The Cage of Conscience

Chapter 1

A heavy silence, like a taut veil, enfolded the space. Anna opened her eyes, but at first she could not focus: the light seemed too soft, almost mist-like. Slowly her vision cleared, and she realized she was lying on a bed covered with a smooth, snow-white spread. The mattress beneath her back was firm yet not hard, as though chosen with deliberate care for the sake of comfort.

Her gaze drifted across the room. Blue walls with a muted sheen framed the space, evoking a strange blend of coziness and menace. The ceiling rose high above, its surface resembling frosted glass, from which a gentle light poured. It illuminated everything evenly, casting no shadows, lending the room a sterile, almost artificial quality.

Beside the bed stood a small metal table, bare except for a glass of water. Every bed had its twin: the same table, the same glass. The floor, made of polished material, gleamed like a dark mirror, reflecting blurred silhouettes.

Anna sat up, her feet slipping onto the floor, and at the touch of its cool surface, her body shuddered involuntarily. She drew a deeper breath, but the air lodged coldly in her throat, reminding her that this place was not merely unfamiliar. It was alien. Unreal.

A rustle at her side made her turn.

Olga had awakened. Her movement was sharp, like that of someone long accustomed to being alert. She sat up at once, ran her hand through dark hair, and swept her eyes quickly across the room, assessing. Her face remained calm yet taut, like a beast poised to strike.

– Where are we? – she asked, her voice rough but firm. It tore through the silence, only to be swallowed by the walls.

Without waiting for an answer, Olga rose and strode toward the door. Her heels tapped softly on the floor. Bending down, she ran her palm along its rough surface, as though searching for hidden locks.

Anna said nothing. She only watched as Olga continued her inspection of the room.

Another sound – barely audible, like a sigh.

Katya opened her eyes and slowly turned her head. Her face showed a mixture of wonder and fear. As soon as she sat up, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if shielding against some invisible threat.

– Is this… a dream? she whispered, so faintly it almost went unheard.

Katya dared not rise. She looked at Anna, then at Olga, but found only silence in return. Her body trembled, and she remained hunched in a tight knot.

A quiet knock drew the others’ attention.

Igor was awake now. Like the rest, his movements were unhurried, measured, as though giving himself time to absorb the situation. Concentration was etched on his face, though his lips pressed tightly together betrayed the effort to mask emotion.

– We are not here by chance, – he pronounced, standing at the edge of his bed.

His gaze swept the room, lingering on the door, then on each of them in turn. Approaching the wall, he laid his hand against it, then tapped his fingers.

– This isn’t concrete, – he muttered under his breath.

Vadim woke next. His rising was abrupt, almost aggressive. He sat up at once, glanced around, and smirked, as if already annoyed by the entire spectacle.

– So, where are the clowns with the applause? – he scoffed, standing.

His voice carried a hard edge of sarcasm, placing him above the others by tone alone. He strode to the door and shoved it with his shoulder, but it did not budge.

– Perfect. So we’re locked in.

The last to stir was Artyom. His waking was the most serene: he stretched, yawned, and smiled, as though he’d found himself in a luxury hotel rather than a strange chamber.

– Well now, what’s this? Premium suite? – he asked with feigned ease.

He glanced around at the others, scratched his head, and gave a low whistle.

– So? Does anyone know where we are—or how we get out?

His smile was wide, yet slightly strained, as though even he did not believe in his own calmness.

The room sank once more into tense silence. Six strangers, six pairs of eyes, all filled with incomprehension. The air thickened, each breath taken with effort.

The chamber was large and square, but its spaciousness brought no relief. On the contrary, its strict symmetry was oppressive: three beds lined each of two opposing walls. Between them stood the room’s centerpiece—an enormous, opulent bed with a velvet headboard that shimmered under the soft matte light from the ceiling. The bedding looked decadent: a heavy satin cover of deep crimson and pillows arranged as though not for one occupant, but an entire entourage.

Anna cast the bed a fleeting glance but recoiled from its excess. It struck her as alien, almost ominous, like a throne awaiting some unknown ruler in an empty hall.

One corner of the room seemed torn from ordinary domestic life: a small fridge with a mirrored door, compact kitchen cabinets, a built-in stove. A little farther, a spotless microwave gleamed, pristine as though untouched by human hands. Everything was too orderly, like a showroom—devoid of life.

In the opposite corner stood its counterpoint: a lavish bar. Shelves of dark, expensive wood, lit with a golden glow, bore rows of bottles whose labels spoke of wealth—cognacs and whiskies worthy of elite collections. Each bottle seemed handpicked for a refined connoisseur. At the bar’s center stood a decanter filled with an amber liquid, beside it several crystal-clear glasses.

Another door loomed at the far wall. Its surface was plain, save for a slim matte handle. It seemed the only hint at escape, yet Anna knew—there would be no way out beyond it.

Olga was the first to check. She approached, opened it with slow, deliberate motion, and peered inside.

– Bathroom and toilet,” she announced, wrinkling her nose slightly.

The space beyond was as sterile and scrubbed as the room itself. White tiles, immaculate fixtures, a neat set of soaps and towels folded with an artificial precision.

– Not much, – Vadim muttered, glancing in with disinterest.

Artyom, eyes fixed on the bar, chuckled.

– Ah, but well stocked on spirits, – he quipped, nodding at the bottles. – A godly selection.

Anna felt the air grow heavier once more. Everything here was both luxurious and unsettling. The place seemed designed to lull attention and cloud the mind.

Six people. Six beds. And the sumptuous bed in the center, beckoning – as if holding the promise of answers. Yet they all sensed that behind such ostentation lay something far more dangerous.

Anna remained on the edge of her bed, silent. Her eyes, hidden beneath strands of fair hair, studied the others’ every movement. Silence was her refuge; it helped her discern who among them might prove a threat.

Olga, by contrast, wasted no time. She approached the door, examining it with the keen eye of an engineer inspecting a mechanism. Her slender fingers glided over its smooth surface, searching for flaws invisible to sight.

– There has to be some control panel, – she said with certainty, as though she knew. – Doors like this aren’t made simple.”

She stepped back, squinted, as if seeking faint lines. Her movements were precise, deliberate—the gestures of someone used to command.

– We’re not going to just sit and wait, – Olga added, her tone brooking no refusal.

Katya clung closer to Artyom, as though he alone might shield her from what lurked behind these blue walls.

– What is this, do you think? – she asked softly, her eyes on him with childlike hope.

Artyom smiled, tilting his head.

– Just another quest, – he answered with forced lightness, though his eyes were tight.

Katya nodded, eager to believe him. Her hands clenched together, and she cast furtive glances at the others, trust withheld.

Igor stepped forward, standing near Olga. Outwardly calm, yet his eyes betrayed unease.

– Let’s steady ourselves, – he said firmly, his voice loud enough for all to hear. – Panic won’t help. We need to assess what we have.

He gestured toward the kitchen, then the bar, as if to show that the room was stocked for survival.

– Clearly, this place wasn’t built to destroy us. At least—not yet.

His words hung heavy, sparking mixed reactions.

– Rational approach, really? – Vadim’s dry voice cut in.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression a blend of boredom and disdain.

– We’re trapped. What difference does it make why? No one’s letting us out.

His cynicism sent a ripple of fear through Katya, while Olga frowned sharply.

– Great attitude, – she shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. – Prefer to sit around waiting for the door to open itself?

– Why not? – Vadim shrugged, smirking. – Maybe they’ll feed us soon.

– Hey, hey—easy, – Artyom interjected, raising his hands as if to break up an invisible fight. His voice carried forced cheer, though tension lingered in it. – We’ve got a bar, fine beds. Maybe this is just a relaxation test. Like, ‘rest while you can.’

He winked at Katya, but no one smiled. His attempt at levity fell flat—the air in the room grew thick with strain.

Anna, still silent, noticed their eyes turning once more to the door. Her heart quickened. The door alone broke the room’s perfection, yet she knew—there was no answer waiting beyond it.

As she remained watchful, Olga turned back to the group.

– I think we should start simple, – she said, her tone leaving no room for dissent. – At least share our names.

– What’s the point? – Vadim snorted, sprawling onto the nearest bed. – Does it matter?

Olga whipped around, her gaze searing.

– It matters because we can’t get anywhere if we sit mute like children, – she snapped.

Vadim smirked, lips curling in mocking amusement.

– Fine. If it makes you feel better… Vadim. Lawyer. And yes, I’d also like to know when dinner is served.

Olga ignored the barb, pressing her lips together.

– Olga, – she said. – Now the rest of you.

– Anna, – Anna answered briefly, still seated.

– Katya, – came the trembling voice of the girl, who remained close to Artyom, seeking solace in his manner.

– Artyom, – he chimed in brightly, giving a small nod. – Just Artyom.

All eyes turned to Igor, who straightened as if gathering himself.

– Igor, he said calmly. – Programmer.

A silence followed, until Vadim broke it with a sneer.

– Well, there we are. One big happy family. What now, shall we play ‘who’s to blame’?

– If you’ve got a better idea, I’m listening, – Olga retorted, arms crossed, gaze fixed on him.

– Oh, so you like to be in charge, don’t you? – Vadim raised a brow, his tone mocking. – Everything by your rules?

– When chaos reigns, order is the only way to survive, – she cut him off, tilting her head.

– Ah, I see, – he drawled, derision thick in his voice. – Definitely not a team player.

– Enough, – Igor said quietly but firmly. His voice carried the weight to draw their attention. – We don’t have time for personal conflicts.

Olga cast one last sharp look at Vadim but fell silent.

Taking advantage of the pause, Katya voiced the question that had clearly haunted her from the start.

– Does anyone even understand how we got here?

– Maybe you were abducted by aliens? – Vadim smirked, but Katya paid him no attention.

