Days passed. Or maybe weeks. Hard to tell in that place. The routine was always the same.

   We woke up to a chime followed by a mechanical voice telling us it was morning. No clocks, but somehow we always knew what came next. Breakfast in the cafeteria. Gray trays, identical portions, no flavor. Then came group fitness—running, bodyweight drills, sometimes sports. Volleyball, dodgeball, even basketball once. No one really competed. We just moved like we were asked.

   After that, showers. Lukewarm water and soap that smelled like chalk.

   Dinner was a mirror of breakfast.

   In the evenings, they had us play games and study. Mind games, puzzles, logic tests. Like they were measuring how we thought, not just how we moved. Then lights out. The room dimmed automatically, and the doors locked with a faint click.

   It would’ve been tolerable—boring, sure, but tolerable—if not for him.

   The silver-haired guy.

   I never asked his name, and he never offered it. So I just called him Fifteen.

   Fifteen somehow managed to show up at every moment I didn’t want him to. He sat next to me at breakfast, even when there were empty seats everywhere else. During workouts, he always ended up in my rotation. At dinner, across the table, grinning like we were old friends. And the games? Of course he partnered with me.

   I didn’t get it. Was it coincidence? Was he assigned to me for some reason? What's his deal?

   I couldn’t tell if he was messing with me or if he genuinely thought we were bonding.

   Either way, he was a pain.

   One morning, I decided I’d had enough.

   Breakfast again. Same long tables. Same bland gray trays. Same tasteless square. Everything was exactly where it always was.

   Including him.

   Fifteen slid into the seat across from me. His tray hit the table with a soft plastic thud, and he leaned forward just a bit, eyes already locked on me like he’d been waiting for the moment I finally cracked.

   So I did him a favor.

   “What’s your deal?” I asked, without looking up.

   “Whoa.” He blinked. “You actually talk. That’s new.”

   I exhaled through my nose, not amused. “Don’t change the topic.”

   He tilted his head, considering me for a moment like I was the one being weird.

   Then, he looked down at his tray and asked, “Do you like this food?”

   I stared at him.

   “The food?”

   He nodded. “Yeah. I mean, we eat the same thing every day. Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

   I looked at the sad lump of food on my tray, then back at him.

   “Food is food. Nothing to complain about.”

   He squinted, like that answer offended him philosophically.

   “I see...” he murmured.

   Then he casually picked up his tray and, without even looking, flung the entire thing toward the far wall.

   The food flew in a slow arc—some of it still clinging to the plastic plate—until it landed right under the boots of a security guard. The man had just started to turn when his heel hit the pile of slop. His leg shot out, his arms flailed, and he went down like a sack of metal.

   CLANG.

   A long, awkward silence followed.

   Fifteen broke it by bursting into laughter. Full-on, eyes-shut, chest-shaking laughter like he’d just pulled off the greatest prank in history.

   "..."

   He might just be an idiot.

   Around us, a couple of the other “guests” froze mid-bite. The staff didn’t. More guards rushed in within seconds, boots echoing down the sterile corridor.

   I just kept eating, watching the guards take him away. He will definitely be kept in the isolation room. Maybe this will make him rethink his actions...

   ...That's what I thought at least...

   ...

   ...

   “WHY THE HELL AM I ALSO HERE?!?!?!”