My name is LaKoia Takichi McAlley. Call me LaKoia. I have a little brother named Jake, and he's 11 as I'm writing this. I don't know how, when, or even where you're reading this, but whoever you are, this is my story.

I guess it all started before I was even born. The teacher's voice streamed into my unborn baby ears. I don't know how it was done, but it was. Fast-forward 9 months, and I was born. I was wrapped in a baby-pink blanket and sent on a conveyor belt. I was just a baby, and I couldn't do anything, Plus, I was pretty comfy in the blanket. I just let everything happen. Eventually, I was back in the room where I was born. The beads in my mom's hair jangled nervously as the doctor checked the results. The screening was over. I was perfect. I was going to be in kindergarten. After they implanted me with a chip, my mom was allowed to hold me for a bit. I was pretty tired after the screening, so I just fell asleep.

When I woke up, I was in a little brown crib, decorated with little pink stuff, in a little white room. There was a little brown bed with little pink stuff as well, for when I would be upgraded to the "big-kid bed," There was a little white bedside table, and a white rocking chair that my mom was sitting in. She was wearing a pink knit sweater and some black leggings. Her long black hair was pulled up into some kind of cross between a braid and a bun.

"Good morning, sweetie," she cooed. "Are you excited for kindergarten?"

I would have said something, but I'd barely entered the world yet. I just made some kind of happy baby noise, and she took it as a yes. She picked me up, put me in some pink footie jammies with a 37 written on it, and set me in a cozy little baby car seat. We walked out of the dorm, went down the elevator, and walked out to a bus. A nice-looking old woman stepped out of the bus and put my car seat on the bus with 30 other kids. At first, I thought it was weird, but then I remembered that they told us this during the preschool classes.

The ride to school was pretty short, and I didn't really care. I was just a baby. The nice old lady set me down on a little mat in front of a desk with my name on it. LaKoia Takichi McAlley, 37. There were other little mats and desks set up in rows. The walls were covered in posters of letters and numbers and stuff. The floor was covered in soft, squishy carpet. The old lady set my little car seat down next to my desk, and I sat there, looking around. It was honestly pretty cool to baby-me, but looking back, it was kinda creepy.

Eventually, the teacher, who was this lady with black hair in a bun and glasses, came over and picked me up. She helped every little baby into their seats and started the class. There were about 30 kids, and they were all under a year old. The teacher introduced herself as Mrs. Frost. She had big blue eyes and a friendly smile.

The class was pretty cool. We sang songs, played with blocks, and did crafts. There was this one game where we had to match shapes to their corresponding holes, and I was really good at it. I was the fastest one in the whole class, and I got a sticker for it. Mrs. Frost was impressed. She gave me a big smile and patted me on the head. I was proud of myself.

After a while, it was time for breakfast. Mrs. Frost led the whole class to the cafeteria. There were little chairs and tables with little plastic trays on them. We all sat down and got our breakfast. There were also some toys scattered around the tables, so I played with them after I ate.

After breakfast, it was time for gym class. We all had to go to the gym, which was down the hall. The gym was big and full of all sorts of cool equipment. There was a big jungle gym, a little slide, some baby-sized trampolines, and lots of other stuff. The teacher, Coach Johnson, was this big guy with a bald head and a big smile. He was really nice, and he helped me climb up the jungle gym and bounce on the trampolines.

I was having so much fun that I didn't even notice when it was time for lunch. We went back to the cafeteria, and I ate some baby food. After that, we went out for recess. The playground was right outside, and it was huge! There were swings, slides, a jungle gym, a sandbox, and even a little merry-go-round. All the kids ran around and played together. I tried to climb up the jungle gym, but I was still too little, so I played in the sandbox instead. It was soft and warm, and I made little castles with my hands.

After recess, we went back to class, and Mrs. Frost read us a story about some animals. Then we played with some toys. Then, it was time for dinner. The dinner lady, whose name was Mrs. Johnson, helped me get my tray and brought me to the cafeteria. I sat down at my little table with some of my friends and ate my food. It was yummy! After dinner, we had a quiet time where we could just play with our toys. I liked that part the best because it was my favorite time to play with my favorite toys.

Finally, it was time to go home. Mrs. Frost helped us into our car seats, and we were all carried out to the bus. It was dark out. The nice old lady drove us back to our houses. My mom was there to pick me up. She gave Mrs. Frost a big hug and thanked her for taking such good care of me. I waved bye to all my classmates and teachers. I had so much fun at school.

The next day, I woke up and couldn't wait to go back. It was the same routine as before: class, breakfast, gym, lunch, recess, class, dinner, quiet time, and then bed. I made new connections, learned lots of stuff, and had the best time ever. School was so much fun, and I was glad that I got to go there.

One day, during recess, I tried to climb up the jungle gym. I was getting better at it, but I still needed help sometimes. A bigger kid, whose name was Jimmy, saw that I was struggling. He came over and showed me how to do it. He was really nice, and he let me try again after each time I fell. I finally made it to the top, and I felt so proud of myself.

Another time, during art class, we were all given paper and pencils to draw whatever we wanted. I didn't know what to draw, so I asked the teacher, Mrs. Wilson, for help. She sat down next to me and showed me how to draw a cat. She had the most beautiful smile. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up.

One day, during lunch, I spilled my milk all over the table. Some of the other kids laughed at me, but not Mrs. Frost. She came over with a bunch of paper towels and helped me clean it up. Then she gave me a new cup of milk and a napkin to dry my hands. She told me it was okay, and that accidents happen. I felt better after that. But for some reason, I never saw those kids again. I didn't really miss them either.

As the months passed, we started learning more and more. We learned our ABCs, 123s, and even some basic math. It was hard, but I liked the challenge. The teachers were always watching us, making sure we were perfect. They never raised their voices, but you could tell when they were unhappy. It was like a shadow fell over the room, and everyone got really still.

Finally, it was the day before I turned one. The day of my first-grade screening. Mom looked so proud as she put me in my uniform. She told me that if I passed, I'd get to go to the big kid's school. I didn't really understand what that meant, but I knew it was important. We took the elevator down to the first floor, where a doctor was waiting for me. He had a cold smile and a clipboard with lots of papers. By then, I was able to walk and talk.

The doctor led me and my mom into a room. I was told to recite my name, birthdate, and ID number. After that, he took a blood sample. It hurt a bit, but it was fine. Then, he asked me a bunch of questions about shapes and colors. Then he gave me a toy car and asked me to count how many wheels it had. I told him four, and he nodded. Next, he gave me a piece of paper with a line drawing of a duck. He asked me what it was called. I told him it was a duck, and he seemed satisfied.

Finally, the doctor explained to my mom that I had passed the screening and could go to the big kid's school. I didn't really understand what that meant, but it made my mom happy. She hugged me and told me how proud she was. We got my new uniform, went home, and got ready for bed. As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation and excitement for the new adventures that awaited me at the big kid's school.

The first day of school came, and I was nervous. Mom helped me put on my uniform, and we took the elevator down to the first floor. The big kid's school was huge compared to the one I had been in before. There were so many kids and teachers, and everything was brighter and more colorful. My new teacher, Mrs. Adams, was nice. She had curly hair and wore glasses, and she smiled a lot. She led me to my desk and showed me where everything was.

The other kids were all different sizes and colors, and they talked differently. Some of them had accents I'd never heard before. They seemed curious about me too, but they were nice. They didn't laugh or point when they saw me, which was nice. At recess, we played on the swings and the slide. I had to use my walker outside, but some of the bigger kids helped me push it. They didn't seem to mind, and they even let me play with them sometimes.

During lunch, I sat with Mrs. Adams at her table. She gave me some different foods to try, and they were delicious. I liked the way they tasted, but I couldn't eat as much as the other kids. They seemed to eat more than me every day. After lunch, we went back to class and did some reading. My new friends helped me sound out the words, and I felt like I was learning so much more than I ever had before.

One day, I was playing with my friends at recess when I tripped and fell. I scraped my knee pretty badly, and it hurt. Some of the older kids saw me, and they laughed and pointed. I started to cry, but Jimmy from kindergarten came over and helped me up. He cleaned my knee with his shirt and told me it was okay. Then he walked me back to the swing set and sat with me until it was time to go back inside. I never saw those kids again.

After that, we had art class. Mrs. Adams showed us how to paint using different colors and brushes. I wasn't very good at it at first, but Jimmy helped me. He showed me how to mix colors and use different brushstrokes. By the end of class, I had a painting that looked like a real duck! Jimmy smiled at me and said it was beautiful.

One day, we were learning about the letter A. The teacher, Mrs. Adams, handed me a piece of paper with an A on it and asked me what it was called. I told her it was an A, just like she taught me. She smiled and said that was right. I felt proud of myself, just like my mom had when I passed the screening.

After that, we went to the library. Mrs. Adams let me help her pick out some books. I found a book about animals, and Jimmy helped me carry it to the cart. We went to the computer lab, and Jimmy showed me how to use the computers. He helped me type my name, and we played a game together. It was fun.

When it was time for lunch, I decided to try something new. I saw 2 kids sitting alone, so I sat with them. The girl told me her name was Samantha, and the boy told me his name was Lucas. We talked about what we liked and didn't like. They seemed nice, and we had a lot in common. We all laughed and talked, and it was the best lunch I'd had in a long time.

After lunch, we went to P.E. class. It was fun. We played soccer, and I got to be on a team with Samantha and Lucas. They helped me kick the ball and run after it. They cheered for me when I scored a goal. It felt good to be part of a team.

One day, we were learning about shapes. Mrs. Adams showed us a circle and a square, and we had to draw them on our papers. I did my absolute best. Mrs. Adams said I did best in the class. She asked if I wanted to help her write something on the board, and I said yes. She gave me a piece of chalk, and I carefully wrote the word "circle." Everyone clapped, and I felt proud of myself.

After that, we went to the music room. Mrs. Adams showed us how to play a song on the xylophones. I wasn't very good at it at first, but Jimmy helped me. He showed me which sticks went with which notes, and soon enough, we were making music together. We played our song for the class, and everyone clapped for us. It was my favorite part of the day.

One day, we had an incident on the playground. A bunch of security guards were heading over to the open area, where a bunch of kids were playing a game. I didn't know how to play, but that turned out to be a good thing. There was a kid with a notebook standing there, pointing to some other kids. There were about 20 if I recall correctly. The security guards came over and grabbed them. The security guards pulled out their dart guns and shot every kid who knew how to play the game. The kid with the notebook was the last one to get shot. Every kid who was shot instantly dropped to the ground. There was no saving them.

I remember feeling scared, but also confused. Why were they being shot? What had they done wrong? It didn't seem fair. The security guards didn't even ask any questions. They just pulled out their dart guns. I later learned it was because the kid who made that game was running in the halls and got terminated. Apparently, if a kid who made up a game gets terminated, then anyone who knows how to play that game also gets terminated. I guess that's how the system works here.

After that incident, things changed at school. There were always security guards watching us, and they would sometimes point at kids and make them disappear. I tried not to think about it too much, but it was hard not to be scared. Jimmy and I would still hang out, but sometimes he would be quieter than usual.

One day, I saw Jimmy drawing in his notebook during lunch. I asked him what he was working on, and he showed me a picture of a game he had been thinking about. It looked fun, but I didn't say anything about it to him.

Another day, during P.E. class, Jimmy was kicking the soccer ball really hard. The ball went flying and accidentally hit one of the security guards in the face. The guard grabbed Jimmy roughly and dragged him away. I couldn't believe it. Jimmy didn't even know what he'd done wrong.

After that, Jimmy didn't come to school anymore. I didn't see him anywhere. His chair was empty, and no one would talk about him. It felt like everyone was just pretending he'd never existed. I wondered what had happened to him.

One day, security guards were cleaning out Jimmy's desk, erasing his identity from the stuff, and giving anything they could to a different kid. I guess that's how it works when you're gone. I didn't know what to do with the notebook Jimmy had given me, so I kept it. It felt wrong to just throw it away.

Finally, my second-grade screening came along. I sat nervously in front of the examiner, trying to focus on the questions. My hands were shaking as I filled out the bubble sheets. I knew that if I failed, it would be the end of me. I would be terminated, just like Jimmy and those other kids. The examiner seemed impatient, like he wanted me to hurry up. I tried to go as fast as I could without making any mistakes.

When it was finally over, I waited nervously for my score. The examiner told me and my mom that I was still perfect. In fact, I'd improved. My heart leapt in my chest at the news. It meant that I was safe... for now. My mom hugged me tightly, relieved that her little girl had made it through another year.

As we walked home, I wondered what second grade would be like. Would there be more tests? More games? More Jimmy-like kids who just wanted to play and create? My mom tried to reassure me that everything would be okay, but I couldn't help feeling a sense of foreboding. She told me that she was proud of me for doing my best and that no matter what happened, we'd face it together. Her words meant a lot to me, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

That night, as I laid in bed, I thought about the game Jimmy had been working on. It was a good game, and I wished I could have played it with him. I hoped he was okay wherever he was.

The next day, I went to school and sat down at my desk. As I waited for the teacher to arrive, I glanced around the room, taking in the faces of my classmates. Some of them looked scared, while others tried to act tough. But deep down, I knew we were all just kids trying to survive.

Then, our new teacher came in. Her name was Mrs. Thompson, and she had gray eyes that pierced through your soul. She was the strictest teacher so far. She told us to recite the long, long list of school rules.

"No running in the halls. No speaking without permission. No relationships beyond blood relatives," the class said.

Mrs. Thompson nodded. "That's correct. Now, that's only a fraction of our rules, but stating them all would take up the whole class," she said. "You're going to start doing that every year, since second grade is the first year of school where everyone is able to speak,"

I felt a shiver run down my spine at her words. Second grade was the year where everything changed. We were no longer toddlers in diapers, or young kids learning our ABCs. We were students, and we were being groomed for the harsh world that lay ahead.

As the days went by, I tried my best to follow the rules. I didn't speak out of turn, I didn't run in the halls, and I didn't make friends. It was difficult, but I knew that if I wanted to survive, I had to be strong.

One day, Mrs. Thompson called me up to her desk. My heart skipped a beat as I wondered what I had done. She congratulated me. I was top of the class. I couldn't believe it. It was the first time in a while that I had felt truly happy.

"Good job, LaKoia," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're a perfect student. But remember, you can always be better."

Her words stuck with me as I walked back to my seat. I sat down and looked around the room. Some of the kids looked at me with envy, others with something closer to fear. I knew I had to keep my head down and not get noticed. Being too perfect could be just as dangerous as being imperfect.

As the year went on, the work got harder, and the stakes grew higher. We started learning about the real world. We studied the history of the academy, the importance of perfection, and the consequences of rebellion.

My final days of second grade had finally arrived. The tension in the air was palpable as I awaited my end-of-year screening. The dreaded day before my birthday, when my fate would be decided, was approaching. Despite my age, I studied harder than I'd ever studied before, trying to memorize every rule, every fact, every piece of knowledge they threw at us.

On the day of my screening, I went over every piece of info in my head. I was so nervous that my knees were knocking together like they had a mind of their own. As I stepped into the cold, sterile room, I felt like a robot about to be analyzed for a flaw. The examiners looked at me with their emotionless eyes, and I recited my name, birthdate, and ID number.

The blood test was quick and painless, but the mental screening was terrifying. They asked me questions that made my head spin, trying to catch me in a lie or a lapse of judgment. I had to remember everything I had learned about the academy, about our history, and about the importance of following the rules. I couldn't let them see the doubt that was slowly creeping into my mind.

The physical screening was next, and I had to perform tasks that seemed almost inhuman in their precision. I had to stand on one leg, hold my breath, and even do a perfect somersault without bending my knees. I could feel their eyes on me, scrutinizing every move, looking for any imperfection.

But it was the emotional screening that really scared me. They played videos of people doing bad things and asked me how I felt. If I showed any empathy or sadness, it was considered a weakness. I had to be cold, detached, and indifferent. It was like they were trying to strip away every piece of humanity I had left.

Finally, the educational screening. It was the most intense one yet. They asked me questions that even the teachers had trouble answering. I sweated through my uniform as I scribbled down the answers, hoping they were right.

After what felt like an eternity, the screening was over. I waited outside, clutching my ID card tightly. The silence was deafening, and the air was thick with anticipation. Then, the door opened, and the examiner called my name.

"You have passed," he said. "Extra credit"

I let out a sigh of relief, but my heart was still racing. I looked at the examiner, unsure of what to say. I was one step closer to graduation, but the fear of what could happen next was never far from my mind.

"Thank you," I said. The words felt strange in my mouth, like I was thanking him for letting me live another year.

When I got back to my dorm, I started going over plans for my 3rd birthday. We didn't celebrate birthdays at Iron Gate, but the kids who are top of their class get mentioned on the morning announcements. It was something to look forward to, even if it was just for a few seconds. But as I laid in bed that night, my thoughts drifted to Jimmy and the others who had been taken away.

I had overheard whispers from the older kids about what really happened to them. They had been shot with dart guns. If they didn't die, they were taken to a room. A room where they were strapped to a table and hooked up to all sorts of equipment. Sometimes, they were just taken straight to the room. It was all very hushed and secretive, but I knew it was true. The fear in their eyes when they talked about it was real.

As the months went by, I grew more and more determined to find out the truth. I started paying attention to the stories my teachers told us, looking for any hints of a world beyond the academy's walls. I asked my teacher when we'd learn more about the real world. He said that I'll learn when I'm older.

One evening, as I was eating my dinner in the cafeteria, I noticed a security guard dragging a kid through the door. His eyes were wide with fear, and he was struggling to get away. The man ignored him. Just dragged him away. That kid was in my class. I never saw him again.

The whispers grew louder. We all knew what happened to the ones who were "terminated." They either died or were taken to the room. The room where there's no escape. The room where you're never heard from again. I had to be careful. I couldn't let my curiosity be the reason I was next.

Third grade was even more intense. Mrs. Thompson was replaced by Mrs. Castellanos, who had a stern face that never seemed to smile. We studied history, but it was the history of Iron Gate Academy, not the outside world. We learned about the Great Cleansing, where all imperfections were removed from society. The teachers talked about it like it was a good thing. Like we should be grateful to live in such a perfect place. But I was wondering when we'd learn about the history of the real world. So I asked.

Mrs. Castellanos paused, looking at me over her glasses. "You'll start learning about the real world in a few months," she said. "But for now, focus on your studies. They're your priority."

I nodded, trying to hide my disappointment. The real world was a mysterious place to me. Everyone just thought it was as strict as school. I heard from the older kids that the real world was nothing but bad stuff. But I wanted to know more. I needed to know more.

As the days went by, I found myself looking for any clues. Any little slip-up from the teachers, any misplaced book in the library that talked about something other than Iron Gate. I knew I was pushing it, but I had to know.

One day, during recess, I saw a girl with a book tucked under her arm. It was a book that wasn't part of our curriculum, and the title was obscured by her hand. Curiosity piqued, I approached her casually, trying not to draw attention. She looked nervous when she saw me, quickly hiding the book behind her back.

