From where I stood, everything seemed frozen, as if suspended in a silent nightmare.
There were no voices, no footsteps, and no sign of life. Not even a breath. The place seemed deserted, but deep down, I knew it was an illusion.
I was in an impersonal, cold hospital room where several empty beds were lined up with almost military precision. The immaculate sheets were pulled back with maniacal precision, and the white tiles faintly reflected the cold light from the ceiling. Everything in the room exuded abandonment and surveillance. A dull tension hung in the air.
The smell was like an old nightmare: medical alcohol, ether, disinfectant, and something else. It was a more intimate and cruel smell, a whiff of memories I thought I had buried. It was a salty, acidic, almost metallic mixture that brutally brought me back to those evenings when my trembling sister hastily cleaned my wounds after our father had left me half broken. This room tasted of those pains that leave a mark inside.
I tried to open the door, but it was locked. It was locked. Naturally. My heart sank a little more. There was no immediate way out and nothing to hold on to. I felt alone, trapped, and displaced like a worthless object.
I turned toward the bay window. It was large, opaque, and cold to the touch. I approached it as if searching for an answer. My reflection in the glass seemed blurred, almost dissolved by the artificial lights. Then, a clicking sound took my breath away. The sound of a lock.
I jumped and took a step back. My mind was as tense as a string ready to snap. I slowly moved toward the door, torn between the instinct to flee and the instinct to confront. The handle turned. The door opened slowly.
A boy appeared in the doorway. He was young and about my height with deep black hair like coal. His eyes sparkled with a strange, almost disturbing energy. His broad, confident, almost too calm smile made me uncomfortable immediately.
He was wearing an unusual outfit for spending the night: a black and steel gray hoodie and sweatpants. My eyes slowly drifted down to my own clothes. I understood.
I was wearing the same damn outfit.
The boy approached with an almost unreal liveliness, brimming with vibrant energy that seemed inappropriate for this frozen, silent place. His enthusiasm was contagious yet misplaced, like laughter at a funeral. There was an exaggerated quality to the way he moved and spoke, as if he were playing a role or hiding something.
"Hello!" he said in a bright voice that was too cheerful to be genuine.
I didn't answer. My body had stiffened instinctively. I stared at him without blinking, examining him with cold, almost animalistic suspicion. He tilted his head slightly. His smile was frozen on his face like a poorly fitting mask; it didn't reach his eyes.
He paused for a moment, saying nothing, as if waiting for me to deign to respond. But I remained silent.
"..."
" How are you feeling?" he continued in a softer tone, as if trying to correct himself.
"..."
A slight crease formed between his eyebrows. His smile retracted slightly, but did not disappear. He refused to give in, clinging to his cheerful facade with an increasingly disturbing insistence.
"Is everything okay?" he asked again, feigning tenderness.
I swallowed, suppressed my panic, and spoke in a low, trembling voice.
"Where am I?"
A silence stretched out. A heartbeat, maybe two. Then he replied in a deliberately light tone.
"It's rude to answer a question with another question."
But the lightness sounded false. I saw it. A fleeting shadow passed over his eyes, a tiny crack in his facade. Contained irritation.
"Where am I?'' I repeated, louder and firmer this time, despite the knot tightening in my throat.
He seemed unsettled for just a moment. His gaze shifted briefly toward the floor. Then he sighed, resigned.
"You're in the recovery room of the Ares block. This is where we welcome new arrivals. My name is Simon Coleman. Nice to meet you."
His smile returned, but he was different. It was less radiant and more tense, almost mechanical. I remained silent. I offered him nothing, not even a nod.
The prolonged silence seemed to bother him. His fingers moved nervously. But he forced himself to continue with feigned cheerfulness:
"I see you're not very talkative, but that's okay. I was a little shy at first, too."
A weight fell on my chest. I had trouble breathing. I needed answers, something to hold on to.
Without warning, my voice cut through the silence like a knife.
"What's going to happen to me?"
My voice was shaky, but it conveyed all the anxiety I could no longer contain.
He blinked, taken aback.
"Uh,...what do you mean ?"
"You heard me perfectly well" I repeated, each word laden with urgency.
" ...Uh...you...you'll be assigned an apartment, and then you will join the other residents."
"Other residents?" I repeated slowly, as if to make sure I had heard correctly.
"Yes, it's not just us here. Other people live in this public housing, just like in the others."
I stared at him, my heart racing.
"Where the hell are we ?"
He raised his hands in a soothing gesture, but his movements seemed mechanical, as if he were repeating them ad infinitum.
