🏆 WATTPAD CREATORS PROGRAM 🏆
🏆 8CC November - December 2023 Completer 🏆
𝘛𝘏𝘙𝘌𝘌. 𝘛𝘞𝘖. 𝘖𝘕𝘌. 𝘉𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯.
Thirteen remembers one thing from the moment he woke up: live on, through whatever means necessary. When he is thrown into a society...
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Thirteen's teeth dug into his thumb until the nails turned white and the tip bruised. He paced inside the hall, jostling the dread weighing in his gut. The rest of the section waited with him, scattered in the tables. None of them prayed, but some had faith. He didn't care otherwise. They were entitled to believe.
His boots wore out a path across the stone floor, kicking the dust no one bothered to clean. The last time a broom touched the ground was after the first counter. When one was busy trying to survive, that was the expected outcome. Chores could go eat itself up.
He stomped out of the command center a second after he heard the static from One's comm. He tried the other lines in the fighting unit, and it connected to Eight's. What he heard couldn't have been more distressing. Eight's usually breathy voice was scratchy through the speakers. She sounded as if she carried something twice her weight, that, even with her propulsion, she struggled.
"Ambush," she rasped. "One's with me. They're hurt. Six..."
The line cut off in time for the counter's alarm to fade into striking silence. What about Six? He rushed to the single window facing the direction of the arena, squinting until his vision danced with black spots. Beyond the line of fresh mounds torn by the shells, he spied a couple of black dots growing larger by the second. He wasn't Fourteen, but even from there, he saw something was wrong.
He scrambled back, whirling to the rest of the crew behind him. "Three, get ready," he said. His finger tapped the comms, switching to Fourteen. "Cover them. I don't care if the counter's over."
An uncertain cough rang from the other line. That was more than enough. Thirteen had been pacing since then. He waited for the confirmation of his fears, characterized by the faint thuds of footsteps echoing from the corridors outside the doors. When the mechanism loosened and the hinges turned, Thirteen stepped back as the rest of the section scrambled forward.
They were survivors, or at least, they brought back the well-defined trait. Eight collapsed to the side upon delivering One's unmoving body to the ground. Ten followed suit, laying Twelve gently down first. Only Sixteen was unscathed, but nothing could excuse her hollow cheeks and empty eyes. Whatever happened there, they'd been through hell incarnate.
"Status report." Thirteen crouched in front of Eight and laid a hand on her shoulder, steadying her.
A shadow pushed past him and Five's waist-length hair brushed the top of his black curls. "Lay off, will you?" she snapped, barely sparing him a glance. "Let the girl breathe."
Eight shook her head, waving Five's hand away. Her chest heaved with breaths catching up to her, but she swallowed. "It's Section H," she said, her voice a throaty scratch. "They found us. We...we couldn't..."
"Save your breath," Five ordered, as if she was the one in charge. Maybe she felt better by being a little bit human even when it would do them no good. "Three!"
