The dense forest surrounded them with a suffocating darkness that seemed to close in with each frantic step. The air was thick with tension, as the sounds of distant gunfire cracked through the air, but as people around him fell, he could feel every shot, the thought process of the shooters, and much more; he was calm.
He was part of a group of teenagers, bound at the wrists, staggered forward under the watchful eyes of several scientists, their movements hurried but purposeful.
Among them, a woman with silver hair stood out—tall, composed, and cold. This was Silver, his mother or handler; she never told him she was his mother, but he knew, though he only knew her by her code name. His intellect didn't allow him to know what was unavailable.
The young man, a teenager himself, enjoyed the cool night as he struggled to keep pace, as he had never been outside.
The situation was as clear as day to him, these men didn't aim to kill him, they wanted him alive, but they were too far behind, their hesitance would lead to his successful escape, not that he was the one doing the escaping.
He heard the scientists' calls ahead, shouting orders, urging the children to move faster.
"Stay together!" one scientist yelled, her voice trembling with fear as she glanced back, keeping her gun trained on the approaching pursuers. "We need to get to the vehicle!"
Every now and then, one of the scientists would turn and fire their weapon, shooting down one of their pursuers.
But the scientists, in turn, were shot down faster; they were scientists, not mercenaries.
"Не стреляй в детей, идиот!"
One of the pursuers yelled in Russian, he essentially commanded his companions not to shoot at them, and yes he could understand Russian, he understood most languages.
But he was starting to tire out, his limbs growing heavier with each passing moment.
He was slowing down, unable to keep up. His mother, Silver, remained a few steps ahead, moving with purpose, though he could sense a deep worry in her every movement.
His heart eased a bit when he saw the familiar glint of her silver hair. She was here, but she wasn't safe.
Suddenly, a shot rang out—louder, closer. The sound of a body hitting the ground. The other scientists screamed in unison, diving for cover.
"Get to the car!" Silver shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Now!"
They reached the edge of the forest, the headlights of a waiting vehicle cutting through the darkness.
The scientists began pushing the teenagers inside, each one quickly getting strapped in, yet all the children seemed surprisingly calm their eyes glistening with remarkable intelligence.
The scientists, on the other hand,, seemed terrified as they hopped in as well.
"Go, go, go," Silver yelled, looking back over her shoulder as she sat in the vehicle.
"Vroom," the vehicle began to move.
She looked at her son, her face a mask of resolve. "Hold on," she murmured under her breath, her gaze never leaving him. "Stay with me."
Then, the unthinkable happened.
A figure emerged from the shadows—a shadowy figure with a weapon aimed directly at Silver.
"Bam!"
She barely had time to react before the shot rang out, tearing through her back. She crumpled, her body slumping on the moving vehicle, he teeth clenched in pain.
The boy felt his heart clench as he leaned forward to catch her.
Her blood seeped into the ground, staining the vehicle. He could feel her weakening, her breaths growing shallow, the light in her eyes dimming; he knew all too well that she would not survive.
"Mom!" he gasped, his voice shaking, his calm visage crumpling.
Silver, her hand trembling, reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek with an unsettling tenderness. "So you knew who I was? Ha of course you knew you're the smartest of the bunch..." Her voice was barely a whisper, a final breath escaping her lips. "…Show them you're not their tool."
And then, with that, she was gone.
The boy could barely process the words as they echoed in his mind.
A part of him screamed, but another part felt cold, distant. He had no time to mourn. No time to even think.
The scientists, frantic, rushed forward, injecting the remaining teenagers with something—something powerful.
The boy felt the cold sting of the needle in his arm just as his vision began to blur, and his mind screamed in pain.
His brain—his thoughts—began to fragment, splintering into jagged pieces, as the drug coursed through his body.
His heart pounded, but the rest of him was fading.
He collapsed against his mother's lifeless body, and the last thing he heard before the darkness claimed him was a distant cry, the sound of gunfire, and the sharp whisper of his mother's final words.