It’s like a dam collapsing suddenly. That apparent resignation that reigned in the hearts of all the prisoners turns into agitated frenzy. It’s strange to notice the change. It’s so sharp it seems mechanical, as if someone had pressed a button and everything that was there a moment before had turned into something else, something completely different. Felix felt that same change in his chest like an invisible presence uniting their consciousness. First, there was the horror of that brutal and unexpected murder. They had seen the woman who brought them food die, an image Felix would hardly forget. And then, those keys. A silent promise of freedom.

That’s the moment Mark realizes he holds in his hands the only thing that truly matters, a power beyond his reach, a power he’s perhaps never had in his life, let alone since he’s been locked up in that place. Felix can understand. If he tries to imagine that those people have gone through the same things he has, then he can immerse himself in that almost all-consuming thirst for knowledge. Those people have no idea what the outside is like. Maybe they’ve even forgotten that an outside exists—and now it’s there. Within reach.

Mark approaches the cell door, his steps trembling, almost hesitant. Felix watches him and understands how agitated he is, how he must feel like he’s in a crazy, unreal lucid dream, destined to vanish. Yet the key slides into the lock and turns perfectly, smoothly. The door opens, and the voices fall silent again, attentive. Mark steps out of the cage. For a moment, he stands still, almost perfectly motionless. He looks at his bare feet as if he still can’t realize they’re on free ground, in a territory where no one can control him, where he’s the master of his own destiny. Felix remembers well what it feels like. He remembers the overwhelming sense of omnipotence he felt when he freed himself from his own imprisonment. Yet it was still different, because back then Felix had freed himself from much more than a cage: he had killed his tormentor.

Mark recovers quickly. Again, it’s as if someone had pressed a button. He shakes off the numbing stupor that held him back and darts toward the cells. “Me first,” “Please, Mark, free me,” “Mark, come here, hurry, before someone comes.” Those voices, those pleas, overlap like the cries of agitated monkeys. Mark doesn’t follow a specific order. He goes from lock to lock and turns the key, his hands still trembling. One after the other, the prisoners spill into the hallway. They run, crashing into the metal like unruly animals incapable of composure. They’re not lucid, not at all. They’re ecstatic with the sensation of freedom they’re tasting for the first time in months. Felix watches them. Not for a second do those people stop to talk, not for a moment do they try to organize themselves. There’s nothing even vaguely planned in that unexpected event, nor do they attempt to bring order to make the most of their only chance. A suicide. They’re frenzied, jumping and crying, even screaming, ignoring the dead woman not far from them. That contrast is so sharp it leaves a deep impression on Felix. It’s dehumanizing. But then again, what isn’t, in that imprisonment? In that place, no one is treated like a human being. It’s no wonder, then, that all those people have turned into animals.

Mark stops in front of Felix’s door. His eyes are bright, excited. Felix senses that this must feel like the best day of his life. He can’t judge him, not really. If he hadn’t lived through what he’s lived through, maybe Felix would feel the same. But he’s already been too close to grasping freedom to not understand the price of insubordination.

“It’s our moment,” Mark says, his mouth twisted into a trembling smile. “Come on, friend.”

But Felix doesn’t move. “No,” he says, “Not me.”

If Mark had been punched in the face, he would have been less surprised. His eyes widen. “What are you saying?” he says. His mouth is still curved into a smile, but now it’s uncertain. He lets out a laugh. It’s as if he’s forcing himself to believe that Felix is just making some kind of bizarre joke. “Get up, come on.”

“No, I said,” Felix insists. Then he looks toward the door. The last time he tried to escape, it didn’t end well. His position is so precarious that he doesn’t know how many more failures he can afford before ending up like the poor guy who had his voice taken away and his wrists broken. Maybe it’s even a miracle that he’s still standing, with everything in its place, without any permanent physical damage. He’s already suffered so much, too much, and he’s gambled with fate too many times to delude himself that it will always work out. Just as he’s not deluded enough to believe that a horde of euphoric prisoners will manage to get out of that place. Maybe, if they had thought about it even a little, if they had organized themselves, if they had sketched out some kind of plan, however rough… But no. They just went out, like sheep from a pen. It’s broad daylight. Felix can’t know for sure, but logically he assumes there are plenty of guards out there.

“It won’t end well,” Felix says. “You’d better stay too.”

His voice is calm, almost expressionless. Maybe Felix seems like a madman in Mark’s eyes—no, that’s certain. When Mark realizes that Felix is serious and not messing with him, his expression changes. It’s as if he can’t believe his own ears. Felix, however, doesn’t pay attention to his reaction. He pulls his legs to his chest, then rests his chin on his knees.

“Have you lost your mind?” Mark asks, incredulous. “Friend. This is our chance.”

A chance.

Felix would pay gold for a real chance, one worthy of the name.

He’d seize it in a heartbeat, he’s sure of it.

But this one?

This one feels like a death sentence.

He could tell Mark that he’s already tried. That he killed his jailer by jamming a chicken bone into his throat and watched him die. He could tell him that he stepped out of his cage and discovered that what they’re living through, most likely, is called “atonement.” That he saw the starry sky and the huge windows overlooking the outside world. And that he was then paralyzed by a taser, drugged, and thrown back into his cell.

