A white light falls from the hall’s ceiling onto my shoulders, but it casts no warmth, and I feel myself shivering from the cold. Every ten or so meters on the floor of the narrow corridor is a Reigtii Numeral Six, illuminated in a harsh shade of red that hurts the eye. I brush my hand across the wall as I walk, which is lined with hundreds of identical light-grey doors.

I at last come to a three-meter-tall, steel entrance that always makes me swallow, despite there being no saliva in my mouth. I say, as clearly as possible, “Sector Six. Unit Seven-hundred-forty-three. Hugo Dematasi.” After about ten seconds the door opens—half sliding into the wall on the left and the other in a similar fashion to the right. I am greeted with a rush of warm air. But unlike Sector Six’s air, this feels more sterile, more controlled. It is pungent with chemicals, and I wrinkle my nose.

As I step through the door, a loud voice tells me, “Well.”

“You called for me, Lord. Is there something wrong in my Sector?”

“No.” says the loud voice again. I tear my nervous glance from the ground and look up to see a broad shouldered man in his early thirties. Or at least, he looks as if he is in his early thirties. He is actually over two hundred years old.

“Dematasi, I have come to understand that one individual you share an acquaintanceship with seems to have wished to, erm…expedite…his death.”

“What—,”

“Meaning that he tried to escape.” His voice is loud, but clear, and oddly sharp, the ends of his words seem to be clipped off.

“Jarek? No, he would—,”

“Dematasi, Jarek Delphiki attempted to flee the Order.” He turns his gaze more sharply over to me, and when he does I feel as if a dagger is burrowing into my flesh. I look away from his stare over to the wall, where the same harsh light as the Reigtii Numerals in the hall show the time. 23:33. “This is not unserious,” He continues. I look back at him, fear showing obviously in my grey eyes. He can see this. “You realize how much this could have cost the Kaial?”

I attempt to return his stare, but it is weak. I feel my hands shaking. Jarek is the only one I know; the only one I trust. We both live in Sector Six—out of the eight sectors, ours is the one that manufactures and operates machinery. We both serve the Order. The Order. Of course…The Order. We are raised by the Order, educated by the Order. But we are also under the control of the Order. And all of this to serve the Kaial. The Kaial are not taught about to the average worker. And yet at the age of five, every person that has ever been born in this sad world works for the Order in some way, to serve these Kaial that are seemingly worshipped by the leaders of the Order. I wonder what the Kaial have given to the us. I suddenly find myself wincing in disgust at that thought. Us. I am not one of them. I did not choose to be one of them.

Finally, I respond to the man before me. “Why are you asking me, Master?” I cringe as I say the last word, for I do not respect this man.

“You obviously were involved.”

“How…Why do you think this?” I swallow again, but it does nothing to ease the sinking feeling in my heart. I remember my words just over a week ago: We can escape, Jarek. We can get out of here. And now he has done this himself. Jarek had clearly decided that I was not going to go, and went for it himself.

Instead of answering me, the tall man shakes head, slowly. My blood turns hot when he does this, but I control my anger. I know he has tricked me. He did not know I was involved. But by the way I answered he can see this. This two-hundred-year-old man is not a fool.

“Is he…Is he dead?” I say, barely pushing the words out of my mouth.

“No.”

A surge of relief rushes into me, but it is short-lived.

“Follow me, Dematasi.”

“Yes, Master.” I am not ashamed to admit that a tear is trickling down the side of my face.

Without another word he walks briskly towards a door that is apart from the sector ones, a larger, fancier one. As if to rub into my mind that I am inferior. I struggle to follow him, because my heart is in my throat, but I manage somehow to follow him all the way, through a slightly wider corridor, to a heavily reinforced, titanium entrance to another room.

A sensor inside of the wall instantly recognizes the man’s security clearance and opens with almost no sound. After hesitating a moment, I walk in after him.

The place is fairly small, devoid of much light or decoration. What I see on the far wall of the room almost makes me yell out.

It is Jarek, strapped to the metal wall, his head hanging down. The man who led me here does nothing, merely standing by the door. Perhaps this is a trick, but something tells me it is not. I walk forwards, then call his name.

He looks up. His eyes are bloodshot, black hair matted, and out of his left leg a sickly red liquid oozes out. “Who are you?” he asks in a coarse whisper. I step closer to him.

“It’s me, Jarek. Hugo.”

Instead of an expression of recognition, he furrows his thick brow. “I don’t know…know you.”

My air of relief from seeing him alive crumbles. I say nothing now. I am not sure what they have done to him, but he seems to have no recollection of who I am.

“Jarek…” I say at last. “Jarek, what…” but I break off, for I am trembling uncontrollably now.

“I don’t know who you are. But. But I’m sick of you and your fancy…Order…”

“I’m not one of them!”

“Of course you say that.”

I just stand there. Sadness has been replaced by hatred in my veins. Hatred at the Order. This is almost worse than to see him die.

“I hope you die. I hope this damn place is destroyed,” he says.

And in an instant, an electric current is sent into his body, but it does not kill him quickly. They keep him near the brink of death, but not quite. They are killing him slowly.

Now I am screaming curses, I am yelling obscenities at them. Two men in white uniforms take me from each elbow, dragging me off, but I can still hear the shrieks of pain from Jarek. Everything becomes a blur. I am kicking, screeching, at this place, but it does nothing. Eventually I am out of the door, but I catch a final glimpse of Jarek, who has finally fallen into the grasp of death.