Lin Heng didn't know what new horrors or changes awaited him.
The worst part wasn't the pain. It wasn't even the injections. It was the waiting. The long stretches of silence. The feeling of being forgotten in a place where even the lights blinked without emotion.
He sat on the edge of the cold metal bed, legs dangling over the edge, body sore, arms marked with the faint bruises of recent injections. His gaze drifted to the wall. A tiny piece of rubble—no bigger than a fingernail—had chipped loose from a corner seam in the concrete.
He picked it up. It felt rough in his fingers. Useless. Insignificant.
Still, it was something.
He turned it over between his palms, then an idea struck him. Something stupid. Something childish.
But maybe that's what they all needed.
Something human.
He glanced toward Number 3, who was lying on his side, staring into nothing. His face was pale, eyes distant—but he was awake.
"Hey," Lin Heng called softly.
Number 3 turned his head slightly, eyes questioning. As if to say: Are you really talking to me?
"Wanna play a game?" Lin Heng asked.
Number 3 blinked. Then slowly nodded. "Okay."
Lin Heng moved to sit next to him and held up the tiny piece of rubble between two fingers.
"Here's the game," he said. "I'll put this behind my back and shuffle it between my hands. Then I show you both hands. You guess which one it's in. If you're right, you win."
Number 3 looked at the stone, then nodded again.
Lin Heng closed both fists behind his back and moved the stone around a few times before holding his hands out in front of Number 3.
"Which one?"
Number 3 pointed at the left hand.
Lin Heng opened it—there it was.
Number 3 gave a tiny, satisfied smile. Lin Heng chuckled and handed him the stone.
"Your turn."
Number 3 mimicked the motion, then held his fists forward.
Lin Heng tilted his head. "Hmm… the right."
Number 3 opened his palm. Empty.
"Damn, I lose," Lin Heng muttered, smirking.
They continued for a few rounds. Number 3 guessed correctly four out of five times. Lin Heng only got two.
He narrowed his eyes playfully. What is he, some kind of luck-blessed child?
They were still playing when Number 1 rose from his bed and approached, hesitation in every step.
"Can I play with you guys?" he asked shyly, eyes flicking from Lin Heng to Number 3.
Lin Heng blinked, slightly surprised. He had expected Number 1 to be aggressive, unpredictable. But now—he just looked like a kid.
"Yeah," Lin Heng said. "Come on."
Moments later, Number 2 stood up and walked over with the calm confidence of someone who always assumed he'd be included.
"I'll join too," he said simply.
Lin Heng nodded, and soon the four of them sat in a loose circle on the floor, taking turns shuffling the stone and guessing.
"I guess… left," said Number 2 on his first turn.
Number 3 opened his hands. Empty.
"I lost," Number 2 said flatly. He didn't seem particularly upset.
They kept playing. It was simple. Stupid. But it was something.
Something to hold onto.
Lin Heng kept a mental tally of the scores.
Number 1 won six out of twelve guesses.
Number 2 got three out of eleven.
Number 3 had the best record—nine out of fifteen.
Lin Heng?
Only two out of seven.
He groaned inwardly. What the hell, is my luck cursed in this world too?
After a while, he gave up guessing and just volunteered to shuffle. Losing too many times stung more than he expected.
Thankfully, the others didn't mock him. In fact, Lin Heng was almost sure they didn't even understand how the odds worked.
Good, he thought. Let them keep thinking I'm mysterious or something.
In that quiet space, surrounded by numbered strangers and cold walls, something strange happened.
They laughed. Just a little.
They smiled. Just once or twice.
It was a moment.
A fragile, fleeting moment of childhood in the heart of hell.
They didn't talk about the injections. Or the scientists. Or the pain.
Just the stone. Just the game.
And for those few minutes, Lin Heng remembered what it felt like to be more than a test subject.
He was human again.