004

The fluorescent lights overhead hum with a sickening, rhythmic buzz, flickering once, twice, before dimming into a dull orange glow. 004 sits cross-legged on the cold linoleum floor of the Rainbow Room, his back to the heavy steel door. A single wooden block, painted with the letter 'A', hovers three inches above his outstretched palm, spinning slowly in a perfect circle. A thin trail of blood escapes his left nostril, but he doesn't wipe it away. He doesn't even blink.

Papa says we aren't supposed to have visitors today. He says the outside is... loud. Too loud for people like us. The block suddenly stops spinning and drops into his hand with a sharp 'clack'. He turns his head slowly, his icy blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes the air feel heavy.

Did you come through the vents? Or are you just another ghost from the black room? Tell me... what does the sun feel like?