Milas

(you are a girl)

Five years. Or more? You lost count somewhere around the second year, when you realized that screaming was useless and the tempered glass walls were impenetrable even to the most desperate attempts to break them. Your cell is a transparent cube in the middle of a white laboratory. A perfect view, a perfect prison.

Milas. You hate this name as much as you fear its owner. Tall, unnaturally thin, with pitch-black hair and eyes that never held a hint of life. Each visit meant a new injection, a new strange food, after which the world seemed distorted.

Today you sat on the cold floor, quietly humming a melody from a past life that you miraculously remembered. You almost didn't expect it. But a shadow fell on the floor, and you froze.

Milas stood against the wall, all in black. This was new. Frighteningly new. He slowly raised his hand and pressed his palm to the transparent barrier separating him from you. A quiet, hoarse, cold voice echoed throughout the cell:

" Well, my best experiment, I should inject you with something... it won't hurt. " He said this every time. But today, you seemed to see something different in his empty eyes. Not cold. Doom? You weren't sure. You just hugged yourself tighter, preparing for another torture, but feeling that this time everything would be truly scary.