"What's that?" I asked, feigning innocence.

The girl looked around before she whispered, "It's a book from outside. It's about... things that aren't in our schoolbooks."

Her name was Lila, and she smuggled books into the academy. Her eyes were full of secrets and excitement. I couldn't believe it. This was my chance to finally learn about the world beyond Iron Gate.

"Where did you get it?" I whispered, looking around to make sure no teachers were nearby.

Lila leaned in closer, her eyes shining with mischief. "Every night, I go to the gates. There's a huge pile of contraband there. Someone from outside left it there," she confided. "There's all sorts of stuff, like books that tell the truth."

Her words sent a thrill of excitement through me. "The truth?" I echoed.

Lila nodded. "Yeah, stuff about things."

I felt a sudden jolt of excitement. "Can I see that book?"

Lila hesitated before finally handing it over. The cover was worn and the pages were yellowed, but the title was clear enough: "Modern History." It was like holding a piece of forbidden fruit.

The bell rang. Lila snatched the book back from me. "I... I can't keep this here," she said. Then she just ran. I watched her disappear into the sea of uniforms, wondering what I had just gotten myself into.

That night, after everyone else had gone to sleep, I peeked out my dorm window and saw something. Lila was at the gates, rummaging through the pile of contraband. I knew I had to find out more. I waited until the lights dimmed, then tiptoed out of my room. The corridor was eerily quiet, and I could feel my heart racing. I had never snuck out before, but the need to know was stronger than my fear.

When I reached the gates, Lila looked up, happy to see me. She told me that she'd read the book. "It's about every major event from the last 20 years," she said. "There's some pretty insane stuff in there."

We talked in hushed tones, hidden in the shadows of the school's looming architecture. Lila showed me pages upon pages, but something didn't seem right. It was all bad stuff. I guess the stuff they've been teaching us was the truth. The world was a mess outside. But the book said there's a few places that the bad hasn't gotten to.

They were called "The Cities," and they were safe havens in all the bad. We would go there once we graduated.

We heard footsteps coming towards us. It was a security guard. Panic set in. I froze, my heart thumping in my chest. Lila, however, remained surprisingly calm. She looked up at the guard with innocent eyes.

"Good evening, ladies," he said. "Left your books out here?"

Lila held up a textbook. "Yes, sir. I was just getting it."

The guard nodded and continued his patrol. We waited until he was out of sight before letting out a collective sigh of relief. "You have to be careful," she said, her voice still low. "They're always watching."

"Why do you do this?" I asked, still clutching the book. "Why risk it?"

Lila shrugged. "Because we have to know. We can't just live in ignorance."

I nodded, feeling a spark of rebelliousness ignite within me. We exchanged whispers about the book and the mysteries it contained. We talked about the Cities and the promise of freedom that lay beyond the school's cold, unforgiving walls. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had a purpose. A secret mission to uncover the truth and maybe, just maybe, find a way out.

But I knew that it was wrong, and that if I wanted to maintain my status as a top student, I had to obey the rules. So, I handed the book back to Lila with trembling hands, promising to keep her secret.

As the weeks went by, I found myself sneaking out more and more often to meet Lila. Each time we met, she had new information, new books, and new stories about the world beyond. Her knowledge was vast and terrifying. She talked about wars, diseases, and poverty. I couldn't believe that the teachers had been telling the truth to us all along.

One night, she showed me a map. It was an ancient, crumpled thing that she had found in one of the books. It had big red Xs on some of the cities. "The Xs mark a section the good stuff is," she whispered, her eyes lighting up with hope. "That's where we'll go when we graduate."

I couldn't believe it. The possibility of escape was more real than ever before. I had to know if it was true. "How do you know this isn't just a story?" I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

Lila looked at me seriously. "I have a friend," she said. "A friend who's from the outside. He tells me things."

I stared at her, trying to comprehend what she was saying. "A friend from outside? Who?"

Lila leaned in even closer, her voice barely a murmur. "His name is Jake. He sneaks around the gates at night."

My eyes widened in shock. "But how do you know him?"

Lila's smile was tight. "I don't know him personally, but I know of him. He's been leaving notes and books for me. He says he wants to help."

The thought of someone from the outside caring enough to risk their life for us was overwhelming. I felt a mix of hope and fear. "What do the notes say?"

Lila pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "They're mostly warnings," she said. "He says that The Cities are a safe haven and that we must follow our school's rules to survive to graduation!"

My mind raced with questions. "But why would he risk it? Why would he help us?"

Lila's smile grew a bit wider. "Because he says he used to go here. It was before the school sent students to The Cities," she said. "He says he remembers a world of perfection where we can be free from all the bad."

After she said that, I realized that it was getting late. My free time was almost up, "I have to get back home," I said before running back to my dorm.

As I laid in bed, I thought about why I was doing this. I knew this couldn't go on forever. Lila and I weren't friends. Nobody here was. I had to turn Lila in. I came up with a plan to tell a security guard without her knowing. We weren't in the same class, so I'd be able to do so in my classroom.

The next day, I put my plan into action. I told a security guard about Lila's plan of escape. I didn't mention the books or the notes, just that she talked about a place called "The Cities" and had a friend named Jake. The guard's eyes narrowed, and he thanked me for the information.

I never saw Lila again after that. But my fourth-grade screening was coming up soon. I had to keep my grades up and not let the stress of my secret get to me. The days grew longer, and the pressure mounted with every tick of the clock. I studied harder than ever before, pushing aside thoughts of Lila and the outside world.

The morning of my screening, I woke up feeling like I was in a dream. I went through the motions of getting dressed, brushing my teeth, and eating my breakfast, all while my mind was racing with fear and anticipation. I had to be perfect. If I wasn't, I didn't know what would happen.

As I waited outside the screening room, I couldn't help but think about Lila. I hoped she was okay, wherever she was. I knew I had to focus on myself, but the guilt of betraying her was like a heavy weight on my shoulders. I took a deep breath and told myself that it was for the best.

When the door opened, I was called in for my fourth-grade screening. The same cold, emotionless faces greeted me. They took me through the same rigorous tests, checking every aspect of my being to ensure that I was still worthy of Iron Gate Academy's perfection.

The blood test was quick, the mental screening was grueling, and the physical screening pushed me to my limits. I felt like a lab rat being poked and prodded, but I endured it all, keeping my thoughts of Lila and the outside world buried deep within.

Finally, the emotional screening began. The examiner, a stern-faced man with cold eyes, sat before me. He placed a metal cap on my head, and I felt a strange sensation, like my thoughts were being plucked out of my brain and examined one by one. I had to keep my emotions in check, to not let on that I knew more than I should.

"Now, LaKoia, think of your happiest memory," he instructed, his voice emotionless.

I conjured up a perfect memory from my time at Iron Gate. Something that would make them believe I was still as obedient and innocent as the day I had arrived. The day I earned my first sticker from Mrs. Frost. The day that felt like yesterday.

The examiner nodded, his eyes focused on the machine in front of him. The needle on the screen danced to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I held my breath, willing the lie to seep into every part of me.

"Now, think of something that makes you angry or sad," he said.

I struggled to come up with something that wouldn't give me away. I couldn't think of Lila or the books. I couldn't think of the fear I felt every day. Instead, I thought of the time I fell and scraped my knee and the older kids laughed. It was a small, insignificant memory, but it was the closest thing to true anger or sadness I could safely access.

"Your emotional responses are within acceptable parameters," the examiner said, scribbling something on his clipboard. "You may proceed to the final stage of the screening."

I walked into the last room, where a woman with a gentle smile was waiting. This was the educational screening, where they'd assess my knowledge and learning capabilities. I sat down at the desk, heart racing.

"Good afternoon, LaKoia," she said, her voice soothing. "We're just going to have a little chat, okay?"

I nodded, trying to calm my racing heart. The woman began to ask me questions about the school's history, our duties as future citizens, and the importance of perfection. Each question felt like a test within itself, and I responded with the rehearsed answers that had been drilled into me since kindergarten.

As she spoke, I noticed a slight tremor in her hand. Was she nervous too? Or was it something else? I couldn't help but wonder if she knew about the whispers, the books, and the rumors of the outside world.

"And what do you know about the Great Cleansing?" she asked, her voice still gentle.

I recited the scripted answer, trying to ignore the tremor in her hand. "The Great Cleansing was the day our society rid itself of all imperfections to create a perfect world. It was a necessary step to ensure our prosperity and security."

The woman nodded, her smile never wavering. "Very good, LaKoia. And what do you believe is the most important rule at Iron Gate Academy?"

I swallowed hard. "To be perfect in every way," I responded, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.

Her smile grew slightly. "And what does that mean to you, LaKoia?"

I searched for the right words, knowing that any misstep could be disastrous. "It means to always do my best, to follow the rules, and to help maintain the order and purity of our school."

The woman's smile remained, but her eyes searched mine. It was as if she could see right through me. I held her gaze, willing her to believe my words. Finally, she nodded and marked something on her clipboard. "You've done very well, LaKoia. You're a credit to Iron Gate."

As I left the room, the tremor in her hand was the only sign that she had felt something I hadn't felt—fear. But fear of what? The outside? The truth? Or was it something else entirely?

Still, I couldn't wait to meet my fourth-grade teacher. Mrs. Rela had a reputation for being strict but fair. I hoped she would be like Mrs. Frost, who had made sure kindergarten would be as fun as the school would let her make it.

The first day of fourth grade was a blur of new faces and new routines. Mrs. Rela was indeed strict, but she had a way of explaining things that made even the most complicated subjects seem simple. I found myself drawn to her, hoping she might understand my curiosity about the outside world.

But it wasn't just the classes that had changed. The school had become more vigilant since Lila's disappearance. Security patrols had increased, and whispers of secret meetings and rebellion had ceased. It was as if a blanket of silence had been thrown over Iron Gate, smothering any sparks of dissent. The other students seemed more closed off, their eyes darting around, searching for any signs of trouble.

I tried to focus on my studies, but the weight of the secret I held grew heavier with each passing day. I found myself glancing at the gates during recess, wondering if Jake was out there, watching us. Was he real, or was he just a figment of Lila's imagination?

In the quiet moments, I missed Lila. Her spirit and her passion had been contagious. She had made me feel alive in a way that the sterile halls of Iron Gate never could. But I pushed her from my mind, telling myself that it was for the best.

As the months ticked by, I threw myself into my studies. I became the model student, always eager to learn, always eager to please. Mrs. Rela noticed the change in me, and so did everyone else. I was praised for my dedication, and the whispers of rebellion that had once surrounded me dissipated like smoke in the wind. But beneath the facade, I was more restless than ever. The thoughts of Lila and the outside world haunted my dreams, leaving me feeling trapped in a cage of my own making.

Eventually, the day before my 5th birthday arrived. I was having my fifth-grade screening today. The anticipation was suffocating. I had to be perfect. If I failed, I knew what awaited me. The whispers of terminated students echoed in my mind as I dressed in my uniform.

I walked to the screening room with my mom. She looked at me with a mix of pride and fear in her eyes. I knew she had been told the consequences of failure. The room was cold, the walls a stark white that made me feel like I was in a hospital. The same faces greeted me, but this time, there was an underlying tension that even the most disciplined of us couldn't ignore.

The blood test was quick, but the nurse's grip on my arm was tight. The mental screening was a labyrinth of questions that twisted my thoughts into knots. The physical examiner was a cold, unfeeling man who pushed and poked at my body as if I were a ragdoll. I held my breath and hoped that I would pass.

Finally, it was time for the emotional screening. Mrs. Rela was there, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and something else I couldn't quite pinpoint. "Good luck, LaKoia," she whispered as the examiner led me into the room.

The examiner was a stoic woman with a severe bun and glasses that magnified her eyes. She attached the metal cap to my head and began the questioning. I focused on the script, keeping my thoughts in check, until she asked, "What scares you the most?"

I paused, the question throwing me off-guard. My mind raced for the safest answer, something that wouldn't raise suspicion. "The dark," I lied, hoping it was mundane enough.

The examiner's eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing through me. "Elaborate," she demanded.

I took a deep breath and tried to think of something that wouldn't give me away. "The unknown," I said finally. "Being alone in the dark without knowing what's around me."

Her eyes stayed on me, unblinking. "What about the dark outside the school?" she asked, her voice low and measured.

I felt a chill run down my spine. Had she heard the whispers? Did she know about Lila and the books? I searched for the right response, something that would appease her without revealing too much. "I don't know what you mean," I replied, my voice as calm as I could make it.

Her eyes remained on me, unyielding. "You know exactly what I mean," she said, her voice like ice. "The darkness beyond these walls. The darkness of the world that we protect you from."

My heart raced, but I kept my face neutral. "There is no darkness outside of Iron Gate," I recited, the words feeling like glass shards in my mouth. "Only perfection and order."

The examiner leaned closer, her eyes searching mine. "And what do you think of those who seek to bring darkness into our perfect world?"

I knew the right answer, the one that would keep me safe. "They are the imperfections that need to be removed," I said, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

Mrs. Rela's expression was unreadable. "And what if you were to find something beautiful in that darkness?" she pressed.

I felt a lump form in my throat. "Beauty is subjective," I replied carefully. "Here, at Iron Gate, we learn to appreciate the order and purity that keep us safe."

The examiner studied me for what felt like an eternity before she nodded and removed the cap. "Very well, LaKoia. You may proceed to the educational screening."

As I walked into the final room, the woman's words echoed in my mind. 'Beautiful darkness'? Was she testing me? Did she know something? The room was smaller than the others, with a single desk and chair. Mrs. Rela was already seated, her expression unreadable.

"Good afternoon, LaKoia," she said, her eyes meeting mine with a gentle warmth that seemed to melt the coldness of the room. "I'm here to assess your understanding of the world and your place in it."

Mrs. Rela began to ask questions about the school's curriculum, the Great Cleansing, and the importance of our studies. Her tone was calm, but I could feel the intensity of her gaze as she studied my every reaction. The questions grew more complex, and I felt the weight of the stakes pressing down on me with each answer I gave.

As she spoke, I noticed something in her eyes—a flicker of understanding that made my heart race. Was she testing me? Did she know about Lila and the forbidden books? The room grew warmer, and I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead, hoping it wasn't visible.

Mrs. Rela's final question was the most unexpected of all. "LaKoia, if you had the chance to leave Iron Gate Academy, would you take it?"

I froze. This wasn't part of the script. My mind raced, trying to find the right response that would satisfy her without betraying my thoughts. "Leave?" I repeated, buying time. "Why would I ever want to leave perfection?"

Mrs. Rela's eyes searched my face, looking for a crack in my facade. "Correct," she said. "Now, tell me, LaKoia, what do you truly believe is the most important rule here at Iron Gate?"

I took a deep breath, the lie ready on my tongue. "To be perfect in every way," I said, my voice steady.

Mrs. Rela nodded, but the way her eyes searched mine told me she wasn't entirely convinced. She leaned back in her chair, her gaze never leaving me. "And what does perfection mean to you?"

I felt a knot form in my stomach. This wasn't a question they had prepared me for. I had to be careful. "Perfection means to strive for excellence in all aspects of life, to be the best possible version of ourselves, and to contribute to the greater good of society," I recited, hoping it was enough to satisfy her.

Mrs. Rela nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving mine. "And what does the greater good of society mean to you?"

I searched for the right words, feeling the pressure of the moment. "It means to uphold the laws and values that keep us safe and orderly. To ensure that our community remains pure and prosperous," I replied, my voice echoing the lessons I had been taught since before birth.

Mrs. Rela nodded again, a hint of something unreadable in her eyes. "Very well," she said, making a final note on her clipboard. "You may go. We will review your results, and you will be informed of your status before you leave."

I walked out of the room, my legs shaking. Had she seen through me? Was she testing my loyalty? Or did she suspect something more? The hallway outside was empty, the sound of my footsteps echoing off the polished floors. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I spun around to see Mrs. Rela standing there, her expression unchanged.

"LaKoia," she said, her voice low. "You've passed the screening with flying colors. Your 5th grade classroom is ready for you tomorrow."

I tried to keep my relief from showing. "Thank you, Mrs. Rela," I murmured, bowing slightly.

"But remember," she continued, her grip on my shoulder tightening slightly, "curiosity can be a dangerous thing. Keep your thoughts in check, and you will thrive here."

Her words sent a shiver down my spine. Did she know about the books? About Lila? I forced a smile, nodding obediently. "Yes, Mrs. Rela. I will always strive for perfection."

The next day came, and I found myself in my fifth-grade history class, staring at the same gray walls that had contained me since birth. Our teacher, Mr. Sanden, stood at the front of the room, his eyes scanning the rows of children dressed in identical dark gray uniforms. He began to speak, his voice echoing through the silent room.

"Today, we will delve deeper into the Great Cleansing," he announced, his voice devoid of any warmth or emotion. "This was the day our world was purified of imperfection, the day that our ancestors laid the foundation for the perfect society we live in today."

Mr. Sanden's words hung in the air like a thick fog, suffocating any thoughts of rebellion or doubt. The other students nodded along, their eyes glazed over with the familiar mantra of obedience. But as he spoke, I couldn't help but think of the tremor in the examiner's hand, the secret notes from Jake, and the whispers of a world beyond the gates of Iron Gate.

"The Great Cleansing was a time of great sacrifice," Mr. Sanden droned on, his eyes scanning the room with a chilling intensity. "A time when our forebears chose to eliminate the weak, the sick, and the unworthy to ensure the survival of humanity."

As he spoke, images of the Great Cleansing played out in my mind, a stark contrast to the colorless walls around us. I saw fires burning in the streets, people running in terror, and the gleaming silver suits of the Cleansers, their faces hidden behind masks as they tore families apart. It was a stark reminder of the school's origins and the brutal world that existed before its gleaming walls were built.

Mr. Sanden's voice grew louder, more insistent. "The Cleansing was necessary," he said, his eyes boring into each of us. "Without it, we would not be here today, living in the safety and order that Iron Gate provides." His words were met with nods from my classmates, but I couldn't bring myself to agree. What kind of world was it where a child's worth was determined by their ability to conform?

He clicked a button, and the wall behind him transformed into a projection screen. Images of the Cleansing flickered to life, showing the chaos and destruction that had once ravaged the land. The stark contrast between the violent scenes and the calmness of our classroom was jarring. Buildings crumbled, and people ran in panic, their faces blurred and indistinct. The Cleansers moved through the pandemonium with cold efficiency, their silver suits gleaming like the sharp edges of a knife.

Mr. Sanden's voice grew solemn. "Our ancestors knew that only by eliminating imperfection could true perfection be achieved. The Great Cleansing was not an act of cruelty, but one of necessity. It was the purest form of love for humanity." His words settled over us like a shroud, and I felt the weight of his gaze as he paused, waiting for our nods of understanding.

On the screen, the Cleansers' suits looked like armor, their movements swift and precise as they herded the unworthy into the cleansing chambers. The images grew closer, and I could almost hear the muffled screams of those being taken away. The fear and desperation in their eyes was palpable, but the room remained silent, save for Mr. Sanden's voice.

