The sky overhead had a grey tinge, and it shrouded the usual blue expanse, just as it always did. Adrian could see the faint silhouette of a ring-like form pass through the dullness of the sky. His Mum said it was a meteor ring. They had a moon—a circular structure that orbited the Earth—but the shattered moon's pieces now did the job, continuing what it did, even in death.
Adrian watched with awe as a winged creature soared across the sky with a careless demeanour. He didn't know what they were called, but he had always been curious about them. These creatures weren't grey like the clouds that always coated the sky, nor grey like his clothes or the house he lived in. Adrian had grown tired of seeing the dull color everywhere because it was…everywhere. The other colors he usually saw were black, white, and very rarely brown. Whenever another hue filled his vision, a sense of ecstasy thrummed through him. He liked that feeling, and he enjoyed seeing different colors—not the mundane grey.
Adrian could never go outside the home unless his mother dropped him off at school. He was happy to say he was in E2 (Education Facility #2), which was closest to the park, the only place with green. The district's people rarely interacted with one another, so Adrian never got to know others or talk to them about his obsession with color. The teacher did nothing except teach them how to read and write in a small, monotonous room. Watching the creature with colors different from grey, whose names he didn't know, overjoyed him—but this joy dissipated as the creature flew out of his line of sight. He frantically searched for it, his eyes trying to follow it, but to no avail. His mum, seated beside him, noticed and patted his head.
"What's wrong, dear?" She enquired in a genteel manner.
"Nothing, Mum," he answered abruptly, attempting to conceal his bad mood, but his pout revealed it.
"Adrian, baby, do you think I can't tell when something is bothering you? I carried you for nine months, brought you up, I know every single thing about you," she said playfully, smiling down at him. "Now tell me what's gotten you down."
"I just don't like the color grey. Aren't there other colors here? I saw something in the sky—it had a different color. It could, what do you call it…fly. Yes, fly. It was beautiful," he responded, amazement etched on his face and wonder laced in every word that left his lips. A beat passed, and he asked, "Mum, why can't we fly?"
"Honey, they are called birds. They have wings to help them fly. I told you about that before, right? The one that you were staring at was an eagle." She answered calmly, though her expression held a forlorn look. "We are humans and don't possess wings, so we can't fly like them. As for you not liking the color grey, there's unfortunately nothing I can do about it. But rest assured, one day you will see a world filled with different and vibrant colors."
Adrian couldn't wait for that day to come.
They occupied a steel-grey hall stretching endlessly ahead, leading to a dome-shaped room where children disappeared one by one with their mothers. This semi-circular structure was the second part of the building, with no see-through roof. The hall seemed empty, even though there were many people there. He looked down at the grey tiles, slightly reflecting the dim white glow of the bulbs embedded in the walls. The waiting line was long. Adrian killed time watching the sky through the transparent glass roof. The edifice, which held roughly a hundred people, was silent—absolutely silent. Somehow, the silence felt more deafening than any noise could.
As the minutes dragged on, a dull ache crept into Adrian's muscles from holding the same position for a long time. Children, alongside their mothers or guardians, came and went outside the chamber. Just as he opened his mouth to ask his mother when it would be their turn, a cold, robotic voice called his name:
"ADRIAN GRAY, RESIDENT #8237."
A startled Adrian looked at his mother, who had already gotten up. She smiled at him, her black eyes brimming with warmth, giving him courage. He stood from the cushioned pale grey seat fixed to the wall. Across from him, people and children alike sat with downcast eyes and depressed expressions, mirroring each other. Adrian didn't understand why they were like this—why their faces held no happiness.
Maybe they, too, were sick of the color grey.
He walked the long hallway, trying to keep up with his mother's stride, even though she slowed to match his pace. Adrian's mum stopped before the reception on the left side of the building's second chamber. She pronounced her name in a monotone voice, "Carla Gray."
