Once again, it’s hard to keep track of time now that Felix is locked in that waiting room. There are no windows, no clocks. Nothing to give him a clue, nothing to tell him whether he’s been there for a few minutes or a few hours. And seeing a dead body hasn’t helped either. It’s as if his perception has shifted, stretched, slowed down. So Felix tries to focus on the smallest details, the stupidest, most trivial ones: he observes the walls of the room, a pearly gray, perfectly smooth. And then the chairs: gray, with foam-padded seats, wooden legs that join together on the floor forming a U. In the center of the room, there’s a low table. On top of it, a magazine. Felix noticed it right away, the moment he entered the room, but he hasn’t yet mustered the courage to touch it. Part of him is desperate to know what’s happening outside, but the “outside” feels as distant as Mars. And so Felix wonders what the point is in obsessing over stories and situations that no longer concern him, that are no longer part of his world. A simple world that, for months now, has consisted of three walls and bars. Now, exceptionally, four walls and a locked door.

He keeps thinking about the dead woman. About the girl who strangled her with a strand of her own hair. How long had she been planning something like that? And how had she cut her hair? Maybe she hadn’t. Blind desperation might have driven her to tear it out with her bare hands. And even that barbaric act, Felix is sure, was less painful than having her child ripped away from her. Felix lowers his head. He’s been abused, it’s true, but never to that extent. What if he had been a girl instead? Would he have suffered the same fate, sooner or later?

How is it possible that a place like this exists in the world? A place where people are kidnapped and locked up without anyone even bothering to explain why, if there even is a reason. It’s beyond torture, beyond inhumanity. It’s something so atrocious that Felix could never have imagined or dreamed of.

This place is clearly organized. There are guards, and from the way they move, it’s clear they’ve had military training. There are doctors—Felix has met at least two, though he suspects there are many more. And then there are people like Hyunjin, whose role in this hierarchy isn’t clear. Felix closes his eyes, massages his temples. Hyunjin. He really wants to know how someone like him got involved with a place like this, how it even crossed his mind that working for such an organization could be appealing. How many horrors does he witness every day? Felix has no idea. For all he knows, Hyunjin could be the jailer of all of them, the one who personally tortured every prisoner, the one who got that girl pregnant.

Yes, it’s possible. Nothing Felix knows rules it out. And yet, deep down, he feels that’s not the case. Maybe Hyunjin is like a white fly in this place. Or maybe Felix just needs to believe that’s the case. He needs to delude himself into thinking Hyunjin isn’t the monster he wants everyone to believe he is. That he, too, is a victim of something bigger, something he can’t escape.

The lock clicks. Felix raises his head. It’s the same guard as before, but this time she’s alone. Maybe Felix seemed docile enough not to require two military escorts this time. Or maybe the other was already busy elsewhere, dealing with far more pressing matters… like the recovery of the escapees.

Felix is starting to piece together answers to his own questions in his mind, like a tailor stitching together scraps of fabric. It doesn’t matter if they’re true. What matters is that they keep him occupied, because an occupied mind is a mind that doesn’t spiral into delusions, that doesn’t go insane. And it’s hard not to, especially now that his brain has been overstimulated to the point of aching in multiple places.

“Obedience is always rewarded,” the guard says. Her tone is serious, curt. Then she steps aside from the door. Felix watches her stand straight, to the side. For a moment, he’s confused. Just one. Then he realizes he’s supposed to leave the room, but that’s it. He has no idea what the guard meant by those words.

Once out of the waiting room, the guard starts walking, and Felix follows without a word. His bare feet step on the cold floor, the sound of his footsteps drowned out by the thick rubber soles of the guard’s boots. Felix wonders if the escapees walked these same hallways. If behind one of these doors, they found a way to freedom.

They reach the elevators. Felix feels his stomach twist at the thought of that metal box descending into the depths of the earth again. He’d rather stay locked in the small waiting room than feel the humidity seep into his skin, the cold make his teeth chatter.

“Get in,” the guard orders.

And Felix walks into the elevator, silent, submissive.

He doesn’t know where this submissiveness comes from. It’s almost apathy. Felix realizes this when, once inside the elevator, he looks up at the mirror and meets his own gaze. His eyes are dull, resigned. There’s no more fire, no more desire to lunge at anyone. And yet, it would be possible now. The doors close, and Felix thinks he could slam the guard’s head against the wall. With a bit of luck, he could knock him out, steal his rifle, and fight his way out of this place, shooting anyone in his path.

But then what?

If this place is a government facility, the police would catch him within hours.
And even if it’s not, those men would surely find him anyway.

The doors open again. The guard steps out of the elevator. Felix’s hands tremble at the thought of what could have been, the animalistic violence held back under his fingers. They walk down a couple more identical hallways, then the guard opens a door, and Felix freezes.

A bed.
A nightstand.
A lamp.
A window letting in sunlight.
There are bars, but it’s still a window.
Felix catches a glimpse of a tree, leaves swaying in the breeze.
There’s a rug on the floor, large. It’s gray, looks soft.
And then there’s a wardrobe, big, made of wood.

Felix can’t believe what his eyes are registering, cataloging with sterile precision. It must be a joke, a trap. Maybe as soon as he steps into the room, the guard will grab him by the hair, yank him back, and say something cruel just to humiliate him.