– I… I don’t remember anything, – she went on. – It’s just a blank. What about you?

They exchanged glances. Anna shook her head silently, while Igor gave a slight nod, confirming his case was the same.

– A blackout, – Artyom finally said. – I was walking home, and then… it was as if the lights just went out.

– Same for me, – Katya added quickly.

– How convenient, – Vadim sneered, looking at Olga. – And you? Or are you going to control this too?

– No worse than your whining, – she shot back calmly.

Once again Igor stepped in to mediate.

– The point is, we’re not here by chance. I think this was all planned.

– You mean it’s an experiment? – Olga pressed.

Igor hesitated for a second, then nodded.

– Seems that way. We’ve been isolated, placed in conditions close to comfortable, but with obvious elements of control. It looks like part of some program. An algorithm.

His words hung in the air, and the silence that followed was louder than anything. Anna felt as though the room had shrunk around them.

– An experiment… – Katya exhaled the word as though it pierced right through her.

– Magnificent, – Vadim clapped his hands mockingly. – We’re rats in someone’s lab. So, shall we start running in circles?

Seeing the rising tension, Artyom tried once more to intervene.

– Well, if we’re rats, maybe it’s just a bad joke? Like a prank for some reality show?

He chuckled, but again no one shared his optimism. All eyes turned to Igor, as if waiting for him to go on. But he said nothing more. What he had already spoken was enough to unsettle them all.

Olga, arms folded, studied the room with a grim expression. Her gaze lingered again on the smooth blue walls—too perfect, as if crafted to sever them from reality. She stepped closer, laid her palm against the cold surface, and slowly traced along it, hoping to feel some imperfection.

– There must be a secret here, – she declared with certainty, as though convinced it was only a matter of time before hidden mechanisms revealed themselves.

She rapped her knuckles on the wall. The sound was dull, as if nothing lay beyond it. Dropping to her knees, she carefully examined the seam where wall met floor.

– There’s something here. I’m sure of it, – she insisted, her voice firm, though frustration seeped in as her search yielded nothing.

– Maybe stop wasting time? – Vadim muttered lazily, leaning against the door, his smirk mocking her persistence.

Olga ignored him, continuing her work.

– We need to check everything. Doors like this aren’t made just for decoration.

Vadim exhaled sharply, pushed off the door, and rammed it with his shoulder. Nothing. He shoved again, harder, but the door did not move.

– Well, we’re locked in, – he muttered, finally giving up. His irritation only deepened the tension in the room.

At last Anna raised her head. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke softly:

– Maybe we should think… about why we’re here?

Her voice was quiet, almost uncertain, but it was enough to still the room. Vadim turned, his smirk curling with near malice.

– Why we’re here? – he echoed, savoring the words. – Well then, perhaps you’ll tell us, oh great philosopher—why?

Anna flinched under his mocking gaze but said nothing.

– Let’s not start with that, – Igor interjected, casting Vadim a warning look. He stepped toward the wall opposite the door and stopped.

– There’s something here, – he said without turning.

– Where? – Olga was instantly alert, rising from the floor and joining him.

Igor pointed to a tiny mark, no bigger than a coin, set flush into the wall.

– A speaker, – he explained.

– A speaker? – Artyom leaned closer. – Think we can use it to reach someone? —

More likely it’s for someone to reach us, – Igor replied. – A way to monitor us. And maybe… communicate, if they wish.

His words struck a chord, a strange mix of hope and dread. Silence pressed in again. Anna noticed Olga’s lips tighten, as though refusing the role of a specimen.

So, what now? – Vadim said sarcastically, arms folded. – Do we wait for them to talk? Or keep knocking on walls?

The remark landed like a blow. No one answered. They stood frozen, watching the speaker, as if expecting it to come alive with a voice that would unveil secrets, provide answers.

But silence held—dense, suffocating.

Katya, nervously twisting the hem of her shirt, looked from face to face, her eyes glimmering with a childlike hope that someone might echo her thought.

– Maybe… maybe we were kidnapped? – she whispered. – Like in movies? For ransom, or

Her voice faltered. She saw Vadim roll his eyes, and she dropped her gaze.

If this were kidnapping, – Igor said slowly, still staring at the speaker, – we wouldn’t be here. All of this – he gestured around the room – is too deliberate.

Katya looked at him with unease.

– What do you mean?

– It feels like an experiment, – he repeated, thinking aloud. – We’re in a controlled environment. Conditions designed to keep us relatively safe—but under pressure.

An experiment? – Katya frowned.

– Psychological, – he clarified. – Maybe someone wants to study how we react to isolation. To stress.

Wonderful, – Vadim snorted, arms crossed. – All my life I dreamed of being a lab rat. Same as everyone here, I’m sure. A dream come true.

I still say it’s a reality show, – Artyom chimed in, forcing levity.

He sat on the edge of a bed, grinned broadly, and gestured toward the wall.

– Picture it: we’re stars of some secret project. Hidden cameras everywhere, live streaming us, and viewers betting on who breaks first.

Very funny, – Olga muttered, glaring at him.

– Why not? – Artyom pressed. – It all looks staged. These beds, that bar… Who builds an ‘experiment’ with such luxury? It’s a set.

His grin widened, but no one joined him. Katya shrank further into herself, while Igor’s gaze grew colder, as though Artyom’s suggestion was absurd.

We don’t have time for guessing, – Olga snapped, rising and heading once more for the door. Her footsteps echoed. She ran her hand over its surface, then turned sharply toward Vadim.

– Instead of spitting out your sarcasm, you could help.

Vadim chuckled without moving.

– Why not? But tell me—why bother? We’re not here to escape.

So what then? Just sit and wait? – Olga shot back.

Isn’t it obvious? – His tone turned more cutting. – We’re here for someone’s amusement. Maybe someone had a boring Friday.

The calmness with which he said it made the cynicism sting. Katya shuddered, and even Artyom’s smile faded.

You don’t know that, – Igor said coolly.

I do know, – Vadim sneered, leaning back against the wall, – that the harder you dig, the more foolish you look.

Olga clenched her jaw but chose not to reply. The silence returned—heavy, suffocating.

Then a piercing tone split the air.

It came so suddenly Katya cried out, clutching at Artyom, who instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Anna flinched, gripping the edge of the bedspread. Olga whirled toward the wall. Vadim winced, covering his ears.

Igor, frozen by the speaker, lifted his head and fixed his eyes on the faint mark. The tone faded into ragged static, harsh and uneven, like an old radio caught between stations.

All eyes locked on the wall, as if willing the source to reveal itself. Each one felt it: something important was about to happen.

Then the static broke into a voice—distorted, metallic. Stripped of emotion, machine-like, but every word sharp, deliberate, chilling.

Welcome.

The room froze, the tension so thick it seemed tangible. Even Vadim narrowed his eyes, his smirk gone.

Your game begins.

The voice cut off as abruptly as it had come. The static died, leaving the same oppressive silence.

Olga stepped closer, but the speaker was lifeless once more, blending back into the wall.

A game? Katya whispered, her voice trembling.

Vadim straightened, folding his arms, lips curling back into his sly grin.

– Well then, – he drawled, – things just got a whole lot more interesting.

No one answered. The words still hung in the air, heavier than before. They were more than an announcement—they were a signal. The beginning of something unknown, terrifying, beyond their control.

Anna sat motionless, her gaze darting among them, the air thick in her lungs. Olga pressed her lips tight and stepped back. Artyom glanced at Katya, now clutching his hand. Igor stood by the wall, frowning, as though searching for logic where none could be found.

The silence returned again. But now it was no longer hollow. It was the silence of waiting. Waiting for what would come next.

Chapter 2

The silence lay over the room like a heavy shroud when, suddenly, a voice broke through. It was steady, emotionless, belonging more to a machine than a man. The sound filled the space, echoing as if from every corner at once.

Welcome, participants. You are part of an experiment.

The voice was measured, each word delivered with mathematical precision. The group froze, straining to listen, trying at the same time to grasp the meaning hidden behind the words.

You are here because you meet the criteria essential to our research.

What research? – Olga—tall, her dark hair perfectly styled—was the first to break the silence. Her voice was laced with fury. – End this circus at once!

Your objections are irrelevant, – the voice replied, ignoring her tone. – The purpose of this experiment is the study of human nature.

The words unsettled them all. Each sensed something ominous in the explanation, though its meaning remained vague.

To fulfill the task, each of you must engage in intercourse with another participant of the opposite sex.

The silence was deafening.

What? – Anna—frail, long-haired, with wide brown eyes—cried out, unable to contain herself.

The act must conclude with orgasm. This is a mandatory condition.

The words struck like a slap. Olga let out a harsh, incredulous laugh.

– Are you insane? – she snapped. – We are not animals for your… your madness!

Refusal to comply will result in punishment, – the voice went on, ignoring their protests. – You are also required to complete other tasks that will be given throughout the experiment.

What kind of tasks? – Artyom’s freckled face and tousled hair betrayed his youth. His voice trembled despite his effort to sound calm.

Tasks may be individual or collective.

And what if we simply refuse? – Igor, the bespectacled man who had been silent until now, interjected.

Refusal is impossible. Punishment is inevitable. Should one participant drop out, a new one will take their place.

And if I refuse altogether—refuse everyone? – Olga would not yield, her gray eyes flashing with fury.

Her answer came in the form of a sharp, warning tone that reverberated painfully through their skulls.

Final warning, – the voice cut in. – Any attempts at sabotage will be dealt with severely.

The group fell silent. Each struggled to grasp what they’d heard, but the words seemed unreal. Anna huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees. Katya, the youngest, bit her lip nervously, avoiding the others’ eyes. Artyom twisted the hem of his shirt in his hands, staring at the wall from which the voice seemed to emanate.

