Archive of Our Own

Siberian Taiga. February 12^th, 1997.

White. That’s all that can be seen West to East. Cold, putrid, dead white. Heavy footsteps can be heard, crashing against the thick snow. A teenage girl, covered head to toes with multiple layers of clothing, struggles to walk in the middle of the forest. She has pale skin, almost as white as the snow, and her face is covered with long purple bangs as the rest of her hair falls on her shoulders. Her left eye is green as a shining emerald. She has no name. She carries a heavy bag on her back, an eyepatch on her face, an improvised crutch below her left arm, and a thick wooden stick where her left foot should be.

“It’s so cold today. Twenty months ago, I lost three fingers to hypothermia. Fifteen months ago, I lost my right eye to that bear attack. Three months ago, I lost my left leg to an infection. Right now, my right breast is hurting a lot too. Might lose that one as well. How long before there’s nothing left?”

“Meow.”

She hears a soft meow. At her left side, a feline-looking companion walks slowly, lazily, visibly shivering due to the cold. Its fur is black, its body is chubby and round and it has short tiny legs. It doesn’t have ears, and instead of a nose or whiskers, it has a round metallic pin and long, dark fuses. It has big googly goofy eyes, a small snout that looks like the number three, and a long tail made of dynamite sticks. This is Boomyya, the Bomb Devil.

The girl lets out a long breath, which turned immediately into a thick, pale white cloud that vanished in the thin air. It’s getting hard to breathe, but she has to keep pushing. If she stops running, she will die. If she stops killing, she will die. If she gives up, she will die.

At the distance, a loud roar can be heard. The girl immediately ducks and takes cover behind a tree, grabbing the small devil in her arms. She clocks her head, making the slightest movement possible, to set sights on the source of the noise. A snarling beast, with too many eyes and mouths. It’s big. At least three meters tall. Its body is round, red, and it stands on a dozen of human arms that come out of its bottom. On top, a green, small peduncle. If she has to guess, it’s the Tomato Devil.

“Alright, buddy. You know the drill. If we wanna eat tonight, hunting devils is our best bet.”

“Meow Meow!”

Silent. Quick. Effective enough. With only a couple of small, controlled detonations, the girl and her hellish companion take down the feeble devil, its burnt corpse leaking a red liquid that could either be blood or tomato juice. She doesn’t really care as long as she can sell the body.

“That should take care of it. It’s completely charred so it won’t revive from its seeds. Now, let’s chop it apart!”

Slow. Methodical. Practical enough. She packages as many parts as she can in multiple bags, then stores it all on a big sack and makes her way back to the outer limits of Tyaia. A small, barely populated clear that couldn’t even be called a town. On the distance, she spots a man dressed on a thick black coat, visibly shivering. The man waves at her, and she returns the wave, albeit non enthusiastically.

“What have you got today?”

“The Tomato Devil. You won’t be able to revive it, but I hear its flesh still sells well on the black market.”

“It does. Good job. Here’s your part.”

The man hands her a small envelop, and she doesn’t think twice before ripping it open. Her disappointment, however, becomes immediately visible upon examining its contents.

“…30 rubles? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It’s tough times, little girl. You’re not the only Devil Hunter we have contacts with, and we need to take care of our own men too. But, y’know, there are other uses for a pretty girl like you. You could make a successful career in-”

“Finish that sentence and you’re dead.”

The Bomb Devil hisses at the man. It may be small, but the shady man knows just how dangerous it could be if provoked. He raises his hands, pleading for innocence.

“Hey, hey, just kiddin’. Geez, kids these days have no sense of humor.”

“We’re leaving. Cheapskate.”

The girl takes the small devil in her arms and leaves, internally cursing the creep she’s forced to deal with. His only redeeming quality is that he doesn’t ask questions, and that is worth the hassle. Sometimes. It’s not by choice that she does this. But she has to make a living somehow, and just thinking of the alternatives is enough to make her shudder with fear and dread. If it wasn’t for Boomyya, she would have surely met a fate worse than death a long time ago.

