The man put his hand around my arms from behind and said, “Quick, look comatose and confused!”
I was surprised at how easy falling into this role was. I’d seen nothing but other people displaying this, and emulated their being in a daze. I gazed up at the ceiling with my mouth open, letting drool spill over for effect.
The mysterious figure coming from the opposite direction came across us with an unassuming expression.
“I’m helping the poor soul out. He’s lost his way again.”
“Take three rights and a left. If it’s not there, take six lefts and two rights.”
“Thanks.”
We went along our way, and didn’t talk until we were sure we were out of earshot. It was only later that I realized the stranger’s directions made no sense. But I didn’t get much of a chance to ruminate on it at the moment. Along the way, we passed various half-opened rooms filled with comatose patients.
From the corner of my eye, I could dimly make out the figures of listless human bodies that had to be propped up against walls or chairs for support. Almost as if their spines had been broken. A chipper cheerful voice sounded out trying to motivate these lackluster bodies, but the expression on her face looked worn out and exhausted. The speaker’s high-pitched excited voice sounded forced when juxtaposed against a realistic-looking projection of calm soothing wildlife shown on the brightly-lit walls.
The speaker was talking about uplifting subjects like appreciating the feel of grass, how bright and warm the sun was, and how lucky we were to be alive. None of the numerous “students” looked remotely interested or engaged. It was like looking at a kindergarten class being taught for adults. The same scenario repeated itself multiple times with every half-opened doors, until we came across a stretch of hallway with no doors present.
“Now, where was I?”
“You were saying something about the posters.”
“Oh, right. It’s subtle, but each poster has a different marking depending on how it’s positioned. Whether it’s above or below waist level, whether it’s crooked or not, and even if it’s half-torn. I’ve ripped a dozen of them in the hopes of getting answers, and they’ve always been put back up in the exact same place.”
“Yes, but what’s so special about... that black figure?”
“If you want to know why there’s so little support for us, it’s because there’s more attention paid to these vacant guys in those seats. There’s like, one teacher for every twenty rooms, and they don’t bother punishing anybody unless someone raises a stink.”
This sounded more like an answer to a question I hadn’t asked.
“But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. The main bulk of staff is composed of twenty to fifty people. Apparently, there’s a special wing for people who’ve somehow seen the black figure who’s supposed to be on that poster. Supposedly, if you’ve met this man, your sense of reality changes, and that picture will reveal itself. I’ve had a sneak around that area, and they’re all more mentally damaged than the emotional zombies wandering the hallways here.”
I then realized what had bothered me about this place - there were no windows to the outside world. I’d seen some shuttered blinds in the medical rooms where I was being treated, but those remained closed for the duration of my stay.
“There’s not much point in seeing what they’re like - there’s too much security, self-harm and screaming. It’s basically an exercise in depression. But there’s a more interesting detour around here. Do you want to see where you came from?”
He easily made his way through countless corridors that’d been traversed hundreds of times, excitedly talking as he went along, rambling about dozens of topics I could barely understand. He kept racing ahead of me, both in terms of distance and subject material, but always pausing at the odd corner just long enough to make sure I caught up. It would’ve been very easy to get lost down here, as the number of branching corridors which started out small, multiplied at every intersection, additional hallways popping up at every corner. Then, after gaining a lead, he suddenly stopped and stalled in front of a bright hallway. At first glance, it looked no different from all the others, only without any posters, doors or mounted TV screens. Instead, the walls looked they’d once been polished to a glimmering luster, but were now worn down to a pale unvarnished glow. Hesitantly, I walked up to him, getting a chance to catch my breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“This hallway fascinates and infuriates me. Whenever I go down this path, even if I'm all by myself, I get the sensation that I'm being watched.” He started walking down, talking some more as he strode.
“I feel the pinpricks of dozens of eyes following my every movement. The awareness of an intellect that’s not my own. I turn around, and what do I see? Nothing, save a warped mirror of my own face. There must be hidden cameras somewhere, but no matter how hard I look, I can’t find them. The walls also... feel and sound different from the other walls in this place.”
I put my hand against the reflective surface. Sure enough, the metal refused to let my palm get any closer to let me feel it. It felt almost alive.
Visibly unnerved, I joined my friend to the end of the hallway, relieved to be out of that claustrophobic hall, even though it hadn’t moved an inch. We were now in front of a closed metalic door belching cold steam from underneath it’s grate.
“It may look intimidating, but we’ve passed the last hurdle. All that’s left is to open the door. Want to take a peek?”
Hesitatingly, I tentatively put my hand on the doorknob. Despite my expectations, it didn’t stick to my exposed flesh. I twisted the doorknob - the only doorknob that seemed to exist in this place of defied expectations. The interior gleamed with a mixture of darkness and artificial lights.
“...can’t....do this. ....wrong....”
“Recognize this room?”
I looked ahead into the dimly lit expanse which seemed larger than the facility housing everybody present. Inside were hundreds - no, thousands of containers, each one holding a single human body.
“They’re still alive, but just barely. They’re operating on a release schedule that I haven’t figured out. It’s completely random and arbitrary. The most consistent pattern is another frozen body is released when one of us dies, but even that’s no guarantee. If they’re harvesting our organs, why keep so many people frozen on such a limited release program?”
I looked around the room, full of cryogenic chambers, containing different faces, none of which were familiar to me.
