NN, the masochist

For as long as he could remember, he was a tool. His will not his own, his date of birth unknown, his mother and father also unknown. All that was known was the fact that he survived a devastating monster attack in Africa.

It was the year two thousand, it was late June, and by this point, a month had gone by since the initial monster invasion of West Africa. High-ranking members of K-Corp international performed a large sweep through Ghana, Liberia, Mali, Nigeria, and Senegal.

NN was found during a sweep through Nigeria, sitting before a pile of corpses strewn across the silent road. Green blood stained his arms and face, goblin flesh stuck in his teeth and between his finger nails. He turned to the agents with dead eyes, still chewing on the meat of the goblin, wiping his bloodied mouth with his even bloodier arm, achieving nothing.

He was taken into custody not much later, sitting in the back of an armored truck as an agent discussed outside.

“We’ve had no luck in finding any other survivors in the town. There’s no telling what that kid did to survive. Should we bring him in?” He spoke into a walkie-talkie, nodding his head as someone on the other end replied.

After the agents swept through the empty town, they delivered the boy to a helicopter, where two agents awaited him. They quickly checked him over, running small lights over his body and performing small tests.

“He looks fine, but we should perform further examination when we get back. He did consume monster blood after all.” A woman in all white attire spoke.

The ride was bumpy, and the ground was so far beneath them that it made whatever was on the floor appear like an ant. Yet NN felt zero fear. In fact, he felt nothing. He thought nothing. His eyes remained dead, his expression the same throughout the entire ride.

Following a long medical examination in a tent stationed on the outskirts of Nigeria, he was promptly taken to America, where he was put together with several hundred other kids in a large facility known as the “American K-Corp youth rehabilitation program.”

No exact number was recorded, but it was estimated that four hundred unnamed children from all across West Africa had been taken in by the American system, where their abilities would promptly be tested.

“We’ll keep the good ones, get rid of the bad ones.” NN once heard an agent say. He didn’t know what “getting rid of them” entailed, but his basic survival instincts told him he shouldn’t find out.

The children had consistent physical and mental evaluations until most of them were tweens. Evaluations turned to grueling training regimens, where their minds and bodies were tested to the utmost limit.

The agents introduced a ranking system to incentivize higher performance. Those who performed well ate well, those who did badly ate less. What was once a “peaceful” ground for medical evaluation turned into a violently competitive battlefield where children gave into their selfish instincts to survive. The children would often rely on sabotage for a chance at the top spot. Teamwork, camaraderie, friendship, these words had no meaning in an environment such as this.

“It’s survival of the fittest in its most raw form.” The overseer of this operation stated, “If tapping into their primal instinct doesn’t bring about their true strength, I don’t know what will.” He was a fairly built man with freakishly pale skin and rosy cheeks. His hair was well-combed, and he was always dressed in the same navy-blue suit and tie.

He earned the nickname “Watcher” from the children. They’d always spot him, lurking. Whether it be through an impenetrable glass or behind several armed guards, he was always there.

NN struggled in this hyper-individualistic environment, and his clinging to others further ostracized him. Every day was torture, and food was difficult to come by at his low rank.

There was a day when he’d sat within the dark confines of his quarters, peering through the darkness and staring endlessly at the plain white walls surrounding him. His hunger had begun to consume him, and he was reminded of that goblin, how its disgustingly dirty flesh felt in his mouth, how its rancid and thick blood slid down his throat. That version of him existed as a result of the same hunger he felt now, and something deep inside him feared returning to that state.

The following morning, during a sparring session between himself and another low-ranking.

The floors, the walls, their attire. Everything was basked in white, all except for the black and navy blue of the agents' well-tailored suits, and the velvet of the overseer.

“Commence.” A woman with a clipboard plainly spoke.

The kids circled one another, NN refusing to make the first move.

The other kid struck first, launching himself forward with a high knee. NN dodged out of the way, tucking and rolling to the side. He could feel drool pool from the corner of his mouth.

The boy charged again, slamming his fist into NN repeatedly and relentlessly. He took every blow yet refused to fall, finding an opening and wrapping himself around the boy, his arms hugging tightly around his back.

Blood poured onto the ground beneath them, and the sound of shrill screaming filled the air.

The proctor took action immediately, practically leaping on NN and pulling him away, the two of them falling to the floor.

By the time they managed to separate the two, NN already had a chunk of the boy's flesh in his mouth.

The other kids looked on in horror, watching as the boy clamped a hand around the open wound and struggled for air.

“Get him to the infirmary, now.” The overseer calmly demanded, stepping through his guards and approaching the one holding down NN.

“Let him go.” He kneeled before the boy, a wide, uncanny smile spreading on his face.

“Was your meal tasty?” He took the sleeve of his shirt and wiped his bloody mouth.

NN shook his head no at the question.

“Of all the children here, you are the brightest.” He patted him on the head, “You’ll make an amazing agent.” The overseer stood, gesturing for the agent at his side to pick him up from the floor.

“I want him cleaned up and properly fitted into suitable attire. Once that’s finished, deliver him to my office.”

“Yes, sir.”