She starts making numbers in her mind.

“After paying for the equipment, and the repair costs for the shack… Fuck, it’s a miracle there’s even anything left. Just 9 rubles left for food. For the month.”

Boomyya makes a small, sad meowing sound, while laying in her shoulder. She lifts her right hand and uses her remaining fingers to scratch her tiny friend on the head.

“Maybe we’ll catch a fox tomorrow, but for today we’ll have to do with hot water.”

“Meow…”

At the distance, the man meets up with a younger comrade. The two staring at the small figure vanishing in the mist.

“Hey, Dimitri, why do you keep buyin’ devils from that bitch? We could make her a whore and earn much more.”

“She may seem weak, friend, but that piece of shit Devil of hers is not. She’s effective enough, for now at least.”

“For now?”

“I’ve heard rumors about her, y’know? That she’s a fugitive of the government, always on the run. She disappears for months, then comes back to do business. Some say she’s one of the guinea pigs.”

“Isn’t that some stupid fairy tale mothers tell to brats who don’t behave?”

“Who knows? Maybe. But we live in a world filled with devils. Anything is possible these days.”

She lies on a mossy mattress, inside a small wooden shack, barely stable. One of many where the girl takes refuge before having to hide her tracks and move elsewhere. Boomyya lies on her stomach, purring as the girl gently pets its back. She takes a sip of a rusty cup of hot water, just enough to warm her freezing body. Just enough to buy her another day of life.

“I heard people normally boil water to make coffee instead of drinking it instantly. Well, normality is just a dream for us anyways, isn’t it?”

She stares at the tattered ceiling sheltering her from the snow. It was barely functional. She’s still freezing. Not to death, but cold enough that she feels her body getting numb. She’ll probably have to say goodbye to another frostbitten body part soon.

“…I don’t want to die alone. Without ever knowing what it feels to have a family. No parents. No brothers. No…” She lets out a soft sigh. “I wonder how it feels to be loved. Not like I could keep a family if I’m constantly running, with only the bare minimum to stay alive.”

Boomyya makes a small noise, one that was meant to reflect sympathy. Sadness. She scratches it behind the neck, just how it likes it.

“We’re saving up, Boomyya. Slow but steady. I heard there’s someone who can get us out of the border. Maybe to Japan. But it’s expensive. Too expensive. We’ll get there, and once we do, we won’t have to keep running. We just have to pull through.”

She raises her right hand, the one she was using to scratch Boomyya, to look at her remaining fingers. The index, middle and thumb on the right hand. Then, the left hand. All on their place save for the pinky.

“If I could make a wish, I wish I could have a place to rest. Somewhere I could call home.”

She recalls a moment of her youth. The day she met Boomyya.

She was so tired.

She was so tired of running. She never stopped. She never looked back. She kept moving forward, even if every step hurt. Even if every step felt like her knees were tearing apart. Even if she could feel like her bones were about to shatter like crystal.

She heard yells and footsteps behind her. They would catch her. They would drag her to the room again. The secret room in the ammunition storage. The room where they tortured her, where they deprived her of food and sleep, where they would turn her into a weapon, a moving corpse meant only to deceive and kill. One of thousands. Thousands of guinea pigs.

She was so tired of running. Yet the pain of her legs breaking away and the sheer cold penetrating her every fiber was preferable than returning there. To darkness and silence. To pain and agony. To control and order. Every step she took, it became harder to breathe. Her lungs felt like they were on the verge of collapse, her heart beating so fast that it would inevitably blow up soon. But she couldn’t give up.

She heard the dogs. The dogs that would maul her beyond recognition. She had to hurry up. She had to run faster. Faster. FASTER.

She tripped and fell down a slope of hard rock, her small fragile body tumbling and hitting and brushing against rough edges. Pain. Agonizing pain.

