Subject 13 (real name unknown) has been thrown into a facility that experiments on people like her (free thinkers) in order to cure 'the disease', which is basically thinking in a way that isnt the way 'they' want you to. With the help of one rebel warden she escapes into the real world and finds a community of free thinkers, they are hunting her, stalking her, still affecting her even though she is miles away from them.
She enters that place, again, her momentary breath of fresh air is whisked away as the monotonous hum of the electronic gates closing to eclipse reality makes her want to fall to the ground and pull her hair out. The warden's piercing eyes make her shiver as they see more than her ragged exterior, they see her insecurities, her differences, as she shuffles forward with her shoulders slumped like there was someone sat atop her back.
At last she can see the door, her door, a plain wooden gateway to her seclusion. They don't let her see the others, she hasn't been changed, broken, not yet. The door solemnly creaks as it opens, revealing a small room with a simple, single bed and warderobe. The only difference between her and them, the rest who share this facility is the meagre collection of colourfully bound books that he brought her, the rebel, that reside beneath one of the floorboards under her warderobe. She can't read them of course because of the cameras that are placed in the corners of the room, but they keep her thinking, keep her fighting the hold that they have over her heart and mind. She loved those books, and hated them, they let her escape, imagine the things shared in the yellowing pages, but they also planted the idea of freedom into her cold, and expressionless mind. Creativity isn't a blessing, not here, not anywhere, she looks down at the scars they inflict upon her and is reminded, creativity isn't a blessing, it's a burden, it's a curse.