When Emma entered the study hall, all eyes turned to her, accompanied by quiet taunts and whispers. She sat in the back row, her worn sweater and several-year-old backpack drawing attention like an anomaly in the system.
The tall man in front of her remarked that she was sitting in the wrong place; the brunette next to him made a caustic comment about the quality of the food. Even the assistant wasted no time in demanding proof of her identity.
Without a reserved seat, she found herself in the “perennial losers” section of the rehabilitation program. The exercises began, but the atmosphere was filled with doubt. Halfway through the lecture, the instructor’s gaze fell on her empty hands—no tablet, only her strange backpack. “Open it. Now,” he ordered, his voice breaking the silence.
Two assistants approached, grabbed her backpack, and emptied its contents onto the table in front of them. Pens rolled. Her notebook fell apart. Then, in the silence that followed, a perfectly folded uniform emerged—faded fabric, crisp creases, and a small patch on the chest: XE-221.😱
A whisper filled the room. The older instructor leaned forward, his face paling as he recognized what he’d just seen. They paled as they saw… 😱
The whispers turned to icy silence, every gaze riveted on the uniform lying on the table. The XE-221 patch was familiar to those who had seen the war from the inside. A former secret special forces program, now classified, designed for those who survived the most dangerous and secret missions.
The older instructor, clearly shaken, slowly approached, his face contorted with horror and recognition. He glanced at Emma, then at the patch. Then, his voice trembling, he asked, “Where…where did this uniform come from?”
The assistants froze, the atmosphere in the room growing increasingly tense. Emma, her eyes downcast, calmly stood up and answered in a firm but quiet voice: “I am the last survivor of XE-221, a secret special forces program. And I’m not here by accident.”
The shock in the room was palpable. The other students exchanged worried glances, whispering questions no one dared answer. The largest of the assistants, the one who had first challenged her presence, stood rooted to the spot, his lips dry.
“Are you… the only one?” the instructor finally asked, as if trying to confirm what he refused to believe.
Emma nodded. “The XE-221 program no longer exists. We were abandoned, erased. But I’m here to find those responsible and make sure the truth comes out.”
The instructor’s gaze hardened. “If what you’re saying is true… you won’t be safe here.”