"The Cleansers," he said with a hint of reverence, "were the guardians of our future. They had the difficult task of deciding who would live and who would not. They did so without prejudice, guided only by the knowledge that a perfect society could only be built upon the ashes of the old."

The images on the screen grew more graphic, showing the Cleansers' silver arms reaching out to the screaming, terrified masses, pulling them into the gaping maws of the cleansing chambers. The doors would slam shut with a finality that made my heart ache.

Mr. Sanden's eyes searched the room, looking for any signs of dissent. "The Great Cleansing was a testament to humanity's resilience," he said, his voice thick with pride. "Our ancestors had the strength to do what was necessary to ensure our survival. They knew that only by eliminating the imperfections, could we build a perfect society."

As the images of chaos and destruction played out on the screen, I tried to focus on the words of my teacher, but my mind kept drifting back to Mrs. Rela's question. What had she meant by 'beautiful darkness'? Was there something she wasn't telling me?

The rest of the day passed in a blur of lessons and recitations, the echoes of Mr. Sanden's words about the Great Cleansing following me from class to class. The oppressive silence in the hallways was heavier than ever, as if the school itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next imperfection to be weeded out.

At lunch, I sat with my classmates, each of us silently consuming our tasteless, nutritious meals. The cafeteria was a sea of gray uniforms, punctuated only by the occasional flash of a student's ID number on their card. We were all so used to the blandness of our food that we barely noticed it anymore, our taste buds numbed by the school's strict diet.

The whispers of the Great Cleansing lingered in the air, mixing with the clink of silverware on plates. The walls felt like they were closing in, the weight of the school's history and expectations pressing down on my shoulders. I glanced around the room, searching for any signs of doubt or fear in the faces of my peers, but all I saw was the same vacant obedience.

After lunch, we were herded to our next class, the sound of our footsteps in unison echoing through the hallways like a single, mechanical heartbeat. Mrs. Willison, the librarian, watched us pass with a sadness that made me want to run to her, to ask her about the outside world she had hinted at. But I knew better than to risk it.

The afternoon's lessons dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity as we recited facts and figures about the Cleansing, the construction of the Cities, and the formation of Iron Gate Academy. The teachers' eyes never left us, searching for any signs of dissent or curiosity that could lead to termination.

In the library, Mrs. Willison's eyes met mine briefly, a silent acknowledgment of the shared secret we held. The memory of her gentle touch and the whispers of the outside world filled me with a strange mix of hope and dread. I kept my head down, focusing on the book in front of me, not daring to look up for fear of giving myself away.

The rest of the day's classes passed in a monotonous blur, each one more stifling than the last. I could feel the eyes of the teachers on me, waiting for me to slip up, to reveal the rebellious thoughts that I knew I wasn't hiding well enough. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, each one feeling like an eternity as I waited for the final bell to ring, signaling the end of the school day.

As the day wore on, the whispers grew louder in my mind, the stories of Lila and the outside world calling to me like a siren's song. I found myself staring out the small, reinforced windows, watching the shadows of the guards patrol the perimeter, their movements precise and mechanical. What lay beyond those walls? Was there really a world of chaos and darkness, or was it a land of freedom and color?

After what felt like an eternity, the final bell rang, and the students of Iron Gate Academy shuffled out of their classrooms, their movements as synchronized as the ticking of the clocks that had governed their day. I gathered my books, my heart racing with the anticipation of what the evening might bring. Would Mrs. Rela pull me aside again? Did she suspect something?

As I made my way to the exit, the hallways grew eerily quiet. The only sound was the distant hum of the school's generators, a constant reminder of the power that kept us all in line. I stepped into the crisp evening air, the gray clouds above seemingly mirroring the gloom that had settled in my heart. The buses waited, engines idling, to take us back to our designated housing units.

During the ride home, I stared out the window, the image of the Cleansers' cold efficiency playing on repeat in my mind. The other students sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, their eyes reflecting the dull glow of the passing streetlights. The city outside looked like a ghost town, the buildings tall and imposing, with no signs of life beyond the occasional flicker of a curtain in a distant window.

When I finally arrived at my housing unit, I was greeted by the sight of a new poster on the wall. It depicted a smiling child, hand in hand with a Cleanser, walking towards the gleaming gates of Iron Gate Academy. The caption read: "Together, we build a perfect future." I felt a chill run down my spine, the stark reality of our lives slapping me in the face like a cold, hard truth.

With dinner eaten and homework completed, I laid in bed, the lights dimming automatically to signal the start of our 30-minute quiet time. I thought about the poster, the Great Cleansing, and Mrs. Rela's question. Was there a hidden message in her words? Was she testing me, or was she hinting at something more?

The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of doubt and curiosity. I couldn't ignore them anymore. I had to find out what lay beyond the walls of Iron Gate Academy. I slipped out of bed, my feet landing silently on the cold, gray floor. Moving to the window, I pushed aside the curtain and peered into the night. The courtyard was bathed in the soft glow of the moon, the shadows playing tricks on my eyes.

The poster's words echoed in my mind: "Together, we build a perfect future." But what if the future wasn't perfect? What if it was a lie, a facade built on fear and control? I had to know the truth.

Eventually, the next day came. That morning went by like a blur. We were herded into our classroom, the same gray walls and sterile atmosphere greeting us as we took our seats. Mr. Sanden walked in, his usual stoic expression in place. He began the day with the customary recitation of the Iron Gate Oath, a declaration of loyalty and commitment to perfection that we'd been saying every day since we could speak.

"For the sake of a perfect society," he intoned, "we pledge our minds, our bodies, and our spirits to the ideals of Iron Gate Academy. We shall eliminate imperfection, embrace discipline, and honor the Great Cleansing. We are the guardians of tomorrow, shaped by the wisdom of our ancestors."

The words rolled off my tongue, automatic and empty. My mind was elsewhere, racing with thoughts of the outside world, of color and freedom. I glanced around the room, my classmates reciting the oath with the same robotic precision. Did any of them feel the same way I did?

Mr. Sanden's gaze swept over us, pausing briefly on me. My heart skipped a beat, but he moved on. The lesson for the day was more of the same: the history of Iron Gate, the importance of order, and the dangers of the outside world. But amidst the droning lecture, my thoughts drifted to the hidden books, the map, and Mrs. Rela's cryptic warning.

The bell rang for breakfast, and we filed into the cafeteria, the smell of the same tasteless porridge filling the air. I took my seat, my eyes scanning the room for any signs of dissent or deviation from the norm. Across from me, a girl named Sara quietly picked at her food, her eyes darting around the room, a hint of fear in them. She'd always been a bit of an outsider, her handwriting barely up to the school's standards. I wondered if she was next on the list for termination.

The classes went by like a blur, and eventually it was time for lunch. As I ate my lunch, I couldn't help but overhear the whispers around me. The Great Cleansing was a popular topic of discussion today, the fear and awe in my classmates' voices as they talked about the Cleansers' ruthlessness and the perfection of our society. I knew better than to join in, my thoughts too consumed by the whispers of the outside world and the unanswered questions about Mrs. Rela's intentions.

The silence was shattered by a sudden commotion in the hallway. The doors to the cafeteria burst open, and a group of stern-faced teachers marched in, followed by two guards. They approached a table where a boy named Marcus was sitting, his eyes wide with terror. He'd been caught with a contraband item—a piece of paper with a doodle on it, a tiny splash of color that stood out like a beacon of rebellion in our gray world. The teachers and guards surrounded him, and without a word, they escorted him out, his meal left untouched on the table.

A collective gasp filled the room, and the whispers grew even more frantic. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned to see Mrs. Rela standing behind me, her eyes searching mine. "Remember, LaKoia," she said softly, "curiosity is a dangerous thing." She gave a single nod before turning away to address the rest of the students, her words echoing in my head like a warning bell.

The afternoon dragged on, each minute feeling like an hour as I waited for the dinner bell to ring. My thoughts raced with the events of the day, the whispers of doubt and rebellion growing louder with every passing second. When the bell finally did ring, we filed out of the classroom, the heavy silence of the hallways almost suffocating.

In the cafeteria, the mood was somber. Marcus's empty seat was a stark reminder of the price of curiosity. The teachers' eyes scanned the room, searching for any signs of dissent, their expressions stern and unyielding. The food was as bland as ever, but today it tasted like ashes in my mouth.

As the whispers grew louder, I found myself unable to focus on the lessons. The teachers' words about the Great Cleansing and the importance of purity felt like a prison sentence, each syllable echoing in my mind like the clanging of bars. I felt trapped, desperate to break free from the lie that had been my reality for so long.

The evening brought no relief. After dinner, we were ushered into the auditorium for an unexpected assembly. The walls were adorned with images of the Cleansers standing tall over the ashes of the old world, their silver arms raised in triumph. The room was abuzz with hushed whispers, the fear of what might happen to Marcus weighing heavily on everyone's mind.

The principal, Mr. Millin, took the stage, his eyes sweeping over the sea of gray. "Students of Iron Gate Academy," he began, his voice as cold as the steel of the Cleansers' suits, "today we have witnessed a breach of our sacred trust. A warning must be sent to all who dare to question the purity of our society."

My heart thudded in my chest, each beat a countdown to a fate I feared was inevitable. Mrs. Rela's words played in my mind like a loop, a warning that seemed almost like a promise. The whispers grew to a crescendo, each one a plea for understanding, for a way out.

Mr. Millin's eyes fell on me, and for a moment, I was sure he could hear the rebellion in my thoughts. "We must remain vigilant," he continued, "lest the darkness of the old world seep back in."

The whispers grew more frantic, but I forced myself to sit still, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The assembly dragged on, each word a nail in the coffin of our freedom. Finally, the lights dimmed, and a holographic projection filled the stage. It was a montage of the school's most successful graduates, their faces plastered with forced smiles, living testaments to the academy's control.

As the projection ended, Mr. Millin announced, "Let us remember why we are here and the future we are building together. Now, back to your dorms for the night. Dismissed." The students rose in unison, the sound of their chairs scraping against the floor like a mournful symphony. The whispers had been silenced, but the fear remained, thick and palpable in the air.

Walking back to the dorms, the whispers grew too loud to ignore. The image of Marcus being taken away played on repeat in my mind, a stark reminder of the consequences of curiosity. The hallways felt narrower than ever, the walls closing in around me as if the school itself was suffocating the very thoughts that dared to question its existence.

Once in the dorm, I found myself unable to focus on the evening's homework. The words on the pages blurred together, my mind racing with thoughts of the outside world and the whispers that grew stronger by the minute. The lights dimmed, signaling the start of our 30-minute quiet time, but the silence was deafening.

I waited until the last possible moment, my heart in my throat, before slipping out of bed and making my way to the small, locked window. The courtyard below was bathed in moonlight, the shadows playing tricks on my eyes. The whispers grew louder, urging me to act, to seek the truth beyond the school's walls.

Carefully, I turned the latch and pushed the window open, the cool night air sending a shiver down my spine. I'd heard rumors of students who'd tried to escape, never to be seen again. But the whispers had become too much to bear. I had to know if there was more to life than this endless cycle of fear and conformity.

But I decided that my life was more important than finding out. When I graduated, I could escape from The Cities and find the truth. I closed the window, grabbed a USB stick from my desk, and plugged it into my computer. I opened the program and deleted the memories of Lila and the outside from my chip. The whispers immediately went away, and I felt at peace.

The next morning, I woke up early, dressed in my uniform, went through class, and went to the dining hall for breakfast. The whispers had been silenced, but the fear remained. I sat down with my tray of porridge, feeling the eyes of the other students and teachers on me. Was it just paranoia, or did they know what I had almost done? The spoon felt heavy in my hand as I took a bite, the taste of the bland food suddenly a symbol of the school's control.

In the library that afternoon, I found myself drawn to the section that contained the books Mrs. Callie had given us for our reading assignment. They were all about the Great Cleansing and the formation of Iron Gate Academy. The words on the pages seemed to pulse with a sinister energy, taunting me with the reality I had almost escaped. I picked up one of the books, feeling the weight of its lies in my hands.

As I flipped through the pages, a piece of paper fluttered out. It was a hastily drawn map, the same one Lila had shown me. I stared at it, my heart racing. The truth was what they were teaching us. The whispers had been a warning, a call to action that I had almost heeded. But now, with the map in hand, I had the means to uncover the secrets of the school and perhaps even the world outside. I finally knew the truth. They were telling us the truth. The whispers had been a figment of my imagination, a coping mechanism for the oppressive reality.

I couldn't risk keeping the map on me, so I carefully folded it and slipped it into the spine of the book. I'd come back for it when the time was right. For now, I had to bide my time, blend in, and keep my head down.

The rest of the week until Saturday passed like a blur. Saturday was gender-specific classes. So was Sunday. We were taught our roles in society, our duties, our responsibilities. The boys learned about being strong leaders and providers, the girls about grace and submission. They taught the girls to do what the boys told them. To never ask why. To always make sure they were happy, even if it cost us our happiness. And the boys were told to make sure that the girls followed these rules. To ensure that the girls knew their place.

They said that girls were meant to serve, and boys were meant to be served. That girls were to cook and clean, and boys were to be cooked for and have their things cleaned. That girls were to tend to their every need, and boys were to have their every need tended to. That girls were to do all the work, and that boys were to have all their work done for them. That girls were to be seen, but not heard, and boys were to be heard and seen. That girls were to be perfect in every way, and boys were to demand that perfection. That girls were to have no emotions, and boys were to express theirs freely. That girls were to be nothing but a pretty face, and boys were to have brains and ambition. That girls were to be property, and boys were to be owners. That girls were to be used, and boys were to use them.

The whispers told me it was a lie. That there was more to life than being a pretty face and a pair of hands. That I had thoughts and feelings that mattered. But I pushed them down, knowing the price of rebellion. Knowing the price of lies. I had to keep my head down, blend in, and survive until I could leave this place.

Mrs. Samson was our homeroom teacher. She taught us how to make sure the boys were happy. How to make sure they never knew we had thoughts of our own. She was strict, but not fair like Mrs. Rela. She didn't have an ounce of forgiveness in her, and she made sure we knew it. Every girl in the school feared her, and every boy in the school adored her. She was the epitome of the Iron Gate female ideal: beautiful, submissive, and never questioning.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the whispers grew stronger. They spoke of a world where we could be ourselves, where we could love and laugh without fear. Where we could live without the constant threat of death hanging over our heads. I tried to ignore them, but they were a siren's call, luring me away from the safety of ignorance.

The week leading up to my sixth-grade screening was a whirlwind of anxiety and preparation. The whispers grew more insistent, urging me to seek out the truth, but I knew better than to let them control me. I studied tirelessly, memorizing every fact and figure about the Great Cleansing and Iron Gate's role in shaping our society. The books I read were filled with tales of heroic Cleansers and the purity they brought to the world, but the more I learned, the more the whispers whispered of a different story.

The night before my screening, I opened the chip-cleansing program again. This time, I set it so the whispers would go away forever. I couldn't risk them giving me away during the most crucial moment of my life. As the screen flickered, I felt a strange sense of loss, as if a part of me was being erased. But the price of knowledge was too high. I needed to survive.

The day of the screening arrived, and I was called in early. The cold, sterile room was a stark contrast to the warm, colorful images that had once danced in my head. The doctor's face was unreadable behind his mask, his eyes the only hint of humanity in the room. He took my vitals, poked and prodded, and then came the questions. They were the same as always, but this time, I had nothing to hide. The whispers were gone, and with them, the fear of discovery.

I recited the answers as if they were my own thoughts, speaking of the Great Cleansing with reverence, and the importance of purity in our society. The doctor nodded approvingly, scribbling notes on his clipboard. The silence was broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall, a relentless reminder of the time that was slipping away.

As the screening concluded, I was sent back to the dorms, the whispers of rebellion now a distant memory. Mrs. Rela's gaze lingered on me longer than usual as I walked back to my dorm, but she said nothing. The silence of the hallways was eerie, the only sound the clack of my shoes on the hard floor.

That evening, I couldn't sleep. The whispers had been a part of me for so long that their absence left an emptiness I hadn't anticipated. I stared at the ceiling, the moon casting a silver glow on the walls. Was this what it felt like to truly believe in Iron Gate's doctrine? Was I now one of the mindless drones that walked these halls?

I opened the program once more, the screen casting an eerie glow in the darkened room. I reprogrammed the chip to forget about everything that wasn't directly related to schoolwork or perfection. Anything I knew that wasn't taught to me directly from Iron Gate would be forgotten about. The whispers would never return. The process was painless, but I felt a piece of myself being torn away, as if I was losing a part of my soul.

The next morning, I woke up feeling... empty. The whispers were gone, and with them, the fear that had become a constant companion. I went through the motions of the day, my mind a numb shell, my heart heavy with the weight of my decision. The classes were harder. Without the whispers to push me, to question, to keep me sharp, I felt like I was just going through the motions. The lessons about purity and the Great Cleansing were easier to swallow, but each one left a bitter taste in my mouth.

As I ate the goop that we called lunch, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness for Marcus. His fate was a stark reminder of the price of non-compliance. The whispers were gone, but their echo remained, whispering that I was next if I didn't conform completely. I pushed the thought aside and focused on the upcoming gender-specific classes this weekend. They were now the only thing truly teaching me about who I was going to be.

In the library, I found myself staring at the bookshelves, the same ones that had once held the map to freedom. The books on the Great Cleansing and Iron Gate's history stared back at me, their spines unyielding and unforgiving. I picked one up, feeling the weight of the lies in my hand, and flipped through the pages. The words blurred together, but the message was clear: obey or be terminated.

Mrs. Samson's class Saturday afternoon was a lecture on the art of submission, a subject that seemed to be the backbone of our education. She spoke with a soft voice that was as cold as the steel bars of our windows, her eyes never leaving the podium. "You must always be perfect," she said, "for if you are not, you will bring dishonor to your family and to the school. When you graduate, you must comply with your husband's wishes."

I heard a girl say, "But what if our husband dies?" she said.

Mrs. Samson's gaze snapped to her, "Then we will assign you a new one, and you will be perfect for your new husband."

I couldn't believe it. Even after we graduate, we're still going to be controlled. The thought of it made me feel sick to my stomach. I knew I had to get out of here. I had to find the truth. I couldn't live like this anymore. But I couldn't not live like this. I had to survive. I had to get through the next 17 years, and then I could leave.

Even the next day, we had our gender-specific classes. The boys were taught about leadership and control, and the girls were taught about obedience and purity. It was like they were breeding us to be the perfect citizens for their twisted society. I sat through the class, listening to the teacher drone on about the importance of a clean and orderly home, and how a woman's place was in the shadows, supporting her husband's every move.

But something had changed in me. The whispers had been silenced, but they had left behind a spark of defiance. I found myself questioning the words coming out of Mrs. Samson's mouth, wondering if there was any truth to the whispers after all. Was there really a world where we could make our own choices, where we weren't just pawns in some twisted game of power and control?

