The Real Awakening

13, 17, 26, 31, 49, 2…

The boy sat at the table with his head lowered as he silently ate the rice in his bowl. However, he couldn’t keep himself from secretly looking up to sweep a glance across the people around him.

He had noticed many days ago that this place he was trapped in held many children of similar age captive. The oldest wasn’t over eighteen, while the youngest seemed to be in their preteens. Regardless of boy or girl, all of them wore the same pure-white gown he did. And every single child had a black number tattoo on the inside of their left arm. 

Just like the five people currently sitting next to him. These four boys and one girl were people that he ate at the same table with every time, yet they had never exchanged a single word, or even taken a good look at each other’s faces.

They kept quiet, obediently lowering their gazes to stare at their own bowls of rice and the two dishes next to them. The food today consisted of bok choy and potatoes with a few slices of beef mixed in. 

The massive room was dead silent, so quiet that the only thing to be heard was the occasional clattering of chopsticks against bowls. 

Two white-clothed men with facial masks patrolled back and forth between the tables and benches.

This place could be defined as a cafeteria.

He ate here twice a day: once for lunch and once for dinner. Breakfast was specially delivered into each individual “prison cell”. However, he never knew who it was or when they brought in breakfast, since whenever he woke in the morning, he would immediately spot the glass of milk and slice of bread at the door.

He had attempted several times to wake up a bit earlier and see exactly who was bringing breakfast. However, it was to no avail; he could never wake up earlier. Every morning, he would wake up at the exact same time. It was only later that he finally realised it was likely due to the medicine injection he received every night.

He did not know if the others were the same. But since his very first day of being locked here, he would receive a single shot of unknown liquid daily, and he could no longer remember how many days he had been trapped in this place. There was no knowing how much of that strange medicine his body had absorbed as well.

Yet at least up until now, he had not sensed any abnormalities with his body.

Everything seemed to be fine on the surface.

But—

A clatter rang out as the sharp noise of a smashed bowl exploded next to him, interrupting his train of thought.

A girl around fifteen years old sitting on the bench behind him suddenly collapsed.

She curled up on the floor, her eyes wide on her pained face as she spasmed. Her thin and weak body had curled up like a boiled shrimp, her hands still tightly gripping the pair of wooden chopsticks. An unending stream spilled out from her mouth.

At first it was the food she had just eaten, then foam, then foam mixed with traces of blood. Finally, the traces of blood turned into large mouthfuls of blood that ceaselessly gushed out from her lips, nostrils, ears, and eyes, like an uncontrollable faucet. Crimson blood soon covered the floor.

When the girl’s body stopped twitching, the two white-clothed men walked over with a black plastic bag. With practiced movements, they opened her eyelids to take a look, felt for her pulse, and ultimately confirmed she was dead.

Zzzzzttt.

The ear-splitting noise from the zipper being opened seemed to cut a bloody gash through the heavy atmosphere.

Everyone remained quiet. Some apathetically watched, while others tremblingly lowered their gazes.

Because this was not the first time.

Someone would die at nearly every meal, as though there was a uncontrolled time bomb buried in the food, or some kind of poison that one would end up with if their luck was good enough.

At any moment, in any place, a person would die without warning.

But the boy knew that the food actually did not contain poison, nor did it have gunpowder. The issue might lie in the unknown liquid that the white-clothed men injected into them.

If that were the case, then couldn’t he also have the possibility of losing his life any time?

The boy couldn’t help but feel a shudder rise from deep inside him as he thought of this.

The dining hall was so silent that one could hear a pin drop. No one spoke, let alone screamed.

The scene before their eyes was just a surreal act.

It did not take long for the unfortunate girl to be stuffed inside the black plastic bag like a pile of garbage, then carried away. Things completely returned to their original state, as though nothing had happened. The only thing remaining was the large pool of blood that had yet to be cleaned. It gave off a pungent stench that slowly wafted to each corner of the room.

The boy no longer had an appetite, simply using his chopsticks to pick at the potatoes. By that point, the piece of potato was poked full of holes.

Just then, someone let out a hoarse sob.

“No, I can’t take it anymore! I’ve had enough!”

The pitiful wail seemed to shake the heavens. He raised his head to spot the boy across him abruptly jump to his feet.

There was a resounding clatter as yet another bowl shattered on the floor.

It was a good thing that the bowls here were not made of steel or porcelain, a decision made with quite a bit of foresight.

When the boy’s shout echoed with the dropped bowl, a whitecoat took a step forward to yell back.

“Sit down!”

The boy did not pay attention. He shook his head uncontrollablyas he began to scream in hysterics, “No! No! I want to go home! Let me out! I want to go home! I don’t want to die here!”

Like a madman, he spun around and made a mad dash to escape. However, he barely managed a few steps before someone charged forward and flipped him over, firmly pressing him against the ground. The boy struggled with all his might until the buzz of an electric shock was heard. He immediately went quiet as his body violently spasmed and he lost consciousness.