The lady behind the counter, a glass divider separating her from the rest of them, nodded at his mother, dressed in grey from head to toe. A green laser scanned her face, confirming her identity. Adrian skimmed the hall, observing the people. He thought no one here would ever speak. Had they lost the ability to speak? His thoughts ended when his eyes clashed with another's—so unique he almost tripped over nothing. They resembled the color of the sky he occasionally glimpsed when clouds shifted. The azure was beautiful, and he kept staring, mesmerized. A familiar thrill rippled through his body, pulling an odd smile across his face. The child he had been staring at quickly looked away, and the people nearby exchanged uneasy side glances. His mother's hands pulled him out of his fixation, guiding him toward the grey metal door where a nameplate read:
"Identification Room."
The door slid open automatically as they approached. The room was spacious, with pale white, tall walls. Its brightness momentarily blinded Adrian. He stepped inside, hesitant but curious. The door closed behind them.
A colossal machine on one side caught Adrian's eye. Standing about 2.5 meters tall, its rectangular frame was matte grey steel with glass panes fitted on each side and a narrow entryway on one face. Its surface pulsed faintly with electric currents, circuit-like veins stretching across it. Above it, a giant obsidian orb hovered, held in place by unseen forces. One of the many computers on the other side of the room connected to the machine.
A woman approached, her black heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. She wore a fitted grey coat falling to her thighs, cinched neatly at the waist, with grey loose pants. Though muted, her outfit far surpassed the ordinary grey shirts and trousers everyone else wore. Her nameplate read: "Greta Giordano." Spectacles rested precariously on her hawkish nose as she looked down at Adrian, assessing him. Unease settled in his chest—he didn't like it. But Adrian bit back a laugh at her hairstyle; it brushed her shoulders in front, yet cropped short at the back, making her appear almost bald from behind. She narrowed her eyes at him, probably noticing his expression.
"You are Adrian Gray. You turned seven a week ago," she read from her clipboard, her voice crisp and detached. "Today, you will receive your identification card."
Adrian already knew the rules His mum had told him this before coming here, "Once a child turns seven, they have fifteen days to receive their Identification Card—an official record of their connection to the ruling human government and a guarantee of protection. And today we will be getting your ID card. Exciting, isn't it?" Of course, he hadn't understood most of what she had said but he got the gist of it.
"Alright, child, step into the Identification Machine. The entryway's right there," Greta said.
Adrian took reluctant steps toward the looming structure. Unease slithered through him. He glanced back at his mother, who offered an encouraging smile.
The door cracked open at the centre, then slid smoothly aside. Once inside, the door closed behind him ominously. Cold gripped Adrian, settling deep into his bones. He shivered violently. The orb above him pulsed as if alive. The woman pressed buttons on the computer, probably commencing the identification process. The environment changed abruptly, turning bone-chilling. His already pale skin became ghostly, as if color had drained from a fading photograph. Sweat slid down his forehead, clinging to his back despite the cold.
"So cold," he muttered. His mind reeled. He felt as though he might collapse—but something held him upright. Ragged breaths tore from his mouth, fogging in front of him. His eyes closed, yet he could still see—not just ahead, but everything. His mother's perplexed face. Greta's strange expression. The people in the hallway. It was as if he were flying, passing through walls, homes, lives.
Hospitals. Factories filled with people working like machines.
And then—something else. Something wrong.
A towering figure, pitch black, looming over everyone around. He had never seen anything like it—like a creature born from nightmares. Its form was hazy, shifting at the edges, impossible to fully comprehend. Beneath it lay a naked boy on a hospital cot, a strange liquid flowing into him through a tube, his body marred with scars, writhing in agony. His eyes rolled back, foam spilling from his mouth. Adrian felt as if he might die from the onslaught. His lungs felt as though they would burst. Then the boy began to change.
Brown hair darkened into obsidian black. Amber eyes sank into a hollow, endless midnight.
Adrian's breath caught. The face staring back at him was his own—but not quite.
The vision shattered as suddenly as it had come, leaving him reeling. His knees buckled. A strange, pulsing sensation throbbed within him.
He doubled over and vomited just as his eyes fluttered open.
Adrian had no idea that today would change the course of his life—not in the way he had imagined, a life filled with color, but into something far worse.
The Machine had recognized something in him… something coveted by the most feared creatures in existence.