This is impossible, – Igor murmured, though conviction was absent from his tone.

It’s disgusting, – Katya whispered, her eyes downcast.

It violates every moral law! – Olga snapped, rising to her feet. Her gray eyes blazed with rage, her lips pressed into a hard line. – You have no right!

What rights, Olga? – Igor’s reply was unexpectedly calm. He adjusted his glasses, buying a moment to collect his thoughts. – We’re all prisoners here. We have no choice.

You’re suggesting we just submit? – Olga turned on him, her voice sharp as a blade.

Yes. Submit—or at least stop provoking whoever’s holding us here. They’re clearly not joking.

Submit? – Olga’s look of contempt was enough to crush. – Why not just lie down and obey? That would be convenient, wouldn’t it?

I never said it was convenient, – Igor retorted evenly. – I’m talking about survival.

Survival? – Olga laughed harshly, her voice hollow. – Did you even hear what they’re demanding? This isn’t an experiment—it’s cruelty!

We all heard, – Vadim cut in, his voice level but tinged with frost. – But maybe Igor’s right. We need to figure out what they want from us. Then think about escape.

Oh, another hero, – Olga scoffed, swinging to face him. – You want to be a good boy too?

I want to stay alive, – Vadim said flatly, his gray-green eyes glinting with menace. – If you thought about more than your pride, you’d see it’s the only rational approach.

Olga frowned but had no chance to reply.

Hey, hey, no war, – Artyom stepped in, raising his hands as though halting an invisible fight. – We’re not here to tear each other apart.

And what do you think we’re here for? – Olga snapped.

Maybe just… to relax? – Artyom tried to joke, but his smile was strained.

The silence that followed was heavier than before. Olga crossed her arms and turned away, muttering under her breath. Igor shook his head, eyes fixed on some distant point.

Your jokes… – Anna murmured from her corner without lifting her gaze, – aren’t very good.

Come on, I was just trying to ease the mood, – Artyom retorted, spreading his hands. – It’s not the end of the world… probably.

Not the end? – Olga spun back toward him. – Do you even understand what’s happening?

– Do you? – he shot back.

Enough! – Anna’s voice rang out suddenly. Though quiet, it was firm. All eyes turned to her.

We’re all afraid, – she went on, her knuckles whitening as she clenched her hands. – But fighting each other will only make it easier for them.

So you’re saying we should submit too? – Olga asked, narrowing her eyes.

I’m saying we need to understand what’s happening first, – Anna replied softly but firmly. – Then decide what to do.

Her words seemed to calm them—if only a little. Olga snorted but held her tongue. Artyom sighed, sliding down to sit against the wall. Igor adjusted his glasses again, as though it helped him keep composure.

Only Vadim remained still, watching them all intently, as if playing out a chess match in his mind.

– All right, – he said at last, breaking his silence. – There’s no point in fighting. But no point in relaxing either. We need to be ready for anything.

His words hung in the air like a warning.

Olga stood rooted in the center of the room, her gray eyes blazing. Her voice sliced through the tension, echoing off the walls.

– This is illegal! Do you hear me? You are violating every human right! Release us immediately! – She pointed toward the speaker, as if confronting an invisible enemy.

Olga, stop, – Igor urged gently, like warning a child not to touch a hot stove. – You’ll only hurt yourself.

Hurt myself? – She whirled on him, eyes so fierce he involuntarily stepped back. – So you’ve already given up? Willing to be their puppet?

It’s not as simple as you think, – he said quietly, but she turned away, dismissing his words.

You’re all cowards, – she muttered bitterly. – Too scared to even raise your heads.

The atmosphere thickened. The air was heavy, suffocating, as though moving through a dream.

Your resistance is irrelevant, – the voice intoned, calm, detached. – Failure to comply will result in punishment.

Punishment? – Olga’s laugh dripped with sarcasm. – Do you think I’m afraid of your stupid threats?

This is not a threat. It is a warning.

A warning? To hell with your warnings! – she screamed. – To hell with you, your rules, your

She never finished.

The room filled with a piercing shriek of sound, so sharp it seemed to slice the air itself. Not noise, but something that burrowed inside, scraping nerves, vibrating deep in the brain.

The participants cried out almost in unison, clutching their ears.

Olga staggered, her face contorting in agony.

– What… what is this? – Artyom choked, but his voice was lost in the din.

Olga clutched her head, fingers clawing through her hair. She tried to step back but her legs buckled. She collapsed, her body twisting in violent spasms, as though struck by unseen electricity.

Stop it! – Katya screamed, her voice a thin thread drowned in the chaos. She pressed against the wall, trying to vanish into it.

God, enough! – Igor shouted, his face pale, lips pressed tight. He lunged toward Olga but froze, unable to touch her convulsing body.

Olga’s scream tore through the room—a sound of raw pain that pierced them all. Her fingers scratched at the floor, her back arched unnaturally, her eyes rolled back to white.

She’s… she’s dying! – Anna cried, her voice breaking.

There’s nothing we can do! – Vadim barked from his place, fists clenched. His face was stone, though sweat gleamed on his brow.

Minutes stretched like hours before the sound cut off as abruptly as it began. Silence crashed down, broken only by Olga’s ragged breaths.

She lay motionless on the floor, a broken doll. Her hair clung damp to her forehead, her skin ghostly pale, lips quivering as though forming words without strength.

Olga… – Igor knelt beside her, his voice gentle, almost tender.

Her eyes fluttered open, stripped of defiance, filled instead with fear and confusion. She tried to rise, but her arms trembled too violently, and she fell back to her knees.

Don’t touch me, – she rasped, dragging herself away as though afraid even of help.

Are you all right? – Artyom asked carefully, taking a step forward.

All right? – Her voice cracked, full of hatred, yet it trembled. – This… this is impossible. They’re torturing us.

I told you, – Vadim said quietly, still standing apart. His gaze stayed fixed on her, cold and detached. – I’s better not to defy them.

Shut up! – Olga snapped, though her voice lacked power. She covered her face with her hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

The voice returned, lofty and indifferent, like a god speaking from on high:

– This is punishment for disobedience. You were warned.

Bastards, – Olga whispered, barely audible. No one else spoke.

And with that, it became undeniable: no one would leave this place of their own will. No one could escape punishment if they defied the rules.

The room fell into silence again, thick and suffocating, like a shroud.

Olga sat on the floor, clutching her knees, staring into a void no one else could see. Anna averted her eyes, hugging herself tightly. Igor’s hand trembled as he adjusted his glasses. Vadim leaned against the wall, unreadable but strangely composed. Artyom crouched with his face buried in his palms.

Only Katya showed her terror openly, her face wet with tears, breath shallow and fast, like someone fleeing flames.

– My God… this is terrifying, – she whispered, finally breaking the hush. Her voice was weak, yet it cut like a blade.

No one answered.

We can’t… we can’t just… – she faltered, words dying on her lips. Her fists clenched, shoulders shaking. – We mustn’t provoke them.

Her eyes darted between the others, pleading for support.

– You saw what they can do, – she stammered through tears. – They can do anything. We can’t defy them.

Katya… – Artyom began softly, but trailed off, helpless.

They’ll kill us if we resist! – she cried suddenly, her voice echoing through the room. – Don’t you understand?

Olga, silent until now, lifted her eyes. The fire in them was gone, replaced by a dim, muffled glow—the look of someone who had lost all control.

She’s right, – Igor muttered, staring at the floor. His voice was so faint it seemed like he was speaking to himself.

What? – Vadim snapped, pulling away from the wall.

She’s right, – Igor repeated, raising his gaze. – We can’t do anything. They control everything.

– So you’re suggesting we just give up? – Vadim’s tone carried more irritation than surprise, weary of the endless quarrels.

Igor didn’t answer. He averted his eyes, as if the question cut too close to something private.

Katya sobbed again, wiping her face with her sleeve.

– Please… just calm down, – she whispered. – I’m begging you… don’t provoke them.

Her words were quiet, but everyone heard them. No one argued, yet no one agreed either. Each retreated inward, searching for answers that remained out of reach.

Silence filled the room once more, but it had changed. It was now the silence of despair, of hopelessness, seeping like poisonous smoke into every corner.

The air grew heavy and still, saturated with fear. No one moved or spoke. Only Katya’s faint sobs disturbed the suffocating quiet. Even Olga, who moments ago burned with fury, now seemed hollowed out.

Then the voice returned, echoing off the smooth walls.

– This was the first warning. – The flat, detached tone filled the room like cold water seeping into cracks of stone. – Subsequent punishments will be far more severe. We advise against testing our patience.

The words fell with grim precision, like a verdict written long before.

– Your behavior must conform to the rules. Any attempts at sabotage or resistance will be crushed. You are here for the experiment. Remember: disobedience is unacceptable.

The voice cut off as abruptly as it had begun, leaving behind a ringing void.

Anna slowly lifted her head, her pale face like a marble mask. She clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms.

– They’re just playing with us,” she whispered, barely audible.

– This isn’t even play, – Igor replied, lowering his eyes again. – It’s an experiment, as they said. To them, we’re not people. We’re… material.

His words struck each of them differently. Katya froze, her face trembling though no new tears fell. Olga exhaled sharply, as if trying to gather strength, but her eyes were distant, unfocused.

– Material, – Artyom echoed quietly, hiding his face in his hands. – To hell with them. Let them do what they want.

– No, – Olga cut in sharply. She raised her head; her eyes flickered weakly, embers threatening to die out. – To hell with them? Are you serious? They’ve stripped us of everything—everything human.

– And what do you propose? – Vadim asked coolly, his tone as indifferent as ever. – Scream? Die in agony, like you just did?

Olga opened her mouth but found no words. Her fists tightened, and she turned toward one of the cameras.