She tried to get up on her feet, but she fell to her knees. She was shaking so much it actually hurt. Her muscles hurt. Her body hurt. She wanted to throw up but she couldn’t afford to lose any nutrients. She cried. Silently.

She had to get up. She had to. They were closing in. They would drag her back and turn her into a weapon. But she couldn’t.

She tried to move her legs. Nothing happened.

She tried to move her arms. Nothing happened.

She was going to go back and there was nothing she could do to avoid it. She cried harder.

Then, a noise.

A small, abrupt noise. Leaves cracking on the distance. The girl spotted a small shadowy figure. It had a grenade pin instead of a nose, and thin, dark fuses instead of whiskers, and a row of dynamite sticks instead of a tail. Its features, even when blending with the blurry snow, were distinguishable enough. A clear giveaway of its true nature. A devil. It growled and hissed at her. She was going to get eaten by a devil.

“…If you’re going to kill me, just do it. It would be better than going back there…”

There was, however, something wrong with that devil. It looked hurt, in pain, and it could only give a few steps towards her before tumbling to the floor, whining in pain. It was injured, she saw. Three or four holes, out of which was dark, red blood pouring out. The small creature was going to die there.

It looked at her. It wanted to live.

Live.

LIVE.

“Bite me!”

She used up all of her remaining strength to extend her arm, clenching her fist.

“They taught us that devils can heal by drinking blood! If you want to live, then bite me!”

The small creature slowly stood up, looking at her eyes with anger and determination. She heard the footsteps and the yells and the dogs getting closer. Just a little longer. Please, just a little bit longer.

The devil bit down her arm, its sharp fangs draining the freezing blood rapidly. She flinched, and scrunched her face in pain. It was sharp, but manageable.

“This blood is not free, however. This is a contract. I’m helping you now, so you help me. Help me run away. Help me destroy my enemies. Help me be free.”

Then, explosions. Body parts flying in the sky. A foot here. A hand there. A severed paw over there as well. What used to be a head lying that way there. The small devil destroyed her pursuers, explosion after explosion. It was deafening. But by the time the explosions finished, there was only silence. No footsteps. No yelling. No dogs.

Only the soft whistling of the wind. A melody of snow and white. A beautiful quietness.

That’s the day the nameless girl met the Bomb Devil.

The day they started their new lives as fugitives. As runaways. Free.

The night is colder than usual. The last embers inside the tin barrel are dying out, floating towards the ceiling and fading away along with the warmth the fire had provided provisionally. The girl is hugging the devil tightly, covered and draped in cloth, trying to fight the sheer cold of the winter.

“I’m too hungry… and it’s so, so cold. I can’t sleep at all…”

She stares at the ceiling. Starlight and molten snow are leaking through the gaps. She hates the sound of water leaking. It reminds her of the room. The place she swore she would never go back to. She’s clinging to Boomyya, her only friend in the world, the devil that saved her that fatidic day. She closes her eyes. Her mind drifts to a song. The only memory she holds before the room. Despite everything, she still has this much with her.

She starts singing softly.

“The day of my date with Jane
Everything is ready
In the morning, we will go to church together
We will drink coffee and eat omelets at a café
After we take a walk in the park
We'll go to the aquarium and see Jane's favorites. The dolphins and penguins
After lunch, we'll rest
So, what did we do in the morning?
We'll talk about it until we forget
We won't remember
And at night, we will sleep in the church.”

The girl has no name. She didn’t carry the one her parents gave her at birth, being too young to remember, and she had no need for one in the room. Weapons don’t need names. For all intents and purposes, she’s an unidentified corpse, roaming the land of the living as if she had a place on it. She is nothing but a Jane Doe, lost in the world.

Then, a nauseating feeling. Her chest starts hurting, and her bones feel weaker than usual. She drives her hand to her mouth, trying desperately to fight the sickness, to keep what little fuel she has inside of her. But her throat burns, melts, dissolves, and she gives away to her impulses.

Blood.

Her hand is covered in blood. The blood that she threw up.

No.

No no no no no.

