Why… why are they all silent?
Victor slowed his steps as he moved through the massive crowd, as though the entire city had been turned into a living statue. He could not stop staring. His eyes drifted over the frozen faces—fixed, rigid, emptied of all expression. He noticed the smallest details: a hand halted mid-gesture, eyes wide open without a blink, breaths steady yet mechanical. He watched, trying to understand, but understanding slipped from him like smoke.
Why don't they speak? Why don't they move freely? They stood in endless, ordered rows, like mannequins in an abandoned museum. Why does my head hurt like this? It feels as if I've forgotten something terribly important—something I should have held onto, but that slipped through my fingers.
In the midst of this vast queue stretching like a stagnant river, Victor waged a deafening inner battle with himself. Suddenly, a man in a gleaming black suit approached him, his face devoid of any human feature. In his hand was a strangely shaped pistol, and behind his neck coiled a thin yellow strip, like a metallic ribbon. The device emitted a low, unsettling hum that reverberated in Victor's ears like direct commands. He understood at once: the sound was saying, Calm down.
Terror seeped into his chest like cold water. He tried to speak, screamed inwardly, Who are you? What is happening? But his mouth remained shut, his tongue heavy as stone. No sound came out. The line began to move forward, step by step, in a steady mechanical rhythm. Victor's body advanced with them against his will. Fear crushed his heart, regret drowned him, yet he moved like a puppet pulled by invisible strings.
People passed before him one by one. All wore identical gray work suits with identification badges hanging on their chests—numbers only, no names. The faces were uniformly vacant, the eyes fixed forward. Then his turn came.
A man in the same black suit spoke, his voice mechanical and devoid of emotion:
"Victim 307, step forward."
Victor moved unwillingly, as though his feet were dragged by magnetic force. He entered a strange machine resembling a gleaming metal gate. Red, blue, and green lights spun rapidly around him, then stopped. A steady green light ignited. Status: Stable. He passed through the gate and suddenly found himself in an enormous space with a towering ceiling. The walls were divided into perfect squares like colossal honeycomb cells. In each compartment: a simple desk, an old-fashioned computer, a small empty notebook. Nothing more.
Without deciding to, Victor felt this was his workplace. He headed toward a corner, sat on the rigid chair, and opened the computer. The screen lit up instantly, yet he did not know what to do. The commands that had once flowed into him were gone. Anxiety rose within him. What am I supposed to do? What is my duty here? What am I meant to accomplish?
A crushing pressure built at the back of his neck, as though something were pressing into his mind from within. He reached back cautiously and touched a thin metallic collar wrapped around his neck. A searing heat flared—an internal burn. He lifted his gaze: everyone around him wore the same device, yet they were immersed in their screens, fingers moving with astonishing speed, without pause, without hesitation, like fully charged machines.
He noticed the supervisors—men in black suits standing at the corners—watching him. Quickly, he turned back to the computer. Suddenly, a torrent of information exploded into his mind: codes, numbers, directives. He began working without thinking—organizing files, writing lines of code, modifying data, sending reports. The labor was relentless, continuous. Ten minutes passed, half an hour, an hour, two hours… time dissolved unnoticed.
Then drowsiness crept in. He lifted his hand as though holding something, but it was empty. He scanned the desk, searching for something missing. Where is it? Where is it? What was I looking for? He sat back down and suddenly found his hands moving as though holding an invisible cup, raising it toward his mouth. He froze. He looked behind the computer—nothing. Under the chair—nothing. An inner command pushed him back to work. In a sudden involuntary motion, he slammed his head against the desk, precisely at the back of his neck where the device lay.
Blood trickled from his left ear. He stood and, against his will, walked toward a side corridor. A supervisor stood there. Suddenly, a gigantic elderly face appeared across all the walls—features sharp as blades, piercing eyes like knives.
"Do what is required. You are under my service. My command is your law. Work for me, for the advancement of science and the world. You no longer have existence outside."