– They’ve broken us, – Igor said quietly, but with such finality his words split the thick, stagnant air. “And we know it.”

– And then what? – Olga spat, not turning her head.

– Nothing, – he answered. – We’ll do what they want.

The phrase landed like a full stop, ending a debate no one had the strength to continue.

Silence descended again, heavier than before—the silence of surrender.

Katya broke into sobs, pressing her palms to her face, curling up like a child hiding from nightmares.

– Please… just… don’t provoke them again, – she mumbled through tears.

No one replied. No one moved.

They were no longer just captives. They had become shadows, pale reflections of who they once were. Each of them felt it: there was no way out.

Morning crept in unnoticed. The light in the room did not shift with time—it remained a cold, hospital gray. That sterile glow only highlighted the artificiality of their world. Somewhere beyond these walls, morning meant sunlight, fresh air, the sounds of life awakening.

Here, nothing changed. Only the sealed space, the sterile order, and the unshakable sense of being watched.

Anna woke first. She lay still, staring at the ceiling for a long time, then sighed, rose, and walked to the kitchenette—a jarring contrast to the rest of the room. A small refrigerator with a mirrored door, a built-in stove, spotless cabinets. Everything looked brand new, as if displayed in a showroom.

She opened the fridge, expecting to find only ration packs. Instead, the shelves were full: milk, eggs, vegetables, cheese, bread—everything one would need for a proper breakfast.

She froze, trying to reconcile this abundance with the cruelty surrounding them. But she didn’t dwell long.

– I’ll cook something, – she murmured to herself and began pulling out ingredients.

Katya stirred soon after. Her pale, tear-stained face revealed she had barely slept. She sat on the bed, hugging her knees, silently watching Anna.

– Katya, will you help? – Anna asked gently, glancing back. The girl shook her head without a word.

– You need to eat, – Anna continued calmly, turning back to the stove.

Katya said nothing. She looked frightened, lost, as though even speaking might wake the voice again.

Olga approached next, her movements sharp, her face tense and irritable.

– So, what have we got here? – she muttered, stopping beside Anna.

– Breakfast, – Anna answered flatly without looking up.

– Not bad for a prison, – Olga remarked after opening the fridge and seeing the abundance. – They could’ve kept us on dry rations.

– It doesn’t matter, – Anna cut her off.

Olga stayed silent for a while, watching Anna lay strips of bacon on the pan. At last she sighed and grudgingly offered:

– Fine. I’ll help.

As the women cooked, the others began stirring. Igor was the first to come over, serious as always. He filled a cup with water from the cooler and sat at the table without a word.

– Well, what’s for breakfast? – Artyom asked with a forced grin, trying to sound cheerful.

– Anything you want, – Olga snapped without turning.

Vadim lingered at a distance, leaning against the wall. His cold gaze scanned the room as if studying each person, calculating who would crack first.

When breakfast was nearly ready, the room’s fragile quiet shattered. The sudden click of the speaker was like a gunshot, freezing everyone in place.

– Good morning, participants, – the familiar voice intoned. Its flat, lifeless cadence filled the space, pulling taut the nerves of everyone present.

Anna set down a plate of omelet with deliberate care. Katya shrank in on herself, as though wishing to vanish. Artyom froze with a spoon in hand. Igor removed his glasses, methodically polishing them to avoid looking up.

– Today, you have two tasks, – the voice went on, each word measured like the tick of a death clock. “The first is primary, to be carried out by two participants of opposite sex. The second is secondary, and must be completed by all.”

Olga’s eyes narrowed at the speaker, sharp enough to pierce steel.

– What tasks? – Artyom asked, his voice steady, stalling for time.

The voice ignored him, continuing with mechanical precision:

– Primary task: two participants of opposite sex must engage in intercourse. The act must end in orgasm.

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the drip of water in the sink rang like a bell.

– The secondary task will be given after completion of the first, – the voice added, then cut out.

Katya buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling. Anna stared blankly at the table, not realizing her fingers were digging into the edge of her plate. Olga pressed her lips together so tightly it seemed they might tear.

– They’re mocking us, – she muttered, though her voice lacked its former strength.

– This is only the beginning, – Vadim replied coolly, his words falling like an omen.

The silence returned heavier than ever—thick with fear and submission. Everyone understood: resisting the voice was useless.

Chapter 3

The room, bathed in a bleak, dismal light, now felt devoid of life—even with people still inside. The announcement, spoken in a cold, dispassionate tone, continued to echo in every mind. The participants, as if paralyzed, stood motionless, barely breathing, fully grasping the absurdity and horrifying reality of what was unfolding.

Olga was the first to break the silence. Her face flushed with rage, and her voice rang out, sharp with the tremor of a scream held back.

– This isn’t just humiliation! – she shouted, raising her arm sharply, as if appealing to some unseen judge. – It’s perversion—an assault on our will! We don’t have to do this! They have no right to treat us this way!

Her words hung in the air like a defiant blow to the newly formed regime, but no one echoed her protest. Only Vadim, leaning against the wall like a man accustomed to witnessing others fall, responded in a voice so even and languid it bordered on mockery:

– Shall I remind you, Olga, what happened last time you chose to argue? Or do you think they’ve run out of ways to persuade us?

His words hit her like a splash of freezing water. Olga froze, locking eyes with him, sparks still flickering in her gaze. She opened her mouth to speak, but clenched her lips instead, turning away. Even her fury—sharp as the blade of a sword—was dulled by a fear so vivid, it felt almost tangible.

– This… this is madness, – Katya whispered, lowering her head. Her hands trembled like someone who had carried a weight too long. She spoke in near-silence, as though fearing her voice might trigger another wave of torment.

– We can’t… we shouldn’t do this, – Olga said again, but her tone had lost its former fire. – They want to break us. You, me, all of us. We can’t give in…

– Can’t? – Igor cut her off, his voice unexpectedly sharp. Calm, yet thick with suppressed tension, it drew every head toward him.

– Olga, stop. None of us want this. But what do you suggest? To feel that pain again, the one you barely endured? Or watch it happen to someone else?

He paused, casting a long look around the room, like a challenge thrown. His gaze lingered on Anna, trembling faintly in a corner. As if sensing it, she lifted her head—her face was deathly pale, her lips pressed into a bloodless line.

– We don’t know what comes next, – he continued, addressing the room more than Olga. – But one thing is clear: resistance doesn’t work. And if we want to survive… we have to do it.

– We? – Olga’s brow arched, her voice dripping with sarcasm. – So you’ve already agreed to be their puppet?

Igor closed his eyes, bowing his head briefly as though collecting himself. When he looked at her again, his expression held no anger, no fear—only weariness.

– If it spares us greater pain… yes.

His words fell like a verdict. Silence settled over the room once more, but now it was different—thick as tar, choking and inescapable. No one dared speak until Anna’s lips parted at last.

– I… I agree, – she murmured, her voice so faint it echoed louder than a scream. All eyes turned to her. Her fists were clenched white with tension. – If that’s the only way… then I agree.

Olga scoffed loudly, turning away. Her figure seemed to shrink, as if finally bending under the weight of circumstance. Katya covered her mouth with her hand, tears welling in her eyes. Artyom, silent until now, suddenly forced a crooked smile.

– Well then, – he began, waving his arms like a clown trying to entertain a dying audience, – our dear Igor will be the first hero of this absurdity. Who said chivalry was dead?

His joke fell flat. Vadim shook his head, and Olga muttered something under her breath. Even Artyom, realizing the futility of his performance, lowered his arms and turned away.

Then, as Igor and Anna stepped toward the bed, the voice returned—cold and indifferent, like a knife through fabric.

– It must be done on the bed in the center of the room, – it announced, as if reciting protocol. – The others are to stand around and observe.

Each word fell like the blow of a blacksmith’s hammer. Anna’s eyes widened, her breathing quickened, hands gripping the hem of her sweater with trembling fingers. She froze mid-step, gathering courage, but her face was a portrait of dread.

– No… – Katya breathed, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. – They can’t… it’s wrong…

She began to sob, like a child, and the oppressive atmosphere grew thicker still. Olga flared up once more, her voice ablaze with rage, yet shaky.

– This crosses every line! – she shouted, but her tone cracked, sharp and brittle. – You can’t make us do this! Do you hear me?!

– They hear you, – Vadim replied dryly. His voice was even, but laced with bitter irony. – They just don’t care. They don’t care what we think, Olga. They want to humiliate us, crush us, break us. Haven’t you figured that out yet?

– Shut up! – she snapped, turning to him. – You’re always like this! Standing by and philosophizing while others suffer!

Vadim raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable.

– That’s exactly why I don’t suffer, – he said coldly. – They gave us terms. I say we meet them. We’re pawns, Olga. And pawns don’t play against the chessmaster.

– Enough! – Anna cried out suddenly, and everyone fell silent. Her voice was high but quivering, as if from exhaustion. – Just… please, stop talking…

She looked at Igor, tears in her eyes—but something else was there too: a flicker of fragile resolve to get it over with.

– Let’s just do it. The longer we argue, the worse it’ll be.

Igor stared at her, unreadable. He understood her fear, but saw no alternative. His voice came low and quiet:

– We’ll be quick. Just trust me.

His words rang like the final note in a dirge of despair. The others had no choice but to accept a reality they couldn’t change. The room shrank around them, its walls closing in with suffocating silence.

– If they even suspect we’re resisting… – Vadim began, then fell silent, catching Olga’s scornful glare.

Igor gently took Anna’s hand, and they stepped toward the bed. The others moved aside, forming a silent circle around this altar of degradation. No one spoke again, but each felt something within shatter—splintering into sharp, irretrievable pieces.