She’s heard stories about a heart disease spreading across the Motherland. A disease that eats away your tissues and makes you vomit blood. Lethal, if not taken care of.

Without the means to treat it correctly, she will die.

She’s going to die.

She’s going to die without ever being held by loving parents. Without ever having dinner with her siblings. Without ever kissing a boy. Without ever going to school and chatting with friends her age. Without ever drinking hot coffee in the morning with her family.

She’s going to die alone and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

More vomit. The girl can’t stop it. More blood. She tries desperately to resist, to keep her life inside of her, but she can’t even stand straight. She’s on her knees, her back arched and hurting, as Boomyya hisses and cries, concern visible in its eyes.

When the vomit stops, she just gives in and lies in the floor, shaking and crying quietly, like she did the day she met Boomyya. Her hope slipping through her fingers, as despair makes its way to her core. It’s not snowing anymore. The only noise that can be heard is wind and rain.

Rain. So much rain. It’s pouring outside, and it feels like the feeble ceiling of her improvised shelter will give away any minute now. The wind is howling. Raging. Crashing against the walls with a ferocity that couldn’t be attributed to the normal storms of the Siberian taiga, rough as they were.

Her eyes are wide open. This wasn’t a natural phenomenon.

This was a devil attack.

And then, loud knocks on the door.

“Open up! This is the Militsiya! Surrender now!”

They found her.

They found her.

The girl quickly grabs Boomyya and holds it in her arms, the feline-like devil hissing and staring at the door. All of its hairs are raised up, goosebumps running through the bodies of both girl and devil. Her breathing is erratic. She’s shaking in fear and adrenaline, but she can’t give up.

“Not yet, Boomyya.” She whispers.

‘I’m never going back.’

More knocking. More yelling.

“Not yet.”

‘I’m never going back.’

The rain pours harder. The ceiling starts to crack.

“Not… yet…”

‘I’M NEVER GOING BACK.’

The door opens with a creak, the foot of a strong soldier knocking it down from its place.

“NOW!”

The girl pulls the grenade pin hanging from the devil’s tiny face, as sparks flow from its mouth. Explosions rage through the enclosed space, tearing through flesh and wood. She hears them yell in fear and pain. She doesn’t care. Boomyya keeps firing explosion after explosion, drowning the sounds of screams and rain. She’s curled up in a corner, trying her best to stay on her feet. Until the wind rages with demonic ferocity and slams the walls of the place. Wood and foil come crashing down, and the first thing she sees is men in military suits. Way too many.

“FIRE!”

More gunshots. More explosions. The bullets tear through her body, leaving bleeding holes and pushing her to the ground. It hurts. It hurts so much.

Rain and blood and tears mix and blend into one over her cold body. She looks down to her arms, only to find Boomyya, her only friend, wounded and bleeding as much as she is. The devil has lost all of its strength. All she can do is drag herself and Boomyya through the freezing snow, in a desperate attempt to run away. To break free. The rain makes it almost invisible to see through the mist, but she can’t give up yet. She has to move forward.

A boot steps on her bloody, feeble hand, breaking her remaining fingers. She cries in pain, closing her eyes and shivering from the pain and cold.

“Typhoon Devil, retreat.”

“SHE’S A DEVIL HUNTER, LIEUTENANT COLONEL! SHE KILLS DEVILS LIKE ME FOR FOOD! I HATE THEM! LET ME KILL THE BITCH.”

“Negative. Your job here is done. We must deal with her according to the Party’s rules.”

Then, the rain stopped.

“Ammunitions Room Test Subject number #3346. You are accused of high treason and anti-Soviet behavior. The party has ruled you guilty, and sentenced you to be shot on sight.”

She hears the other men screaming and aiming their guns at her. So, this is how it ends. With her, bleeding out with her only friend, in the middle of the snow. There are worse ways to die, she thinks.

‘All I wanted… was a place to rest. Somewhere to go home. Maybe… maybe a fami-”

BANG

Darkness.

