The low hum of conversation continues. I take my pills. All wards are on cheap medicine of some sort for one reason or another. That’s how the Facility works; they get us dependent on the pills, then use that to keep us in line. Sometimes, they’ll pull a ward’s meds for a day or two so they have to suffer withdrawal. If the pills get pulled and aren’t brought back in a week or two, it’s usually a message. The warden is saying he wants you out--more or less a guarantee that you’ll be sold at the next auction to a low-end bidder. It also means that every ward goes through withdrawal when they’re eventually sold.

The dismissal bell rings and wards flood through the exits; the first-through-fifth year kids heading to their first period class, while the sixth-years and above make their way to the docks. I make sure I’m the last one to leave. Jael stays behind too. The silence in the large room calms me as I slowly inhale, letting the air rest in my lungs before breathing out. I meet her eyes. Either the light’s playing tricks or her eyes are quivering.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I say.

We leave the silence behind and thread our way through the maze of outside corridors that lead to the docks. Along the way, I see a group of younger wards being led into a long rectangular hall, the same one I was taken to when I first arrived at the Facility, six years ago.

I was ten, the same age as these kids. And just like them I had arrived here fresh from the Cradle--the only place any young ward has ever known. We’re born there, and under the strict watch of a Guardian, we spend the first years of our life there. If we survive it, we’re sent to a facility, sent to this room.

I remember, there were hundreds of us kneeling in a straight row across a stage. Guardians--tall men with dark uniforms--started walking up and down the corridor pulling certain students out and placing them in their own line.

I was shaking because I didn’t really understand what was happening. My palms were sweating and my heart was racing. The first Guardian passed me without even giving me a glance. He chose the girl next to me. The next three Guardians chose every student around me, leaving me to stand alone. A pitiful island on a nearly empty stage.

Then came Hiro. His slicked hair was dark gray, and he wore impossibly bright, white sneakers. As he walked down the line, his step was straight and deliberate. Stopping in front of me he extended his hand—something no Guardian had ever done. I didn’t know how to react, so I mumbled some nonsense of shame and gratitude. He gently pulled me forward and careered me toward his line, where I waited until the selections ended.

There were still many students left unchosen after all the Guardians made their picks. They were guided out of the hall and into a dark room beyond. I never saw them again.

I’m lucky. Most Guardians don’t care about their wards like Hiro does. I guess that’s why I got so attached to him during my first year. I took in every word he said, watched every movement. I began emulating him. I would sit the way he sat, walk the way he walked. I even learned some basic Japanese just to impress him. He was the only person I had the slightest desire to please and the only one that made me feel any warmth in my life. Him and later Jael.

As the years passed, Hiro helped me and his other students prepare as best we could for the day when we would eventually be put up for sale. That’s the only reason the facilities exist. To build us into a product and then sell us. If you’re clever enough--you can buy your way out. There’s a motto down here among the older wards. Buy or die. It’s the only mantra they believe in. For me, I don’t want to believe because one option is impossible and the other is hopeless. I think I’ll choose the third option whenever I figure out what that is.

Making our way, Jael and I come to a freight elevator and file in with a group of wards.