Anna, as if in a dream, moved slowly, her steps unnatural, as though she walked through invisible resistance. Her shoulders hunched, eyes fixed to the floor, while a tremor overtook her frail body. Igor walked beside her, outwardly calm, though his fists clenched the fabric of his pants with strain he could no longer hide.

The bed stood before them—bare, offensive in its simplicity. The neatly stretched sheet seemed designed to expose them.

Anna froze, nearly stumbling. Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms like anchors to reality.

Igor cast a glance at the others. They stood like statues, frozen in misery. Katya covered her face, shoulders quaking in soundless sobs. Artyom stared at the wall, willing himself to disappear into it. Olga stood stiff, eyes ablaze with restrained fury, lips pressed into a hard line. Vadim remained hunched, motionless, his expression stony.

– It’ll be okay, – Igor said, his voice low and almost tender, though he didn’t believe it himself. It sounded more like an attempt to soothe his own soul than hers. He looked at Anna, trying to meet her gaze, but she kept staring down at her bare feet, rooted to the floor.

– How? – she whispered, her voice so fragile it seemed the sound might break her. – How can this ever be… okay?

Her words filled the room with the unbearable weight of truths no one dared voice. Igor had no answer.

He knew any word would be an empty sound, powerless to change anything. His eyes flicked to the bed, then quickly away, as though touching something searing hot.

– Just… trust me, – he said at last, forcing the words out. – It’s the only way.

Anna nodded, but her movement was so slow, so stiff, it looked more like an effort not to collapse. She lifted her head with difficulty—her face pale as if bloodless, her eyes filled with helplessness and shame.

Igor placed his hand gently on her shoulder. Her skin was ice cold, and she flinched almost imperceptibly at his touch. He tried to speak again, but his throat tightened, and only a muffled breath escaped.

They took another step. With each movement, the air grew denser, until it felt like nothing existed beyond this room. Only this bed, this moment, this unbearable awareness of being watched. The others’ shadows stretched across the floor like ink, framing their path.

Katya suddenly broke into sobs. Her cries shattered the silence like glass. She covered her face with trembling hands, her voice stammering between sobs.

– Please… don’t… don’t do this, – she whispered, but her words vanished into the void.

Igor turned to her but said nothing. His gaze was heavy, filled with the exhaustion that left no room for speech. Katya looked away, like a child caught in wrongdoing, and curled into herself again, trying to disappear.

– It has to be done, – Igor murmured, more to himself than anyone else. – We have no other choice.

He stepped forward, leaving Anna half a step behind. Her legs shook beneath her, but she followed, like a marionette pulled by invisible strings.

Then Olga spoke. Her voice was low, nearly a hiss.

– They want to destroy us, – she said, hatred lacing every word. – Are you really going to obey them? Just like that, on their terms?

– What’s your plan, then? – Igor didn’t turn. His voice was calm but steely. – Die now? Or wait until they kill us later? You want to stand on principle? Good luck, Olga.

She fell silent, lips drawn into a hard line. Her eyes darted around the room, finding nowhere to rest. Vadim, standing beside her, glanced at her briefly but said nothing.

Igor and Anna finally reached the bed. Their figures stood like silhouettes against the cruel clarity of the moment. Both were silent—but within that silence lay a bottomless abyss: fear, shame, pain, despair—all mixed into one poisonous draught.

Igor lowered his gaze, squeezed her shoulder gently, and whispered:

– We’ll get through this.

Anna closed her eyes, her lashes trembling like the wings of a trapped bird.

She stood before the bed as if before an abyss. Her body froze, even her breath shallow and strained. Her hands slowly rose to the collar of her sweater, fingers trembling so violently they barely obeyed. She tried to breathe deep, but the air felt like lead.

The others watched in silence, though they tried not to look. The scene pressed upon them all—even those who struggled to remain stoic.

Olga’s fists clenched tight, nails carving crescents into her palms. Katya wept silently behind her hands. Vadim stood still, eyes fixed to the floor, expression unreadable. Only Artyom, jaw clenched, stared at the far wall, refusing to look.

Anna slowly pulled her sweater over her head. The cold air bit into her skin. Her slender form seemed exposed, though she still wore a simple undershirt. She bit her lip, holding back the tears teetering on the edge.

Her movements were careful, almost mechanical—like she was shielding herself from an unseen gaze. Each gesture was deliberate, but void of grace, empty of confidence—only the subdued despair of shame.

– Don’t look at me, – she whispered, her voice barely audible, her head turned to Igor. Only he could hear her.

Igor looked away. He, too, trembled within, though outwardly composed. He wanted to say something—anything—but knew words were useless now.

Instead, he stepped back, giving her space. She noticed the gesture, and a flicker of gratitude passed through her eyes, quickly replaced by another wave of shame.

Her hands moved down again, trembling fingers hesitating at the zipper of her pants. She held her breath, as though preparing to plunge into icy water. Time seemed to slow, every inhale and exhale echoing sharply in the oppressive silence. At last, she unzipped them, and the fabric slid soundlessly down, revealing her thin legs.

She stood, head bowed, unable to meet the others' eyes. Her hair fell forward, shielding her expression, but her clenched lips and trembling shoulders betrayed her inner turmoil. This was her limit. This was all she could endure.

Igor began undressing as well. His movements were quicker, devoid of the shy hesitation that wrapped around Anna like a second skin. He unbuttoned his shirt without looking at anyone, the fabric slipping from his shoulders, exposing a fit, slightly hunched body. His face remained focused, but the tension in his hands and the briskness of his actions revealed his inner rejection of the act.

When he removed his trousers, he froze. His eyes met Olga's, who had finally looked up. It was only a moment, but in it lived a thousand words: bitterness, shame, disdain, fear. She turned away first, staring into nothing.

Anna remained still. Her breathing quickened, her face flushed with humiliation. She hugged herself, as if shielding against the burning gaze of the invisible observer who watched through the cameras.

Igor glanced at her; his brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing. He wanted to comfort her, to step closer, but he didn’t know how to do it without making things worse.

– We'll get through this, – he said softly, though it sounded more like a mantra to himself.

The room was steeped in oppressive silence, so dense it seemed to choke the air. The others stood frozen, their shadowed faces and hunched silhouettes the only witnesses to what unfolded. Their eyes kept falling to the floor, as if avoiding the reality around them.

Anna lay at the edge of the bed, her body tense, every muscle resisting. She tried to breathe deeply, but each breath came with a stab of pain. Her eyes remained shut, as though that could shield her from the truth of her surroundings. She tried to drift elsewhere, far from this room, these people, herself.

But Igor was beside her. His movements were mechanical, stripped of tenderness, of humanity. He too had cast his thoughts elsewhere, doing all he could not to notice. His face was unreadable, yet the tight line of his lips and drawn brows revealed the storm inside. This wasn’t just submission—it was the disintegration of all that tied him to human dignity.

Each motion, each faint sound, reverberated through the room, sinking into the walls like silent blows of humiliation. No one dared speak; even a breath felt forbidden. The others, standing in a circle, avoided looking, yet felt it all the same—as if it was happening to each of them.

Katya covered her eyes with a trembling hand. She couldn’t endure the silence, the looming sense of inevitability. But there was nothing she could do. Her muted sobs mingled with Anna’s faint whimpers, but no one reached out to comfort her.

Artyom watched, frozen and unsure.

Vadim, the cynical lawyer, observed with cold detachment. His gaze remained on Igor and Anna, his expression unreadable. Something flickered in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or a shadow of grim satisfaction. Whatever it was, it vanished, replaced by his familiar mask of indifference.

Olga stood still, arms at her sides, watching the scene unfold with horror and fury. Her breath came in sharp bursts. Her eyes darted from Igor and Anna to the camera, as if she could stop this madness by sheer force of will. But she knew, as they all did, that there would be no rescue. No mercy.

The bed creaked softly beneath their movements, a quiet accompaniment to the symphony of forced intimacy. The walls pressed in, the air grew thicker with each passing second.

Olga clenched her jaw, her body trembling with restrained rage. She wanted to scream, to attack someone, anyone—to fight back. But she knew better. Bitter experience had taught her that resistance was useless, that their captors were not to be trifled with. She looked around the room, locking eyes with the others, each a mirror of her own torment.

Katya's face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and swollen. She tried to look away, but her gaze kept returning to the bed, to Anna's body beneath Igor.

Then came the climax.

Anna shuddered, her breath sharp and ragged, like someone gasping for air after surfacing from the deep. Her body tensed, then collapsed, drained of all strength. Igor, by contrast, remained still, his breathing slightly heavier. His face betrayed nothing—the mask of a man who had crossed a line he never wished to see.

A voice rang out, cutting through the heavy silence.

– Orgasm detected. Task completed.

The words, delivered with terrifying neutrality, sliced through the air like a blade. Anna broke. Her face twisted in agony as she burst into tears. But these weren’t tears—they were the scream of a soul, cornered and defenseless, stripped of everything. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to hide, though she knew no one truly saw her.

Igor slowly pulled away, like a man walking on thin ice. He looked down, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. He had no words to explain or justify what had happened. He simply sat at the edge of the bed, lowered his head, and exhaled, as if that breath was all he had left.

Sobbing, Anna tried to rise on her elbows, but her trembling arms gave out. She collapsed again. Something had torn inside her, and the rupture spilled out in unrelenting tears she could no longer suppress. She covered her face, fingers digging into her skin, leaving red streaks on her cheeks. Her body shook like a shattered doll, barely holding together.

– I… I can't… – she whispered, her voice buried in sobs. Thin, almost childlike, her helplessness made the pain unbearable to witness.

Igor sat upright on the bed, eyes locked on a point on the floor. He was motionless, like a statue. Only his clenched fists betrayed the turmoil beneath. He wanted to say something—just one word to ease her pain—but his mind was blank.