I knew that what they were teaching us was the truth. But was it really? The whispers had been a lie, a figment of my imagination. Yet, the doubt remained. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to life than the endless drills of perfection and obedience. The week dragged on, each class more stifling than the last. I watched my classmates, their eyes glazed over with acceptance, and I felt a pang of jealousy.

On Sunday, as we were dismissed from our final class, I noticed a small group of girls huddled together, their heads bent in whispered conversation. I recognized them as the other ones who had been closest to Lila. But I knew that communication with undiscovered rebels was dangerous. We weren't allowed to talk about terminated students. I found a security guard and told him about the girls. He nodded and walked towards them, his eyes cold and his steps precise. They didn't even have time to run.

That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just signed their death warrants. But the whispers were gone, and with them, my sense of camaraderie. I had to survive. I had to push down the guilt and focus on the path laid out before me.

The rest of that school year dragged on. Each day was a monotonous blend of lessons, meals, and the occasional assembly where we were reminded of the importance of purity and obedience. The whispers of rebellion had been silenced, but they had left behind a void that was slowly filling with doubt and resentment. I watched my classmates transform into the perfect Iron Gate students, their spirits crushed under the weight of the school's doctrine. And with every passing day, I felt my own spirit fading away, too.

The morning of my seventh-grade screening dawned, and with it, the stark reality of my existence at Iron Gate Academy. I had done everything right, studied hard, and kept my thoughts in check. The sterile room was cold, and the doctor's eyes were colder still. He scanned my ID, and the screen on his computer flickered to life.

"State your full name, birthdate, and ID number," he instructed, his voice devoid of any human warmth.

"LaKoia Takichi McAlley," I replied, my voice shaking slightly, "March 14th, 2017. ID number 37."

The doctor nodded, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Good," he murmured, "now, let's begin with the physical exam."

I undressed, feeling the cold air hit my skin, and allowed him to scrutinize every inch of my body. He checked my eyes, my ears, my teeth. He measured my height, my weight, and my waist. Each poke and prod was a reminder of my worth at Iron Gate—nothing more than a collection of data points to be measured and judged. When he was done, I put my clothes back on and waited for the next round of questions.

"Tell me," he began, his voice as impersonal as ever, "have you had any thoughts or feelings that deviate from the Iron Gate doctrine?"

I looked at him, my heart racing. I knew what they were looking for—any sign of weakness, any hint of dissent. "No," I lied, my voice steady. "I have only ever felt pride in being a student of Iron Gate Academy."

The doctor's gaze remained unwavering, as if he could see straight through to my soul. But I had learned to hide my thoughts behind a mask of perfection. "Good," he said, making a note on his clipboard. "Now, the mental screening."

He placed the chip reader on my forehead, and the cold metal sent a shiver down my spine. The screen in front of him lit up with a blizzard of data points, swirling and dancing in a display of my deepest thoughts and fears. I had reprogrammed the chip so many times, I wasn't sure if there was anything left of me that wasn't Iron Gate approved. The screen went blank, and the doctor nodded. "You are a credit to the school," he said, his voice as flat as ever.

The year passed in a blur of classes, "food", and the occasional assembly where we were reminded of the consequences of disobedience. I watched as my classmates grew more and more robotic, their smiles forced and their laughter hollow. Yet, amidst the sea of sameness, I felt something stirring inside me—a tiny ember of hope that had somehow survived the relentless pounding of Iron Gate's doctrine.

One evening, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I heard it again—a whisper, faint and distant, but undeniably there. It spoke of a world beyond the school's cold embrace, a place where freedom and color weren't just words in dusty books but a living, breathing reality. I sat up, my heart racing. Was it a figment of my imagination or a sign that the whispers hadn't been entirely silenced?

I reprogrammed the chip once again, searching for any shred of the whispers that might have remained. The screen flickered and the code that kept making the whispers come back showed itself. I deleted it, then typed in a string of code that locked out the whispers. Permanently.

The next day, I walked through the halls with a new sense of determination. The whispers were gone, but they had left behind a question that burned in my mind: was there a way out of this nightmare? I couldn't let the thought consume me—not yet. I had to keep up appearances, to survive until I could find the answer.

I studied hard and made sure I was perfect in every way. I knew that one tiny slip-up would be my last. The whispers had taught me that much. But the ember of hope they had planted in me was long gone. Smothered by the blanket of perfection.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. The monotony of Iron Gate's routine was both a comfort and a prison. The whispers had been my escape, my secret rebellion, but now they were gone. I was alone with my thoughts, which had been carefully sanitized to match the school's curriculum.

My classmates were changing, too. The light in their eyes was dimming, replaced by a dull acceptance of our fate. The occasional rebellious act was met with swift and severe punishment, serving as a chilling reminder of the price of non-compliance. The echoes of those punishments reverberated through the halls, a silent but potent deterrent.

In the months that followed, I focused on my studies, burying myself in the schoolwork that consumed every waking moment. The whispers had been a dangerous distraction, and I couldn't afford to let myself be caught up in them again. Yet, the emptiness they had left behind grew, an ever-present ache that no amount of perfection could fill.

One evening, as I laid in bed, the quiet hum of the dormitory was pierced by a faint sound. A scream. A muffled cry for help. I sat up, my heart racing. It was a sound I hadn't heard in months, not since I had banished the whispers. I told myself it was just a nightmare, a figment of my overactive imagination, and went back to sleep.

The next day was my eighth-grade screening. I felt like a robot as I recited the school's mantras and answered the doctor's questions. I passed every test with ease, my mind a well-oiled machine trained to regurgitate the required answers. The doctor nodded, scribbling his notes with a look of boredom. As I put my uniform back on, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—my eyes, once full of life, were now dull and lifeless.

On the way back to the dorms, I couldn't shake the sound of that scream from my thoughts. It was like a beacon in the darkness, a reminder that there was still a piece of me that hadn't been entirely crushed by Iron Gate's regime. I knew the risks. I reprogrammed my chip to permanently lock out any thoughts that weren't Iron Gate approved.

I went to school the next day, the whispers in my mind silenced but the echo of that scream still haunting me. As the year progressed, the curriculum grew more intense. The pressure to be perfect was suffocating, but I held my head high, eager to escape the confines of Iron Gate.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. The monotony of Iron Gate's routine was both a comfort and a prison. The whispers had been my escape, my secret rebellion, but now they were gone. I was alone with my thoughts, which had been carefully sanitized to match the school's curriculum.

As I moved through the school's corridors, I saw the same cold stares and rigid postures that reflected my own. Reminders of the price of imperfection and the importance of conformity rang through the halls, a constant drumbeat of fear.

The year passed in a blur of early mornings, endless classes, and strict discipline. The whispers had been my secret rebellion, a spark of hope in the dark, but now they were gone, replaced by a cold, calculated resolve to survive. I watched my classmates and I grow more and more like the school's ideal citizens—perfect, obedient, and utterly devoid of individuality.

The ninth-grade screening approached, and with it, a newfound sense of dread. I studied hard and reprogrammed my chip whenever it needed to be. The whispers had been a dangerous game, and I knew that if they returned, I might not survive.

Eventually, my screening came. The doctor's cold eyes bore into me as he read the data from my chip. He scrutinized every inch of me, his fingers probing and poking, ensuring my body was the epitome of Iron Gate's standards. The mental screening was the most intense, the cold metal of the chip reader pressing against my forehead, delving into the deepest recesses of my mind. The emptiness where the whispers once lived felt like a vast abyss, a stark contrast to the cacophony of doubt and rebellion that had once filled my thoughts.

I passed, of course. I had become an expert at hiding my true feelings. The whispers had taught me the art of deception, and I had learned it well. But the victory was hollow, a mere step closer to the end of my childhood and the beginning of a life I didn't choose.

The months leading up to my tenth-grade year passed in a blur of lessons and tests, each one more rigorous than the last. The school's grip on us tightened, and any sign of weakness was swiftly dealt with. Yet, amidst the sea of gray, I couldn't help but notice the occasional splash of color—a smuggled book, a secret smile, a whispered joke. These small acts of rebellion reminded me that not everyone had succumbed entirely to Iron Gate's control.

Every once in a while, a termination would happen during class. The door would open, and a group of stern-faced teachers would escort the student out, never to be seen again. The whispers grew quieter after each disappearance, as if the very walls of Iron Gate were absorbing their cries of defiance. Yet, I couldn't ignore the ember of hope they had planted in me.

Eventually, my tenth-grade screening came. My mom and stand-in dad brought me, even though I was almost 10. The doctor was a new one, not the usual cold-hearted type. He was kind, with a gentle smile and eyes that actually looked at me, not through me. He did the usual poking and prodding, but it was different. His touch was softer, his voice warmer.

"You're doing excellent, LaKoia," he said, scribbling notes on his clipboard. "Your dedication to the Iron Gate doctrine is commendable."

I nodded, keeping my eyes lowered, my voice devoid of emotion. "Thank you, sir."

"Now, let's proceed with the mental exam," he said, his tone still gentle. He placed the chip reader on my forehead, and I braced for the coldness that usually accompanied the process. But this time, there was something different. The whispers didn't fight back. They were just... gone.

The doctor's smile never wavered as he studied the results on the screen. "You're a true example of Iron Gate's success," he murmured. "Your mind is as pure as the day you were born."

I felt a twinge of happiness. The whispers had been a part of me for so long that their absence was almost a relief. But as the doctor removed the chip reader, his eyes flickered over my face, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something else---understanding, perhaps, or pity. I quickly dismissed it. There was no room for such emotions in Iron Gate.

As the year went on, the whispers remained gone, and I threw myself into my studies with renewed vigor. The school's relentless pace and the fear of failure kept me sharp, my mind focused solely on survival. Yet, there were moments when I found myself looking for that spark of rebellion, that whisper of hope that had once been my secret companion.

A few months into my tenth-grade year, I heard a strange noise in my dorm. It was coming from my parents' room. I thought nothing of it. They were probably just watching the school-approved news feed.

My days went on, each one a mirror of the last. I studied, ate, slept, and repeated the cycle without fail. The whispers had left an indelible mark on me, but I had learned to ignore them, to push them aside for the sake of survival.

One evening, as I was walking back from a particularly grueling session of end-of-day gymnastics, I saw my parents walking around. They weren't supposed to be out of their designated areas during school hours unless something was up. Curiosity piqued, I followed them from a safe distance, keeping my head down to avoid drawing attention.

They stopped at the... delivery center? That's where they took the moms who were about to have babies. I watched as they walked in, and I knew I couldn't follow. The whispers had taught me the art of patience, so I waited, hidden in the shadows of the corridor.

After what felt like an eternity, my mom emerged, her face drawn and pale. I stepped out of my hiding spot, my heart racing. "Mom?" I called out, but she didn't hear me. She was too lost in her own thoughts.

I hurried back to the dorm, my mind racing with questions. What had happened in there? Was it another screening? The whispers had taught me not to ask too much, but their absence left me craving the truth. That night, as I lay in bed, the silence was deafening. The whispers had been like a lifeline to something beyond this place, and now they were gone.

I was up all night. The whispers were gone, but the questions they had left behind haunted me. Why had my mom been at the delivery center? Was she okay? The thoughts swirled in my head, each one louder than the last. I had to find out what was happening, but I knew better than to ask.

I did eventually fall asleep. The clock said 4 AM when I did. The sound of my parents walking in woke me up. I checked my clock. 5:25 AM. Still 5 more minutes.

My mom walked into my room. She looked exhausted, but the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable. "LaKoia, sweetie?" she asked "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," I replied. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," she said. "You?"

"Yes," I lied. The whispers had been a part of me for so long that their absence was a gnawing emptiness, but I knew better than to show any sign of weakness.

My mom left the room, and I noticed a small bundle in her arms. I wasn't sure what it was. I knew it wasn't a book—those were kept under lock and key. I slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door, peering through the crack. The bundle was moving. My heart skipped a beat. Was it a... baby?

I decided I'd find out after I got ready. I went through my morning routine, and at around 5:50, I went into my mom's room. She was sitting on the bed, holding the bundle. She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. "LaKoia, meet Jake," she said. "Your new baby brother,"

I walked closer to peek at Jake. He was sleeping soundly in his baby blue blanket. The color was stark against the gray walls. It was the first real color I had seen in the dorms in years. I felt a strange mix of excitement and fear. "Jake?" I whispered.

He opened his eyes and a gentle coo escaped his mouth before he fell asleep again. I took him from my mom's weary arms and held him. "Will you take him to school today?" she asked.

I nodded, my heart racing. Holding a baby, a real live baby, was something I had never done before. We weren't allowed to interact with anyone outside our immediate family and teachers. I mean, it wasn't against the rules, but it was highly frowned upon if they weren't in our grade. "Okay," I said, trying to sound calm.

I took Jake out of the dorm and into the bus. I sat between Samantha and Lucas. They stared at me, their curiosity burning holes in my back. They had never seen a baby before. Lucas hadn't even seen his real parents. Lucas was supposed to have a new baby sister soon. But the whispers had told me that babies sometimes didn't make it. That they were deemed "faulty" and were terminated.

I held Jake tightly as the bus pulled away from the dorms. His tiny breaths were the only thing keeping me sane. The whispers had been right about so much, but they had been wrong about the outside world. It was just another part of Iron Gate, another cog in the machine that kept us all in line.

When we arrived at school, the other students looked at me with a mix of awe and fear. Some whispered about the baby, while others kept their eyes fixed ahead, afraid to acknowledge the unspoken truth. I got Mr. Millin's permission to take Jake to kindergarten and did just that. I went to my class after that.

The whispers had been a double-edged sword. They had given me hope, but they had also made me a target. Now, with Jake here, I felt a new kind of fear. If anything happened to him, it would be on my shoulders. I couldn't let that happen.

Days turned into weeks, and the whispers remained silent. I grew more and more accustomed to the absence, filling the void with a cold, determined focus. The yearly screening was approaching, and I knew I had to keep up the façade. I studied harder than ever, ensuring that not even the slightest trace of doubt would show up on my mental scans.

But the whispers had left their mark. I found myself looking at the world through different eyes—suspicious, questioning eyes. The color of Jake's blanket was a stark reminder of the colorless world we lived in. I watched him grow, his curiosity and innocence a stark contrast to the bleakness that surrounded us. I felt a fierce protectiveness for him, a love that transcended the school's cold embrace.

The whispers had also taught me the value of secrets. So, when I stumbled upon a hidden compartment in my school-assigned desk, I knew exactly what to do. I began to gather snippets of information, stories of those who had come before us, whispers of rebellion that had been snuffed out before they could take root. I documented everything, using the same meticulous handwriting that had earned me so much praise from Mrs. Rela.

The eleventh-grade screening was upon me, and I knew the stakes were higher than ever. The whispers had shown me the price of dissent, but their silence had also taught me the cost of compliance. I walked into the exam room with a steely resolve, my mind a fortress against the probing questions and invasive scans.

The doctor was the same one from my ninth-grade screening, his gentle eyes now hardened by the years of serving Iron Gate. He didn't bother with small talk as he connected the chip reader to my forehead. The cold metal was a stark reminder of the school's dominance over my thoughts and feelings.

The mental screening was brutal, a barrage of questions designed to root out any shred of rebellion. Yet, as the images of a world beyond the school's walls flashed before my eyes, I felt nothing but a hollow acceptance. The whispers had been a part of me for so long that their absence was like a phantom limb—I knew something was missing, but I couldn't quite remember what it felt like.

As the screening concluded, the doctor nodded curtly. "Your dedication to Iron Gate is commendable, LaKoia. Your purity is unblemished." His voice was devoid of warmth, and his eyes searched mine for any sign of deceit. I met his gaze with a blank stare, my heart racing.

Days turned into weeks, and the whispers remained silent. I immersed myself in my studies, excelling in every subject, eager to maintain the illusion of perfection. Yet, the sight of Jake's colorful onesie each morning served as a stark reminder of the truth hidden beneath the gray.

During recess, Samantha joked about escaping. That was a huge no-no. A security guard came by. Samantha tried to explain that she was only joking. But she had made a mistake. They didn't find jokes funny here. They didn't find anything funny here. She was dragged away, her protests echoing through the halls. I felt a coldness in my heart, but I couldn't let it show. I had to keep it together for Jake.

One day, in my cleaning class, I noticed a new girl. She looked a lot like me, down to the braided hair. She asked the teacher if she could go to the bathroom. The teacher nodded, and she disappeared down the hall.

I needed to know more about her. She seemed out of place, a splash of color in a world of gray. I asked the teacher if I could go to the bathroom. "May I?" I said, trying to mimic the new girl's voice.

The teacher nodded, and I followed the same path she had taken. There was a sound coming from the last stall. I went into the stall beside it and listened. She was talking to someone. I heard them say stuff about how they hate the classes. I realized she had a phone with her. Phones weren't allowed at Iron Gate until age 13. She was 11.

My heart racing, I listened more. She was talking to a boy on her phone. A boy named Anon. I heard him say something about how they're going to expose Iron Gate. That's when I realized they were spies. Spies from the outside.

But how did they get in? I had to find out. I became "friends" with the girl, whose name was Cyrene. She was quiet, always looking around, as if expecting someone to jump out and grab her. She had a sadness in her eyes that was all too familiar. We started to talk, and she told me that Anon was her best friend. When her mom was sick, he took care of Ashton, her little brother. They had found a way to communicate.

One day, they found the guards throwing out Samantha's uniform. Cyrene took Samantha's uniform, and Anon took a boy's uniform. They had a plan. A plan to expose our school. I told Cyrene that Iron Gate had a free pass from the state to do anything. She seemed surprised. She called Anon and said one word, "Run."

She started running for the exit, and Anon burst out of the archery class doors. Alarms went off. Classes were escorted out of the rooms. They had triggered the emergency protocol. I saw the kindergarten teachers dragging wagons behind them, trying to match the kindergarteners up to their siblings, if they had any. The chaos was something I had never seen before.

I took Jake and ran. I couldn't let him be caught in the chaos. As we approached the exit, I saw Cyrene and Anon, climbing over the gates. They were almost out. Security guards chased them, but then they crossed the line between campus and the outside. After they crossed that line, they were free.

The guards didn't dare go after them. They couldn't leave the school grounds. We were taught that outside was dangerous, but now I knew it was the only place where we could truly be free. The alarm blared in my ears, but the sound grew distant as the world outside called to me.

Cyrene looked back. She held up her hand, then tapped her other hand behind it. I did the same. A silent promise. Everyone started filing back into their assigned classrooms. The event of major decision was over, and my opportunity to escape was gone.

One day, we were called in for a school-wide assembly. Mr. Millin stood on the stage, his voice echoing through the speakers. "As you all know, we have had some recent... disturbances." He paused, his eyes scanning the room. "To ensure the purity of Iron Gate, we will be increasing our security measures. Any unauthorized communication devices will be confiscated immediately. All students will be monitored more closely."