“Let me know when you’ve had enough. I don’t want to get caught.”
I looked around a little longer, but couldn’t find anything of substance. Five minutes later, I decided to bail.
We made our way back the way we came, ditching the white suit before rejoining our constantly moving group. Actually, that’s simpler than how I’m making it sound. Apart from going through the same watchful tunnel, we took an alternate route through various crowded and empty rooms, avoiding eye contact whenever possible. Half the time, my guide didn’t seem to know where he was going. And his kleptomaniac manner of picking up any discarded items he came across didn’t help alleviate my fears. Rejoining the crowd. I could’ve sworn that we were noticed, but nobody seemed to think it unusual that the group gained two more members, anymore than it lost some.
I tried to pass by the guards nonchalantly, but it was difficult. I had the impending sensation that at any given moment, we would be called upon to explain our recent behavior. But maddeningly enough, that moment never came.
Honestly, I’m amazed that we weren’t caught.
When we made our way back, it was Lunchtime. Or Dinnertime, depending. While I dutifully stuffed my mouth, my friend seemed more interested in looking through the stuff he’d picked up along the way. One item was a large piece of condensed paper with strange markings on it. I tried to take a closer look, but he kept moving away from me. Apparently, my 5-cent tour was over, since he now saw me as a nuisance, and moved to another table. At least he left behind his meal - my writing stock was running low.
I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to him until later, when he came up to me again. It seemed the best way to attract his attention was to ignore him until he decided you were worth talking to.
“I’ve been asking around about that nameless Wanted poster - and every response I’ve ever gotten has been the same - ‘If you’re lucky, you’ll never know.’ What horrible secret could possibly lie behind that poster? None of the other patients have any idea, and all the staff are noticeably hush-hush on the topic. Is it a Big Brother kind of thing, an inside joke, a rebel leader, WHAT?? I’m not letting go of this until it’s solved.”
“This is very worrisome. What do I do in the meantime?”
“You document everything that’s happening. If there’s anything missing, that’ll be a clue for what they don’t want us to pay close attention to. Keep your notes in a good hiding place, but not so good they can’t find and censor it first.”
Time went by, and my partner kept pointing out the holes of logic that I’d skipped over and never noticed before. It was an eye-opening experience to say the least, and I began to doubt whether this utopia truly was what it seemed. Even so, I was reluctant to leave my comfortable shell.
Days(?) later, my friend had the temerity to speak to me again. With barely a word of introduction, he sidled up against me, and stuffed some papers inside my pockets.
“Okay, I think I've got a general idea of what's going on. I'm going to take a quick peek past the triggers and failsafes. If you don’t hear back from me, assume the worst and follow the route I took to get out, then choose the opposite direction I chose last time.”
“Whoa, hold on! I’m still playing catch up. What’s going on??”
“I’ve been checking the guard’s routine, and formulating an escape plan. It shouldn’t be that difficult to see what the outside world’s REALLY like.”
I was morbidly curious, but also worried for him. “What about - ”
He then reached inside his coat pocket, and took out the large folded paper I’d seen last time. “I found this map of the place. Take a look at this large room. Does it look familiar?”
“Should it?”
“That’s the freezer room you came from. I recognize the cooling system. Normally, there’s only room for about 5-10 cytogenetic chambers. However, there’s enough space for about 20 million bodies. Now, what do you suppose they need with that many bodies?”
I wracked my mind for any possibility. “Any relation to what we’re eating?”
“I thought about that too, but they’re on two different power structures. Our meals come from an outside source separate from what’s keeping these poor souls alive. There’s practically no relation between them.”
“Well then...I don’t know.”
“Me neither. That’s what I’m hoping to find out before it’s too late.”
Just then, a guard came up behind us. “What’s that you’re reading?”
“Nothing, nothing”, my friend said, casually packing up the pilfered map as if nothing was wrong.
“That’s official documentation you’ve got there. Care to explain how you got it?”
“I found it.”
That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because the guard clamped his hand on the man’s shoulder. Though frankly, it wouldn’t have mattered what he said anyways. He put up some mock resistance, throwing ineffectual punches and kickes as he was dragged out to be interrogated. What worried me was his parting words he whispered as he was carried away:
“Don’t worry. This is all part of the plan.”
“...you can’t..... ....nothing wrong....”
My fears were confirmed hours later when the Skeptical man was dragged back in. He looked absolutely horrified and all the blood had been drained from his face.
“What happened? What did they do to you?”
In a dull monotone, he intonated, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“This can’t be you! This can’t be the same person who was convinced that there was a conspiracy brewing to quash our free will! They must’ve done some kind of brain surgery on you or something.”
He then barked out a laugh that sounded more sad than lunatic. “I wish! Then I’d have a reason to go on living.” He then grabbed my shirt. “You’re better off not knowing what’s really out there. It’s too much for one man to handle...” Then he slumped back into silence.
I grew even more nervous from his rambling words. Despite his irrational actions, he was a bastion of rationality. What could have happened to him that could reduce him to this state?
Fortunately, I still had the map he’d drawn out for me. It looked agonizingly complicated, but there were subtle codes embedded in the text if you knew where to look. It was a variation of the scrawled napkin he’d given me earlier, and I’d gotten used to his handwriting by now. By folding the paper in elaborate origami designs, you’d get a rough 3-D map of what the next location you were supposed to take next.
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