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Thundering Echoes Along Sterile Walls

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How...?

Everything was white, so very white, stabbing into his eyes and blinding him at first contact. Where is everything? How did he get here —what happened—. Why was he here, in this room full of other kids, sleeping so shallow and deep? 

It's cold... 

"Ah... The new batch?" A whisper between locked doors. Who was talking? 

A soft whistle of shifting metal, mechanisms soundless. That seemed unnatural to him, what place could have such advanced tech? A man and a woman walk in, white coats (more white) and noticeably reflective tags—from the searing lights—attached to their person. A few steps in then they stopped to look everyone in the room.

He couldn't think straight, arms sluggish, legs dead weight. He tried to shift himself only to slump forward. His head felt weird. Light yet stifling. The man and woman turned to look at him and he felt himself freeze, he didn't dare to move under their gaze. 

"One's already awake? That's surprising..." Muttered the woman to herself. Low and muted, subdued.

"Hopeful that means we can expect something more promising in the testings," Was the starch relay from the man. A stiff and faux tone. "Let's go, we have to prepare preliminary check-ups." 

Despite his nausea, he could hear these things clearly and he could not help but feel an unease for what's to come. Another whistle and a resounding thud, then a long silence. The room remains cold, so very cold.