Silence.

Void.

Girl and Devil alike vanished like tears in the rain.

“Put them on a bag and dump them in the nearest river. Then give Dimitri his cut for the tip.” Said the lieutenant while igniting a cigar.

A memory.

The girl was hunting down animals to eat. She saw a hare. Small, thin, pale, but just enough food for today. She readied her bow, something considerably harder to do with a couple of fingers missing, but hunger pushes through pain and discomfort.

She took a breath. Slow, steady. She could hear her own heart pounding on her chest.

One beat. She released the string. A whistling sound. Before the next beat, the hare was dead. Blood flowing through its pierced head. Success.

“Okay, Boomyya! We got tonight’s dinner!”

“Meow!”

She skinned the animal and put it over a small fire, slowly roasting the meat.

“Hey Boomyya. I’ll likely die fighting a devil before we can get out of the nation. If that happens, I worry that something might happen to you. You might starve and die, or get killed by a Devil Hunter… Devils like you can turn into Fiends, right? Devils that possess a human’s corpse. So… if it comes to that, I want you to take over my body, and keep moving forward. I want you to make my dreams come true. Live in a home, go to school, maybe have a family… Live a normal life, Boomyya. Please.”

The corpse of the girl lies alongside the corpse of the devil, inside a dark bag. Her blood flows down the right angle. Just enough to get a drop on the devil’s mouth. Then the impossible. Metal merges with flesh. Fuses merge with blood vessels. Fiery warmth takes over dead cold. Light takes over darkness.

A beating heart, ticking down.

Then blinding light. Then blue.

The girl is laying on the bottom of a water body, but for some strange reason, she isn’t drowning. She looks to her lap, where she finds her best friend, Boomyya, staring at her.

“…Bomyya?”

“Meow!”

The memories start flowing one after another, and she comes to the not-so-haunting realization that she is dead. Despite that, a small smile forms in her face.

“Did you take my body, like I told you to?”

…

“I’ve always… enjoyed hearing you talk about your dreams, my friend.”

Boomyya spoke. For the first time.

“This is a contract. I’ll become your heart. In exchange… I want you to show me your dreams.”

“BOOMYYA!”

Then she wakes up.

The first thing she sees is darkness. The second thing she feels is movement. The third thing she hears is the screech of a car’s wheels. The fourth thing she remembers is her death from just a few moments ago, on the hands of the government she ran away from. The fifth thing she notices is the sensation on her pinky fingers, and the toes of her left leg, and the movement of his right eyeball. All parts that she had given away to the world, in exchange for another day of life. All back to her.

The sixth thing she acknowledges is the metallic pin on the right side of her neck. A grenade-like pin, property of her only friend in the world.

“Boomyya…”

Then, she hears the sound of a vault opening, and screams.

“Hey, the brat’s still alive!”

“Well then, shoot her, you idiot!”

Then she feels the bag she’s trapped inside of getting dragged, roughly, forcefully, until she feels the force of the impact of her body hitting the road. Then the sound of a gun reloading.

‘So this was always my fate. Even when Boomyya gave its life to save me, all it did was buy me a few extra minutes…’

As if second nature, out of born instinct, she raises her hand to her neck, crossing her ring finger on the hole of the aluminum artifact.

“The people who turned me into this… The government. They already have all the weapons they could want. They have entire armies at their disposal. They have half of the world on the palm of their hands. But they wanted more. They wanted more power. They wanted my humanity…”

She remembers the small round shape of Boomyya.

“Maybe I’m like them. I already had Boomyya, but I wanted more. I wanted a family, and a home, and maybe a boyfriend, and the chance to go to school. Despite having Boomyya, I felt so lonely…”

She remembers its purring noise, and its adorable goofy eyes.

“I guess… dreaming of more things isn’t wrong. I guess… I couldn’t resist dreaming for a bit.”

She remembers the day they met.

“If you want my humanity…”

“THEN COME AND GET IT, YOU BASTARDS!”