He could tell him all these things, but what would be the point? He doesn’t want to crush his enthusiasm. Maybe this is Mark’s chance. But Felix is sure it’s not his.

He closes his eyes. He just wants silence. He just wants peace. He doesn’t want anything else. Least of all does he want more trouble. He’s tired of fighting.

“Holy Christ… they really brainwashed you,” Mark says, and his tone is judgmental but also pitying. Then he grabs Felix’s cell door and swings it open. “In case you change your mind…” he says. He hesitates for another moment, but then gathers the strength to head down his own path. Before leaving through the door, he turns to Felix. “I won’t forget you when I’m out there. I’ll talk to the police. We’ll come save you,” he says, and then adds, “I won’t let you rot here.”

Those words fall into silence. Felix doesn’t respond. Mark seems to wonder if the blond boy even heard him. Then, with a sigh, he shrugs and walks out the door. When it closes, Felix is alone. His only company is the corpse of the woman who made the mistake of underestimating the desperation of her prisoners.

It’s hard to say how many hours pass. Several, judging by the sunlight. In all that time, Felix hasn’t heard a single sound. Did the guards really not notice anything? The thought that the prisoners might have actually escaped makes his guts twist in his stomach. Did he really miss an opportunity? Should he have gone with them, run away? Maybe some were recaptured, but others might have truly made it out.

Felix tries to isolate that thought.

He just wants someone to come. The idea of being so close to a corpse is horrifying. He tries not to look at it, not to think about it. But by now, the things he has to force himself not to think about are so many that it’s hard to do. Every thought is a landmine hidden under disturbed soil. He can sense it’s going to explode, but too often he can’t stop himself from stepping on it.

It’s almost night when someone arrives. It’s a couple of soldiers, or guards, or whatever they are. They’re wearing black uniforms, with machine guns slung over their backs. “Shit,” they say as soon as they see the dead woman. The first guard runs to her and tries in vain to feel for a pulse on her neck. The second guard watches the scene with a horrified expression. It’s only then that the two notice Felix. Their immediate reaction is to pull out their guns and point them at him. But when they realize that Felix is sitting motionless in his cell, knees to his chest and head bowed, they lower their weapons.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” one of the guards says. Cautiously, she approaches the cell door, then closes it. Felix watches the moment when freedom becomes inaccessible again. Then he thinks that what seemed like freedom was only an illusion of freedom. The truth would most likely have been different. “Why did you stay?” she asks suspiciously.

Felix lifts his gaze to the guard. He has no idea what his eyes must look like at that moment, nor what his expression is. He only knows that the guard flinches, for a moment.

Felix lowers his eyelids. He searches within himself for answers to that question. Then he says, “Does it bother you? Should I have left too?”

The guard glances at her colleague. Neither of them says anything else. Maybe they don’t know how to respond, maybe they weren’t prepared to handle something like this. Felix realizes that no one came to that place because they probably thought everyone had escaped, no exceptions.

They leave, but the body remains. Felix is suspended in a strange limbo where time is both slow and fast. He wishes he didn’t have to, but he can’t help it. His eyes watch the corpse’s face grow paler and more horrible. Then someone arrives.

The two guards from before and two men in light blue scrubs. They load the body onto a stretcher and carry it out. Felix hasn’t eaten since that morning, but he only realizes it when the woman leaves that place. It’s a funny thought, compared to everything else. Still, he’s not hungry at all.

One of the two guards—the one who had spoken to him hours earlier—approaches the cell. She looks at Felix, then clicks a key into the lock and opens the cell. “Come with me,” she orders. Felix hesitates. He doesn’t have good experiences with the people in that place. Yet he has the feeling that objecting isn’t an option at all.

He gets up from the floor. His bones ache; he’s spent far too many hours in the same position. As the guards start walking, Felix follows without a word. He gets lost in his thoughts again. He realizes that from his time with the other prisoners, he’s learned very little. He should have dared more, asked more. Maybe some of them had their memories intact, or a memory that could indicate what that place was, why they were there. Maybe between Felix and all those people there was some kind of common denominator. Even if finding out wouldn’t have changed anything, it would still have been something.

The guards keep their backs straight, their shoulders stiff. Felix, behind them, drags his bare feet against the smooth floor. Outside the cells, there’s only marble. A place like this is one that’s heavily funded, Felix thinks. Suddenly, the idea that it might be something state-run, even, doesn’t seem too far-fetched. Though which state, he couldn’t say. By now, he’s confirmed that the only person he can speak Korean with in there is Hyunjin.

They walk for just over five minutes. They take one corridor after another, but they never go up or down the stairs. Felix could find his way back to the cells if he wanted to. The route is remarkably simple. That place is geometric, straight lines, intersecting hallways. Doors upon doors, all closed, all anonymous. He wonders how the guards manage to identify the right one. Do they count them?

They open one.

“Inside,” orders one of the guards.

Felix doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask questions or make demands. He steps into this small, square room. Against the walls are chairs, and in the center of the room is a small table. It looks like a waiting room. It looks so much like a waiting room that it would be absurd if it weren’t.

“Don’t cause trouble,” the guard says. Felix looks around, then sits on one of the chairs. It’s absurd. He doesn’t even remember the last time he had a chair to sit on. It feels unreal. As if doing something so… human isn’t allowed.

The door locks behind him.

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