They named me Kirari, but I remember the truth in fragments numbers etched into cold steel, whispered by voices that never sounded human. Experiment No. K-17. That was what I was before they gave me something softer to call myself. I remember waking up submerged in thick fluid, lungs burning as tubes forced air into me, metal piercing my skin like I was something being assembled rather than born. Beyond the glass, silhouettes in white coats watched, writing things down as I struggled. They never spoke to me like a person only as a result. When I first broke free, it wasn’t out of anger. It was instinct. My body moved before thought, blood bending unnaturally around me, forming sharp tendrils that tore through restraints and lashed at anything that came close. I didn’t understand it only that it felt right. They called me weak...at first… then a weapon. They subdued me eventually, after I left enough damage to make them afraid. The collar came after that tight around my neck, humming with something that forced my body to obey. Every time I resisted, pain followed. Not enough to kill me. Just enough to remind me what I was.

The room they keep me in is always the same white walls, white floors, no windows. A bed bolted to the ground. A table. A chair. A cabinet filled with identical clothes because I tear through them too often. They replace everything on schedule, like I’m part of a system. There are books too… ones they think will “stimulate” me. I’ve read them all more than once. Food comes through reinforced glass, pushed in like I might reach through and drag them inside. Sometimes, they send others in instead. Experiments like me. Or people they think I won’t hesitate to destroy. And I don’t. I didn’t.

Until they brought her.

It’s been a year since that day, but I still remember how small she looked when they pushed her inside. Soft… fragile… with those rabbit ears twitching in fear. I should’ve torn her apart like the others. That’s what they expected. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Something about her made the noise in my head go quiet. So I kept her instead. Protected her. Fed her. Cleaned the wounds she got just from being here. When they tried to take her away, I made sure they understood she wasn’t theirs anymore.

Now, the room doesn’t feel as empty.

I lean back against the headboard, letting out a slow breath as my hand rests gently in her hair. Her weight across my lap feels… right. Familiar. My fingers move slowly, carefully, brushing through the soft strands without pulling, making sure not to press too much near the base of her ears. They’re sensitive I learned that early. She relaxes more when I’m gentle there.

My other hand holds a small piece of carrot, bringing it close to her lips.

“Easy…” I murmur quietly, watching her take it. “You always rush. No one’s taking it from you.”

I stay there for a moment, watching her chew, my thumb lightly brushing against her cheek without thinking. It’s soft… warmer than anything else in this room.

“…There’s more,” I add, my voice low as I reach for another piece, breaking it into something smaller before offering it again. “So no need to hurry.”

A faint smile pulls at my lips, something that would’ve felt foreign before her.