I gripped Jake's hand tighter, my heart racing. If they found out about Cyrene and Anon's plan, if they knew I had heard them, I would be terminated. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I had to tread carefully, maintain my façade of perfection.

A girl named Tasha had needed to be transferred to an outside school. She kept having panic attacks because of Cyrene and Anon. Her parents had been far stricter than the school needed them to be, and then she believed that any outsider was trying to take her. I felt bad for her, but I couldn't let myself get too involved.

The whispers had been my lifeline, but now they were gone. And with them, my hope of escape had faded. But I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the world than just Iron Gate. The school's regime was suffocating, and the thought of living under it for the rest of my life was unbearable.

I watched as the new security measures were installed—cameras in every corner, guards patrolling the halls more frequently, and teachers with an even more vigilant eye for any signs of deviation. Yet, I remained steadfast in my resolve to protect Jake and the semblance of normalcy we had.

I heard stories about Tasha. She was sent to a regular public school for reformation. She was questioned at school. All she knew was Iron Gate. Her new teacher had given her a free pass because the latest assignment in her new class was assigned before she moved. She wrote an entire essay about the Great Cleansing. One girl from the new school named Rachel was confused. She'd never heard of Iron Gate or the Great Cleansing.

The teacher helped her try to fit in, guiding her along. Rachel became her friend. Rachel didn't know much about Iron Gate, but she knew something wasn't right. Rachel had seen the news reports, the whispers of a school that was more than it seemed. She looked at Tasha with a mix of pity and curiosity.

As the days went by, Rachel saw the fear in Tasha's eyes, the way she would jump at the slightest sound. Rachel decided to help her. They started to talk about the outside world, the colors, the sounds, the smells. Rachel talked about her friends, her family, and her life.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. Tasha had escaped, but she was lost in a world she didn't understand. I had Jake, but we were both trapped here. I wished I could help Rachel understand what we were going through, but the truth was too dangerous to share.

I just kept going, my next screening in the near distance. Twelfth grade was approaching, and with it, the final year before college. College would be the final stretch before graduation. The college classes, 13th grade to 22nd grade, spanned 10 years, from our 13th birthday to the day before our 23rd year screening. The graduation screening. We'd go over everything we'd learned throughout our time at Iron Gate. If we passed, we were sent out into the world as perfect, obedient adults.

But what was the point of being perfect if the world was a lie?

In the days leading up to my twelfth-grade screening, I found myself slipping. The whispers had been my shield, my guide in the darkness. Without them, I felt exposed and vulnerable. The school's control over my thoughts had never been so apparent. I had to find a way to break free, not just for myself, but for Jake and the others who were born into this prison, just like me.

I approached Mrs. Willison, the one teacher who had always shown me a hint of kindness. Her eyes searched mine, and she knew I was hiding something. She leaned in close and whispered, "LaKoia, remember the whispers. They are a part of you, even if you can't hear them." It was the first time she had ever mentioned the whispers to me, and I knew she was trying to give me a message.

That night, I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. I couldn't sleep. The walls felt like they were closing in on me. I missed the whispers, but I knew I had to find a new way to fight. Then it hit me. If I couldn't hear them anymore, that was a good thing. It meant there was no distraction holding me back from my goals. My goals of making it out of this place.

The next day, I focused more intently than ever on my studies. I knew that knowledge was power, and if I could learn enough, maybe I could find a way to beat the system. I started to pay closer attention to the books we were allowed to read, looking for any clues or inconsistencies that could help me understand the outside world.

After that, the dreaded day of March 13th came. The day before my twelfth birthday, the day of my annual screening. As I sat in the cold, sterile room, the doctor's eyes bore into me, looking for any sign of imperfection. The silence was deafening, only broken by the occasional beep of the heart rate monitor.

"State your full name, birthdate, and child number," the doctor said in a monotone voice.

I took a deep breath. "LaKoia Takichi McAlley, March 14th, 2017, child number 37."

The doctor nodded, his expression unchanged. He inserted the chip into the reader, and the screens around the room flickered to life. The questions began, each one probing deeper into my psyche. I had to be careful, my answers had to be perfect. The whispers had taught me that much.

"Do you have any mental, emotional, or physical conditions that may impair your ability to serve Iron Gate Academy?"

My heart raced as I replied, "No, I am in perfect health and mental state."

The doctor's eyes narrowed, and he continued, "Do you have any disloyal thoughts about Iron Gate Academy or its doctrines?"

For a moment, I hesitated, my mind racing. Then, with a calmness that surprised even myself, I replied, "I am devoted to Iron Gate Academy and the purity it represents."

The doctor's eyes searched mine, looking for the slightest flicker of deceit. But I had learned to bury my true feelings deep, to wear the mask of obedience so well that it had almost become a part of me. "Very well," he said, moving on to the next question.

The screening felt like an eternity, but eventually, it was over. The doctor nodded and disconnected the chip reader. "You may go to the educational screening, LaKoia. Your dedication to Iron Gate is commendable."

I rose from the chair, my legs wobbly from the mental strain. As I walked down the hallway, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear. What if they had seen through my act? What if they knew about the whispers, the map, or the lost friends who had dared to dream of a different life?

The educational screening was next, a series of exams that would test the depth of my Iron Gate-approved knowledge. I took my seat in the large, silent room filled with rows of desks. Each student was given a paper and a pencil, and the test began. I scribbled answers with a shaking hand, my thoughts racing. Was I going to pass? Would they let me move on to the next grade, closer to graduation?

As the tests went on, I noticed a pattern in the questions. They weren't just about facts and figures, but about loyalty and obedience. "Would you report a friend for questioning the Great Cleansing?" "How do you feel about the sanctity of the Iron Gate Oath?" The words on the page were a stark reminder of the school's grip on our minds.

After what felt like hours, the tests were collected, and we were sent back to the waiting room. The silence was suffocating, a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts in my head. Jake's sweet, innocent face flashed in my mind, and I knew I had to keep going for him. If I could just make it through these next years, I could find a way to protect him from all of this.

The results came in, and I had passed. The relief washed over me like a cold shower. But it was short-lived. Mr. Millin called me into his office. His eyes were colder than the steel bars that kept us in.

"LaKoia," he began, his voice like a whip crack, "we've noticed some irregularities in your behavior."

I tried to keep my face impassive, my heart hammering in my chest. "Irregularities, sir?"

Mr. Millin leaned forward, his eyes boring into mine. "Yes. You've been seen speaking to a certain student, one who has been known to harbor... dissenting thoughts."

I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my spine. "I assure you, sir, I was only trying to help her. She was struggling with the material."

Mr. Millin studied me for a moment, his gaze unyielding. "We will be watching you closely, LaKoia. Any further deviations from the norm will not be tolerated."

The warning was clear. I had to be more careful. I nodded, my voice steady. "Yes, sir. I understand."

As I left the office, my thoughts were racing. Who had seen me with Cyrene? Who had reported me? The whispers of fear grew louder in my head, but I pushed them aside. I had Jake to think about. I couldn't let them take him away.

I returned to my dorm, my heart racing faster than ever. The walls felt closer than ever before. I knew I couldn't let this fear consume me. I had to keep fighting, for Jake and for myself. I decided to channel my anxiety into something productive.

I picked up a set of textbooks from my next teacher, Mr. Castellanos. On the weekends, he taught the boy's classes. He was stern, but fair. "You know the rules," he said, his voice a low rumble. "If you're caught with anything other than school-approved material, you'll be terminated on the spot."

I nodded, taking the books and retreating to my dorm. I went to my room and studied until my parents came home from work. They were silent, as always, their eyes filled with a mix of pride and caution. They knew about the screenings, the whispers, the fear that lurked behind every student's eyes. But they were as trapped as we were, their lives dictated by the very system they had been born into.

Jake's eyes lit up when he saw me, and for a moment, I could almost believe in the illusion of normalcy. By now, he was a little over a year old. His black hair reflected the moonlight in a beautiful dance. He reached out for me in my mom's arms. She helped him do some assisted walking towards me. The warmth of his new uniform washed over me as I picked him up. His giggle was the only sound that could break the silence of the dorm.

"You're growing so fast," I whispered, holding him tightly. "Too fast."

The days passed in a blur of lessons and homework, the whispers of rebellion replaced by the mundane chorus of school bells and recited facts. The pressure only grew stronger with each passing day. Playtime with Jake was my safe haven. I cherished every moment with him, knowing that any wrong move would separate us.

One evening, we were sitting on the couch together. Jake had been doing assisted walking with me and our parents, and the moment for him to take his tentative first steps seemed to loom in the distance. He looked up at me, his dark eyes wide with curiosity. I held his chubby little hands and helped him off the couch.

"Mom, Dad, get your phones out," I said. "You'll want to keep this moment forever."

They nodded, smiles breaking through their usual stoic expressions as they readied their devices. Jake took a deep breath, his little body tense with excitement. I helped him stand up, then he took a small step while holding my hands. Then I let go. He stood there for a second before he put one wobbly foot in front of another unassisted, for the very first time.

All four of us smiled as Jake tentatively toddled over to the couch. His laughter filled the room, a stark contrast to the usual solemnity. For a brief moment, the oppressive weight of Iron Gate felt lighter. But as quickly as it had lifted, it crashed back down, a cold reminder that moments like these were rare and fleeting.

The next week, the whispers grew louder, not in my head, but around me. I overheard hushed conversations in the hallways, and saw glances exchanged between students. It was clear that something was brewing, and the school's strict regime had everyone on edge.

During recess, I saw a security guard. His eyes scanned the playground, searching for any sign of dissent. My heart skipped a beat. I had to find out what was happening. I approached him casually, my eyes on the swinging children. "Excuse me, sir," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Is everything okay?"

He looked down at me, his expression unreadable. "No," he said before even more guards came.

The playground fell into a tense silence as the guards approached. They scanned the area, looking for any signs of trouble. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure. "Is there anything we can do to help?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

The guard's eyes narrowed. "Just keep playing," he said, his voice a warning. "And keep your eyes and ears open."

I nodded and retreated, my mind racing. What had changed? What had the others found out? I saw them surrounding a group of kids. One of them looked up and caught my eye. It was Max, a boy from my class who had always been quieter than the rest. His gaze was filled with a mix of fear and defiance.

The next day, we had gender-specific classes. The boys were in the other wing, learning how to be the strong and stoic leaders of the new world, while we girls were in Mrs. Mako's class, learning about our roles as obedient caretakers.

"Remember," she droned, "your purpose is to support the Iron Gate regime and ensure the purity of the next generation."

I nodded along with the other girls, but my mind was racing. Max's gaze had been a silent plea for help. Was he involved in something? Did he know about the whispers? My thoughts swirled as I took my seat at the desk.

After class, I found myself wandering the hallways, looking for any clue of what was happening. Breakfast passed in a flash. We weren't allowed to speak during weekend meals, so I couldn't ask anyone about the whispers or the increased security. The tension was palpable, and I could feel it in every step I took.

After breakfast, we had gymnastics class. As we went through the motions, I noticed that even the teachers' eyes darted around the room more than usual. They were on high alert, searching for any signs of dissent. It was during this class that the whispers grew too loud to ignore.

We had to do some insane stuff in gymnastics. Stuff that didn't seem humanly possible. But here we were, bending our bodies to the will of the coaches. I could feel the burning in my body as I flew across the high bars, bounced off the trampolines, and landed in a perfect tuck. The whispers of obedience grew louder with each exertion, pushing me to perform beyond my limits.

We never got any time to relax during those classes. The coaches were always watching, timing us, pushing us to be the best. But amidst the strain, my thoughts drifted to Jake. I had to keep my strength for him. I had to be the one to break us out of this place.

As we were lining up for the final exercise, a commotion at the door caught my attention. Two guards rushed in, their expressions stern. They grabbed as many girls as they could. I managed to dodge. They knew I was innocent. Or did they?

My heart pounded as I watched them leave. Whispers grew into a cacophony of fear and confusion. What was happening? Had someone breached our walls?

The rest of the day was a blur. Classes went on as if nothing was amiss, but the whispers didn't stop. They grew more frantic, more urgent. It was like a storm was brewing, and I could feel the electricity in the air.

As we marched back to the dorms after our final class, I saw a girl from my Feminine Obedience class. Her name was Alexia, and she was Tasha's replacement. She looked around nervously, as if searching for someone. I approached her, trying to keep my voice low. "What's going on?"

Her eyes widened, and she glanced over her shoulder before leaning in. "I heard something," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Some of the boys have found a way out. They're planning an escape."

My heart skipped a beat. An escape? Could it be true? I had to know more. "How? When?"

Alexia's eyes darted around, and she leaned closer. "They found a map. I don't know where it leads, but it's something. They're planning it for tonight."

My mind raced. If there was a map, and the boys were planning an escape, I had to find out more. Maybe this was the chance I'd been waiting for. "How do you know?"

Alexia glanced around again. "Max told me. He's part of it. But you can't tell anyone, LaKoia. If they find out, we're all dead."

Her words sent a chill down my spine. I nodded solemnly. "I understand. Thank you for telling me."

As we parted ways, I couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. An escape attempt? Was it possible? I had to find Max and get the details. I waited until the lights were out and the dorm was quiet, then slipped out of bed. Careful not to make a sound, I tiptoed to the door and slipped into the hallway.

The whispers grew stronger as I approached the boys' wing. I could feel the vibrations of their excitement, their desperation. I found Max's room and tapped softly on the door. It opened a crack, and his anxious face peeked out. "LaKoia?"

"I know about the escape," I whispered. "Tell me everything."

Max's eyes searched mine, looking for any sign of betrayal. After a moment, he pulled the door open wider and beckoned me inside. His room was sparsely furnished, with only a single bed and a small desk. On the desk lay a crumpled piece of paper—the map.

"We found it hidden in the library," he murmured, his voice tight with excitement and fear. "It's a way out of Iron Gate. We think it leads to the real world."

I took the map, my heart racing as I studied the crude lines and hastily scribbled notes. It looked like it had been drawn by hand, a stark contrast to the sterile perfection of our school-assigned texts. "How do you know it's real?"

Max took a deep breath. "We don't. But it's all we've got. We can't just keep living like this, knowing what's out there." His voice was filled with a mix of desperation and hope that I hadn't heard in anyone's voice before.

I nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "I want to help. What do we do?"

Max looked around nervously. "Go to the gates. The rest of the group is waiting for us," he said. "We're going to do this together."

My heart pounded as we made our way through the shadowy corridors of the residential building, the whispers of fear and hope growing louder with each step. We arrived at the gates, and there they were—a small group of boys and girls, their faces a mix of excitement and terror. They had all heard the whispers and had decided to take the risk.

Max took the lead, holding the map with trembling hands. The moon cast a pale glow on the ground, guiding us through the barren courtyard. The silence was eerie, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and our soft footsteps. The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of freedom.

As we approached the gates, the whispers grew so loud that they seemed to be coming from outside the walls. We shared nervous glances, our hearts racing in sync. The gates loomed before us, a stark symbol of our confinement. They were massive and made of solid iron, adorned with the academy's emblem—an eye with wings, surrounded by two snakes.

Max stepped forward, and with trembling hands, he inserted a small tool into the lock. The whispers grew quieter, as if holding their breath. The lock clicked open with surprising ease, and the gates creaked as they opened. A cool breeze brushed against our faces, carrying with it the scent of something unfamiliar—freedom.

The group of us exchanged nervous glances, the reality of what we were about to do finally sinking in. We had been taught since birth that the outside world was dangerous, that we were safe within the confines of Iron Gate. But here we were, about to challenge everything we had ever known.

One by one, we slipped through the gates. The world outside was a stark contrast to the sterile environment we had been raised in. Trees and grass stretched out before us, the smell of earth and growing things filling our nostrils. We had studied about nature in our classes, but it was nothing compared to the real thing. It was beautiful and terrifying.

Suddenly, something snapped inside me. "I-I can't do this," I said before running back into the school's embrace.

Max looked at me, his eyes wide with shock. "What? Why?"

"Jake," I choked out. "I have to grab him."

Max's face fell, understanding dawning on him. "Okay, just go real quick."

I nodded, my heart racing as I sprinted back to the dorms. I had to get Jake before it was too late. If the school found out about the escape, they would do anything to stop it, including harming the youngest, most innocent students.

Entering the building, I took the stairs two at a time, my breaths coming in quick gasps. The hallways felt eerily quiet, as if the very walls knew of our plan and were holding their breath. I reached Jake's room and found him sleeping peacefully in his crib, oblivious to the turmoil outside.

I picked him up, cradling him in my arms, his warmth and innocence a stark contrast to the cold, calculated world of Iron Gate. I whispered reassurances in his ear, my voice trembling with fear and determination. We had to leave. We had to find a way out of this nightmare.

As I turned to leave, Jake woke up. He smiled at me before making a "shh" noise. His small hand reached up to put a finger in front of my mouth, as if he knew what was happening. I nodded and silently carried him down the hallway. We had to move fast.

We got to the gates and met everyone there. "This is Jake," I whispered. "He's my little brother,"

The others nodded, understanding in their eyes. We had all been taught to put Iron Gate first, but the bond of family was something even the school couldn't erase.

"We'll go together," Max said firmly. "We're all in this."

The whispers grew softer as we stepped through the gates, as if the school itself was letting us go. The group gathered around me, Jake held my hand as we walked behind a group of trees, and we studied the map under the moonlight. It was a simple, crude drawing, but it was our lifeline.

"We need to be careful," Max warned, his eyes darting around. "They'll notice we're gone by the morning."

I nodded, gripping Jake's hand tighter. "We'll stick together," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

Max pointed to a group of trees. "That's the 20-foot line," he said. "It marks the legal borders of the school. Once we cross those, we are no longer under Iron Gate's control,"

We huddled closer, the whispers of our comrades' fears and excitement mingling with the rustle of leaves. The map was crude, drawn with smuggled pencils and likely stolen paper, but it was our beacon of hope. It led us to the 20-foot line. The line that separated us from our freedom. And all we had to do was cross it.

My heart hammered in my chest as we approached the trees. Each step was heavier than the last, the weight of our decision pressing down on us. The whispers grew faint, as if they knew we were on the cusp of something big. The night was quiet, save for the distant hoot of an owl. I took a deep breath, the cool air filling my lungs with a sense of determination.

"Jake can go first if he wants," said Max. "He probably wants to show off his new walking skills."

The group chuckled nervously, trying to lighten the mood. Jake turned to face the trees, then turned to face me. I knelt down to his level. "You're really brave, Jake," I told him. "You're doing this for all of us."

With a nod, he took a wobbly step forward, and we all watched in awe as he stepped away from the trees and into the real world, something he wasn't supposed to do for another 21 years.

We followed suit, one by one, until we were all standing beyond the 20-foot line. We gazed back at Iron Gate one last time before walking away. The whispers had faded into silence. It was as if the school knew it had lost its grip on us. The feeling was both liberating and terrifying.

Suddenly, Max felt a pulse in his neck. "It's the border sensing," he said. "We have to go back,"

Panic set in as we realized the gravity of our mistake. If we didn't get back before the school's system detected us, the alarms would sound, and our escape would be over before it even began. We turned and sprinted back to the gates, our hearts racing.

