Good or evil. Pure or tainted. Mercy or justice.

Who decides the difference?

God?

The people around you?

The government? The Church?

The voice in your head, telling you right from wrong?

If you’ve chosen your path, do you know where you’re going?

Heaven or hell?

***

The figure was barely human at this point. They were slumped in a plastic chair, bleeding from wrist and ankle ties. Thirteen-year-old Zora sat on the floor, watching with eyes wide. She had witnessed the hours of torture, and the last gasp that escaped from the unhuman throat of someone who she had known.

***

Zora often dreamt of her childhood. At age six, she remembered being in a dark container, smelling the salty breeze through the air vents and the rocking motion of the ocean waves. She had been cold and hungry. Then the door opened to reveal the smiling face of a man who would be her saviour. “Hi, are you alright? I’m sorry you were in there for so long. It couldn’t be helped. You will understand when you grow up, but you’re safe now.”

Zora was led to a big, well-lit room. She was one of at least two hundred other young children in a line-up. Everyone had that same worn, shabby look on their faces—of those who had survived a long, harrowing journey. Little did they know that they were about to embark on another.

A lady dressed in corporate wear with a bun so severely tied back that it must have given her headaches introduced herself. “I’m glad to see such lively faces! You can call me Mother. I am in charge to see that you all become exceptional adults as you grow up.”

“This programme is specifically designed to develop you into warriors of the highest calibre. You will eat together, live together, learn together and work together. Each of you will have a handler who will take care of you on this journey and see that your needs are met. Only the best will survive.”

***

Zora’s handler turned out to be the man who she met when the box was first opened. Her saviour. Kind and patient, he was her mentor, biggest supporter and confidante throughout the rigorous programme.

Together, the pair spent years learning to cope with the elements in the rugged outdoors. They camped, ran with the wolves and climbed mountains with makeshift tools. Her handler taught Zora how to use every weapon, to speak various languages, and to keep her emotions in check. Zora learned quickly, and grew up quickly. She learned about human anatomy, and all the ways to kill and inflict pain. Training was her life, and her goal in life was to succeed in the mission. When she watched her competitors die over the years from disease, injuries and other mistakes, she understood that this was simply the process of filtering out the weak. There was never any sympathy, pity or emotion for them. She had been taught science. Evolution was the world’s natural response to change. It filtered out the weak, and only the strong survived. The crushed bodies would return to the earth as carbon. Everyone had their singular role to play. Weak bodies had no use wasting away resources. This was the way the world worked.

But Zora’s handler was also with her throughout this time. He helped her when she fell, gave instructions and feedback, and motivated her. As partners, they were fully in sync. The trials and tribulations they faced together led to a strong bond. They shared tears of sorrow and joy freely. It was the closest thing to family that Zora could imagine. Throughout the constant change and chaos, she felt safe with him by her side.

At the end of seven years, Zora had grown to be the strongest of ten candidates who had survived and successfully completed training. She was faster, smarter and stronger than the others. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but she felt that she had done her handler proud.

***

It was the last week of the programme before graduation. Zora had been called into the room, where they usually held biology classes.

As expected, there was someone in the test subject chair. Except this time, it was someone tall, well-built and familiar. She knew who it was immediately. Her handler.

“Hey Zora, hope you’re doing well.” He steeled himself.

Even though she had been well-trained to keep claim in all situations, her heart seized with emotion immediately. His cheekbones were sunken in lack of sleep, his eyes bloodshot from some kind of drug, and he was in evident pain. Zora immediately wanted to help him.

“Why are you here? Why are you tied up?” She was puzzled.

He smiled genuinely, just happy to see her. “Just like you, I wasn’t given a choice. By the way, have you eaten?”

“Let me get you out of here, and we can go eat together.” Zora began to attempt to undo the shackles that tied her handler to the chair. But she knew that these had spikes on the inside, and struggling only made them harder to open. Where were the master keys?

“No, don’t. Keep your cool. They’re watching,” her handler insisted.

Another voice came on over the intercom. It was distinctly Mother.

“This is your final test. Zora, this is your moment to shine. I have such high expectations of you.” She said calmly.

“Why does it have to be him?” Zora asked in return. Surely they had made a mistake.

Mother was matter-of-fact. “It’s simple. You will need to put everything you’ve learned and worked hard for to succeed in this mission. The path you’ve chosen requires you not to have any connection with the world. No weaknesses.”

The table next to the test subject chair was an assortment of torture tools. “The tools have been provided for you to use on your handler. You have to use one of the tools on him once every thirty seconds. There will be a buzzer. Every cut has to be bigger than the last. If you miss your turn, or he dies before 72 hours is up, you will fail the test.”

“Answer me,” Zora asked again.

“He was born for you to finally step into greatness. His duty has been done, and his purpose will be fulfilled.” Mother explained.

“What if I refuse?” Zora countered cautiously, using her negotiation tactics to test the waters.

“You will be sitting on the chair for the next person in line. But you’ll make your mother proud, won’t you Zora?” Mother threatened. “The test will commence in one minute.”

Zora was quiet for a moment. She was considering her options.

Her handler whispered urgently. “Zora, listen. You need to do this. There is no need for both of us to die. You’re the stronger one. I want you to live.”

Zora began to object.

“Goddamnit! Zora get it into your thick skull already. My death is certain whether or not you do this. Pick up the scalpel now.”

Zora didn’t move.

“I said, pick it up! You can still leave this alive. Listen to me for once. There’s no other way!” He insisted.

“No, I can kill them all and we can escape,” Zora resisted.

The buzzer rang.

***

Thirty seconds began ticking. Her handler grew furious.

“So you’re a coward then? You deserve to die then, you fucking bitch. I hate you. I hated you from the first day. You were just orphan trash. And I had to see your face every single day. Oh I loathed that you lived to see every day. Stab me, I said STAB ME! You’re just a crybaby. Useless. Just like the rest of them. You can’t even do this right? You’ll die a worse death than your mother. Your parents didn’t want you and guess what, nobody does!” He spat at her, his mouth frothing with mock hatred. It was a good show and Zora knew that he was just egging her on.

Her eyes brimming with tears, Zora steadied her shaking wrist. She brought the sharp end of the scalpel to his skin and pressed down. Fresh blood oozed out.

“All done? You can’t even cut me properly. Hah!” He goaded.

The buzzer kept ringing. Zora acted as she was told. Never abandon the mission, she heard her handler’s words ringing. The stream of blood turned into rivers. There was no glory in death, he had instructed, except to die while trying. And with each cut deeper than the one before, a part of Zora also died.

***

Good or evil. Pure or tainted. Mercy or justice.

Who decides the difference?

God?

The people around you?

The government? The Church?

The voice in your head, telling you right from wrong?

Zora’s path... where do you think she’s going?

***

72 hours passed. Zora felt like two lifetimes had slipped away: her first, and her handler’s. The latter was held together by faltering, final moments of consciousness. He was still breathing, unrecognisable and bleeding from every inch of his body—but still alive.

“Zora, you’ve passed the test.” Mother said over the intercom.

Zora’s voice was robotic and emotionless. Her eyes were dead. “Are you happy, Mother?”

“Yes, dear. I knew you were a good girl. You have made me proud.”