“Lock him in the confinement room,” a whitecoat said to the other two whitecoats.

Thus, the collapsed boy was dragged away.

The youth lowered his head and silently watched the boy’s tearstained face slowly disappear from his line of sight and fade into the distance.

As before, no one in the dining hall uttered a word. The air was as heavy as lead.

Time passed, seconds turning into minutes. This meal felt even harder to swallow than usual, but he didn’t dare to not eat either, since leaving leftovers in this place would lead to bad repercussions.

The potatoes in his bowl had long since turned soggy to form a limp paste. 

The youth buried his head in his arms at a serious loss on what to do with the potato paste. Suddenly, he sensed a kick at his heel that was neither strong nor weak. The person specifically rolled over his heel during the point of contact, as though intentionally drawing his attention. After freezing for a beat, the youth slowly shifted his eyes.

The person stepping on him was sitting right by his side.

The other person was a girl, a girl with skin so pale that it was nearly translucent. Her eyes were currently lowered underneath her long and thick eyelashes to stare at the food in her own bowl in a feigned nonchalance. 

The youth stole a peek at the inside of her left arm.

No. 17.

She’s…No. 17. The one that spoke with me through the wall when I first arrived.

The youth stared blankly at her. When he felt another stomp on his feet, he snapped back to his senses and scanned his surroundings to unexpectedly spot a tiny wad of paper that had at some point appeared next to his hand.

A paper ball? What does it mean? Is this for me?

The youth warily glanced around. It looked like the others had not yet recovered from the incident that had just passed. Of the three whitecoats that had originally been patrolling through the dining hall, only one remained.

Thus, he covertly reached out to grab the small crumpled paper and unfurled it to steal a peek. 

The wrinkled paper had a line of thin, crooked red words that appeared to be written using fingernails dipped in blood. A few of the words were already blurry, but he could just barely discern them. The tiny script stated: Pain can keep you awake, see you at the gutter exit tonight.

Gutter? Exit? What does it mean?

The youth was stunned. Just as he was about to shoot a questioning look at the girl, he noticed the whitecoat’s gaze shift towards him.

His heart skipped a beat and his hand shook in terror, causing the paper to fall into his bowl. Thus, he hurriedly spread the potato paste around to cover the paper and proceeded to recklessly stuff both paper and potato paste into his mouth. After some careless chews, he forcibly swallowed everything down.

The whitecoat stared at him, but did not notice anything and looked away.

The youth stiffly lowered his head, the hand clutching his chopsticks trembling slightly as he felt cold sweat on his back.

After a while, he calmed down a bit and took a deep breath before fearfully turning his head, only to see the girl giving him a sideways glance.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds without a word or movement. Then, in tacit unison, both looked away as though nothing had occurred and continued eating the remaining food in their bowls.

Once the meal was over, everyone returned to their own rooms.

While he still did not know what this place was, he had become more than familiar with everything in front of him.

The white walls, white door, white tiles, white ceiling, and the white gown that he had been wearing for who knew how long. There were some grease stains at the area around his waist from when he had accidentally dropped some curry while eating a few days ago. By now, the yellow stain had gradually turned black.

The youth subconsciously rubbed the stained section as he slowly strolled around the room.

The four-bladed ventilation fan never stopped lazily spinning on the tall ceiling, but there was no longer any light passing through it because it was nearly nighttime outside. 

Pain can keep you awake, see you at the gutter exit tonight.

The paper’s words materialised unbidden in his mind.

Gutter…exit?

His eyes roamed over the room and eventually landed on a corner of the wall. There was a gutter about fifty centimetres wide that was very flat; there was no knowing if a person could go through it. The gutter was a square shape lined by white tiles. 

In reality, he had noticed this gutter from the very beginning. Originally, he had assumed it was for his excrement. However, he later discovered that the whitecoats would let them individually go to the bathrooms at set times, so the gutter was not designed for them to “relieve” themselves. It had slowly dawned on him afterwards that perhaps it was meant to provide them drinking water. Per his observation, water would flow through this piping once every thirty minutes or so, and the stream that reached the room was extremely clear. 

He had once stuck his hand into the water and found it to be cold and pure, a bit like spring water. However, he had never dared to drink it, only scooping up a tiny bit when he was unbearably thirsty. 

“See you at the gutter exit?”

The boy murmured these words to himself as he stared at the gutter, then bitterly smiled to himself. Before this, he had never once considered crawling out through this gutter, since it did not appear large at all. He didn’t think he could squeeze inside.

Besides, exactly how long is this gutter? And where does it end? Will I get found by a whitecoat midway through? Plus, this gutter has water rush through it every half an hour, and the water flows for about five minutes. In other words, if I really want to crawl through this gutter, I’d have to reach the exit within thirty minutes, or else I’ll be submerged in the water for five minutes and definitely drown.

