lookism: Apostle

A few weeks had passed. The boy, who now bore the name no. 8, stood shirtless, his frail 10-year-old body now hardened and covered in sweat and grime. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes burned with quiet determination as he faced the man who had overseen his conditioning.

The man, dressed in military-style combat fatigues, studied the boy with a cold, calculating gaze. "Listen, kiddo," he began, his voice gravelly and authoritative, "your real training starts tomorrow. You'll be working alongside the others. Don't disappoint the boss. He's put a lot into making you... different."

Luke's mind raced at those words. Different? What does he mean by that? He didn't dare ask aloud.

The man's expression softened slightly, though it didn't carry warmth. "You'll no longer be called Number 8. From now on, your name is Luke. Remember it."

With that, the man turned and walked away, his heavy boots crunching against the dirt path. Luke stood in silence, the weight of his new reality pressing on him. All around him were dense trees swaying in the wind, and at the edge of the clearing stood the single metal door that led back to the underground base—a place that now felt like both a prison and his only refuge.

The Next Day

Luke's POV

I woke up to the faint buzz of fluorescent lights in my stark white room. The clock on the wall showed 6:00 AM. Though I wasn't given instructions, I instinctively began stretching and doing basic exercises. It felt like my body was built to move, like it craved action.

At exactly 7:30 AM, the man from yesterday entered, his expression unreadable. "Follow me," he said curtly.

Without hesitation, I complied, following him to a black car waiting outside the base. The leather seats smelled faintly of disinfectant, and I sat near the window, watching as the trees zipped by. I tried to piece together my situation. Where were they taking me? What was this training supposed to be?

After Hours on the Road

The car eventually pulled up to a decrepit building in the middle of nowhere. The structure stood alone, its cracked walls and shattered windows giving it an eerie, haunted feel. There wasn't a soul in sight.

The man led me to the basement of the building, where he unlocked a hidden bunker door. My breath caught as I stepped inside. The room was crowded with children—boys and girls around my age. They were dirty, their faces etched with exhaustion, fear, and defiance. Many bore bruises and scars, evidence of the harsh conditions they endured.

The man left without a word, and another figure entered. He was tall and imposing, dressed in a crimson shirt, black pants, and a cap that cast a shadow over his piercing eyes.

"You're here because you've been chosen," he began, his voice commanding attention. "Chosen to become something greater. Killers. Survivors. Those who fail will not leave here alive." His words sent chills down my spine, and I noticed some of the other kids exchange nervous glances.

"Training begins tomorrow at 3:00 AM sharp. Be ready." With that, he strode out of the room.

As the crowd dispersed, I felt several pairs of eyes on me. A group of kids approached, led by a boy with a muscular build and a cruel smirk.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his tone dripping with disdain.

"I'm Luke," I said, trying to sound confident. "Nice to meet you. Maybe we can work together—"

"Work together?" he interrupted, laughing mockingly. "Listen, outsider, you don't belong here. You're not one of us."

Before I could respond, he drove his fist into my stomach. Pain shot through my body, but it wasn't as bad as I expected. My body had been strengthened somehow, though I have to show it that I am injured. I fell to my knees, clutching my stomach, pretending to be weaker than I was.

"You're pathetic," he sneered. "From now on, you're my punching bag."

He raised his fist to hit me again, but before he could, a loud whistle pierced the air. A guard entered, barking orders for everyone to move to the sleeping quarters.

Sleeping Quarters

The sleeping area was a large, dimly lit hall with a concrete floor. There were no beds or blankets, just the cold, unforgiving ground. I curled up in a corner, my body aching but my mind racing. Why am I here? What's the point of all this?

Despite my discomfort, exhaustion soon overtook me, and I drifted into a restless sleep.

The Next Day

A loud clang jolted me awake. It was 2:50 AM, and the man in the red shirt was back, yelling for us to get up.

"From now on, I won't wake you up. Learn to follow the schedule or face the consequences," he warned.

We were led outside, where the crisp night air bit at my skin. The man pointed toward the dense jungle that surrounded the bunker.

"For the next week, this jungle is your home. Find food. Find shelter. And stay alive. Remember, the wild isn't your only enemy—trust no one."

As he walked away, the group quickly splintered into cliques. I was left on my own, which was probably for the best.

Survival Begins

I ventured into the jungle, the sounds of rustling leaves and distant animal calls heightening my senses. Hunger gnawed at my stomach as I searched for food. Eventually, I spotted a rabbit grazing nearby. I crouched low, trying to approach it quietly, but it darted away before I could get close.

Frustrated, I kept moving until a blood-curdling scream froze me in my tracks. I rushed toward the sound and found a horrifying scene—three kids lay lifeless, their bodies slashed apart.

Panic surged through me. What could have done this? I didn't wait to find out.

I ran until I stumbled upon an apple tree. Relief washed over me as I climbed it, grabbing as many apples as I could carry.

While searching for shelter, I found a small boy hiding under a tree, trembling and covered in dirt. "What happened?" I asked gently.

"A b-bear," he stammered, his eyes wide with fear. "It killed my friends. I... I couldn't save them."

My heart ached for him. I handed him an apple, which he devoured hungrily. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Mike," he whispered.

"Come with me, Mike," I said, offering him a hand.

Together, we found a cave near a mountain. It was empty and seemed safe enough. Exhausted, Mike collapsed onto the ground, falling asleep almost instantly. I sat by the entrance, keeping watch before eventually succumbing to sleep myself.

To Be Continued