CHAPTER 6 

“Now, if you'd be so kind as to place your hand on the scanner, it will register your U.I and assign your post.” 

Beep 

The Representative examined the monitor attached to the scanner and announced, “You’ve been assigned to the inventory department of the Factory. You’ll work in compartment 2D. Next…” 

Inventory, huh? Intriguing. I found myself wondering about the kid’s assignment. 

The Rep continued, “I'll reiterate the rules. You work Monday through Friday, with Sunday dedicated to laundry. Your shift lasts six hours, commencing at 8:00 am, and includes an hour-long lunch break at 11:00.” 

The morning had been a whirlwind. After the bathroom incident, I barely had time for basic grooming, let alone a proper shower. At least showers weren’t restricted to specific timings; I could squeeze one in later. 

Immediately after the morning's chaos, we were ushered to Section 4F for a facility tour and a refresher of the rules. The commanding officer, known merely as TAG7485, spearheaded the tour. The facility refrained from using names for the prisoners; an intriguing blend of smart and slightly off-putting. 

The prison facility consisted of separate buildings for male and female inmates. Both were on the same island but operated independently. Inmates were expected to work five days a week until they hit 80 or were medically incapacitated. They could choose between two departments: The Call Center and the Factory. 

In their perspective, and to some extent mine, the government had crafted a nearly perfect world—free education, medicine, food. All you needed was to decide your life path and live! If individuals continued to break laws even in such conditions, they deserved imprisonment for life. 

TAG7485 continued her guided tour. She showed us the lunchroom, emphasizing the 30-minute limit to linger after eating. If not working, inmates could visit a recreational area or return to their cells. There was mention of a 'privileged program,' intriguing. 

For recreation, the facility offered a tennis and basketball court, and a library. Regular attendance at work earned two points daily, but absence without an excuse from a Commanding Officer or a Medical Representative led to a point deduction. Inmates with families could transfer their accumulated points to the family’s head. A privilege program existed, allowing inmates to redeem points for special services, subject to an officer’s approval. These services typically ranged from 20-50 points. 

The setup was surprisingly civilized. Of course, you traded freedom and choice for confinement. And fear was a constant companion, especially for those vulnerable to abuse. But considering the luxuries you had already forsaken, it wasn't too terrible a bargain. 

Concluding the tour, TAG7485 announced the cell assignments and informed us of a scheduled call to our families before bed. An integration process, she called it. She ended on a somber note, reminding us that we'd never see our families again. This prison was our home now. 

I refused to accept such a fate. I wouldn't let myself perish amidst this filth. 

The prison consisted of 26 cell blocks, labeled A-Z, each containing 100 rooms. The rooms, no more extensive than 5x9 feet, came equipped with a bed, a table and chair, and a shelf for our six uniforms. The kid and I were separated by a mere wall. I wouldn't lie; it was terrifying to accept that Cell P13 was my new home. 

I had almost drifted off to sleep when a knock at the door disturbed me. After the day's events, I had opted for a quick shower, a brief exercise session, and dinner. On opening the door, I found a guard waiting. 

“There’s a call for you.” 

Who could it be? My father, my only relative, had no idea I was here. Besides, I was operating under a fake identity. 

The guard escorted me to the phone, where a call awaited me. I picked up the receiver tentatively and breathed heavily into it. 

“Nick… is that you?” 

Alaya… 

“Alaya…” I blurted out, heedless of my tone or volume. 

She chided, “No please, say it louder!” 

Cursing inwardly, I leaned closer to the phone, lowering my voice. “What…How are you doing this?” 

As she explained, I mentally noted a number she had managed to secure. Simultaneously, I listened to how she'd hacked Level B of the Government System and discovered the bug they'd planted in my U.I. It was a risk of national security proportions, and it worried me. 

They had a comprehensive file on me dating back fifteen years, a revelation that questioned the authenticity of their claims. As I digested this information, Alaya shared another disturbing find. She had come across the profiles of twin brothers due for transfer to the prison. Their identities were a blank slate, as though they didn’t exist. Their impending arrival raised ominous questions. 

Who were they, and why were they coming to the prison?