“What’s wrong?” the guard asks, raising an eyebrow at Felix’s hesitation. “Don’t you like it?”

Felix doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to respond.
It all feels absurd. A crescendo of impossible, unrealistic things.
And yet, the room is right in front of him, the guard urging him to enter is real.

“Why?” Felix asks in a whisper. His voice is hoarse, deep, steady but light, like a breath, like a sigh. “I told you. Obedience is always rewarded. Now get in.”

Felix grips his wrist with his left hand. His fingers dig into his skin. Then he takes a few steps forward. He enters the room, the bright light blinding him. His eyes fill with tears, and he doesn’t know if it’s the sunlight he’s so unaccustomed to or the shock of being in a place that almost feels like a home.

No longer a cell.
No longer.

“Someone will bring you dinner,” the guard says. Then she closes the door behind Felix. Felix slowly sinks to his knees until they hit the rug. He touches it with his hands. Runs his palms over the fibers, lies down on it, rubs his cheek against the fabric. It’s rough, spongy, it’s a damn rug. And Felix feels desperate and happy at the same time, as if he’s won the lottery. No, as if he’s regained his freedom.

And yet, he’s still a prisoner, he knows that.
But now, being a prisoner isn’t so different from being a man, or being named Felix. It’s just another adjective that’s stuck to him, something he feels is as much a part of him as a bone or an organ, born with him. He’s almost forgotten what it was like before this place. Who he was. What he did. How he lived.

It feels like a lifetime ago… as if it belonged to someone else.

He lies there for minutes on end. He lies there until he’s sure it’s not a dream or an illusion. Then he slowly gets to his feet. Next to the wardrobe, there’s a door, slightly ajar. Felix approaches and opens it. There’s a small bathroom, with a shower, a toilet, a sink, a mirror. Felix stands in the doorway. He thought the room had finished surprising him, but now he feels like he’s on the verge of collapsing again. He wants to cry, but at the same time, he feels so tired he doesn’t think he can. And it’s not physical exhaustion, but a different kind of tiredness, one that’s felt in the mind before the muscles.

He strips until he’s completely naked. He walks into the shower and turns on the water. A freezing stream hits his skin, and Felix tilts his face up, imagining it’s rain. A downpour washing everything away. Everything. Even himself. He reaches out to adjust the water to make it warmer and looks down at the drain. He feels like it would be easy to slip down there too. Disappear into the pipes.

When he’s done washing, he wraps himself in a robe. He dries his skin, then his hair. He tries not to look at himself in the mirror for too long because he hates what he sees. He looks like a ghost, like something already dead. And even though his heart feels numb right now, Felix still feels terribly alive. A life that glows, but now hides under the embers, among the ashes.

He drops the towel on the floor, throws himself on the bed, naked. His back sinks into the soft mattress, and Felix bursts out laughing. He laughs louder and louder, hugging the pillow and squeezing his eyes shut as tears form in the corners. The laughter soon turns into sobs. For the first time, he thinks of his mother. Not his father, not the addiction, not the problems. Just his mother. He wishes she were here with him. He wishes she could hold him like she did when he was a child. He wishes he could hear her voice. He’s forgotten it by now. He’s even starting to forget the features of her face.

The crying subsides until it’s just a slightly heavier breath than usual. Felix thinks he’s about to fall asleep, so he forces himself to think of something beautiful, something that might turn into a dream. But since he can’t recall any happy memories, he focuses on sensations instead. Fleeting, transient emotions. A calm that spreads everywhere, like the smell of a cake fresh out of the oven.

Like the smell of coffee in the morning.

Across from Felix’s house, there’s a Starbucks. It’s not a very busy Starbucks, mainly because of its location on the outskirts, not easily accessible by public transport. Usually, the only people who go there are locals or gym clients, known for offering one of the cheapest memberships in Seoul. From his apartment window, Felix can see the outdoor tables, which are usually empty, especially in winter. And yet, that morning, with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, Felix stops to observe. At one of the tables, someone is sitting. It’s impossible to tell if it’s a man or a woman, since they’re wearing a hat, but Felix notices them anyway. It’s unusual, out of place. A fleeting thought that leaves him as soon as a notification distracts him. But then, by chance, he notices them again the next day. And the day after that. And so it becomes almost a routine, drinking coffee by the window while watching the stranger sip theirs. Out of pure mimicry, despite the freezing temperatures, a few other customers have started sitting at the tables. Now it almost looks like a respectable place. It’s natural to wonder who that person is, what their life is like, why they choose to have breakfast at that Starbucks every day. Surely, no one living in that neighborhood has enough money to eat out every day. Are they a gym client? Or someone who works nearby? Felix fantasizes about improbable things. He imagines going downstairs, approaching the table, and introducing himself. “Hi. I’m Felix. You don’t know this, but we have breakfast together every day. I watch you from up there. If you think that’s weird, don’t worry, I’m not a stalker.” That fantasy becomes part of his dream. And so the stranger, whose face Felix has never seen in real life, now looks up. Hyunjin smiles at him. He’s wearing fingerless gloves, his hands wrapped around a steaming matcha latte.

“You took your time. I’ve been waiting for you, Felix.”

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