Chapter nine_secondary classification
1272 Words
Mira Pov
They didn’t take me back to the holding room.
That was the first thing that felt wrong.
When the door opened, and I was told to stand, I expected the same corridor I had already started to memorize, the same dull walk back past identical doors and silent guards. Instead, the direction changed.
Left instead of right.
Deeper instead of back.
No one explained why.
The woman who had collected my blood walked slightly ahead of me, holding a tablet close to her chest like it mattered more than anything else in the building. She didn’t look at me once, not even when I slowed down a little just to see if she would notice.
She didn’t.
That silence between us made my thoughts louder.
We passed two guarded doors before I realized the atmosphere had changed. The guards here didn’t look like the ones from the holding room. They were more alert, more structured, like they were protecting something instead of just watching people.
That detail alone made my stomach tighten.
“Where are we going?” I asked finally.
The woman didn’t slow down.
“Processing wing,” she replied.
That wasn’t an answer that made anything clearer.
I tried again.
“Processing for what?”
Still nothing.
She just tapped something on her tablet and kept walking.
The hallway eventually widened into a space that looked almost like a clinic waiting area, except far too clean and far too quiet to feel normal. There were no crying girls here, no chaos, no visible fear. Instead, there were a few people sitting quietly in chairs, each one accompanied by a guard standing slightly behind them.
No one spoke.
No one even looked at each other.
That made it worse.
Because silence like this didn’t feel like peace. It felt controlled. We didn’t stop there. We kept moving. Through another door. Then another.
Until the air itself started to feel different.
Heavier.
Like I was walking further away from whatever version of “normal” I had left.
Eventually, we stopped in front of a large double door.
This one wasn’t like the others.
There were no labels I could understand. Just a symbol I didn’t recognize engraved into the metal.The woman finally turned slightly toward me.
“This is where classification is confirmed,” she said.
I frowned.
“Confirmed on what?”
She hesitated just long enough for me to notice. Then she opened the door. Inside was nothing like the holding room.
It looked more like a control center. Not medical. Not prison-like. Something in between. There were monitors on the walls, people moving calmly between stations, and several figures seated at desks reviewing data.
But what caught my attention immediately were the people standing off to the side. Girls. A small group.
Maybe six or seven. All dressed the same way I was. All quiet. All waiting. One of them looked up as I entered.
Our eyes met briefly.
She didn’t look scared anymore.
She looked… resigned.
That expression made something uneasy settle in my chest. The woman led me to a marked position on the floor.
A small white circle.
“Stand there,” she said.
I hesitated.
“Why?”
“Stand there.”
I stepped into it.
The moment I did, someone behind one of the desks spoke.
“She’s the new evaluation subject?”
The woman nodded.
A few people looked up at me then.
Not like before.
This time it wasn’t casual observation. It felt structured.
Like I had been placed somewhere specific in a system I couldn’t see. Doctor Hale entered the room a few seconds later, and I recognized him immediately. He didn’t look surprised to see me again.
That was worse than everything else.
He walked to the central desk and placed a file down.
“This one is confirmed secondary classification,” he said.
Someone beside him frowned.
“Based on what marker?”
“Blood response.”
A quiet shift went through the room. Not panic, not excitement. Something more controlled.
The woman who brought me here stepped back slightly, as if she no longer needed to be involved.
That made my chest tighten.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
No one answered me.
Instead, Doctor Hale looked at me directly.
“This is not a holding subject anymore,” he said calmly. “She is classified for auction preparation.”
The word didn’t register at first.
Auction.
It sounded too normal for what it meant.
Like something you’d hear about objects.
Not people.
I let out a short breath.
“You’re joking.”
No one reacted to that either. One of the monitors beside him changed screens. Rows of data appeared. My name was on it.
Mira Carter.
Seeing it there made something in my stomach drop in a way I couldn’t explain.
“I want to leave,” I said immediately.
The words felt useless the second they left my mouth.
Doctor Hale adjusted his glasses.
“That is not an option anymore.”
My hands curled slightly at my sides without me realizing it.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
A few people glanced at each other at that. Not because I was wrong. But because I had spoken at all, Doctor Hale didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked closer.
Not threatening. Just certain.
“You were never part of the initial classification system,” he said. “You were an anomaly. That alone would have kept you under observation indefinitely.”
He paused.
Then added something quieter.
“But your blood changed that.”
My heartbeat slowed for a second.
“What about my blood?”
No answer. Not directly. Instead, he turned slightly toward the others in the room.
“She is confirmed for valuation stage.”
That phrase made my skin go cold. Valuation. Like I could be measured, assigned worth. Behind me, I heard movement.
The other girls in the room shifted slightly. Not speaking. But listening more closely now.
One of them whispered something under her breath.
I couldn’t hear the words, but I heard the fear in it.
Doctor Hale continued.
“Preparation begins immediately. Transfer to the auction holding sector will occur once classification is finalized.”
My head snapped toward him.
“Transfer?”
He finally looked at me again.
“Yes.”
That was it, no emotion, just confirmation.
I took a step back before I could stop myself.
“No,” I said again, louder this time.
The woman near the door moved slightly as if anticipating something, but no one stopped me yet.That silence felt intentional. Like they were waiting to see what I would do.
Doctor Hale tilted his head slightly.
“This is not a negotiation.”
Something inside me shifted at that moment. Not courage, not acceptance. Just shock turning into something sharper.
“What happens if I refuse?”
A pause.
Then he answered.
“You won’t.”
That single line hit harder than anything else. Because it wasn’t a threat.It was certainty.A guard stepped forward slightly behind me, not touching.
Just close enough that I understood what the space meant.
Doctor Hale picked up the file again.
“Move her.”
The words were calm too calm.
And that was when I realized I was no longer being evaluated.I was already being moved forward. Not toward safety and not toward answers.
Toward something I still hadn’t seen yet.
The doors behind me opened again.
And I was taken forward before I could decide what I wanted to do about any of it.
- Writer