When he considered the various factors together, it was a huge risk.

The boy blankly sat next to the gutter, hesitating for a long time. At this moment, he abruptly heard familiar footsteps in the corridor.

They’re here. They arrived very punctually every day. He stood up from the floor and instinctively took a step back.

With a beep, the electronic lock clicked and the white metal door slid open to the right along its flat track.

Three “fully equipped” whitecoats stood at the entryway. Two swiftly strode over to each grab one of the boy’s arms and restrain him against the wall. 

The boy did not fight back, as he had learned day after day that struggling was useless. Any type of resistance was futile. Thus, he could only silently and fearfully watch with wide eyes as the whitecoat in front of him came closer. That person held a silver briefcase and opened the lid in a practiced movement to pull out a long and slim syringe. Then the unknown liquid inside the syringe was slowly injected into his arm.

Following the injection, the whitecoats next to him released their grip.

As usual, the boy’s body weaklessly slid down against the wall.

The three whitecoats observed him, then exchanged looks with each other. Without saying anything, they gathered their tools and left.

The metal door soundlessly closed shut once more, leaving only the youth in the small and narrow room.

He peacefully lay on the floor with his limp limbs spread outwards, his eyes half-open like a frog that had died. He did not move for a long time. However, if one paid close attention, they would notice a thin trail of blood flowing out from his left palm.

The boy tightly clutched the half-hairclip, its broken end stabbing through his palm. The unbearable pain gradually spread from his palm to gnaw bit by bit on his nerves.

The feeling of pain eventually overcrowded the strong sleepiness. The intense exhaustion also slowly faded away. 

He suddenly stopped feeling tired, and he was no longer fighting the heaviness of his eyelids. This was his first time not falling asleep after getting an injection. It looked like that girl had been right; pain could indeed keep him conscious.

The boy took his time opening his eyes and attempted to move his arm with no success. Perhaps the dosage of tranquilisers in the injection was too high; hence, he waited another while before lifting his arm.

His arm felt like a great weight, as though tied down by lumps of metal. However, he could finally move.

With one arm propped up from the floor and one arm pushing off the wall, he crawled up with a strenuous effort.

See you at the gutter exit tonight.

The line of words from the wad of paper appeared in his mind over and over. The boy shut his eyes and gritted his teeth.

Whatever, just risk it! Even if I don’t know what No. 17 wants to do, if my alternative is to stay locked in this place day after day waiting for my death, I might as well fight back with everything I have.

He gathered his courage and took a deep breath. After patiently waiting for the gutter to flush clear of water once, he cautiously stepped inside.

The gutter entrance was much smaller than he had imagined. While his body was extremely thin and frail, allowing him to barely squeeze in on his knees, crawling was a bit difficult. He could only rely on his palms and knees to inch forwards bit by bit. Moreover, he was covered in sweat before he had even gotten far as he panted in exertion.

But things had already gotten to this point; he could no longer back out. Hence, he steeled himself, determined to crawl out.

He gradually moved without rest. The gutter was very dark, making it impossible to see. The walls were slippery and he seemed to have touched something like moss; the satiny sensation was somewhat disgusting.

Thirty minutes. He only had thirty minutes of time.

If he did not crawl out within thirty minutes, it was highly likely he would drown in this dark gutter that never saw the light of day.

No, that can’t happen. I have to be faster…faster…even faster.

The youth clenched his teeth, seemingly forgetting the pain in his palms as he continued advancing on all fours without paying any mind to the rest of the world. He had no idea how far he managed to go, nor how much time had passed, but he eventually saw something flash in front of him.

It was light. In front of him, a dim beam of light was passing through the darkness and shining on his face.

A wave of ecstasy surged through him and he hurriedly sped up, crawling for his life until he reached the exit filled with light, filled with hope. When his head stuck out from the pitch-black gutter, he greedily took in a deep breath.

A cool, refreshing breeze blew across his face. Along with it was the faint stink of rancid food. The youth was momentarily stunned as he blurrily opened his eyes to glance around. He belatedly noticed that the exit was actually a garbage dump.

The silver, round moon peeked out from behind the clouds, silently illuminating the world.

Five children’s silhouettes startlingly appeared under the hazy moonlight.

They stood before the filthy piles of trash, their gazes all pointed at the gutter exit in unplanned synchronization.

The boy started as he met their gazes in shock.

No. 17, No. 26, No. 31, No. 49, and No. 2.

Aren’t these the five that eat at the same table as me every day?

Why have they shown up here?

W-What’s going on?

Not knowing what to do, the youth remained locked in place, half his body still stuck inside the gutter. He blankly stared at them with wide eyes, astonishment written all over his face.

At this moment, the leading girl took a step forward.

Under the bright glow of the moon, the corners of her pale lips curved upwards to reveal a neat row of white teeth.

With a sweet smile, she stretched a hand out towards him and said, “You’ve finally come, No. 13.”