The Orphanage (game script)

...Ugh. What a night. It feels like I haven't slept in a week. Every time I'd drift off to sleep, I'd be awoken by a sudden throbbing pain in the back of my head. Two seems to think it's some sort of precognition, that my subconscious is trying to tell me to stay alert...seems like everything is some sort of precognition to her, though.

As I pass down the corridor, I barely notice Six sitting, as clad as usual (that is to say, not at all), on a stool outside of Headmaster's office. I can only imagine he's been up to his usual fare; the fact that he still refuses to wear a single scrap of clothing has not helped his behavior record. Though he's been keeping this up for a year, the Staff stopped doing anything about it last month. I'm still not used to it, and I still have no idea how Six can stomach the cold without even a bedsheet, but perhaps it has to do with his youth.

I find myself in the common room, still trying to shake off the last bits of sleep. I don't remember walking all the way here, but there's no point in worrying about it. I'm greeted by a silent wave from One, and Two doesn't say anything. I'd ask her why she doesn't at least say hello, but the last time I did, she argued that she'd already done so before I'd opened the door. Across the room from where they're sitting, Four is glued to his rocking chair like usual.

For as long as I've been here, I've lost count of Four's age; he's got to be well past Graduation-age at this point, and he's certainly been here for longer than me. I have vague memories of him actually speaking to me and the rest of the kids, and being quite intelligent, but it's hard to imagine that sort of behavior from him now. I can't even remember what went wrong with him. Perhaps it was an unfortunate encounter with the Staff, or maybe he argued with Headmaster a few times too many. All I can tell for sure is, one moment, he'd been reciting poetry, and the next time I met him, he could scarcely string a pair of words together that belonged to any known language. He spends his days sitting in his rocking chair by the fireplace - always lit, even in the summer.

Breakfast is barely on the table when a Staff enters the main door. Staff don't usually come with good tidings, and today, this one comes with a message on a rotten scrap of note paper (since Staff don't seem to be able to speak). I cautiously accept the paper from the Staff, making sure to bow and thank them - Headmaster gets irritated if we don't - before opening it to read.

The note just says, "NEW REGISTRANT: NINE."

I've only just processed this information when the Staff leaves through the same door, revealing that behind him stands a girl of...probably fifteen years, if I had to guess. She quietly steps through the heavy wooden door before it closes by itself, and she takes a seat in a corner away from everybody else. Everybody that was saying anything has fallen completely silent. Most of us look at her wispy auburn hair, the ragged and scorched state of her clothes, and her left hand, which is burned almost black. No one needs to guess why she's been Registered to the orphanage. None of the Registrants seems to be stepping in to welcome the new girl, so I volunteer myself and sit next to her. She turns to face away from me, careful to hide her left hand with her body.

"Hey."

She says nothing, and shyly looks over her shoulder at me. I almost make eye contact, but she furrows her brow and goes back to staring at her knees. Well, I guess I'll have to just talk to her back side.

"Um...they call me Eight around here. We, uh...don't really mind where you came from or what happened to you. All I ask is that we try to stick together."

She looks over her shoulder again, mutters something that I don't quite catch, then turns away again.

"I'm sorry?"

"Fuck off." She says it louder and more forcefully than before. The quiet conversation of the rest of the group falls silent again. Even Four has looked in her direction; harsh language always seemed to be the only way to get his attention.

"Look, Nine..."

"What did you call me?" She's turned halfway around in the rickety old chair, flashing a menacing expression at me.

"It, uh...says here your name is Nine?" I point at the paper.

"I don't care what the Headmaster calls me, my name is--"

"Wait!" I hurriedly put a hand up, close but not touching her mouth. "Look, uh, Headmaster is kind of strict about our names. Don't ask me why."

"Who the hell does he think he is, assigning us all numbers?"

"It's just...the way things have worked around here."

"But I've had a real God-damned name for fifteen years! My parents named me before they--"

"Please don't say it!" The others are alternating between looking at us, and listening for footsteps from beyond the main door. The Staff don't tend to like it when we shout, and even less when we swear.