Good side of hell

The street where Louise and Aivy first met looked empty now. It was quiet, with no children playing, no sound of footsteps. The small shop where Aivy used to buy ice cream after school was still there, but now it looked old and forgotten. Posters of Aivy, still marked as missing, were hanging on the wall. Most were torn or faded. The wind moved some of them, making a soft sound. They had been there for years. People had stopped noticing them.

Layla stood still in a cold, white room. The light above her was bright. Around her stood three people — a soldier, a behavior expert, and a stylist. Each of them had a job to do. Layla looked at them without emotion, like they were objects.

"You will act like a normal teenager. Smile when you're happy. Talk when someone speaks to you. And if someone touches your shoulder, don't break their arm. Understand?" the Behavior Expert said, looking at her expectantly.

"I understand the words. I don't understand the reason," Layla replied, her voice flat. She was a schoolgirl on the outside. A weapon on the inside.