerful upward blast straight into Ayda's midsection. He swung like a baseball pinch hitter. Ayda came off her feet and sailed backward through the air. She came down hard, skidding along the floor.

No time to lay around. Ayda stood on shaky legs, supporting herself with her staff like a walking stick. The enemies did not close in for the kill, though. Instead, they helped Eight to his feet and kept their distance. Ayda knew exactly what they were doing, of course. One limitation of the implants was they could only hold so much energy. Once it was all used up, they needed a few seconds to recharge. Stronger blasts used more energy and thus depleted them much quicker. At that point, the only one who hadn't emptied his implant was Eight, since he never spent much time on his feet to begin with.

It was in this, however, which Ayda gained perhaps her only advantage. She could make stronger blasts than any of them, using far less energy in the process. Also, flying through the air bought her a little bit of time. Doubtless, she had more stored up than them. The moment to press the attack was now.

Ayda began to jog toward them. They did the same, not wanting to lose initiative. Ayda changed grip on her staff. Holding it like a spear she hurled it at Eight, propelling it with a blast for added lethality. The boy tried to block, but couldn't keep up with the subsonic missile. It knocked him square between the eyes. Once again, he went down. Ayda shook her head.

Four and Thirteen advanced in a slightly staggered formation, just enough for easy exploitation. Ayda slowed to a walking pace to more handily control her momentum. Four reached her first. He came straight over his head with a downward hack. Ayda countered his blast and caught the weapon. She took a big step forward. Four was now behind her. She threw a vicious back kick. The blast sent him to the floor.

Thirteen smacked the ground to Ayda's right. A shockwave traveled through the metal. Ayda easily jumped over it and spun. Her foot lashed out like a whip. Thirteen threw up a block with her forearm to keep the attack from hitting anything important. Although Ayda hadn't planned to, the only way she could garner any useful effect from the attack was to channel energy into it at the last second. There wasn't time to measure the blast, so it ended up immense. Thirteen rocketed into the east-side wall. Her collar bone audibly snapped. She screamed and writhed in terrified suffering. One down.

But there was no time to celebrate. Four hadn't been hit very hard, and already recovered. He was on Ayda the moment she hit ht ground. She tried to crouch down into a spinning leg sweep, but it was slow and sloppy. Four leapt over it with no problem. He smashed his staff down on Ayda before she could get up, using gravity to add strength as he returned to Earth. Ayda thrust her hands up to counter the blast, but didn't have enough left in the tank to fully withstand it.

Her defense broke. Again Four struck down. This time, all Ayda could do was cross her arms in front of her face. The enemy blast slammed her back against the floor. Stars swam through her vision. Four held his staff vertically and stabbed at his laid out opponent, attempting to end the fight then and there. Ayda rolled out of the way. While she was able to avoid the weapon itself, she forgot about the ensuing blast. The shockwave threw her along the floor. She skidded for several feet, coming to rest against the wall. While the wave was not necessarily damaging, this slide managed to skin up her right arm pretty badly. Three separate tendrils of blood ran down the wounded limb.

This sham of a fight was getting under her skin. She was already annoyed from before the original duel began, but now Ayda found it just plain bothersome. As fortune would have it, she ended up not far from Thirteen. She walked over and scavenged the fallen girl's weapon. She was now on much more even terms with Four. Eight still wasn't getting to his feet. He probably had a concussion. He would have to be dealt with more severely in a moment, but for now the battle was one-on-one.

Again, both sides jogged at one another. Ayda could see it in the way Four moved. He was getting tired, slowing down. She had him.

They met at almost the exact middle point between them. Four opened with a quick downward slash and blast. Ayda burst against him, blocked high, and stepped forward, inside his guard. From here, she poked the back end of her staff at him. He hopped back out of the way, narrowly avoiding the explosion. He retaliated quickly by slicing at Ayda's middle. She stepped back to avoid the blow. Four spun around and attacked from the same angle, this time with an accompanying blast. Ayda defended and once again found herself inside his guard. She struck up with the back end of her staff, came down with the fore end, and then up again with the back. Four blocked each of them, however.

This trio of strikes put Ayda rather close to her opponent. She knew they would leave her open if they failed. Four leveled an open-palm strike into her chest which she was not able to block. Ayda took the blow and stumbled backward a few times. Four's confidence surged. He charged at her, stabbing with the full length of his weapon when close enough.

This was exactly the kind of miscalculation Ayda needed him to make. She easily sidestepped the attack. It missed her entirely. She was now behind him. Ayda jabbed the back of his knee with a powerful blast. The joint buckled and he fell upon it. Ayda passed her staff behind her back, twirling it rapidly to build momentum. Four looked back at her, fear in his eyes, just a moment before she cracked him over the head with a powerful blast. He toppled over his right side, head slamming against the metal. Though his chest rose and fell, Four didn't move after that.

