A crystal-clear laugh rang out behind us, followed by a whisper I didn't understand. I turned around abruptly, but there was nothing there, only boys continuing their activities indifferently.
"Follow me," Simon said, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. His touch made me jump.
I followed him, but anxiety rose within me like a black tide. This place was a prison disguised as a help center for juvenile offenders. Deep down, I knew something was watching me, lurking in the shadows and waiting for me to let my guard down. Death, no doubt.
"Why is everyone wearing a fake smile?" I asked myself.
"There's nothing fake about it. You think that because you just arrived and everything seems strange to you. But don't worry; you'll get used to it quickly."
"The way you talk is creepy. It's like a cult. Do you give this fanatical speech to everyone? Have you forgotten why we were deported?" I said, feeling uncomfortable and not really expecting an answer.
Simon shrugged indifferently. At least, that's what he wanted me to believe. I could tell he was annoyed, though. However, he quickly masked his annoyance with a forced smile. That smile almost made me feel sick. It was the kind of smile you learn to imitate to hide your weaknesses.
He resumed his role as an impromptu guide and showed me different places: the library, the living room, the lounge, and even a group therapy room. Then, he led me down a long, dimly lit corridor. The neon lights hanging from the ceiling crackled at times, casting cold, flickering light that accentuated the shadows. My footsteps echoed on the tiled floor, mingling with Simon's. Yet, every creak or breath of air seemed amplified, as if the whole place were holding its breath.
"Okay, this is the way to the apartments. You'll see; we each have our own room and bathroom. Don't worry; they're very clean." His tone was meant to be light, but it sounded false.
"How long have you been here?" I asked, feigning indifference.
He slowed down, avoiding my gaze.
"It'll be four years in a few weeks."
"FOUR FUCKING YEARS !? Don't tell me that in four years, you've never tried to escape. Do you like being locked up?"
"First of all, we're not locked up. And secondly, it's not that simple, Finn." He paused before adding more softly, "You learn to accept things."
I stopped short.
"Accept what? That we're prisoners? That we don't know when death will strike?"
He stared at me, looking uncomfortable.
"This isn't a prison, Finn. We have everything we need here: meals, entertainment, security, and friends.
"Security?" I sneered coldly. "Security from whom? From what? What's on the other side of that wall if not civilization?"
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked away and stared vaguely into the distance.
"It depends on which side you're referring to," he whispered.
"What do you mean ?"
"Forget it," he finally said in a trembling voice.
I made a mental note to keep that question in mind. Simon knew something. Perhaps even more than he was willing to admit.
We arrived at a black door marked with the number 303. Simon took a magnetic card out of his pocket and slid it into the reader. The door beeped, then opened with a metallic clank.
"Here's your room," he announced with a tight smile.
The interior was spartan with a double bed, wooden desk, and built-in wardrobe. The walls were pastel green, and a painting of a day at the beach served as decoration. A small window, protected by thick bars, let in the evening light.
I approached the desk and noticed several items on it, including a notebook. Opening to the first page, I saw my name written in capital letters, followed by three words: Observe, note, and understand.
"What's this?" I asked, holding the notebook up to Simon.
He shrugged.
"Every newcomer gets a journal. It's for organizing your thoughts, writing about your days, or something like that."
I put the notebook down with a sharp snap.
"And you think that's normal? They give you a journal to organize your thoughts while taking away all your freedom?"
Simon avoided my gaze, nervously fiddling with the hem of his uniform.
"Listen... I know all this seems crazy to you. But you need to calm down. Things here are the way they are for a good reason."
"That sounds like a pathetic excuse," I replied coldly.
A loud thud echoed through the hallway, followed by an indistinct whisper. I turned around abruptly, but there was no one there. Yet, the feeling of being watched intensified.
"What was that?"
Simon stiffened.
"Nothing. It's just the sounds of the building. It looks modern, but it's old."
I stared at him, looking for a flaw in his lie, but he kept his expression impassive.
"What about the cameras?" I asked, pointing to a corner of the ceiling where a small camera was slowly swiveling in our direction.
"They've been out of service for a long time," he replied quickly.
"You're full of shit."
Simon didn't answer.
A heavy silence fell between us. Then he took a step back, carefully avoiding my gaze.
"Get some rest. It's almost midnight. We'll continue the tour tomorrow."
He left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the oppressive weight of the place. I examined the room once more, focusing on every detail: the bars, the bare walls, and the camera that continued to stare at me.
This place was not a refuge. It was a cage. No matter what Simon tried to make me believe, I knew a much greater danger lurked in the shadows.
The door closed with a loud thud, but the silence didn't last long. After Simon left, I tried to lie down on the bed, but it was too uncomfortable. It wasn't just a matter of the hard mattress or thin pillow, everything was perfect, but I had this overwhelming feeling of being watched.
The camera in the corner of the room followed my every move. Its slight, almost imperceptible mechanical hum echoed in the heavy silence. I tried to ignore its presence, but the more I moved, the more I felt its cold gaze on me.
I jumped up and paced around the cramped room, glancing nervously at the camera. Out of pure instinct, I moved into a blind spot just below it and stared at the ceiling. My heart pounded as if the room were slowly suffocating me.
Suddenly, a slight scratching sound caught my attention. I turned around abruptly. It was coming from the built-in wardrobe.
"Is anyone there?" I asked, my voice hoarse and wavering between fear and anger.
No answer. Only that agonizing silence, as if the place itself were holding its breath.
I tiptoed over to the closet, grabbing the metal chair to arm myself just in case. With a sudden movement, I opened the doors, ready to strike. But there was nothing but empty shelves and the smell of cold metal. Yet, that noise didn't come from nowhere.
A whisper. This time, I heard it clearly. I turned to search for the source of the sound.
"Over here," a muffled voice whispered.
I took a step back, clenching my fingers on the back of the chair.
"Who's there? Show yourself."
Then, a figure appeared in the corner of my vision. It was a boy about my age with angular features and a thin build. He stood under the bedside table with his arms crossed. His eyes were a piercing blue, like the ocean floor.
"Hugo Durand," he said by way of introduction.
"How did you get in?" I asked, unable to hide my agitation.
He shrugged with a mysterious smile.
"The ventilation duct. And, before you ask, yes, I'm here for you."
"Why?"
"Because we need more people to escape and to save you from future brainwashing by gods."
I stared at him a little annoyed.
"I'll never get used to calling them gods."
He shook his head.
"Me neither, but we have to soften them up so we don't get killed."
"...uuuh mmkay..."
"Seriously though, Simon is a pawn; he follows the rules without asking questions. He thinks this place is a refuge, but I know it's a prison, like dude com'on, we're fucking criminals."
"haha, bro how long have you been here?"
"Two years, why ?"
"it means that you you have already tried to escape. I guess you failed."
"I did my best," he replied in a low, sad voice. "Like you, I woke up after committing murder. Through listening and observing, I learned one thing : the key to our survival is making them believe that we're obeying them. "
"Those sons of b...gods?" I said doubtfully.
He put his hand on my shoulder, looking amused.
"Yes. One thing is certain: They are watching us constantly. If you want to stay alive, pretend. Stay in line. Play their game for now."
"You have a plan?"
He nodded.
"Yes, Finn, you're not alone. There are others like you and me. We're getting together and looking for a way out. But we have to be careful. This place will make you lose your mind if you let your guard down. Don't let anyone convince you that this place is a refuge."
Before I could ask another question, he slipped into the duct.
"We'll talk about all this later. For now, let Simon show you around, and listen carefully to what he says. The truth is often hidden in the details."
He disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The oppressive room suddenly felt much lighter. I fell onto the bed and closed my eyes.