He glanced at Anna. She trembled as if from cold, but he knew better. This was hysteria, a storm she could no longer contain. Her hair clung to her tear-streaked face, fingers gripping the sheets in a desperate attempt to hold herself together. But each sob shattered her a little more.

– Enough… – Igor said softly, but the words were meant more for himself. He knew she couldn’t stop, that peace was out of reach, but he could no longer bear the silence torn by her cries.

Anna didn’t hear. She clutched her head, pressing her palms to her temples, trying to silence the unbearable thoughts. Her body convulsed, her breath ragged and uneven. She opened her mouth, about to scream, but only a sob came forth, soaked in despair.

– They… they’ll break us, – she whispered between sobs. Her voice barely audible, but each syllable echoed through the room like a wound. – They… already have.

Igor flinched. Her words pierced him. He looked at her, and for a moment, guilt flickered in his eyes—but he looked away again. He couldn’t face her. Her pain was too raw, too real. It awakened something in him he was trying desperately to silence: the feeling of loss.

The others remained silent. No one intervened. They stood in a circle like ghosts, stripped of strength, of will. Katya again covered her face, her shoulders quivering in grief.

Olga pressed her lips together, but couldn’t hide the glimmer in her eyes—tears she refused to shed. Vadim stood slightly apart, his expression unreadable, but his fists clenched until the knuckles whitened.

– You’re not alone, – Igor said, his voice quiet, almost lifeless. He placed a hand on her shoulder. Anna recoiled, jerking away. Her reaction was sharp, like a cornered animal.

– Don’t touch me! – she cried out, her voice cracking with emotion. She pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself. – Don’t you dare… You don’t understand…

Igor froze. His hand lingered in the air, then slowly fell. He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to console her. Instead, he stood, walked to the other side of the bed, and sat on the floor, lowering his head. He wanted to say he understood, but that would be a lie. All he felt now was emptiness—and it only grew.

The voice returned, like a faceless judge observing from some emotionless height.

– Anna, Igor, – it began in its cold, measured tone, – you have completed the task. As a reward, you are granted one hour together in the bathroom. This space is camera-free, and the other participants will not be present.

The words landed unexpectedly, like a sliver of relief after unbearable strain. Anna raised her head abruptly, her face still wet with tears. Her breath was ragged, shoulders shaking. She didn’t understand—was this mercy, after being pushed past the edge?

Igor furrowed his brow, though a flicker of life returned to his eyes. He looked up toward the ceiling, as if trying to see the invisible speaker. His voice was low, edged with sarcasm.

– Another test? Or are we really being offered a scrap of dignity?

The voice seemed immune to his emotion.

– Not a test. A suggestion from a wise individual who wishes to help. Use this time to compose yourselves and understand each other. Remember: you are not enemies. The more you connect, the greater your chances of success.

Silence followed. The others remained still, absorbing the message, each in their own way. Katya chewed her lip, eyes flicking between Igor and Anna. Artyom smirked, but it was just a mask. Olga crossed her arms, her eyes glowing with suppressed fury.

– As if that fixes anything, – she muttered, but no one responded.

Anna stood. Her movements were unsure, but she didn’t resist. She avoided the others’ eyes, her gaze fixed on the floor. Igor gave her a small nod—a signal that they could go. He took her hand, but gently, not with force—a gesture of support, not command.

They walked toward the door, which opened as if on cue. Beyond it lay a small room, bathed in soft light. White tiles, mirrors, a closed shower stall—a setting meant to comfort, but still laced with artificiality.

The door closed behind them, leaving the others in silence. Anna inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. Igor released her hand and sat on the edge of the tub, watching her.

– Are you okay? – he asked, his voice calm.

She looked at him, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and mistrust. Instead of answering, she turned to the mirror. Her reflection stared back with the same fear that lived inside her.

She gazed into the glass for a long time, searching for something she had long since lost. Her eyes, red from crying, reflected the same emptiness tearing her apart. She traced the tear-streaks on her cheeks, testing if they were real. Water dripped from her hair, plastered to her face. In that moment, she felt like the i no longer belonged to her. Her soul had slipped away into the shadows, leaving only a hollow shell behind.

– Your shower, – Igor said suddenly, breaking the silence.

He was sitting on the edge of the tub, fingers interlocked, his voice quiet but steady.

“I’ll wait.”

Anna nodded without looking at him.

As she moved toward the shower, her steps were cautious, as if she feared she might fall. She closed the glass door behind her and turned on the water. Scalding streams struck her shoulders, burning her skin – but she didn’t turn the heat down. It felt like she needed this pain, as if it could drown out everything else.

The water wasn’t just washing away dirt – it was scrubbing off the lingering traces of shame, of humiliation, of anger that had built up over the last few hours. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, letting the water stream over her face.

In that moment, Anna realized how unbearable it was to be here, in this place, with these people.

Her hands trembled as she ran them through her hair, trying to rinse out more than just dust.

When she came out, wrapped in a white towel, Igor had already stood up. He cast her a brief glance, said nothing, and only nodded toward the shower. Then, silently, he walked toward it – just as she had.

Anna slowly sank into a chair near the mirror, clutching the towel to her chest. She looked at her reflection but no longer tried to find herself in it. Her face was vacant, like a mask hiding everything that tore her apart inside.

Igor shut the glass door behind him and turned on the water. Cold jets struck his body immediately, but he didn’t adjust the temperature. It felt like the icy stream might make him feel something – anything other than the void that had engulfed him. He ran a hand over his face, barely keeping the flood of emotion at bay.

He thought about how they had ended up here. Every movement, every reaction – recorded, observed. His mind felt like a battlefield, torn between the necessity of obedience and the desperate urge to preserve even a sliver of humanity.

The water kept flowing, and he stood still, staring at a single point on the tile wall. All he felt was the weight of his own silence – and the impossibility of undoing what had already happened.

When he emerged, his hair was still wet, and his face was serious. He glanced at Anna, who was still sitting by the mirror. Her hands were folded on her knees, and her gaze was turned inward, to some unreachable depth.

– Thank you, – he said quietly, sitting down on the floor across from her.

Anna lifted her eyes. Her look was heavy.

She wanted to respond, but no words came. Instead, she shifted slightly, giving him more space.

– How did you get here? – Igor asked, breaking the silence again.

His voice was soft, but tension lay beneath.

Anna remained silent for a long time.

She dropped her gaze, fingers anxiously fiddling with the edge of the towel.

Her breathing deepened, as if she were searching for the strength to answer.

– I… don’t even know, – she said at last, her voice barely a whisper.

– I was home. Drawing. Then I fell asleep. When I opened my eyes… I was here. Like it’s all just… a dream.

She fell silent, biting her lip.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back.

– And you? – she asked, looking at him. Her voice trembled.

Igor sighed and closed his eyes briefly before answering.

– I was home too. Working on a project – an important step for my career. Then… I had some coffee, sat at my computer and… nothing. I woke up here.

He paused, staring at the too-perfect tile. Then, almost in a whisper, he added:

– To be honest, I thought I was dreaming a nightmare. But then I realized… nightmares at least come to an end.

Anna nodded, her gaze softening slightly. Her voice quivered again as she spoke:

– I wanted so badly to understand why this is happening. But I think… we’re just toys to them.

– Maybe, – Igor replied, his voice hardening a little.

– But we’re still alive. And that means we still have a chance to change something.

Anna looked at him – a spark of hope flickered in her eyes.

It was the first glimmer of light she had seen in all this time.

– What do you do? – Igor asked.

There was a pause.

Anna looked at him. Though her gaze was clouded, the weariness was still visible.

She ran a hand over her face, as if wiping off some invisible dust the shower couldn’t remove. Finally, she spoke:

– I draw, – she began softly, hesitantly, as if afraid her voice might echo too loudly.

– I’ve been drawing all my life. First – just scribbles on the wallpaper. Then… something more. And now… it’s all I have.

She smiled – but it was a sad smile, almost apologetic.

– I wanted to be an artist. A real one. Leave something behind. You know… exhibitions, galleries…

But in the end, I draw on commission – just to pay bills. Caricatures, portraits, whatever they ask for.

She sighed, her voice dropping.

– Sometimes I feel like I betrayed myself. Like I stopped being who I wanted to be.

Igor listened attentively, leaning forward slightly. He didn’t interrupt – his eyes fixed on her face, catching every emotion.

– That’s not betrayal, – he said at last, his voice even, but carrying warmth.

– You’re still drawing. Still creating. That’s already more than many ever do.

Anna shrugged faintly, as if disagreeing, but a flicker of gratitude passed through her eyes.

– And you? – she asked, shifting the focus. – What did you do… before all this?

Igor paused, his gaze briefly distant – lost in memories.

– I’m a programmer, – he said, smiling slightly – but it felt more like a mask than a true smile.

– I work with artificial intelligence. Always wanted to do something that would change the world. Or at least make it a little easier. But honestly? Most of the time I just fix why things don’t work for clients. And sometimes… I think that AI is way smarter than we are.

Anna smiled faintly – but her expression held understanding.

– Why’d you choose it? – she asked.

Igor shrugged, looking down at the floor.

– Hard to say. I always loved taking things apart as a kid – toys, radios… even dismantled an old TV once. I liked understanding how things worked.

Then… programming was the natural next step. Simple, really: code, functions, commands.

He paused, then added, more quietly:

– It gave me control. In life, you rarely get that. But in code… you always know what’ll happen if you do it right.

Anna nodded, her gaze warming. Her voice was gentle as she asked:

– And in life? Are you just as calm and logical as your programs?

Igor chuckled – but there was bitterness in his smile.

– I wish. But no. People… aren’t code. They don’t follow instructions or algorithms. And I… I like to plan, build systems. But when things go wrong… it throws me. Sometimes I shut down – just to avoid mistakes.