She pulls the pin.

The forest was bathed with the noise of gunshots. Then silence.

“Boom.”

Then an explosion. Fiery, powerful. In less than a second, the bag, the men and the car were reduced to ashes. In the middle of the scene, stands a devilish silhouette. Its frame is that of a young girl, strong and curvy, but where its head should be, there’s an onyx-black warhead, lined up with sharp teeth. Where its arms should be, there are appendages made out of bomb fuses, dark and metallic, slithering and sizzling. Her naked chest is now covered by a black, gooey top, ending on an apron made of black dynamite sticks.

The Bomb Devil is born again.

A convoy of armed vehicles draws closer. From it, men with guns and dressed in military suits swarm like insects, all yelling and chewing up orders. One second, they’re aiming their guns at her. The next one, they’re gone. Their place in the world vanished, replaced by ashes and dust.

The devil hears a screaming voice from behind one of the vehicles.

“Send reinforcements! Summon the Typhoon Devil to the road in-”

The voice is cut off by a loud detonation. The once frozen woodland is now burning. Red flames consuming everything where snow once was.

A demonic voice is heard at the distance, roaring with the strength of a thousand thunders, dragging with itself rain and clouds and howling winds.

“DEVIL HUNTER! AT LAST, I HAVE THE CHANCE TO END YOU MYSELF!”

From the tornado, spawns an infant head, brains and grey matter sprawling from the top of its head. In between the head and the chunky, giant baby legs, a swirl of red intestines, crashing against the ground and trees.

“Since I’m a Devil Hunter, that means you’re my enemy, Typhoon.”

The Bomb Devil spoke. It didn’t waste time before releasing a series of discharges from her fingertips, propelling itself in the air.

“If I destroy all of my enemies in the world…”

Then, the fuses on her right hand start to ignite in a blinding yellow light as she clenches her fist, and prepares to meet the wrath of Typhoon.

“…Then I will finally be free!”

Boom.

The fist strikes against the ginormous body of the Typhoon devil. It lets out a shriek of pain, loud enough to shake the remaining trees. But the Bomb Devil remains unshaken.

Detonation after detonation, the reborn devil keeps unleashing its rage. Explosions against wind. Fire against rain. Vehicles and logs are dragged by the wind, weaponized against the once-human girl. The impacts are painful, dull. Structures worth a thousand pounds crash against its body. But the Bomb Devil persists. It pulls the pin from its neck again, and a flurry of hellfire heals her wounds and broken bones.

It’s in the eye of the storm now. The explosions are less effective each time, as rain keeps her fuses from properly lighting up. But the Bomb Devil won’t succumb. It grabs a flying truck with its bare hands, balancing the weight against her body, and leaps through the air with inhuman strength. It propels itself with the swirling vehicles and intestines, and crashes the truck in the face of the childish devil. Engine oil pours from the destroyed vehicle.

Once it’s out of rain range, the Bomb Devil prepares to detonate again. She snaps her fingers, and ember sparks fly towards the tar. Red meets with black. Then, the flames ignite, and the subduing explosions break through the storm.

“NO. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU!? STAY… S-STAY AWAY FROM MEEEEE!!!”

The Bomb Devil leaps through the air again, pushing itself dozens of meters up high. Its leg twists and breaks and transforms, skin turning into more fused wires that take the shape of a missile. It raises its knee, staring down at the mauled and charred enemy.

“Boom.”

Then it launches towards the earth again. A deafening commotion that could be heard throughout the entire Soviet Union. A declaration of war against humans and devils alike. A new being born out of rage and grief. The result of the dehumanization of a little girl.

The Typhoon Devil is dead. And on top of its remains, victoriously stands the Bomb Devil.

Then, the metal carcass starts to shatter and melt down. Behind the devilish features of a terrible weapon, emerges a thin, malnourished teenage girl with purple hair and pale skin and green eyes. She breathes once, then twice, then collapses on the intestines of her prey. Slowly, her eyes start to shut close, and she gives in to exhaustion.