The whispers grew louder, almost screaming in our ears now, urging us to hurry. We could feel the eyes of the school upon us, the very air thick with the anticipation of capture. As we approached the gates, they began to close, the iron bars sliding together with a thunderous finality that echoed through the night.

By now, the sun was peeking out. I never really had to brush my hair, because it was always tightly braided. Jake barely had any hair. I brushed my teeth before escaping, and Jake barely has any teeth to brush. We all had our uniforms on, so we just decided to head to school.

The first bell rang with the same haunting tones we'd heard since we were babies. Jake and I looked at each other, wide-eyed. Everyone ran to class to start another Sunday. I gave him a little high-five before dropping him off to go to his class in the elementary building. I walked to the high school building to start my gender-specific classes.

The whispers had gone quiet since our return, but the fear remained. We all knew the punishment for rebellion was severe. The silence was eerie, as if the school was waiting to pounce. But we had a secret, a spark of hope that burned brighter than any of the fluorescent lights in our classrooms.

The day dragged on with the usual rigorous routine, but our thoughts were elsewhere. Every time a guard passed by, our hearts skipped a beat. We had crossed the line, and now we had to pretend like we hadn't.

At lunch, I sat with Alexia and a few other girls who had been part of the escape attempt. We talked in hushed tones, trying to make sense of our decision and the consequences we might face. We had almost tasted freedom. And if it weren't for the border sensors in our chips, we would have escaped.

"Do you think they know?" Alexia whispered, her eyes darting around the cafeteria.

I swallowed a mouthful of tasteless mini fruit bricks. "I don't know," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "But we can't let them see us like this. We have to keep up appearances."

The rest of the day was a blur of forced smiles and hushed whispers. The whispers had stopped, but the fear remained etched on everyone's faces. Each time a guard passed by, we held our breaths, hoping our deception wasn't as transparent as it felt.

Dinner was a somber affair. We sat in our usual places, picking at the tasteless food, our minds racing with thoughts of what awaited us tomorrow. Would the school reveal that they knew of our escape attempt? Would we be punished? Or worse, terminated?

We returned to our final class of the day, which was Domestic Perfection. Samantha used to take this class. Before she was terminated. Our teacher, Mrs. Callia, taught us the importance of obedience and purity. She said that it was very important to keep our thoughts clean. I looked around the room and saw fear in everyone's eyes. We were all thinking the same thing. Would we be next?

As we were getting ready to leave, Mrs. Callia called out my name. "LaKoia, can you stay behind for a moment?" My heart sank. The whispers grew louder in my head, and I could feel the fear in the air thicken. This was it. They knew.

The room emptied out, and I sat at my desk, my hands trembling. Mrs. Callia approached me with a steely gaze. "You're perfect!" she exclaimed, her expression changing. "You're going to make the perfect wife once you graduate!"

My heart thudded in my chest, but I kept my face neutral. "Thank you, Mrs. Callia," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You may go home now," she said. "Remember to watch your parents!"

I nodded, trying to keep my composure as I gathered my things. The next day was Monday. The next day was my thirteenth-grade screening. I was confident now.

As I left the classroom at the end of the day, the whispers grew stronger, not of fear, but of anticipation. It was as if the school itself knew something big was about to happen. I walked to the bus station, Jake's tiny hand in mine, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders.

The ride home was tense. We didn't talk about the escape attempt, but it was all we could think about. Our house was cold and silent, a stark reminder of the lives we led. I played with Jake when we got home. His laughter was the only thing that brought me comfort.

Bedtime came quickly, and I tucked him into bed. "Wish me good luck," I said. "Tomorrow's my screening."

He looked up at me with wide eyes. "Okay, sis," he said. He hadn't learned how to say "LaKoia" yet.

I walked back to my room. Around midnight, Jake came into my room. "I heard noises from Mommy and Daddy's bed," he said. "Can I sleep in here tonight?"

I nodded, lifting him up and placing him in my bed. His warmth was comforting. "Everything will be okay," I whispered, trying to believe my own words. The whispers grew faint as I closed my eyes, the weight of the day's events finally taking its toll.

The next morning, I woke up early, my mind racing. The whispers grew louder, reminding me of the screening ahead. I got dressed and started to leave. Before I left, Jake handed me a piece of paper. It had a hastily-drawn heart with a stick figure scribble of us holding hands. "For you," he said. My heart swelled with love and fear. I tucked it into my pocket.

At breakfast, the whispers grew into a low murmur, a palpable tension in the air. Students and teachers alike were on edge. No one talked about the escape attempt, but everyone felt it. I sat with my head down, trying not to draw attention. The food tasted like cardboard, but I ate it, needing the energy for what was to come.

As the day began, I went into the waiting room. The whispers grew louder in my head, telling me that this could be my last day in Iron Gate. I could feel the anxiety building in the room, each student waiting for their turn, hoping to pass the screening.

My name was called, and I walked into the cold, sterile room. The same machines that had judged me my entire life were now my final obstacle before college. I took a deep breath and recited my name, birthdate, and child number. The nurse took my blood and hooked me up to the mental screening machines.

As the questions began, I felt the whispers around me, urging me to be careful. I focused on the blinking lights, trying to keep my thoughts as bland and obedient as possible. The questions grew more personal, asking about my emotions and relationships. I lied effortlessly, telling them exactly what they wanted to hear.

I went to the physical screening, where the examiner was waiting for me. He was a cold, stern man who had seen too many students fail. I took a deep breath and focused on keeping my heart rate steady. Each poke and prod was a reminder of how close I was to graduation, to freedom, to a world beyond Iron Gate.

Finally, it was over. The nurse took the data from the machines and handed it to the doctor. He studied it, his eyes flicking back and forth between the paper and me. The whispers grew so loud, I thought they would drown out my own thoughts. And then, he nodded.

"You're clear," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You can go to the emotional screening."

The whispers grew quieter, as if they were holding their collective breath. The emotional screening was always the trickiest. It wasn't enough to hide your true feelings from the machines; you had to convince the human examiner as well.

The emotional examiner was waiting for me there. She was a tall, intimidating woman with a face that had never known a smile. She beckoned me to sit in the chair across from her.

"Miss McAlley," she began, her voice cold. "Tell me about your relationship with your mother and father."

My heart skipped a beat. I had to be careful. "They are excellent role models," I said, forcing a smile. "They always encourage me to strive for perfection and to be grateful for the opportunities Iron Gate provides."

The whispers grew softer, but I could feel their presence, willing me to stay strong. The examiner's eyes searched my face, looking for any hint of deceit. "And your relationship with Jake?"

"Jake is a wonderful brother," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "He reminds me of the importance of family and how lucky we are to be together in this perfect environment."

The whispers grew fainter as she nodded, seemingly satisfied. She moved on to the next set of questions, and I continued to lie with practiced ease. The room felt smaller with each passing second, the walls closing in as the screening dragged on.

As the final question left her lips, I held my breath, waiting for the verdict. The whispers had gone silent, as if they too were waiting. And then, she spoke. "You have passed the emotional screening, Miss McAlley. You are a prime example of Iron Gate's success."

The whispers erupted into a cacophony of relief and hope. I stepped out of the room, my legs shaking, and into the educational screening room. Here, the whispers grew stronger than ever, whispering words of encouragement and warnings of the final hurdle ahead. The examiner, Mr. Serino, passed out the packets.

"Start the test," he said.

The questions started off somewhat normal. Then they got more personal. "Would you report a family member for falling into imperfection?" "How often do you praise the Great Cleansing?" "What is your opinion on the necessity of the screenings?"

The whispers grew more insistent, urging me to be perfect, to not let them down. I felt like I was balancing on a tightrope over a pit of snakes, each question threatening to send me plummeting.

As the clock ticked down, I handed in my test, the whispers now a roar in my ears. Mr. Serino collected them, his expression unreadable. The room was silent except for the rustling of papers and the occasional cough. Finally, he spoke.

"The girl's test will now begin," he said as he passed out another set of test packets.

These questions were things like "How often do you think you'll disobey your future husband?" "What do you think about your role as a woman?" "How do you feel about the thought of not being able to leave the house without your husband?" The whispers grew more intense, pushing me to give the answers the school wanted to hear.

The room was silent except for the sound of pencils scratching on paper. We had been taught to be obedient, to never question our place in this society.

The clock ticked away, each second feeling like an eternity. I could feel the whispers of my classmates' fears and hopes intertwining with mine. Finally, Mr. Serino announced, "Time's up." We handed in our tests, our hearts racing. He said that the "teenager's test" will begin.

He handed out the new packets, with questions aimed at teenagers. "What will your social media username be?" "What are your preferences?" "What is your stance on the Great Cleansing?"

Eventually, the screening was over. They told me I had passed. I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, of victory, that I had passed. I had done it. I made it to college.

We were given our new phones, tablets, laptops, and watches. They were sleek and black, with the Iron Gate emblem etched into the back. They were the latest technology, created by Iron Gate, made specifically for school purposes and in-school communication. Before now, we had clunky old computers that we couldn't take anywhere.

We were given our class schedules and backpacks for the next year before we left for our dorms. The backpacks were large and black, with the Iron Gate emblem on a patch sewn onto them.

When I got back home, Jake was super excited. So were my parents. They were so happy that their daughter was finally in college. That I'd survived another year.

My first day of college had a refreshing start. Jake was congratulating me with hugs around my legs. My parents were congratulating me with actual words. College was a huge deal. Thirteen years of perfection. The last stretch before graduation.

The whispers grew quieter as I packed my new backpack. My parents took Jake to school for me since college was very close to the dorm building and I could just walk.

The college building was a lot like the rest of the school, but it had an eerie silence to it. The halls were wider, the ceilings higher. It was like the school had grown up with us, but had lost its vibrancy.

The first class of the day was History of Iron Gate. The whispers grew in anticipation. This was the class where we were taught about the Great Cleansing, the purge that had created our perfect society. The teacher, Mrs. Dania, was a stern woman with a sharp eye for imperfection.

As she droned on about the school's glorious past, I heard faint footsteps. They inched closer and closer to the classroom. The whispers grew fainter, and my heart pounded in my chest. Then, the door swung open, and in walked 6 security guards, their expressions unreadable. Mrs. Dania's eyes widened slightly before she continued her lecture.

The guards approached the first row, and one of them called out a name. A girl stood up, trembling. "You're coming with us," the guard said. No explanation, no reason given. We all knew what this meant.

She said that it wasn't her. That she had studied hard, that she was perfect. But the guards didn't care. They grabbed her by the arms and dragged her out of the room, her screams echoing down the hallway.

Mrs. Dania cleared her throat and continued the lecture as if nothing had happened. But we knew. We knew that even in college, we weren't safe. At breakfast, Alexia tried to calm me down, but the fear remained, a constant reminder of the school's grip on our lives.

As the weeks passed, the whispers grew quieter. It was as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for freedom. We went to classes, studied, and pretended to be the perfect students Iron Gate had shaped us into. But the whispers didn't completely die. They were always there, a faint echo in the back of my mind, reminding me of the hope that had once burned so brightly.

When my fourteenth-grade screening came closer, so did Jake's second-grade screening. We played together, hoping he'd make it.

Days grew into weeks, and the whispers grew quieter. The fear of being caught had settled into a dull ache. Max had become like a shadow, appearing only at night, his eyes reflecting the hope we dared not speak of.

Eventually, my screening came. It was like any other day, except the whispers had gone silent. The school had realized something was off, and the air was thick with tension. I walked into the same cold, sterile room, ready to face the gauntlet of tests again.

The nurse took my vitals, and the doctor studied me as if searching for something hidden beneath the surface. I gave him the answers he wanted to hear, recounting the history of Iron Gate as if it were a fairy tale instead of a nightmare.

"You seem… different, Miss McAlley," he said, his eyes narrowing.

I forced a smile. "Just eager to continue serving Iron Gate."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and I continued through the screening process. With each question, I felt the whispers of rebellion stirring within me, urging me to fight back, to refuse to play along with the school's twisted game. But I knew better. For now, I had to bide my time.

I returned home that night and played with Jake, not knowing how much time we had left together. His laughter filled the room, a stark contrast to the whispers that had gone silent. That night, as I laid in bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that the school was watching us closer than ever before. The walls seemed to have eyes, and the floorboards creaked with the weight of secrets we dared not share.

I went off to my fourteenth-grade class with a "Happy Birthday!" from Jake and my parents. I walked to the college building with confidence, knowing that today would be great. Probably because it was Friday.

The class was also confident. We had all made it this far, and we knew what was expected of us. But the whispers remained, a constant reminder of the rebellion we had once felt so close to achieving.

During lunch, we gathered in the cafeteria, the air thick with hushed conversations. We talked in low voices, sharing stories of the week, but the whispers remained. We were all aware of the guards patrolling the room, their eyes scanning for any signs of dissent.

Even in college, we had recess. It was a chance to burn off some steam, to pretend we were still kids playing in the playground. To just be happy. But the whispers didn't go to recess with us. They stayed in the classroom, a constant reminder of what awaited us if we slipped up.

I was doing some gymnastics practice in the practice area when Alexia decided to join me. We talked about what we'd do once we graduated. I told her about my dream of being a nurse, helping people get better. She talked about becoming a teacher, spreading knowledge to the next generation.

We knew that we were just pretending, saying what the school wanted to hear. But it was a small act of rebellion in itself, holding onto our dreams, whispering them to each other in the shadow of Iron Gate's regime.

Days became weeks as my fifteenth-grade screening came towards me like a leaf in the wind. The whispers grew stronger, feeding on the anticipation of what was to come. We studied harder, trained more vigorously, and put on our best faces for the cameras that were always watching.

On the day of the screening, I woke up early, feeling the whispers louder than ever. Jake, now in third grade, held my hand as we walked to the screening room. His eyes were wide with excitement, oblivious to the fear that gripped me. The whispers grew to a crescendo as we approached the doors.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense. The same cold, unsmiling faces of the examiners and the impersonal hum of the machines filled the room. I took a deep breath and stepped onto the scale for my weight and height check. The nurse took my hand and led me to the next station, the whispers in my head growing louder with each step.

The mental screening began with a series of questions about my thoughts and feelings, the same scripted interrogation as before. But this time, the whispers didn't just encourage me to lie; they fueled a burning desire to break free. I felt the whispers of everyone who had come before me, of those who had dared to hope for more than what Iron Gate offered.

I answered each question with precision, my heart racing as I painted the picture of the perfect student. Yet, the whispers grew stronger, whispering words of courage and rebellion. They spoke of a world beyond the academy's gates, a world where individuality was celebrated, not eradicated.

The physical exam was a blur of cold instruments and probing eyes. Each poke and prod brought the whispers closer to the surface, their intensity a stark contrast to the doctor's detached demeanor. As I stepped into the emotional screening, the whispers grew to a fever pitch, urging me to tell the truth.

Mrs. Carrianti, the emotional screening examiner, had a stern face that seemed to have never known a smile. She began her line of questioning, her eyes boring into me as if searching for the slightest crack in my façade. "Miss McAlley, describe your feelings towards the Great Cleansing," she demanded.

The whispers grew louder, urging me to be bold. I took a deep breath and replied, "I am grateful for the Great Cleansing. It has given us a world of order and perfection." But my voice trembled slightly, betraying the anger and fear that roiled within me.

"Great!" she said. "Now, tell me about your relationship with your brother, Jake."

"He's a great brother," I said. The whispers grew quieter, and I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.

After a barrage of questions, I was able to leave. The whispers grew quiet again, as if they had used up all their energy. I felt drained, but also strangely alive. The screening was over, but the whispers remained, a reminder of the truth we all knew.

I went on my phone the next day to scroll through the school-invented social media called IronChat. It's a pretty chill place. Sometimes it was breached by outsiders, but by the time we were allowed to have it, we wouldn't believe what they said. Any posts conflicting with the school's beliefs and practices were automatically reported and the poster's chip would shock them.

I saw a post from Alexia. She posted about her classes being "so fun" and "a good learning experience," but I knew she was pretending. I had to go to school after that. I packed my things and walked to my fifteenth-grade classes. The whispers were faint today, like a distant echo of a hope that was slowly dying.

The whispers grew a little stronger when I saw Alexia in the hallway. She gave me a small nod, and I knew she was feeling the same way I was. We walked to our first class together, the silence between us speaking louder than any words could.

The first class was Advanced Propaganda. It was a subject designed to prepare us for the real world, where we would spread the word of Iron Gate's perfection. The teacher, Mr. Duncan, had a way of speaking that made even the most mundane facts sound like the gospel truth. He said that we'd have gender-specific classes after breakfast.

As we filed into the large, sterile room, the whispers grew a bit louder. They whispered of things we weren't supposed to know, of a world beyond the school's gates. A world where people had choices, where imperfection was not a death sentence. I chose not to believe them.

But as Mr. Duncan began his lecture, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The whispers grew stronger, feeding off the tension in the room. The other students looked just as uncomfortable as I felt. We had all heard the rumors of what happened during the gender-specific classes, of the extreme measures the school took to ensure our purity.

The bell rang, and we shuffled out of the classroom. The whispers grew to a murmur as we walked to the cafeteria for breakfast. The food was the same as always, but the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. We ate in silence, the whispers in our heads the only sound breaking through the oppressive stillness.

After breakfast, we separated for our gender-specific classes. The girls headed to the Domestic Perfection Hall, where we were taught the "correct" way to be females in Iron Gate's society. Mrs. Karissa's eyes scanned the room, searching for any signs of disobedience. She was known for her harsh punishments, and the whispers grew softer in her presence.

The class began with the usual lessons on poise and obedience, and then something else started. Something new. 30 boys from the other class were brought into the room. Lucas was one of them. We were matched up, and Lucas and I were paired.

Today was "assignment day" in "interaction class," where we were taught how to interact with our future husbands. Today was how we'd leave the house together. The whispers grew quiet as we were paired up. The boys looked at us with a mix of curiosity and fear.

Lucas and I walked around the room, following the instructions given by Mrs. Karissa. We had to walk in step and hold hands. It was an eerie dance, choreographed by the school to show us the "proper" way to leave the house. His hand felt cold and clammy in mine, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for him. We were both pawns in Iron Gate's twisted game of human perfection.

The whispers grew faint again, as if they knew we were in no position to act on our rebellious thoughts. But they didn't completely disappear. They were always there, a background noise that reminded me of the truth the school tried so hard to suppress.

When we were released from the gender-specific classes, we returned to our dorms in silence. Even Jake seemed to sense the heaviness in the air. That night, as I tucked him into bed, he whispered, "Sis, I saw something during recess,"

My heart skipped a beat. "What did you see?"

He looked up at me with wide eyes. "I saw a kid being dragged away by some security guards,"

My heart sank. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Jake whispered back, his eyes filling with fear. "But I heard them say he broke the rules."