He fell silent, as if he had said more than he intended.

Anna studied him more closely. Her voice was almost a whisper – but held genuine curiosity.

– And then what? Are you always like that? Or do you ever let yourself… mess up?

When Igor looked at her again, his eyes narrowed slightly – deep in thought.

– Sometimes I do, – he said finally. – But rarely. The habit of staying in control… it’s strong. And you? Do you let yourself be… vulnerable?

Anna leaned back slightly. Her gaze turned wistful.

– Sometimes. But it’s hard. I’ve always hidden behind my drawings – behind what I create. They’re my shield. Like, if someone criticizes my work, it’s not as painful as if they criticized me. It’s easier that way.

She paused, then added:

– But it creates loneliness too. People only see the surface. Inside, there’s emptiness.

Igor nodded, his gaze softening.

– I get it. I’m the same. Only, instead of drawings, I have numbers, code, lines of text. Sometimes… they become your friends. Because real ones… they’re too complicated.

Anna smiled – a sad smile.

– So we’re the same, you and I? – she asked, with a hint of irony.

Igor smirked slightly.

– Maybe. But you know… maybe here, we can try not to be. Maybe just be… ourselves.

Those words lingered in the air. Anna looked at him – her gaze serious, but touched by something new: hope, perhaps. Or curiosity.

– Be ourselves? Here? – she echoed, doubtful.

– It’s like shouting into a void. Who would hear us?

Igor thought for a moment. Then replied:

– Maybe no one. But that doesn’t matter. Sometimes… it’s enough to speak. To be heard by even one person.

Anna nodded. And for the first time since the beginning of the experiment, a trace of warmth flickered in her eyes. Her fingers returned to nervously twisting the towel’s edge – as if that motion held some kind of comfort.

– You know, – she began, not lifting her gaze, – I’ve always been afraid of getting too close to people. It’s strange, isn’t it? You want someone to understand you, to be near.But when they get too close… it’s terrifying. It hurts when things go wrong.

Igor nodded, listening intently. His hands rested on his knees, fingers slightly clenched – he felt the tension too.

– That’s not strange, – he said softly. – Closeness is always a risk. The more you open up… the more it hurts if you’re not accepted. Or worse – if it’s used against you.

Anna met his gaze. Her eyes brimmed with a strange mix of sorrow and relief.

– Yes, – she whispered. – Sometimes it feels easier just to shut everyone out. Then at least no one can hurt you. But… that’s not living either, is it?

Igor leaned in, his eyes focused on her.

– It’s not,” he agreed. “It’s just surviving. I lived that way for years – in my work, my thoughts. Until one day I realized… I might look back and see only emptiness. No one there. Just me.

Anna watched him closely, as if trying to understand whether he truly meant it.

– And what did you do? – she asked.

Igor gave a faint, bitter smile.

– Tried to change it. It was scary at first. I started talking to people. Tried to be honest. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. But I learned – even if they reject you, it’s not the end. You’re still yourself.

Anna nodded thoughtfully. She ran her fingers through her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear.

– You’re braver than I am,” she said softly. I’m not sure I could do that. Every time I try to be honest… something goes wrong. And I start thinking it’s my fault. That I’m not good enough.

Igor frowned, his voice more firm now.

– That’s not true. The problem is never just in one person. Sometimes it’s timing. People. Expectations. Don’t blame yourself.

Anna looked at him with a small, grateful smile.

– You’re too kind, Igor, she said, but her tone was gentle, not sarcastic.

– I didn’t expect… to have a conversation like this. Here. Honest.

– What is there to lose here? – he replied. His voice steady, tinged with sorrow.

– Here, there’s no space for lies. They become too obvious. Maybe… for the first time, we can just be honest.

Anna considered his words.

– Maybe you’re right, – she said.

– Then… maybe we should tell each other what matters most – if honesty is all we have left.

Igor raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

– Like what? – he asked.

Anna hesitated. Her fingers once again began nervously working the towel’s edge.

– Like… – she said quietly but firmly, – what broke you the most in life?

Igor went silent. His gaze turned distant, like he had drifted into a memory.

After a moment, he sighed deeply and replied:

– Betrayal. I… trusted someone. We worked together. I considered him a friend. But he used me – to climb higher. I lost everything: the project, my reputation. At the time, it felt like the world collapsed.

Anna listened in silence.

When he fell quiet, she asked softly:

– Did you get through it?

Igor looked at her. His eyes were solemn.

– I did. It wasn’t easy. But I realized – sometimes, you have to let go of what’s destroying you. Even if it’s something you’ve fought for for years.

Anna was quiet, taking in his words. Her gaze softened again.

– And you? – he asked, suddenly.

– What broke you?

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching deep within for the answer.

– Loneliness, – she confessed.

– I got so used to being alone… it became my norm. But sometimes I look at people and realize – I want someone beside me. Someone who understands how I feel. But then… I’m scared it’ll hurt. So I close off again.

Her voice wavered, but she kept speaking.

– Maybe that’s why I love to draw so much. It’s my way of speaking… without revealing too much.

Igor nodded, his expression full of understanding.

– Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, – he said.

– But maybe… just maybe, it’s worth taking the risk. Even if it’s scary.

Anna looked at him, a spark igniting in her eyes.

– You think it’s possible? Here?

Igor smiled – a sad, uncertain smile.

– Here? I don’t know. But we can try. At least… with each other.

Anna nodded.

Her face softened. And in that moment, something fragile, yet real, bloomed between them —

like the first ray of light piercing a darkened room.

Chapter 4

Anna and Igor stepped out of the shower slowly, deliberately avoiding each other’s gaze. Their movements were restrained, as if each action demanded an immense effort. Water still streamed down their hair and shoulders, but they seemed oblivious to it. The other participants, seated in the room, turned their eyes away awkwardly. The atmosphere hung heavy, like a dense fog that pressed on the skin and mind alike. No one dared to speak.

The voice returned—cold, metallic, stripped of any human inflection:

– The first task is complete. Proceeding to the second. Speak of the worst thing you've ever done. Remember, any lie will be punished.

The words sliced through the air like a knife, leaving a stinging trace in everyone’s consciousness. The room froze. For a moment, it seemed no one was even breathing.

Faces paled. Tension drew taut across each expression. In their minds, long-buried secrets rose—dirty smudges they'd tried so hard to conceal. No one wanted to share. Yet no one dared to defy.

Igor sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. His glasses had fogged up; he removed them and began cleaning them with the hem of his shirt, focusing on the simple act to avoid thinking about what was coming.

Vadim coughed, drawing attention. His voice—tall and tinged with sarcasm—rang out louder than expected:

– Well then, since this is turning into a circle of confessions, let’s be methodical about it. I say we go in order. That’ll speed things up.

His eyes flicked across the others, a smirk barely concealed. In that glance was something mocking, as if he already knew none of them could confess to anything darker than what he was holding. He liked the game. He liked feeling superior.

Olga scoffed. Her stern features hardened, and her voice cut through the air like a blade of ice:

– This is nonsense. Who even came up with this crap? You don’t have to obey some disembodied voice. Isn’t that obvious?

But her confidence faltered beneath the weight of silence. No one backed her. Her words lingered, suspended in the air like frost, never reaching their intended mark.

She knew resistance was futile. After the ultrasound incident, one thing had become clear: defiance led to pain. To humiliation. She pressed her lips together; her gaze sharpened, like thorns.

Anna glanced at her furtively, then looked away again. Her hands trembled. She clasped them tightly, locking her fingers in an effort to still them. She knew there would be consequences for silence—but fear held her tongue hostage.

Artyom, sitting on the floor, reached for the water bottle but froze mid-movement. His eyes grew serious, as if weighing something deep inside. Usually light-hearted and reckless, he now looked like a cornered animal. He exhaled sharply and muttered:

– Okay, so who’s first? Or are we drawing straws?

His words hung in the silence like lead. Katya, huddled in the corner, twitched nervously and whispered:

– Maybe… maybe it’s just a test? How would they even know if we lied?

Her voice quivered like a fragile string ready to snap. She glanced at Igor, hoping he would validate her hope. But he only shook his head, still staring down:

– I don’t think they lack the tools, – he said quietly. – If they can control what we do, they can probably detect lies too. Not worth the risk.

Katya lowered her head, as if scolded. Tears welled in her eyes, but she clenched her fists to hold them back. Artyom sighed and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. His gaze drifted from face to face, searching for support—and finding only the same fear and confusion.

– Well then, shall we begin? – Vadim challenged, standing. – Or are we sitting here until the next warning? I’ll go first if you’re all so scared.

His voice rang with confidence, but a faint edge of irritation peeked through. He was used to being in control—but in this cursed room, control was an illusion.

Olga glared at him but said nothing. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to admit he was right. She sat down on her bed, crossing her legs like a gate before her own emotions.

Anna flinched when the voice returned—quieter now, but no less commanding:

– Time starts now. You have one hour. Each truth will be counted.

Everyone looked around, waiting for someone to speak. The silence pressed on them like a sealed chamber, suffocating and close. It felt like one more second, and the air itself would burst, spilling all that had been hidden.

Artyom swallowed hard, forcing a strained smile:

– So? Am I first? Or does someone want to unburden their soul before I do?

Silence.

Igor finally put his glasses back on and shrugged slightly. Anna lifted her eyes, then exhaled deeply and said, in a voice both quiet and firm:

– I’ll go first.

Vadim smirked, folding his arms across his chest:

– A real pioneer. Always the first at everything.

Igor turned sharply toward him, his voice cold and steely:

– Shut up.

The silence returned—heavier this time.

