A young boy, 17, walks home from work- it was just down the road, not even a block away. He never through anything of the danger. But tonight, tonight there was someone following him. A black car, tinted windows.
The boy looked behind his shoulder, nervous. He quickened his pace, trying to find something to hold onto to help him feel safe. A stick, a rock, anything.
There, under the street light, they grabbed him. A bag over his head, a blow between his shoulders pushed him onto the sidewalk. He lifted into the air by his legs and arms. Handcuffs snapped around his wrists, ankles. They shoved him into the car and drove off into the night. The entire process was smooth, automatic. It had taken less than a minute to kidnap Nathan Liebert. He had been just feet from his own house the entire time.

He woke up, in a white room with lockers lining the walls. A note was left for him, “Welcome to the CWWTR Project...”
Day after day he was subjected to odd tests of skill: puzzles, riddles, codes. They had never laid a finger on him, but the psychological torture was much, much worse than any of the physical torture that he had been exposed to as part of the tests. This was the “Red Rose Mansion”

One day, they came and told him that he was now 20 years old, and that he was old enough to move onto the next stage. The “Three Frogs”. This time, it was tests of decision-making. Ultimatums were given to him daily. Do you make an ally, or do you get food for a week by stealing theirs? Do you try to kill your friend if the Project Leader tells you to, or do you let him try to kill you? Every choice, every decision that he made was calculated and evaluated.

Then came “Kinderheim 511”. He was assigned a duty: Doctor. His duty would be to give first aid to any of the others- the second batch of subjects to be tested. He accepted, and they trained him- just enough to be of use. How to clean a wound, how to set a broken bone, how to run and view the X-ray machines. How to make sure the Subjects were physically able to participate. He was 23 now.
The second group of subjects was chosen, and he was given pictures and names of each one of them. Samuel Hawthorne, Natalie Rodriguez, Jessica Liebert...
Jess.
The blood drained from his face, his hands shaking. His little sister? No.
He forced his way into the office of Mr. “Bonaparta”. He demaded to know why Jessica had been chosen.
Bonaparta smiled, steepleing his hands and leaning forward on his desk. “Because she's your sister, don't you see? We found her... through you.”
No, no. They couldn't do this. Not to her. They had to let her go. He pleaded with them, please. You can't do this to her. All those years, the only thing keeping him human, the only thing that still reminded him that he had emotions, empathy, was the knowledge that at least his sister wasn't going through the same pains that he was.
But now all of that had been shattered.
No, Jess couldn't go through all that he had been through. He had to get her out.