Make her alive

The room was cold. Not the kind of cold that made you shiver, but the kind that seeped into your bones and clung there, a coldness that had nothing to do with temperature. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered faintly, casting a sickly white hue over the steel surfaces of the sterile chamber. In the center of the room was a metal table—the kind used more for dissection than healing.

On it lay a girl.

Player 240.

Her body was still. Limbs slack. Skin pale beneath the glare of the ceiling light. Blood had dried in streaks along her temple and collarbone, her uniform ripped in places from the final game. There was no indication of life, no rise or fall of breath. Her long hair fanned out beneath her head, a sharp contrast against the cold, metallic surface.

Two guards stood by the table, masks removed, leaning in closer than their job descriptions permitted.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” the first guard murmured, a sick smile spreading across his face as his eyes scanned her.

“Lucky us,” the second replied, his voice tinged with dark amusement. His eyes gleamed—not with grief, not with reverence, but with something grotesquely hungry. “Some fun before the disposal?”

The first chuckled, stepping in, brushing a lock of hair from her face with a strangely gentle touch. “Such a waste,” he said, his tone dripping with false sympathy. “They should’ve kept her longer. I’d have liked to see her squirm more.”

The second moved closer to the table, now standing directly beside her lifeless form. “We could…” he hesitated, grinning. “We could have some fun first.”

He didn’t have to say more.

A silent agreement passed between them, built on filth and the comfort of being unseen.

“You first,” the first said, stepping back, licking his lips and folding his arms.

The second guard leaned over Player 240, his shadow falling over her like a shroud. “This is going to be… good,” he whispered, as though she could hear him. As though she could fear him.

His gloved fingers grazed her jawline, then wandered lower, toward her torn uniform. With fumbling hands, he began to strip away the fabric, piece by piece, layer by layer.

The sound of fabric rustling—too loud, too vulgar—echoed in the silence.

“She’s even more beautiful now,” the second guard breathed out, stepping back slightly to admire her. His eyes roamed greedily.

“Damn, she’s perfect,” the first guard said impatiently, shifting on his feet. “Hurry up. It’s my turn.”

The second nodded, turning his full attention back to her now mostly exposed form—

The door burst open .banging against the wall with a metallic clang that snapped the air like a whip.

Both guards froze, eyes wide.

A figure stood in the doorway small, sharp-eyed, framed by the harsh light from the hallway. Her white coat moved slightly with the breeze, and on her chest was a blood-red insignia that marked her rank and her mask

Doctor 001.

She was young. But her presence was the kind that made grown woman flinch. Not because she shouted. Not because she waved authority like a weapon.

But because she didn’t have to.

Her voice, when she spoke, was terrifyingly calm.

“What,” she asked, each word like ice cracking underfoot, “in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”

Neither guard answered.

The second guard scrambled to pull his gloves off of her, to step back, stammering.

The first squared his shoulders. “This is our section,” he said, trying to maintain control. “This is none of your business, Doctor.”

001 didn’t flinch. Her expression didn’t even twitch.

“I don’t care if this is your kitchen,” she replied. “Don’t touch Player 240.”

The second guard sneered, though his bravado was shrinking fast. “Why should we listen to you? She’s dead. Or at least she will be in a few hours.”

Doctor 001 stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately.

“Because,” she said softly, “the Boss ordered me to take her to the lab.”

That name. The Boss.

It hit them like a gust of cold air.

The first guard visibly stiffened.

“She’s not on the transfer list,” the second guard muttered, as if grasping at a final excuse.

“Then maybe you should question why the Boss is above your list,” 001 shot back. “Unless you want your next assignment to involve mopping blood off the arenas.”

Silence.

The first guard scowled. “Fine.”

“Good,” Doctor 001 said with finality. “Get her dressed. Now.”

The two guards moved quickly, this time with shaking hands. The predatory glint in their eyes was gone. In its place: fear.

As they worked, 001 stepped over to the tray table and picked up her tablet, checking it with swift, practiced fingers. She glanced over the data before turning back to the girl on the table. Her eyes softened. Just slightly.

Player 240 had survived worse.

001 knew the signs. Knew enough about biochemistry to know the difference between death and extreme shutdown.

This girl is already dead

Once the girl was dressed again, 001 signaled with a nod. A few moments later, the door opened again—this time to two proper medical staff, wearing full protective gear. They wheeled in a stretcher, loaded Player 240 carefully, and followed 001 out without a word.

The two guards remained behind in silence, watching her be wheeled away. One of them wiped his brow. The other swallowed hard.

Neither would speak of what happened again.

Because they knew something had shifted.

---

The Lab, Unseen by the Boss

What the guards didn’t know was that the Boss had given no such order.

Doctor 001 had lied.

Instead of disposal, Player 240 was taken to a locked, dim room deep in the medical wing. Over the months, 001 treated her in secret—washing wounds, feeding her, running stolen equipment.

“Strong heart,” she muttered one day, checking vitals. “Annoying for them.”

By the fourth month, Player 240 opened her eyes briefly. 001 fed her broth without comment.

1 year in, she could sit up. A year later, she could walk, though pale and weak.

“You’re not ready to leave,” 001 said one night. “But you will be.”

---

Monitors and Memories

The room hummed with machines, monitors beeping in steady rhythm. Doctors 001, 023, and 100 stood around a large tube, watching Player 240 float in clear water.

Doctor 100’s eyes stayed on the screen. “Her vitals are stable.”

Doctor 023 adjusted controls. “Brain activity is stable as well.”

001 nodded. “Good. Keep monitoring her.”

---

Player 240’s POV

Her eyes cracked open slightly, vision blurred. A dull ache throbbed in her head.

Where am I?

Am I dead? …Yeah… I must be.

Her gaze shifted toward the glass wall of the tube, seeing vague shapes of the doctors moving outside.

The heaviness in her body pulled her under again.

She closed her eyes and drifted back into darkness.

---