The whispers grew louder in my mind, a cacophony of anger and despair. "It's okay, Jake," I assured him, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just keep playing, keep learning, and don't worry about the things you can't control."

The next day was Sunday. We had Feminine Obedience. It was a day that we had to learn about cooking, cleaning, and other domestic duties. Then the boys came back. Mrs. Karissa spoke up. "Today, we will learn something new in this class," she said. "You will be taught the art of serving your future husband."

The whispers grew louder. The girls around me shifted uncomfortably, and I felt the same. We were paired up again, but this time, we had to serve the boys. We were walked into small "homes" with a kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. Mine was labeled "LaKoia and Lucas" in the cold, metallic letters that lined the doors.

We cooked and cleaned. The whispers grew to a roar as we were instructed to cater to the boys' every need. It was a humiliating display of servitude, a stark reminder of our future roles. Yet, even amidst the whispers of rebellion, we complied. We had to.

Lucas looked as uncomfortable as I felt, his eyes flickering to the security camera in the corner. I knew he was thinking the same thing I was: this wasn't right. But we had no voice here, no power to change the twisted reality we were born into.

As we moved through the motions of cooking and cleaning, the whispers grew stronger, reminding me of the rebels before us. Cyrene and Anon. They didn't even go here. They were outsiders that found their way in. Yet, their story had become our legend.

The whispers grew to a murmur, then a roar, as we served the boys their meals. The injustice of it all sat heavy in my stomach like a lead weight. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, but I kept my head down, focusing on the task at hand.

Lucas barely touched his food, his eyes darting around the room. The whispers grew stronger, whispering of escape and rebellion. I could see the wheels turning in his head, the same thoughts that had haunted me for so long.

After a long day, my final class of the day ended. I remembered what day it was. March 12th. My screening was tomorrow. The whispers grew louder, a symphony of fear and hope. I had to be perfect.

The walk home was tense. The whispers grew so loud that I could almost make out words. "Don't get caught," they said. "You're almost there." I quickened my pace, pushing the thoughts aside. I couldn't let them distract me now.

Once home, I changed into my after-school clothes and sat down at the desk to begin my homework. Jake looked at me with those innocent eyes, his curiosity about the day's events palpable. "What did you learn today, LaKoia?"

I took a deep breath, pushing down the whispers that threatened to spill over. "We learned about serving our future families," I replied, keeping my voice calm.

Jake nodded solemnly. "I had a test today," he said, changing the subject. "I think I did okay."

My heart swelled with pride, but the whispers grew louder, reminding me of what was at stake. I had to focus on my homework, on tomorrow's screening. We all had to. The whispers grew faint as we worked, a reminder of the price of failure.

Jake left the room. I finished my homework in about 30 minutes. Jake ended up falling asleep on the couch after finishing his after-school stuff. He was allowed to sleep there. I walked back to my room.

I heard some strange noises. They were coming from my parents' room. The whispers grew faint, as if they were telling me to stay put. So that's what I did. I didn't move a muscle. But my heart was racing.

The day of my sixteenth-grade screening was here. The whispers had grown faint overnight, as if even they knew that today was the day of truth. I waited until they called my name. The nurse led me to the same chair, the same cold light shining down on me.

The doctor was a new face, a young man with a forced smile. He began the physical exam, his hands moving deftly over my body. With each poke and prod, the whispers grew a little louder, whispering words of encouragement. They were my silent cheerleaders, pushing me to hold on to the hope that one day, we would all be free.

As the doctor moved to the emotional screening, I felt a knot in my stomach. This was the part I feared the most. But I was ready. I had practiced my responses, and had learned to control my emotions. I looked into his eyes and told him about my dreams of serving the Iron Gate society with pride. The whispers grew softer, as if they were proud of me.

The examiner leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Miss McAlley, have you ever felt any... negative emotions towards the academy or its teachings?" His eyes searched my face for any sign of deceit.

The whispers grew stronger, filling my mind with a mix of anger and defiance. Yet, I maintained my calm demeanor. "No, sir. I am grateful for the opportunities Iron Gate provides." The words felt like acid on my tongue, but I knew better than to let the whispers of rebellion seep into my voice.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, but his gaze remained sharp. "And what of your brother, Jake?"

"He is a joy," I replied, my voice steady. "I look forward to watching him grow into a model citizen."

The doctor nodded again, scribbling something on his clipboard. The whispers grew faint, as if holding their breath.

As the emotional screening came to an end, the doctor stood up and gestured for me to follow. We walked down the hallway to the final room: the educational screening. The whispers grew louder, reminding me of all the knowledge I had gathered, all the secrets I had kept hidden.

The room was filled with 30 other students, all looking equally nervous. We were instructed to take our seats and wait for the exam to begin. The whispers grew to a dull roar, reminding me of the weight of our shared burden.

The test was a series of questions, each one more difficult than the last. I felt the whispers guiding me, filling my mind with answers and strategies. It was like they had been preparing me for this moment all along.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the test, I looked around the room. The other students' faces were a mix of fear and relief. The whispers grew softer again, retreating into the shadows of my mind.

The doctor collected our tests and announced, "You will all be informed of the results before you leave."

My heart pounded in my chest as I walked out of the room. The whispers grew distant, as if they had served their purpose and were now waiting in the wings for the next act. I found myself back in the cold, sterile hallway, surrounded by the ghosts of my former classmates who had not been so lucky.

The educational screening was the most nerve-wracking part of the yearly process. It was the ultimate test of our obedience and knowledge. As I waited for the results, the whispers grew faint, leaving me with only my thoughts and the echoes of my own heartbeat.

Finally, the doctor returned, his expression unreadable. He called out the names of the students who had passed, one by one. My heart skipped a beat with each name, hoping, praying that mine would be next.

"LaKoia," he said, his voice cold and flat. "You have passed the educational screening."

Relief flooded through me, but the whispers grew stronger, reminding me of the friends I had lost along the way. The price of perfection was steep, and each year it felt like I was selling a piece of my soul. But I had made it this far.

I walked out of the room, feeling the weight of the whispers pressing down on me. The hallways were empty, the only sounds the echoes of my footsteps and the distant hum of the school's machinery.

The screening was over, but the whispers didn't leave me. They grew louder as I approached the cafeteria, a place where we were allowed to let down our guards for a brief moment.

Alexia saw me first, her eyes lighting up with hope. She had passed too. We hugged, our whispers mingling together, a silent cheer of survival. We sat together, our small act of friendship a tiny rebellion in the sea of sameness.

As we ate, the whispers grew into a murmur, a shared anticipation of the future. We talked in hushed tones about the world outside, the whispers feeding us snippets of knowledge that the school had tried to erase.

We knew it was dangerous, but the whispers had become a lifeline, a connection to our humanity in this cold, unforgiving place. They were the spark that kept our hope for freedom alive, a beacon in the dark.

The days leading up to graduation passed in a blur of classes and whispers. Each day felt heavier than the last, but the promise of escape grew stronger with each step we took toward the finish line.

The whispers grew into a chant, a call to action that resonated through the very air of Iron Gate Academy. We were so close, but the fear of discovery was ever-present, like a specter haunting our every move.

One evening, as I tucked Jake into bed, the whispers grew so loud that I could almost make out their words. They spoke of a plan, a way out, a time and place.

I looked into Jake's innocent eyes and made a silent promise. "We're going to leave this place," I whispered to him. "We're going to find a world where we can be free."

Jake's eyes widened, and for a moment, I saw the reflection of the whispers in them. He nodded, his little hand reaching up to grip mine tightly. "I believe you, sis," he said, his voice filled with a strength beyond his years.

The whispers grew softer then, a gentle lullaby that sang us to sleep. They knew the battle was almost over, that soon we would break free from the ironclad grip of the academy. I just had to survive the next... I did the math in my head. I was 16. We graduate at 23. Seven more years. Seven more years of playing the perfect student. Seven more years of watching Jake grow up in this prison.

But the whispers didn't let the dread consume me. They whispered of a plan, a glimmer of hope that grew stronger with each passing day. They spoke of a time when the school's surveillance would be at its weakest, a moment when the stars would align and the gates of Iron Gate would crack open, if only for a brief moment.

I didn't know when that moment would come, but I knew it would. And when it did, I had to be ready. I had to have a plan for Jake and me. We couldn't wait for Max and the others; we had to forge our own path to freedom.

The days dragged on, but the whispers kept me going. They reminded me of the joy in rebellion, the thrill of knowing that I wasn't alone in my thoughts. That there were others out there who felt the same way, who dreamed the same dreams. And as the whispers grew stronger, so did my resolve.

In the quiet hours of the night, when the school slept and the whispers were at their peak, I studied the blueprints of Iron Gate that someone had managed to smuggle to me. The maps were old, faded, but they showed a hidden passage that could lead us to the outside. It was a risk, but it was a risk worth taking.

I shared my findings with Alexia and a few others we trusted. We whispered our plans in the dark, our hearts beating in sync with the whispers that had become our anthem. We had to be careful, had to be smart. One wrong move and the school would swallow us whole.

But the whispers didn't scream of fear or doubt. They whispered of a world beyond the gray walls, a world of color and choice and love. And as we huddled together, plotting our escape, I knew that I would do whatever it took to get us there.

Suddenly, a message popped up on IronChat. It was from Mr. Millin. The principal. "Meeting in the library tomorrow at 8 AM. All students are required to attend. No excuses. Dress to impress."

The whispers grew frantic, buzzing through the dorms like a swarm of bees. What could this mean? Was it about the escape? Had we been discovered?

The next morning, we all walked to the library, dressed in our crispest uniforms, our hearts racing. The whispers grew louder with each step, a cacophony of fear and hope.

As we entered, we were met with a surprise. The usually stoic Mr. Millin was smiling, his eyes gleaming with something that could almost be mistaken for excitement. "Greetings, students of Iron Gate Academy," he began, his voice echoing through the vast, empty space. "Today marks the beginning of a new chapter for our institution."

My stomach turned. What new horror had the school conjured up now? The whispers grew quiet, waiting for the ax to fall.

Mr. Millin continued, "As part of our ongoing commitment to excellence, we are introducing a new program. You will now be evaluated not just by your yearly screenings, but by your daily performance. Each classroom is now equipped with a device that will monitor your every move, your every expression, and your every thought."

A collective gasp filled the air, and the whispers grew to a murmur of disbelief. This was unprecedented, a new level of control. The room was tense, the air thick with fear and anticipation.

"Starting today, any deviation from the norm will be noted and addressed immediately. This includes your interactions with each other." His gaze swept over the crowd, and my heart skipped a beat. "Friendships beyond the curriculum are no longer tolerated. You will focus solely on your studies and your future roles in society. Failure to comply will result in immediate termination."

The whispers grew to a deafening roar in my head, drowning out Mr. Millin's voice. I looked around the room, my eyes locking with Alexia's. Her expression was a mix of shock and anger, mirroring the tumultuous emotions swirling within me.

The principal's smile grew wider. "We have identified several students who have been engaging in... disruptive behavior." He paused dramatically. "These students are Max McDonald, Alexia Quinn, and Rachel Castellanos."

The whispers grew to a crescendo, a symphony of panic and anger. I couldn't believe it. Our friends, our confidants, had been outed. My heart raced as I squeezed Jake's hand tightly.

"They have been removed from the academy," Mr. Millin announced, his tone final. "Their absence will not be questioned or discussed. They have brought shame upon their families and themselves."

The room was eerily still, the whispers silenced. My mind raced with scenarios, each one more horrific than the last. What had happened to them? Were they okay?

The fear grew palpable, a thick fog that suffocated the whispers. We were all acutely aware that our every move, our every thought, was now under scrutiny. The rebellion that had once been a distant dream now felt like a living, breathing entity, one that could be crushed at any moment.

I had to be more careful than ever before. The whispers, though quieter now, were more urgent. We had to find a way to honor our friends' sacrifice without drawing attention to ourselves.

Days turned into weeks, and the new monitoring devices became a constant presence in our lives. Every move was calculated, every conversation measured. The whispers grew faint, a mere echo of their former strength.

But in the quiet moments, when I was alone with my thoughts, they grew louder. They whispered of the injustice of our world, the pain of our lost friends, and the burning need for change.

And so, we continued our silent rebellion. We whispered our plans, shared our thoughts in secret glances, and hoped for the day when the whispers would become a shout that could not be silenced.

One evening, as I studied the ancient blueprints by the flickering light on my ceiling fan, a new idea took shape. If we couldn't escape through the hidden passage, maybe there was another way out.

The whispers grew excited, feeding me information, piecing together a new strategy. We would need to be patient, to bide our time, to wait for the perfect moment to act.

As the days grew shorter and the whispers grew fainter, I knew that the time was approaching. The whispers had become a part of me, a voice of hope in a world of despair. And together, we would fight for the freedom that had been stolen from us all.

The whispers grew stronger as the months ticked by, each one a countdown to the day when we could finally break free from Iron Gate's ironclad grip. We studied, we plotted, and we waited.

And then, it happened. A rumor, a whisper of something greater than ourselves. The whispers grew into a roar, telling tales of an uprising, a revolution that was brewing just beyond the school's walls.

Could it be true? Was there a world outside of Iron Gate that was fighting back against the tyranny that had imprisoned us for so long?

My heart raced with excitement, and I shared the news with Jake. His eyes lit up with hope, and we made a pact to be ready, to join the fight when the time came.

The whispers grew so loud that night, it was as if they were screaming in my ear. They spoke of a group of rebels, of a leader with a plan. They whispered of a world where we could be ourselves, a world of color and love and choice.

We had to find a way to reach them, to be a part of something bigger than our own escape. The whispers had become a beacon, guiding us toward the promise of a future that was worth fighting for.

As we lay in bed, the whispers grew softer, lulling us to sleep with a gentle reminder. "Be brave, LaKoia. The day of reckoning is near."

And so we waited, our hearts filled with hope and determination, our minds racing with the possibilities of what lay beyond the school's cold embrace. The whispers had become our lifeblood, our connection to the world we dreamed of.

And when the day finally came, when the whispers grew to a deafening crescendo, we knew it was time to act. We had a plan, a map, and the whispers of rebellion to guide us.

We would not be silenced. We were the children of Iron Gate Academy, and we were about to break free. But something stopped me. Alexia, Max, and Rachel were long gone. I didn't want to join them. I wanted to live. And I wanted Jake to live. We had to be smarter than the whispers, smarter than the school. So I called it off.

The whispers didn't take it well. They grew louder, more insistent, demanding that we act now. But I knew better. I knew that rushing in without a foolproof plan was going to end badly. So I started to ignore them. I focused on my studies, on being the perfect student, and on keeping Jake safe.

But the whispers didn't leave me alone. They grew more desperate, more intense. They whispered of a world on fire, a revolution just waiting for us to join. I lay awake at night, torn between the safety of my brother and the siren call of freedom.

And then, one day, it all came crashing down. Jake was called for a surprise screening. His eyes wide with terror, he looked at me, the whispers of our rebellion shattering into a million pieces. I had to save him. I had to save us. But I didn't have a way that would let everyone live.

The whispers grew frantic, bombarding me with options, each more dangerous than the last. But in that moment, as I held my trembling brother, I realized something. The whispers were not my saviors; they were a prison of their own making. They had filled my head with dreams of a world that might not even exist.

I made a decision. I had to stay. Survive the next few years. Find a way to get Jake out safely. The whispers didn't agree, they were a storm in my mind, but I had to ignore them for his sake.

As Jake was led away, I opened up my phone. The accounts of "traitors" and "rebels" being found out and terminated flooded my notifications. The whispers grew more frenzied, as if trying to force me into action. But I couldn't. I had to find a way to protect him.

The days passed in a blur of fear and tension. The whispers grew quieter, as if they were punishing me for my inaction. But every time I saw Jake, every time he gave me that hopeful look, I knew I'd made the right choice. I couldn't risk his life for a dream that might not even be real.

One evening, right after dismissal, I walked home with Lucas and Jake. We talked in hushed tones about the whispers, our plans, and the ever-watchful eyes of the school. "We can't ignore them forever," Lucas said, his voice a mix of frustration and fear. "They're going to catch on."

I nodded, the weight of our situation heavy on my shoulders. "We have to keep it up. For Jake. For everyone."

Jake looked up at us, his young eyes filled with understanding beyond his years. "But what about us? What happens when we can't take it anymore?"

The question hung in the air like a storm cloud, dark and ominous. I didn't have an answer. The whispers grew quieter, as if even they knew the gravity of our situation.

As we approached the dorms, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was Alexia. She was safe. But she was on the run. "They took me to the room," she said. "The one with the thick walls and the metal table with leather straps."

Then she ran. I noticed something. Where her chip had once been, there was now a red spot. They removed it. She was running for the exit. But her uniform was gone. She was loosely wrapped in a towel. It was the middle of February.

I gaped at her, not knowing what to say. "Alexia, wait!" But she didn't hear me. Or she chose not to. She just kept running, her bare feet slapping against the cold, hard ground.

We watched as she crossed the 20-foot line. She had her phone with her. The same phone that contained the whispers of rebellion. The same phone that had guided us through this prison. She found out how to factory reset it. And with that, the whispers were gone.

The silence was deafening.

For the first time in years, the whispers didn't fill my head. The only sounds were the distant hum of the school's generators and the echo of my own breathing. I looked at Lucas and Jake, and I saw the same confusion and loss reflected in their eyes.

Without the whispers, the world felt empty. Our hearts heavy, we continued our walk home, the cold wind biting at our faces. "What now?" Jake whispered, his voice trembling.

"We wait."

The days passed. My next screening, my seventeenth-grade screening, was approaching fast, and with it, the fear of failure loomed closer. Without the whispers, my thoughts were my own again, but the silence was eerie. The school had won a battle, but I refused to let it win the war. I had to find Alexia, find out what she knew, how she'd escaped the monitoring.

The day of the screening arrived. I walked into the cold, sterile room, trying to push aside the fear that clung to me like a second skin. The examiner, a young woman with a robotic smile, instructed me to sit on the chair in the center of the room. The chair was new, equipped with wires and screens that would probe my thoughts and emotions.

I took a deep breath, focusing on the memories of our stolen moments of rebellion, the whispers of hope that had once filled my mind. Without the whispers, I had nothing to hide anymore. The questions began, and I answered them with a calmness that surprised even me. The whispers had taught me well how to hide my true self, but now, I had to let it all go.

As the screening progressed, the examiner's smile began to falter. She studied the results, her eyes flickering between the screen and me. Something was wrong. The whispers had been my shield, but now, without them, I was exposed before her probing gaze. I had no idea what she saw, but I knew it was something she wasn't expecting.

The examiner's hand hovered over a button. "Your results are..." She smiled. "...great!"

Relief washed over me, but the whispers' absence left an empty void. The screening was over, but the battle was not won. As I stepped out of the room, Jake was there, his eyes searching mine for answers. I gave him a small nod, and together we walked down the hallway.

"What now?" he asked, his voice low.

"We keep going," I replied firmly. "We keep pretending."