Victor stared at the repeating face in shock and disbelief. The supervisor emitted a strange sound; Victor understood it and involuntarily produced a similar sound from his own throat. He entered the restroom, washed the blood from his face, returned to his desk, sat down, and whispered to himself:
"I am doing my job… I am doing my job."
He looked toward the vast window at the far end of the hall: a colossal city stretching to the horizon, towering skyscrapers, dim lights like dead stars. He began whispering within himself: Work… place… Why can't I speak? Why does no one speak? Why am I doing all this? Why does that old man control us? Why am I wearing this suit? No… why am I here at all? Where am I? Who am I?
The questions piled up like a flood, and the pain in his head intensified. What keeps me here? What is this feeling? I want to leave… go where? There… but where exactly? I don't remember. Who am I? What is my name? The back of my neck is burning… I think this cursed machine is the cause of everything.
He tried to remove the collar. It burned him. He endured for a moment, then tore it off by force. Black smoke rose. He screamed—a thunderous cry as pain tore through his body. The device fell to the floor. The pain vanished instantly. An immense emptiness filled his mind, as though a part of him had been freed.
He did not notice at first. The entire room shifted to a deep crimson red. Supervisors rushed toward him from every direction. He saw them, grabbed the broken device, and ran. He stripped off his suit and shirt as he moved, headed toward the massive window, and leapt without hesitation, shattering the glass. He fell downward, gazing at the towering city from a dizzying height.
The supervisors looked from above—they had lost him. Sirens blared. Many of them descended, mounted sleek black vehicles, and began the pursuit.
Victor plunged into a large swimming pool atop a neighboring building. He emerged drenched and muttered:
"This pool saved me… lucky me. I'm on a rooftop… it seems they've lost my trail for now. I need dry clothes."
He found clothes hanging out to dry: a black athletic shirt and gray sweatpants. He dressed quickly and descended the exterior stairs unnoticed. He wandered the city streets. People moved like robots: measured steps, blank faces, no sideways glances, no speech. He whispered:
"They don't act like me… It seems that machine was controlling them. I can now estimate it has a central role in this system."
His stomach growled loudly. I'm starving.
He entered an automated restaurant. He sat, and an electronic display appeared before him in a completely unfamiliar language.
"What are these symbols? I don't understand a thing."
He pressed randomly; the display vanished.
"Strange… no one here seems truly human. Will these machines prepare the food?"
Suddenly, the table opened and a hot plate emerged. He devoured it hungrily; his hunger was severe. But after the first few bites, the headache returned, throbbing.
"I won't eat more… this food is strange. It reminds me of something from before. I'll leave."
He stood and noticed a machine dispensing bags. He took one and placed the remaining food inside. A number appeared on a display.
"A bill… I didn't pay at the previous machine. Perhaps payment isn't necessary here."
He left, but pressed a button at the bottom clearly marked in red: Alert.
He turned quickly and searched for a shop selling bags. He found an elderly woman gripping her handbag with unnatural strength. He tried to pull it, shoved her, and shouted:
"Give it to me! You don't even have emotions!"
He tore the device from her neck. She staggered, lost her balance. He took the bag and inspected its contents, noticing something strange. The old woman collapsed, dying, whispering faintly:
"My dear… I'm sorry… I didn't find you yet."
Victor was stunned. He checked her pulse: stopped. She was dead.
He reacted with a strange coldness, as though it meant nothing. He struggled to read her identification card: "Mai Noctis…"
He placed the food in the bag. People passed beside him as though nothing had happened. He headed into a narrow, dark alley, set the bag down, and sat to rest. He removed his worn shoes, took the broken device, and examined it carefully.
"Strange… completely disabled. It's red now. It wasn't before. The others' were green."
Suddenly, three supervisors surrounded him in the alley. He stood quickly, barefoot, slung the bag over his shoulder. They emitted strange sounds and aimed their pistols at him. Victor understood the message clearly:
Real danger. No escape.
To be continued…