The girl opens her eyes as consciousness slips back in her body. She’s covered with white sheets, shielding her naked body from her surroundings. She finds out she can’t move arms or legs, and realizes she’s tied down to a chair, completely immobilized.

The next thing she notices is the smell. It’s a salty smell, with a hint of acidity. It’s warm. She’s in a cozy living room, one with sturdy walls and furniture. Someone's home.

She tracks the source of the smell and spots a tall woman, with long blue hair, dressed in a yellow sweater and a dark skirt, decorated with the white bowtie of an apron. The mysterious woman is turning her back on the girl, but judging by the smell, and the motion of her arm, the girl figures the woman is cooking.

She tries to break free from her bonds fruitlessly, trying to make the least amount of noise possible.

“Oh, I see you’re awake.”

Shit.

The woman turns her head to look at the girl. Her eyes are bright and shiny and emerald green, just like hers.

“Sorry about tying you up, but I had to make sure you wouldn’t blow up my apartment.”

A million questions are racing through the girl’s mind. She opens her mouth and decides to shoot the first one that makes its way to her lips.

“Who are you?”

The woman smiles.

“I wonder who you are as well. You’re a strange girl. You took out a convoy of highly trained soldiers of the Militsiya, at least three dozen, as well as one of the Politburo’s strongest devils, like they were nothing.”

The girl’s eyes widen in fear and dread.

“But that’s not the most interesting part. I can tell you’re neither human, nor devil, nor fiend. You’re an odd one, certainly. I take it that you’re hungry?”

The woman grabs a big spoon and a plate, then fills it with something from a big metallic pot. The smell grows bigger, and her belly starts to ache. She feels hungry. Desperately starving.

“I’m a member of the Committee for State Security’s Devil Hunting branch, or KGBD, for short. I was sent to investigate a Devil attack, responsible for the death of an entire division of the Militsiya, and instead I found a fragile girl collapsed on the floor. I know of your past, little girl. I know you’re one of our government’s guinea pigs. Stolen from an orphanage, trained and experimented on, to build weapons out of humans. Not one of our proudest moments, I’ll admit, but that goes beyond my jurisdiction.”

The woman gets closer to the girl, taking a tablespoon and filling it with stew. She drives it closer to the girl’s mouth, and even though every instinct in her body tells her otherwise, she opens his mouth and gulps down the meal. It’s delicious.

“I took you to my home before the higher-ups found you. The powers that be want you dead. I want a weapon to use against our nation’s enemies. So now, you have two choices. Become my perfect doll, or die.”

Slavery or death. She recalls one time, long ago, when she made that very same choice.

“If you help me out, I’ll help you as well. Half a year. Be my puppet for half a year, and I’ll reward you with your freedom. You’ll never have to run again. What do you say? Would you give your humanity away for a chance at freedom?”

Freedom.

Six months. Six months, and she will be free.

Every rational part of her brain tells her that it’s a lie. A trap. That she will never be free again. That she will only ever be a weapon. That the moment she stops being of use for the KGBD, they’ll dispose of her, and the world will continue to exist without her.

But what other choice does she have?

“I accept.”

The woman smiles, and feeds her another spoonful of stew.

“Most wonderful. My birth name is a secret, but officially, I’m known as ‘Santa Claus’. I look forward to working with you, my dear…”

The woman pausea, expecting the girl to speak. To say her name. A name she didn’t have.

“Ammunitions Room Test Subject number #3346.” She says mechanically, as she was instructed in her youth.

The woman’s smile almost widens.

“I see. You don’t have an actual name. Well, that’s no good, is it? We need to give you an identity if you’ll be working with the government.”

The woman pauses, touching her chin with her index finger, as if thinking.

“How about Reze?”

Reze.

A name. An actual name. A name she could go by. A name she would turn towards and answer to when spoken. Her name.

No longer would she be 3346. No longer would she be Jane Doe.

Reze.

“It's a beautiful name...”