Two down, Ayda made her way over to the final remaining opponent. While Eight was in no condition to resist, he still was not fully incapacitated. According to the rules, that meant the fight was not yet over. Ayda found him on all fours, struggling to get up through tunnel vision and a cloudy mind. She kicked him in the ribs, just barely enough force to turn him on his back. She put her staff against his throat.

"Just give up, Eight," she implored. "I still really don't wanna hurt you."

Eight put his hands up. "I yield! I yield."

And with that, the victory was hers. Ayda removed her staff from Eight's neck. Two soldiers stormed into the room and removed both subjects Four and Thirteen. They were gone before Ayda even had time to wonder what they were ejected in the first place.

Ayda turned to the blacked out glass and gave the most condescending bow she could manage: right foot back, hands flourished at her sides, an irritated look in her eye. The good Doctor thought he could get the better of her by sending in three opponents. He was wrong. Still, the principle of the thing pissed her off.

"Yes, Twelve," praised Vahlen over the loudspeaker, "well done. An excellent show, indeed. Now, kill him." Every heart in earshot sank all at once. The atmosphere in the room shifted. It was oppressive and frantic.

"Hold on, what!?" Ayda shouted. Both children stared up at the box with a mixture of shock and horror. Ayda couldn't believe her ears.

"I'm sure you know very well Eight hasn't won a single bout since we began combat training. You've seen for yourself how weak his energy is, how terrible he is at fighting. Every team is only as strong as its weakest link. We can't afford to have him bringing us down any longer. Kill him, for the interest of your fellow men." Vahlen spoke as if this were a perfectly normal request.

"Are you out of your mind?" Ayda screamed at the glass. "I'm not gonna kill anyone!"

"I was afraid you'd say that," Vahlen sighed. Over the speaker, the sound of him pressing several buttons could be heard. This was on purpose, of course. He wanted everyone to know he was manipulating the situation. After a few seconds, he flipped a switch.

Electricity surged through the metal, but unlike every time previous, it was only contained to a specific area. Current coursed through Eight, and him alone. He shrieked in agony. This shock was clearly much stronger than what the kids were normally subjected to. He writhed at Ayda's feet, unable to control his body and voice for the shock deluding his system.

"What are you doing to him? Stop it!" Ayda pleaded.

"You have a choice, little girl," Menaced the doctor. "Either you give him the mercy of a quick and painless death now, or you let him die slowly over the course of several agonizing minutes. I don't really care how he dies, and he will die. It doesn't matter to me. Can you say the same?"

Frantically, Ayda looked from the viewing box, to Eight, and back again. What was she supposed to do in such an impossible situation? She couldn't bring herself to kill another human being, and especially not her cellmate, but she also hated to see him in so much pain. Vahlen had no trouble ordering the deaths of children. She'd witnessed that firsthand. Others had lost their lives in bouts. It wasn't a new thing. He absolutely would allow the electricity to kill Eight.

"Please, Twelve." Subject Eight struggled to speak through tears of anguish. "Please, make it stop!" He rolled over on his left side, away from Ayda, sobbing audibly.

Ayda looked upon him with an expression as if she shared his pain. His skin was beginning to burn. He had Lichtenberg figure scars all over his body, their slim branches reaching out like sickening trees made form human flesh. His clothes caught on fire, adding further torture. His wails began anew, strengthened by the flames.

"Dr. Vahlen, please, stop this. Save him." Ayda prayed with every ounce of strength she had.

"I already said I don't care what happens to him," Vahlen reiterated. "His fate is in your hands, Twelve."

Ayda's breaths were shallow. Eight continued to scream. He'd already begged for her help. He was going to die. He knew it. A quick death was his last wish. In a way, it allowed him to go out on his own terms.

With a carnal scream, Ayda lifted her staff, and flattened his head with a single blast. Brains, bone, and blood spewed everywhere. Ayda fell to her knees, weeping uncontrollably. The staff fell to her side with a clang. She didn't even notice it. Two soldiers came in to remove her from the room. She couldn't have resisted them if she wanted to. Her spirit was utterly broken. She was defeated beyond all reconciliation.

"Remember, Twelve," the voice of Dr. Vahlen loomed over her exit. "I'm always in control."

…

Up in the private viewing box, Vahlen and the General stand observing the actions below. They watched as Ayda was dragged out of the test chamber. The difference between them could not be any more obvious. While Vahlen wore an expression of smug satisfaction, the General's face was ashen.

"See?" Vahlen began. "Even three people weren't a match for her and she's loyal enough to our cause to kill her only friend. It's just like I said. So, do I have your support?"

"You have a strange idea of obedience." The General turned and started toward the door.

"Do I have your support, General?" Vahlen called after him.

"For what it's worth."

The General departed. With him gone, Vahlen looked back out the viewing window, tapping his fingers together with glee, as pleased with himself as any human had ever been.

…

Late that night, Ayda found it impossible to sleep. Reflections on her actions and fear of nightmares kept her awake. Instead, she occupied herself by carving into the wall with a small rock. Her fingers ached from the effort of so many repeated motions. It was time consuming and difficult, but at the end a single word had been etched into the concrete.

Eight.