It wasn’t as much of a room as it was a stadium.

A musky fog obscured the floor, dampening his hair with droplets of mist, made out of sickly green liquid. Tall metal poles stretched upwards, flashes of light dancing between them in clouds of vapor, reflecting off the slick gray walls. Dried patches and chunks of reddish brown splattered the floor, cut off by the deep void-like crevice to the right. A metal walkway stretched across the room, with paths veering away to mist covered locations.

The boy stumbled out, shivering, black hair stuck to his face from the humidity. Making his way across the slim walkway, the boy approached a looming generator. Wires stretched across the cover; some were cut, while others were tied together hastily.

They had forced him out, giving him no chance to disagree, as he knew fully well the way his body would split open the second the lever was flicked. It was inevitable; every year he was one step closer to being sent away. Every year, there were countless genetic modifications and mutations in an effort to fix him, to make him useful or “normal”.

None of their attempts worked; he was deemed an “accident” and sent to death.

The boy arrived at the circuit board, grasping the lever on the side. A sharp grinding sound started as he cranked the handle, the lights turning on with a faint hum. Across the board, dozens of tiny buttons in orderly grids sputtered and lit up. A gray button caught the boys eye.

The word “POWER” was engraved on it in black, with ridges outlining the circumference. The surface held a carpet of dust, otherwise the button seemed in mint condition; no chips, smudges, anything. The boy’s finger hovered over the surface of the switch, his face blank.

He pushed down, and closed his eyes as his short miserable life drew to an end.

Or so he thought.