"Don't be afraid. Everything is fine, okay? I'm here to listen to you and answer all your questions,... well, the ones I have the answers to."
"Then tell me, what's going to happen to me here? Isn't this where death awaits us?"
"Unfortunately, I can't answer that question because I don't know. I'm really sorry."
I took a step back and eyed him suspiciously.
"Don't play shit with me" I spat, unable to hide my growing anger.
"I'm telling the truth, but you don't have to worry. As I told you, there are other residents here. You won't be alone, and with time, you'll really get used to this place."
The honeyed tone of his voice made my skin crawl.
"What do you mean by that ?" I asked, my voice rumbling with a mixture of fear and rage.
"Well..." He seemed to be searching for the right words, as if he knew that no answer would be satisfactory.
"Well, what?"
He looked away, his voice faltering.
He opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. I sensed that he was holding something back, a truth too disturbing to speak aloud.
"Listen, I know this all sounds strange, but..."
I didn't give him time to finish.
"Get the fuck out of my way!" I barked, driven by a mixture of terror and despair.
Simon took a step back, as if anticipating an even more violent reaction. In his eyes, I saw a shadow of regret or fear. I pushed him aside suddenly and stormed toward the door, determined to escape this oppressive place. But Simon didn't give me the chance. He grabbed my hood and pulled me back with surprising strength for his frail appearance.
"I'll let you out" he said, "but first you need to calm down."
"What the hell is going on here?" I asked in a barely audible voice.
Simon took a deep breath and his expression became more serious.
"Follow me. I'll show you."
After passing through an empty waiting room with surgical-white walls and an archive room with seemingly endless dusty shelves, we arrived at an elevator door. The place was silent, too silent. The sound of our footsteps echoed like hammer blows. Simon walked with a confident stride, but I couldn't help but feel an underlying tension. Something was wrong.
The elevator door opened with a metallic clang. Inside, the shiny walls distorted our silhouettes with the artificial light. Simon pressed the "3" button, but my gaze immediately fell on the other 37 buttons, not counting the one for the ground floor.
"I'll show you around the building. You'll see; you'll love it!" Simon said with feigned lightheartedness.
His smile seemed slightly forced, almost mechanical.
"Are there really 38 floors?" I asked, my voice tenser than I would have liked.
"Yes, it's pretty tall, but it's spacious. From the outside, it has a certain charm."
His cheerful tone contrasted strangely with the heavy atmosphere of the place. Anxiety gripped my throat as the elevator began to rise; the dull hum of the motor accentuated my unease.
When the doors opened on the third floor, the scene that greeted me took my breath away. A hundred teenagers, all dressed exactly like us, were standing there. They were laughing, talking, and playing as if everything were normal.
I immediately shifted my gaze to their wrists and noticed the metal bracelets they were all wearing. I instinctively looked down at my own wrist. As expected, the same bracelet was attached there. It displayed information about my identity. I clenched my teeth.
But what made my blood run cold was their joy. It was a joy that was too perfect, too uniform.
They seemed far too comfortable in this strange place. It was as if they had accepted their fate, or worse, as if they didn't know they were trapped. How could they be so carefree when they were locked up here, like me?
"Welcome to the game room!" Simon said, turning to me, clearly delighted by my astonishment.
I didn't answer; I was too busy observing the details of this huge room. Luminous wires snaked around the walls, casting colorful reflections that would have been soothing if the lights hadn't been flashing irregularly, almost like a heartbeat. Soft beanbags and sofas were scattered around, and arcade machines occupied a corner of the room, flashing frantically.
"This place is designed to make everyone feel good," Simon continued.
"The gods have really been generous in this regard."
Something in his tone made me uncomfortable. His words seemed too rehearsed, like a memorized phrase.
"Gods?" I repeated, frowning."What do you mean by gods ?"
He gave me a curious look, as if my question were strange.
"Well, the ones who run this place. The ones who brought us here."
"You mean the bastards who locked us up here? The government?"
"Don't talk about them like that. They're our saviors. They're perfect, like gods, not like us," he interrupted. "They decide everything here. They watch over us. Without them, we would be nothing."
There was a strange fervor in his voice and excessive admiration that didn't fit the situation. It was more than creepy; it was terrifying.
I looked around me again. The laughter and play of these teenagers seemed increasingly fake to me. Their laughter seemed too synchronized, almost like a poorly concealed sound loop. Did they know they were locked up, or was I overreacting?
"Why isn't anyone trying to escape?" I whispered, more to myself than to him.
"Escape?" Simon repeated, clearly amused by my question. "Finn, there is no outside. This place is all we need."