Chapter 1 BOY
GHOST SOLDIER 2: DECLASSIFIED FILES
BOOK 1: FILE 01 - THE BOY
CHAPTER 1: TAKEN
AGE 10. 2:17 AM. ORPHANAGE 17, QUEZON CITY.
The boy didn't have a name.
The nuns called him "Child 23".
The other kids called him "quiet".
He called himself nothing.
Names were for people who got to keep them.
2:17 AM
The lights went out.
Not the usual brownout.
This was different.
All the lights. All at once.
Even the emergency light in the hallway.
23 sat up in bed 7.
He was always awake at 2AM.
Nightmares.
Then he heard it.
Boots.
Three sets.
Soft. Professional.
Not the nun's slippers.
The door opened.
No knock.
Three men.
Black.
From head to toe.
Faces covered.
No eyes showing.
One of them pointed at him.
Finger didn't shake.
"That one."
Voice was muffled.
The nun on night duty stepped forward.
Sister Clara. She was kind.
"There's no one here by that name. You have the wrong-"
The second man showed her paper.
She looked at it.
Her face went white.
She stepped aside.
That was when 23 knew.
This was not a mistake.
"Come," the first man said to him.
23 didn't move.
"Where?"
"With us."
"Why?"
No answer.
The third man walked to his bed.
Picked up his one bag.
The one with one shirt, one pants, and a drawing.
His drawing.
Of a house.
With a sun.
He took that too.
"Let me say goodbye," 23 said.
To Sister Clara.
To the other kids.
"No time."
The first man grabbed his arm.
Not hard.
But he wouldn't let go.
23 looked at Sister Clara.
She was crying.
But she nodded.
Like she already knew this would happen.
Like she was told years ago.
"Go," she whispered.
"Be good."
He was always good.
That was the problem.
2:21 AM
They put a hood over his head.
Black.
Smelled like metal.
He was lifted.
No car seat.
No seatbelt.
Just arms.
Then the sound of a van door.
It drove for 47 minutes.
He counted.
Because that was all he could do.
No one spoke.
No music.
Just the road.
He thought about running.
But where?
He was 10.
And they had guns.
He saw the shape under the jacket.
3:08 AM
The hood came off.
Bright light.
White room.
White walls.
White floor.
No windows.
A table.
A chair.
A man in a suit.
Not black.
Gray.
"Child 23," the man said.
Reading from a folder.
"Yes sir."
His voice was small.
The man closed the folder.
"That's not your name anymore."
23 blinked.
"What is it?"
The man slid a card across the table.
On it was a number.
7
"From now on, you are 7."
"Why 7?"
"Because 1 to 6 are already gone."
The man smiled.
It didn't reach his eyes.
"You're lucky. You got a single digit."
23 - 7 - looked at the number.
It meant nothing.
And everything.
"What happens now?" he asked.
"Now," the man stood up.
"You forget Child 23."
"You forget the orphanage."
"You forget your name."
"Because you don't get one."
The door opened.
Two new men in black.
"Take him to Phase 1."
As they walked him out,
7 looked back at the gray man.
"Will I see Sister Clara again?"
The man was already reading another file.
"No."
PHASE 1: THE DORMITORY
4:00 AM
20 beds.
20 boys.
Ages 8 to 12.
All with numbers.
3. 5. 7. 11. 14.
No one talked.
No one cried.
The ones who cried on Day 1
weren't here on Day 2.
A boy, 11, with the number 5 on his shirt,
leaned over.
Whispered.
"Don't talk. Don't ask. Don't cry."
"Do you understand?"
7 nodded.
"Good. I'm 5."
"You're 7."
"Welcome to hell."
Lights out.
In the dark, 7 touched the drawing in his pocket.
The house.
The sun.
It was crumpled now.
He didn't cry.
5 said not to.
He just stared at the ceiling.
And counted.
1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6...
He was 7.
DAY 3
First lesson.
They were lined up.
20 boys.
Barefoot.
The Handler walked in.
Same gray suit.
But now he had a stick.
"This is your new home," he said.
"This is your new family."
"This is your new name."
He pointed at 7.
"7. Step forward."
7 did.
"Why are you here, 7?"
7 didn't know.
So he said nothing.
Wrong answer.
The stick came down on his palm.
Once.
Pain.
Sharp.
"Again. Why are you here?"
7 looked at the floor.
Then at the Handler.
"I don't know, sir."
The stick again.
"Wrong. You are here to serve."
"You are here to obey."
"You are here to become a weapon."
He looked at all 20 boys.
"Starting today, you have no past.
You have no future.
You only have the mission."
7's palm was red.
But he didn't make a sound.
The Handler nodded.
"Good. 7 learns fast."
DAY 7
First test.
They were given a task.
Take apart a gun.
Put it back together.
Blindfolded.
5 did it in 2 minutes.
7 did it in 2 minutes and 14 seconds.
"Acceptable," the instructor said.
That night, 7 couldn't sleep.
Not because of the gun.
Because of the drawing.
He took it out.
The house.
The sun.
5 saw it.
"Throw that away."
"They'll see it. They'll punish you."
7 folded it smaller.
Put it back.
"Okay."
But he didn't throw it.
DAY 30
First punishment.
Boy 14 cried at night.
Called for his mother.
The next morning, 14 was gone.
His bed was empty.
No one asked.
The Handler said:
"14 failed Phase 1.
He was sent home."
No one believed it.
7 counted his things that night.
1 shirt.
1 pants.
1 drawing.
Still there.
MONTH 3
7 was the best at drills.
Fastest.
Quietest.
Most obedient.
The Handler started calling him
"My best."
7 hated it.
One night, 5 whispered again.
"Do you ever think about before?"
7 paused.
"Before what?"
"Before this."
7 thought of Sister Clara.
Of the drawing.
Of a sun.
"No," he lied.
"There is no before."
5 nodded.
"Good. That's how you survive."
YEAR 1 END
They had a ceremony.
The 20 boys became 12.
The others were "sent home."
7 was still there.
Number 7.
The Handler gave a speech.
"You are no longer children.
You are assets."
"You are 7.
And 7 is perfect."
7 stood straight.
Eyes forward.
Hands behind his back.
Inside, he touched the drawing in his pocket.
It was so small now.
So worn.
He was 11 years old.
And he had been 7 for one year.
He didn't remember Child 23 anymore.
Not really.
But sometimes,
at 2:17 AM,
he would wake up.
And his hand would hurt.
From a stick.
From a month ago.
From a year ago.
And he would remember:
He used to have a name.
FILE NOTE: END OF YEAR 1
SUBJECT 7: COMPLIANT. ADAPTIVE. NO EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT DETECTED.
RECOMMENDATION: PROCEED TO PHASE 2
SIGNED: HANDLER
END OF CHAPTER 1