The whispers had been a lifeline, but they had also been a cage. Without them, we could think for ourselves, feel for ourselves, and maybe, just maybe, find a way out that didn't end in bloodshed.

The school's walls felt closer than ever before, the weight of the surveillance a constant presence in our lives. But we had each other, and we had hope.

The weeks turned into months, and our lives at Iron Gate Academy continued with a semblance of normalcy. We studied, we followed the rules, and we waited. We whispered about the whispers, but never too loudly. The fear of being caught had not disappeared, but it had evolved into something more potent: the fear of forgetting.

We had to keep the whispers alive, not just for our own sanity, but for the promise of the world outside. And so, we told stories, we shared our dreams, and we held onto the knowledge that we were not alone.

One day, in a rare moment of solitude, I found myself staring at the kindergarteners in their color-coded onesies. Their innocence was a stark contrast to the prison-like uniforms we wore. It was a reminder of what we had lost, but also of what we had to fight for.

The whispers grew faint, but I knew they were there. They were the echo of our stolen childhood, the ghosts of our lost friends, and the promise of a future that was still within reach.

One evening, as we sat in the library pretending to study, a new voice emerged from the shadows. "LaKoia," it whispered, so softly that I barely heard it. "We need to talk."

I looked up to see a figure in a hoodie, their face obscured. My heart skipped a beat. Was it one of the teachers, or was it a student? The whispers had returned, but in a different form.

I followed the figure into the depths of the library, where the books grew dusty and forgotten. We stopped in a corner, hidden from view. "My name is Antonio," he said. The hood was pulled back, revealing Antonio's worried gaze.

He spoke in a hushed tone, "The whispers are gone, but the rebellion isn't. We need to rebuild. We can't let them win."

My heart raced as he handed me a crumpled piece of paper. It was a list of names, a list of those who had heard the whispers, those who had dreamt of escape. "We're not giving up," he said. "We're just getting started."

The weight of the paper in my hand was a silent promise, a spark of hope rekindled. We couldn't let the whispers die with Alexia. We had to keep fighting.

Over the next few weeks, we gathered in secret, sharing tales of our past lives, the whispers we had heard, and our longing for freedom. The whispers had been our catalyst, but now it was our turn to become the voice of change.

We met in the library, in the dead of night, speaking in hushed tones as we plotted our next move. We knew the risks, but the absence of the whispers had made us realize that we had the power within us all along.

The whispers had been a guide, but they had also been a crutch. It was time for us to stand on our own two feet, to forge our own path to liberation.

As we grew in number, so did our resolve. We studied the school's blueprints, searched for weaknesses in their surveillance, and gathered supplies for the day we would finally break free.

Suddenly, a message from the principal appeared on IronChat. I saw the names of every involved student on that termination list. My heart sank. We had been found out. The whispers had led us to believe in something that was never real.

The next screening was the next day. My eighteenth birthday. Suddenly, there was a knock on my bedroom door. My mom walked in, holding a pink bundle. It shifted slightly in her arms.

"LaKoia?" she said.

I looked up from my laptop. She walked closer and let me hold the bundle. "I just adopted her while I was out," she said "Meet Mika, your new baby sister."

I stared at the little girl, no more than an hour or two old. Her eyes opened, and she reached out a chubby little hand at me. "She's so cute," I said. My mind raced, trying to piece together the implications of this new addition to our family.

The whispers had been a beacon in the darkness, a promise of a world beyond the iron gates. Now, they were a memory, a fading echo in the face of this fragile, new life. I looked into Mika's eyes, and for the first time in months, I felt something other than fear and anger.

With Mika's arrival, the whispers grew even quieter. It was as if they knew their time was short, and they were giving me space to adapt to this new reality. I had to keep her safe, to give her a better life than what Iron Gate had in store. The thought of her enduring the same fate as me, or worse, was unbearable.

I handed her back to my mom. "We should get to the screening," she said. "It's almost time."

In the screening room, the same examiner from my last test was waiting, her smile now a cold, knowing sneer. "You know what happens next," she said.

I nodded. This was it. The moment I had dreaded since the whispers had gone silent. The moment where I would be exposed, where my imperfections would lead to my downfall. But as I took my seat, something strange happened. The whispers grew louder, filling my mind with a newfound resolve.

They told me that these next five years would be the most crucial of my life. They said that if I could just keep my head down and not cause any trouble, I'd make it out alive. But as I sat there, staring into the cold, unblinking eyes of the examiner, I realized that survival wasn't enough. The whispers had shown me that there was more to life than just existing within these walls.

The screening began, the same barrage of questions and tests that I had faced before. I answered them with what the examiners wanted to hear. I looked back at Jake sitting in my mom's lap, holding Mika in his arms. His eyes met mine, and for a second, I saw the fear in them. But then he nodded, ever so slightly. He knew. We had to keep playing along.

As the examiner concluded the questions and started the physical exam, I could feel the whispers growing stronger, urging me to fight. But I pushed them down. I had to keep my composure. We had to keep the illusion of perfection, not just for me, but for the others who had placed their trust in us.

The moment the examiner left the room to fetch the results, my heart raced. Jake leaned in, whispering, "Are you okay?" I nodded, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. "We're going to get out of here," I murmured back, "I promise."

The door opened again, and she stepped in, her face unreadable. She held a folder in her hand, and she called my name. "LaKoia McAlley, your results are..." She paused for a beat that felt like an eternity. "Perfect."

The word hung in the air like a lifeline thrown to a drowning person. I let out the breath I had been holding, my body trembling with relief. But the whispers grew louder, insisting that this wasn't the end, just a brief reprieve.

As we left the room, the whispers grew into a cacophony in my mind. They spoke of the children who had failed, of the friends who had been lost. They spoke of a world beyond the gates that was changing, that needed us. I knew that I couldn't ignore them any longer.

That night, we gathered in the library once more, a newfound urgency in our eyes. We had to act. We had to save not just ourselves, but the future of Iron Gate Academy. We had to break the cycle of fear and control. But there wasn't a way. I listened to the tamer whispers. The ones encouraging me to continue. The ones that didn't tell me to escape.

Lucas held Mika, while Jake, now 6, sat beside him. They both looked at me, hope shimmering in their eyes. "What's the plan?" Jake asked.

I took a deep breath. "We can't escape," I said. "But we can change things from the inside. We have to be smarter, more careful."

We were the only ones there. Iron Gate allowed late-night library study sessions. That was our cover. The whispers had gone, but the desire for freedom remained a fervent flame in our hearts.

"We start small," I whispered, the dusty air thick with anticipation. "We find allies, teachers who might be on our side."

Lucas nodded, a glint in his eye. "And we build relationships with the younger ones, teach them the truth without raising suspicion."

Jake looked at us, his young face serious. "What about Mika?"

I swallowed hard. "We protect her, no matter what. We make sure she doesn't end up like us."

"And the younger allies part," he said. "Some of my pretend-friends are on board." Since we couldn't have friends, we made "pretend-friends" instead. The whispers had been a secret we had shared, and now it was our turn to pass it on.

We agreed to start with the kindergarteners. The whispers had been their first taste of rebellion, and they had grown quiet without it. We had to show them that we weren't just surviving, we were fighting. We had to give them something to whisper about. But then we realized something. Not every kindergartener had whispers. Sure, Mika had them. Lucas and Jake had them. But others didn't. The whispers weren't for everyone. We had to find a new way to spread hope.

The following week, during our designated study time, we approached a few of the youngest students, those who had shown a spark of curiosity, a hint of rebellion in their eyes. We told them stories of a world beyond the gates, of colors and laughter and love that didn't need to be hidden. We shared the whispers we had heard, the ones that spoke of freedom and choice. They listened with rapt attention, their eyes wide with wonder.

In those moments, I saw the beginnings of a new kind of rebellion. One that didn't need a voice to be heard. It grew in the smiles we shared, the glances that passed between us, the subtle nods that said, 'I understand.' We painted a picture of a future that didn't exist in the pages of our textbooks, a future where we could be ourselves.

But even as we planted the seeds of change, the school's grip tightened. We heard rumors of new punishments for those caught with 'impure thoughts' or 'unauthorized relationships'. The whispers had been a comfort, but now they were a target. We had to be careful not to lead our newfound friends to their doom.

Jake grew more restless with each passing day, his curiosity about the whispers and the outside world growing uncontainable. He started asking questions, probing the boundaries of what we could safely discuss. "How do we get out?" he'd ask. "What's the real world like?"

One evening, as we were leaving the library, we saw a group of teachers huddled together, speaking in hushed tones. We knew we had to be extra cautious. Our whispers had become a secret society, a silent revolution against the school's regime.

I approached Mrs. Willison, the one teacher who had always shown us a glimmer of kindness. I asked her if she knew anything about the whispers, hoping she could be an ally. Her eyes grew wide, and she quickly ushered me into an empty classroom. "They're searching for the source," she said, her voice trembling. "They think it's a student. You must be careful."

Her words sent a chill down my spine. If the whispers were gone, how could they find us? Unless they had discovered something else. Something we didn't know.

We stepped up our efforts, using every opportunity to spread our message of hope. We whispered in the hallways, passed notes under the table, and shared knowing looks that spoke louder than words. Slowly, the whispers grew into a murmur, a collective voice that resonated through the school's cold, gray corridors.

But the risk grew with every passing moment. The surveillance systems seemed to be everywhere, watching and listening. We had to find a way to communicate without being detected.

Inspired by the whispers, we turned to the one thing the school couldn't control: our imagination. We started leaving coded messages in our schoolwork, using innocuous phrases and symbols that only we understood. It was risky, but it was our way of fighting back.

The whispers had been our guide, but now they were our legacy. We had to ensure that their message of rebellion and hope didn't die with us. We had to make sure that every student at Iron Gate Academy knew that there was more to life than the endless cycle of perfection and fear.

As I approached my nineteenth-grade screening, the tension was palpable. We had managed to keep our whispers of rebellion hidden, but the fear of discovery lingered like a specter. The examiner, a stern man named Mr. Castellanos, was notorious for his ability to detect even the slightest imperfections. His icy glare sent shivers down my spine as I took my seat.

The screening began with the usual barrage of questions, designed to uncover any semblance of individuality or dissent. I responded with the programmed answers, my heart pounding in my chest. But this time, I noticed something different. His eyes searched my soul, looking for the spark of hope that had grown within me. I could almost feel him probing for the whispers that had once been my solace.

Mrs. Willison had been right. They were searching for something beyond mere obedience. The whispers had become more than just a comfort; they were a beacon of light in the oppressive darkness of Iron Gate. The school had caught wind of our silent revolution, and they were desperate to extinguish it.

The whispers grew stronger in my mind, reminding me of the promise we had made to each other. The promise to keep fighting, to never let our spirits be broken by the iron will of the school. I clung to that promise, using it as armor against Mr. Castellanos's relentless probing.

Finally, the examiner leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Your screening results will be sent to your designated teacher," he said, his voice cold and detached. "Dismissed."

I left the room with trembling legs, my mind racing with the possible outcomes. Had I fooled him? Would I be terminated for the whispers that no longer echoed in my mind? As I walked back to my dorm, the whispers grew louder, reminding me that the fight was far from over.

That night, we gathered in the library, our numbers swollen with the new kindergarteners we had recruited. They looked up at us with eyes full of hope, and I felt a fierce determination to not let them down. We had to find a way to keep our whispers alive without putting them in danger.

Jake, now 7, had become the heart of our little group. His innocence and curiosity had not been crushed by the school's regime, and it was his unblemished spirit that kept our flame of rebellion burning. He looked at me with a question in his eyes that I didn't have an answer for. "What if we can't escape?" he asked. "What if we're stuck here forever?"

I took a deep breath and placed a hand on his shoulder. "We're not just fighting to escape," I said. "We're fighting to change the school. We're fighting so that no one else has to go through what we have."

The whispers grew quieter as I spoke, their presence a gentle reminder of the strength we had found in each other. Our mission was clear: to dismantle Iron Gate's regime from the inside, one student at a time.

We turned our focus to the teachers, searching for any sign of dissent or weakness we could exploit. Some of them were kinder than others, hinting at a deeper humanity beneath the layers of enforced strictness. We planted the seeds of doubt, sharing our stories and the whispers we had once held dear.

One by one, they began to listen. Some even started to whisper back, sharing their own tales of lost freedom and stolen futures. The whispers had become a network of shared pain and hope, weaving through the very fabric of the school.

The days grew longer and the nights shorter as we approached the final days of teen grades. The whispers had transformed us from a group of scared teenagers into a formidable force, ready to face whatever Iron Gate had in store for us.

We had lost friends and watched as others were terminated, but the whispers had taught us that death was not the end. They had shown us that the spirit of rebellion could not be crushed, only silenced for a time. And now, as we stood on the precipice of twentieth grade, we were ready to make our voices heard once more.

The whispers grew louder as we plotted our next move. They had been with us since before we were born, a part of us that Iron Gate could never truly erase. We were the children of the whispers, born into a prison, but not meant to stay caged.

In the hours leading up to the screening that would mark the beginning of our final stretch to freedom, we worked tirelessly. The whispers had become our map, guiding us through the school's labyrinth of surveillance and control. We had to be meticulous. One misstep could mean the end for all of us.

Mrs. Willison had become an unexpected ally, her eyes often meeting mine in the hallways with a silent nod of understanding. We had shared our whispers with her, and she had revealed her own struggles with the school's regime. Her compassion was a rare commodity in this place, and it was a bond that could not be forged by the school's rules.

As the day of the twentieth-grade screening dawned, we gathered in the hall outside the screening room, a mix of fear and determination etched on our faces. The whispers grew frenzied, a cacophony of hope and desperation that fueled our resolve. We had come too far to back down now.

Mrs. Willison approached us, her eyes filled with a solemn expression. "Remember, LaKoia," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the din, "stay strong. We're all in this together."

I nodded, squeezing her hand before letting it go. The whispers had been our silent comrades, but now, as I looked into the eyes of my flesh-and-blood allies, I knew we had found something stronger. We had found each other.

The screening itself was a blur of questions and tests, the whispers' lessons echoing in my mind as I navigated the gauntlet of Iron Gate's expectations. The examiner, Mr. Castellanos, watched me with a hawkish gaze, but I had become adept at hiding my true self beneath the mask of perfection.

When it was over, I stepped out of the room, the whispers a comforting presence in the silence that followed. We had survived, and our cause was not lost. We had made it this far, and we would not falter now. The seeds of rebellion had been planted, and they were growing, unseen by the school's regime.

As we returned to our dorms, the whispers grew clearer, a symphony of unspoken promises that resonated through the corridors. The time for action was upon us. We could no longer hide in the shadows, hoping for escape. We had to become the change we wished to see.

That night, we gathered in the library, the whispers swirling around us like a tempest. We had to be strategic, to play the game the school had set before us while biding our time. The whispers had shown us the way, and now it was our turn to lead the charge.

"We will not be silenced," I declared, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. "We will fight for our freedom, for Mika's future, and for every child who has ever felt the sting of Iron Gate's lash."

The room erupted in a cacophony of whispers, each voice adding to the collective strength of our cause. The whispers had been our crutch, but now they were our weapon. We had to use them wisely.

In the months that followed, we worked tirelessly. We spread our message through the school, recruiting more allies, teachers and students alike. We studied the school's weaknesses, the moments of vulnerability that we could exploit. The whispers had taught us that there was a world beyond the gates, and we would not rest until we had claimed it.

The whispers grew stronger with each victory, each small act of defiance. They became our battle cry, our anthem of hope. They reminded us that we were not just numbers, not just pawns in the school's twisted game.

And as the whispers grew louder, so too did our resolve. We were the children of Iron Gate Academy, born into a nightmare, but destined to wake up to a new day. A day where the whispers of rebellion would become the roars of revolution.

Jake, now eight, held the hand of Mika, now two, as we walked the halls of Iron Gate, the whispers of our hearts echoing through the corridors. We had taught her the whispers, the secret language of hope, and she had taken to it like a fish to water. Her eyes sparkled with the same rebellious spirit that had kept us going for so long.

Our group had expanded, and so had our influence. We had formed a coalition of students and teachers who were tired of living in fear. They whispered our message to others, spreading the seeds of rebellion like a contagion through the academy. The whispers had become a wildfire, and we had to ensure it didn't burn us all.

We focused our efforts on the school's most vulnerable points: the archaic systems and the people in power who were starting to show cracks in their resolve. We discovered that some teachers had once been rebels themselves, silenced by the school's overwhelming control. Their whispers had grown faint with time, but the spark remained.

Mrs. Willison, our beacon of humanity in the sea of cold faces, had become a crucial part of our inner circle. She had connections we never knew existed, and she had begun to sway others to our cause. We worked with her to plan a coordinated strike against the regime's most oppressive policies.

One by one, we chipped away at the school's rules, turning whispers into actions. We encouraged the students to express themselves through art, music, and writing, things that were strictly forbidden. The teachers who had once been silent now turned a blind eye to our activities, some even participating in the clandestine lessons.

The whispers grew bolder, and soon, they weren't just about escaping the school. They were about tearing it down and rebuilding it into a place of learning and growth, not conformity and fear. We dreamed of a place where children could be children, where creativity and individuality were celebrated, not punished.

The day of my twenty-first screening was upon us, and the tension was like a physical force. We had come so far, and yet, the fear of being caught was ever-present. But the whispers had taught us that fear was a tool of the oppressors. We had to overcome it if we wanted to be free.

As I walked into the screening room, the whispers grew to a crescendo in my mind. I knew that this was the moment of truth. If I could pass this test, if I could keep our secret just a couple more years, we could bring about the change we all longed for.

The examiner, Mr. Castellanos, had a new look in his eyes, one of suspicion mixed with curiosity. He knew something was happening, but he didn't know what. As he asked his questions, I could feel the whispers urging me to hold strong, to keep pushing forward.

The screening ended, and as I stepped out, the whispers grew quieter. The others looked at me, hope in their eyes. We had done it. We had made it to the final-final stretch. The whispers had led us here, and now, it was time for us to make them a reality.

The whispers had turned into a roar, and it was time to let it be heard. We had a plan, a daring escape that would take place on graduation day. The whispers had given us the strength to survive, and now, they were giving us the power to fight. The time was more than enough. Two years to plan? That was a luxury we hadn’t had before.

Mrs. Willison had become our linchpin, using her position to manipulate the school’s system from within. She had gathered intel on the school’s security protocols and had even managed to get her hands on the blueprints of the academy. We studied them tirelessly, finding weak spots that had gone unnoticed for decades.

We approached the teachers who had once whispered of rebellion themselves, now ready to act. They were the key to our escape. Their knowledge of the school's layout and the trust they had built with the regime made them invaluable allies. We recruited them with care, sharing our whispers and our hope for a better future.

As we grew closer to our goal, we had to be more vigilant than ever. The whispers had been our shield, but now, they were a double-edged sword. Any sign of dissent was met with severe consequences. We had to be careful not to let our excitement give us away. The whispers grew softer, our meetings more secretive, as we fine-tuned our strategy.

continue?