Page 28 of The Order: Rise of the New Empire

"Dragged would mean you were taken here. You've seen the outside world?" I question, eager to get to speak to someone who doesn't expect something of me.

"Seen?" he questions. "Yeah, it's nothing special. At least the people down here seem clean," he jokes, my smile quickly fading.

"All that open space, and you're worried about cleanliness?" I question, another laugh leaving his mouth.

"Figuratively," he warns. "Everyone's hands are dirty up there," he hisses.

"Clearly, you have not been here long enough if you think the people down here are any better," I sigh, pressing my head to the wall.

"They seem awfully interested in you..." he starts, trailing off. "I'm sorry, normally I associate people with their names," he answers honestly, hitting me like a punch to the stomach.

Perhaps I would prefer that right now.

"Number Thirty," I sigh. "That's my name down here."

"So I've heard," the boy laughs, utterly unamused by my comment. "I don't like it."

Rolling my eyes at the boy's attitude, I scoff at the wall, nudging it with my hand.

"And what would you do? Last time I checked I was born here. Not many options for naming me when your only use is to be used as a weapon for a bunch of paranoid radicals," I snap, listening to yet another laugh.

"All this time, and you haven't even considered giving yourself a name?"

"The woman in the lab coat-"

"Her name is Melanie Lockland," the boy says, startling me. "I saw it on her name tag before she shoved me in here."

Melanie Lockland.

"So, that name?" he questions, moving the conversation. back in his initial direction. "Let me hear the options."

"You seem real pushy on names," I scoff. "What's yours?"

"Down here?" he questions. "Number Thirty-One," he snorts. "Above ground? Nothing that matters."

Se creative.

Perfect.

"Melanie says names only add attachment."

"Well, it would seem you and I are stuck down here, and name or not, you are pretty much the only thing I think I will get to interact with, so name or number, I'd say I will become pretty dependent on these conversations," the boy jokes. "The least you could do is give me a name to call you by."

Taking several moments to think about the boy's proposal, I look around the space, my eyes landing on the something that has any value into this horrid room.

Poking out from beneath the mattress, a picture of the woman who volunteered to carry me stays hidden, stolen from Melanie's desk in passing one night she was a tad too sleep deprived to notice it as gone. Signed and dated on the back, her name sticks out to me, her cursive writing bold against the worn photo.

Giving little clarity to how and why my mother passed, my father is a mystery entirely, Melanie's face growing sour eachtime I prod her on the issue, as if she knew the man more than she'd like to let on

Forest.

"Forest," I whisper, tucking the picture back under my bed. "You can call me Forest."

"Forest?" he questions, thinking over the name. "I like it," he says with delight.

"And you?" I question, trying to get more information. "What's your name?"

Watching the lights go out, the start of resting hours has begun, the darkness swallowing me whole.

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