My Triplet Alphas

I’ve searched every corner—ran my fingers along the rusted bars, kicked at the metal floor—but there’s no way out. The only view I have is through a narrow space between a few of the bars. From what I can tell, there are others here too—rows of cages, like mine, stretching into darkness. But I can’t see any faces. Just shadows and the occasional flicker of movement. I’ve been awake for two days now, maybe more. I don’t know how long I was unconscious before that. Once a day, people come. They unlock a cage, pull someone out, and leave. No words. No names. Just cold silence. Sometimes, someone screams. When they do, they’re silenced with a taser. The sound it makes—sharp, cruel—echoes across the room until it’s quiet again. Too quiet. Day 3 They gave me a piece of bread and a bottle of water today. It was the first thing I’ve had since waking up here—dry, tasteless, but I ate it like it was a feast. They also gave me this journal and a pencil. I don’t know why. Maybe they want us to break ourselves down on paper. The girl who handed me the food wouldn’t meet my eyes. She looked barely older than a teenager. Not a word. Not even a glance. I don’t think she’s allowed to speak. Or maybe she’s just scared too. I still don’t know where I am. Or why. I just want to go home. ⸻ Day 4 No food today. No voices. No faces. Just silence and the metal chill of this cage. I tried not to count the minutes, but there’s nothing else to do here. Just me and my thoughts… and the hunger gnawing at my ribs. ⸻ Day 5 Still nothing. I’m weak, dizzy, but I remembered something today. I wasn’t alone when this happened. I was with my husband… and our baby girl. She’s just one year old. Her laugh, her tiny hands—so full of life. My husband’s arm was around me before the world went dark. Were they taken too? Are they safe? I can’t think about the other possibility. They’re everything to me. I have to believe they’re okay. I have to. Day 6 They came for me today—two men, silent and heavy-footed. One of them growled low in his throat when I looked at him. I didn’t speak. They led me down a corridor, too dim to see clearly, to a cold, tiled room where they hosed me down like an object. No towel. No warmth. Just a cracked bowl of broth and a scrap of bread left on a metal tray to eat afterwards. Then came the chair. A dark room, mirrors I could see through, and straps too tight on my wrists. They forced my eyes open. I didn’t know what I was looking at until the shapes sharpened into my husband—on his knees. My voice wouldn’t work. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t breathe. I watched as they ended him like he was nothing. I felt myself die with him, but I couldn’t stay gone—not with my daughter still out there. I had to get to her and save her. Day 7 There are no words left inside me. I feel like a shell. But I can’t afford to break. Not yet. I still have some hope that one day I will get out of this terrible place. Day 8 Today, they gave me clothes. Not much—just a worn shirt and underclothes, but I clung to it like armor. I was told I belong to them now. That if I behave, I’ll be allowed to see my daughter. If I disobey… they let the silence fill in the rest. Day 9 They gave me food today. I didn’t speak. I didn’t resist when they took advantage of my body. I don’t know if that makes me weak, but my baby girl is still out there—and I’ll do anything to keep her safe. Day 12 I’ve noticed a pattern. The more I comply, the more I’m given. It’s manipulation, but I’m too tired to fight right now. I’ve stopped crying. Not because I’ve accepted it, but because I need all my strength to think—to plan. Day 20 The days bleed into one another. Every moment feels like a repeat of the last. Still no answers. No names. Just cold floors and faceless people. Day 30 They let me see her—Ellie. She’s safe, for now. Being cared for by older women on an upper level. There were other kids too. I memorized every hallway, every detail I could on the way there. She smiled when she saw me, and I held her like I’d never let go. But I had to. They pulled me away after an hour. Day 45 Today, I was given more clothes—a long shirt, clean underthings. I don’t know if it’s kindness or another form of control. They said I’ll be starting “work” tomorrow. I’m afraid, but also hopeful. Maybe I’ll learn something—maybe I’ll find a crack in this place. Day 46 I was tasked with handing out food to other prisoners today. When I asked one girl in another cage if she knew anything, I was punished. Tased. Stripped of my clothing again. Locked back in silence. I should have known better, but the silence is unbearable—I needed a voice that wasn’t mine. Day 50 No food. No water. They’re starving me as punishment. But I noticed someone new in the cage next to me. Maybe there’s still hope. Day 51 Today, they returned me to the room. The same chair. The same threats, veiled in their fake smiles. One of them said, “No one’s coming for you. We’re wolves. Humans don’t enter packs.” My blood ran cold. Are they telling the truth? Am I truly unreachable? I refuse to believe that. Someone out there must be looking. And if no one is—then I’ll find a way myself. I must remain strong.