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6.

CHAPTER SIX.

It's my turn to chuckle. “Who names their child Doom?”

“It’s better than being named Ophelia, don’t you think?”

“Hey, I didn’t choose this name either! At least mine I don't try to defend my name nor does it sound like an action movie title, or a nickname an edgy anime deuteragonist would want to have,” I counter, crossing my arms.

He chuckles, and it’s surprisingly not as intimidating as he looks. “Fair point.”

“So, wait. You’re serious? Your name actually means ‘Doom’?”

“Yup,” he says, popping the P. “From where I'm from, names are given by the sort of ability one can wield. Once an egg hatches, the child's ability manifests in an hour. Mine was Xyriel— doom.”

I frown at that, confused. Egg? Hatching? Abilities? What even makes me concerned is how serious he sounds. “You can joke and keep a straight face, impressive.”

“I'm not joking.”

“You aren't?”

“No.”

“You do know children aren't born through eggs,” I explain. “well except certain animals like chickens, birds, ostrich, and even some certain types of fish.”

“I know that. I was even surprised to know that when I came here. Everyone thinks I'm crazy or something, but I'm not. From where I'm from, we're born with abilities.”

His words only intensify my frown. I take a step back away from him. A bit disappointed that someone with such a pretty face is a little bit, scratch that, is insanely crazy — Tautology in need. “I should go.”

He doesn't say anything as he watches me leave. I move away from him and quickly go back to where I was standing before. Although, I can't help throwing him a quick glance. I should have known no one can have it all. Him having looks means he's traded his sanity for it.

What am I even expecting from an ex-convict who was on death row just days ago?

Before I can get lost in thought, Caitlyn joins me and places a hand on my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you settled in.”

“To where?” I ask. I glance around the room, noting that other people in lab coats are already starting to lead the ex-inmates out.

Caitlyn seizes me by my wrist and drags me out of the room. “The room you'll be staying in for the next one week. I'm in charge of your wellbeing until you're sent off to Xyriel, so I hope we work well together, Ophelia.”

“Fantastic. A personal babysitter,” I mutter under my breath.

She doesn’t even blink. “I prefer to think of myself as your survival coach who's trying to prepare you.”

“Prepared for what, exactly? Egg hatching? Learning how to wield ‘Doom’ powers?”

Caitlyn lets out a light laugh, though it feels more rehearsed than genuine. “Who put those thoughts into your head?”

I don’t answer, not wanting to mention the encounter with someone who just happens to share the name of the planet I'll be shipped off to.

She continues, undeterred, “I’m here to prepare you for survival on a planet where your body wouldn’t even be retrievable if things go south. So, yes, think of me as your Messiah.”

“Oh, should I start kissing and oiling your feet now?” I shoot back, half-joking.

She smirks. “Your Messiah happens to be a very humble woman, dear subject.”

I can’t help but smile. I actually like Caitlyn, if I’m being honest. She’s sharp, doesn’t take herself too seriously, and, most importantly, isn’t completely insane—at least by my standards.

“On a serious note, you’ll be briefed on survival skills, alien biology, and planetary conditions. All the good stuff.”

“Alien biology? So, like...what, dissecting little green men?”

She lets out another laugh. “We actually don't know what the inhabitants of Xyriel look like. We doubt they look like us because the conditions of their planet differ from earth…and we also doubt they're little green men. What our scientists have now are just theories on their biology and what they might look like.”

I say nothing as Caitlyn continues to lead me down a narrow hallway, her grip still firm on my wrist like she’s afraid I’ll bolt at any second. We make a turn around a corner and I see the room she’s dragging me toward. The door looks like something straight out of a sci-fi movie, complete with multiple keypad locks and a little panel that probably scans one's retina or something.

Caitlyn lets go of my hand as she brings out a keycard from her pocket. She swipes it and the door opens with a mechanical hiss. “Welcome to your home for the next seven days.”

I step inside and look around. It’s...well, unsurprisingly nice. Like, way nicer than the prison cell I’ve spent my last six years in, that’s for sure. There’s a bed—an actual king size bed with two real pillows that looks as soft as feather and clean bed sheets—and a small desk. There's a book on the desk and I can see ‘astronomy’ boldly written on it. There’s even a window, though the view is just of a wall. It's underground after all.

“Is there room service?” I joke as I drop onto the bed, testing how soft it is. It feels like I just dropped on a bed of feathers. I want to die, not actually die, but the kind that happens from being overly joyous.

“Unfortunately, no,” Caitlyn says, but she’s smiling a little. “But we do have a cafeteria. You and the other inmates are free to use it. We do hope all of you get to socialize before leaving, after all you'd be spending most of your time together when you leave for Xyriel.”

“I just hope they aren't all insanely crazy,” I say, remembering Xyriel.

“Get some rest, Ophelia,” Caitlyn ignores my comment. “Training starts early tomorrow.”

As the door hisses shut behind her, I let out a long breath and lay back on the bed, staring at the oddly comforting white ceiling. Xyriel, the egg-hatching, Doom-wielding mystery man, is out there somewhere, probably now leaning against the wall of his room looking unbothered by the fact that we’re all about to be shipped off to another planet.

And here I am, Ophelia the ex-con, thinking about him.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the crazy day I’ve had. But the image of Xyriel’s weirdly mesmerizing eyes pops back into my mind, and I groan.

Great. Now I can’t stop thinking about the guy with the doom eyes and his babies hatching story. But on the good side, I'm not sleeping on the hard, cold, prison bed tonight. That's almost enough to make me cry, but I don't.

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