The 'crack' of a bone breaking was dry and smooth, and it only left a phantom sensation in your fingers for a couple of seconds after breaking it, then it disappeared completely. The sound of a gunshot was a bit louder, even with a silenced pistol, and the force made your whole arm tremble a bit during and after pulling the trigger. But bombs were a terrifying thing, a sound and a vibration that Izan only experienced, fortunately, once in all his years of indoctrination at the rebel base.


It was called HIVE. The rebel group had that name sewn on all the staff shirts, on the teacher's, and on the black lab coats of the scientists who drew dozens of vials of blood from them every week. Except for the "self-defense" lessons, where they were forced to shoot targets on occasion, the rest of the things they learned were relatively normal. Math, History, foreign languages… Izan spent many years under the impression that HIVE was some kind of school. An unconventional one that took in children without families from the Ground Floor and outcasts from the Underground. He was one of those children, and therefore he was sure that he owed his life to the rebel organization, and he had to strive to be the best.


It wasn't an individual feeling. The rest of the kids had the same need to stand out as him. The need to receive a compliment, to feel the teacher's approval, to have their peers' validation… To destroy them all and prove his worth to Mother.


"Do you feel like a success?"


Silence. Izan needed several seconds to process that question.


"Uh… Sorry?"


Aila smiled with understanding. Her gesture made Izan feel less annoyed by the initial question. It had been a couple of weeks since Izan started therapy, and he still felt strange telling his life to a rob- hologram. But somehow, saying all those things out loud lifted a great weight off his shoulders, even if sometimes the AI's questions tested his patience.


"During the last sessions, you mentioned that the HIVE experiment was 'a success'. Six times in total," the holographic woman explained. "You were part of the experiment, but you don't seem to feel like 'a success'. Why?"


"I…," he began to say, but immediately fell silent. Because he had never been top of the class. Because he was weak and let his emotions control him. Because he felt he didn't deserve everything that had happened. Because the blood staining his hands felt like a mistake, not like a success. What was he supposed to answer? "I… I don't know."


"Don't look for a right answer, Izan, just give me your answer, whatever it is," Aila leaned forward in her seat, resting the notebook and pen on her knees.


In the first sessions, Izan had felt strange when the AI stared at him for the whole hour without jotting anything down, so he had requested that small change in the session configuration the previous time. So far, it was working well.


"Seven out of twelve seems like a good success rate," he reasoned quietly, unconvinced. Aila nodded, encouraging him to continue elaborating. "I mean, from a scientific point of view, I understand that if seven out of twelve subjects result in the desired outcome, it's slightly over half, it's a success," he explained. He couldn't face the woman in front of him, so he lowered his gaze to his lap and busied himself fiddling with his fingers.


"But…?" Aila suggested.


"But from a personal point of view… It makes me sick just thinking about it," he concluded.


"You're not among the seven who make up the success?" she inquired.


"Of course I am," Izan didn't mean his response to sound almost aggressive, but it came out that way. When he looked up, he met Aila's eyes. Then he remembered he was talking to an AI, not a person. "Sorry. I… I was the first success."


"And you don't consider that to be a good thing," the holographic woman probed.


It was interesting, in each session Aila wore different clothes. Did holograms have a wardrobe? Or was there someone responsible for dressing them differently every day to mimic human behavior? Izan remembered that within the HIVE facilities he only had a couple of black shirts and the sports pants, uniformed with the rest of the boys. Black didn't show any blood stains.


"Some of them decided to die rather than become 'a success.' I don't consider it good or bad, it was just a decision I had to make."


"Decisions bring good or bad consequences," Aila supplied.


"With all due respect, life is nothing but the result of the decisions we are continuously forced to make. It is not fair for me or you to decide whether or not they are good or bad.”