Anna inhaled, like someone preparing to plunge into freezing water. Her face tensed, her eyes flickered with conflict. She knew that silence would bring punishment, and the quiet in the room now seemed to push her forward. Her trembling hands clasped tightly, knuckles whitening.

– It happened when I was sixteen, – she began, her voice tight. She stared past the others, eyes roaming the walls as if searching for a lifeline. – I had a best friend. Sasha. We’d known each other since childhood. He was… – she swallowed, holding her breath, – he was like a brother to me. We were so close, it sometimes felt like we could read each other’s minds.

Her voice trembled, but she refused to stop. Each breath she took sliced through the room like a razor blade. Vadim raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The others were frozen, gripped by a paralyzing stillness.

– Everything changed, – Anna continued, – one day. I overheard him talking. He told someone he was going to confess his love to a girl from another class. Her name was Liza. She was beautiful, smart, popular. A real school star. – Her voice faded, and she lowered her head. – I… I don’t know why it hit me so hard. Maybe jealousy. Maybe fear of losing him. But I couldn’t just accept it.

She paused, gathering the strength to go on. The tension in the room was almost tangible. Katya rubbed her arms as if chilled.

– At our school, rumors spread like wildfire, – Anna said, her voice rising slightly. – I decided to use that. I… – she swallowed again, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt, – I made something up. I told people Sasha stole money from the principal’s office. And to make it believable, I planted old, useless keys in his backpack. Someone decided that was evidence enough.

She raised her eyes. The pain in them silenced even Vadim’s smirk. The air grew heavier.

– By the next day, the whole school knew, – she said with a bitter laugh—short and sour, like something vile on her tongue. – I remember him standing in the courtyard. Ashamed. Trying to explain. Saying it wasn’t true. But… – her voice cracked, tears flowing freely now, – no one listened. Even Liza laughed with the rest. And I watched. I watched and thought I’d won. But inside… I felt like a monster.

Her hands trembled. Her voice barely rose above a whisper, but her words struck deep. She closed her eyes, trying to outrun the memory—but it chased her down.

– After that, Sasha stopped talking to me, – she whispered. – He just… vanished. His parents moved him to another school, and I never saw him again. I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t. And then it was too late. I curse myself every day. Every time I look in the mirror, I see that girl—the one who betrayed her best friend. And that makes me…

She covered her mouth, unable to finish.

Silence filled the room. Tears fell onto her knees. Her shoulders shook. No one spoke. Even Vadim sat motionless. Katya looked like she wanted to hug Anna, but didn’t dare. Igor sighed but said nothing.

– You… – Artyom began, then stopped, words failing him. His usually bright face now bore only sorrow. He looked away.

– We all make mistakes, – Igor said softly, looking at Anna. His voice was calm, but heavy with sadness. – Especially when we’re young. That doesn’t make you a bad person. But it does make you… human.

Anna said nothing. Her breathing evened slightly, but her eyes stayed downcast. The others remained silent, lost in their own thoughts. Igor’s words hung in the air—fragile, uncertain—but there was something in them that almost resembled hope.

The silence that followed was no longer merely oppressive. It was a weight binding them together. No one knew what would come next—but all understood one thing: more stories would follow. And each of them would have to bare their own darkness.

Katya hugged her knees, fingers clutching the sleeves of her sweater. Her pale face flickered with fear. Her eyes darted from one person to another, searching for something—anything—that could keep her afloat as the memories began to pull her under.

– I… – Her voice was so faint it barely registered. She exhaled and drew in another breath, like a diver preparing to plunge.

– I’m next.

The words caught everyone by surprise. Even Anna, still reeling from her own confession, looked at her in astonishment.

Vadim gave a faint smirk but said nothing. The others froze, alert, as if sensing something heavy looming.

Katya opened and closed her mouth several times, as though searching for words. Her breathing was uneven, fingers nervously tugging at the hem of her sweater, until finally, she began:

– I have a younger brother. Danya. – She spoke the words with such caution, as if each one cut her from the inside. – He was always… fragile. Sick from the very beginning. Mom and Dad worried about him constantly. I remember the hospital visits, the doctors shaking their heads, and my parents… just clinging tighter to each other's hands.

Her voice trembled, and she paused, hiding her face in her hands. Then she lowered them, revealing a pale face streaked with tears.

– When I was seventeen, his condition suddenly worsened. Badly. He needed surgery right away, but it cost a fortune. Mom and Dad saved every penny. Took extra jobs, sold anything of value. They even gave up their vacation savings… everything. All for Danya.

She fell silent again—longer this time. Her lips quivered, her gaze fixed on the floor. No one hurried her. But the silence was unbearable. Artyom, sitting nearest, leaned forward slightly, as if about to speak—but thought better of it.

– And I… – Katya swallowed and looked at Vadim, as though fearing his judgment. – I was in love. Deeply. My friends were planning a week-long trip to Gelendzhik. It was my chance… my chance to be close to HIM. – She let out a bitter laugh, devoid of any joy. – I knew where my parents hid the money—in the closet, under the bed linens. I’d seen my mom tuck it away when she thought I wasn’t watching. And I…

Once more, she covered her face, but the words spilled out on their own now, released from restraint.

– I took it. All of it. The money they’d saved for Danya’s operation. I didn’t even think about what I was doing. I just… wanted to go. I wanted to be there, with my friends, with him.

Anna gasped, her face going almost ghostly. Even Vadim stiffened, folding his arms, his usual smirk gone. The others stared at Katya, transfixed, as if her confession had exposed something so terrible it seized them completely.

– I thought my parents would find another way. That they’d manage somehow. – Katya shook her head, her body shuddering. – But they couldn’t. The operation was delayed. Danya… he spent a month in the hospital, suffering. They eventually got the money. But they took out a loan. A huge one. We’re still paying it off.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she made no attempt to stop them. Her voice grew quieter, sharper with every word.

– My mom never found out it was me. She thought the money had been stolen. Blamed herself for hiding it so poorly. And I… – Katya closed her eyes, lips trembling. – I just watched. And stayed silent. Even when I saw her cry at night.

The last words dropped like stones into the room’s silence. Katya hugged herself, as if warding off the invisible cold that had settled over her. Her body trembled with quiet sobs.

– And the trip? – Vadim asked suddenly, his voice low and cutting, reverberating off the walls. – Was it worth it?

Katya looked up, meeting his eyes, hers brimming with pain, anger, and something deeper—perhaps despair.

No, – she whispered. – I ruined everything. Every relationship I had. And I never got any of it back.

Her words hung in the air. Vadim turned away, as if discomforted. No one spoke. Even Artyom, usually quick with reassurance, sat with his head bowed, fingers clenched so tightly they cracked.

Katya covered her face again, her soft sobs echoing in the funereal silence. No one dared break it—perhaps because everyone knew the next confession would hurt just as deeply.

Artyom exhaled loudly, ran a hand through his hair, and looked around as if preparing to leap from a cliff. His face, normally lit with a carefree smile, now looked foreign—dark and worn.

No one rushed him, but anticipation shimmered in the stillness. Even Vadim, usually dripping with cynicism, watched quietly, eyes sharp.

Alright, – Artyom said hoarsely, like forcing out something painful. "I guess it’s my turn."

He gave a dry chuckle—void of amusement. His gaze swept across the others, pausing on Anna, then Katya. Both sat tensely, bracing for a blow.

I had a friend. His name was Ilya, – he began, turning away and staring at the floor in shame. – We’d known each other since we were kids. He was… the good one. Always followed the rules. Never late, never broke a promise. A real idealist. And me?" He laughed shortly. "I was his opposite.

His fingers tapped rhythmically against his knee, as if searching for calm in the motion.

He always bailed me out, – Artyom went on. – When I messed up, got into trouble—he was there. Until, eventually… he had enough.

His voice hardened. His jaw clenched.

I was drowning in debt, – he confessed. – Owed a lot. And these weren’t the kind of people who wait. So I went to Ilya. Who else? I figured he’d help. But he said no. Can you imagine? My best friend. He told me I had to deal with my own mess. That it wasn’t his problem.

Anna inhaled softly, her lips tightening. Katya looked away, unable to face him. Even Vadim raised an eyebrow slightly, his expression unreadable.

I felt betrayed, – Artyom continued. His voice cracked, but he pressed on, the words dragging themselves out. – Angry. Bitter. Furious. And that night… I got drunk. So drunk I could barely think. But I remember seeing him. Leaving the party. Getting into his car. Alone. And all I could think was, ‘So you said no? Fine. You’ll pay for that.’

He paused, rubbing his temples as though trying to erase the memory.

I got in my car, – he said. – Followed him. The road was narrow—woods on one side, a drop on the other. I cut him off. Forced him to swerve. His car crashed into a tree.

Artyom dropped his head, trembling—not from tears, but from the memory itself. The others sat frozen. Anna clenched her hands. Katya didn’t move. Even Vadim seemed shaken, his stare now intense.

He survived, – Artyom said quietly. – The airbags saved him. He was lucky. But I… I called the police and left. Parked my car around the corner so they’d think it was just an accident. That he fell asleep at the wheel.

He wiped his face, eyes full of bitterness.

They blamed him. Gave him a suspended sentence. He lost his job. His family turned their backs on him. And me? I walked away clean. No one ever knew. No one suspected.

Silence. Heavy, unbearable.

Anna looked as if each word hurt her. Katya pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes wet with tears. Even Igor seemed at a loss for words.

But Artyom wasn’t done.

I disappeared from his life, – he said. – Stopped talking to him. I couldn’t face him. And the worst part? I don’t even know how he is now. Maybe he recovered. Maybe not. But every time I sit behind the wheel, I see that road. I see myself cutting him off. And I know—there’s no going back.

His voice broke. He lifted his eyes, scanning the others for a flicker of understanding. But none met his gaze. In that moment, he became a different person to all of them.

Silence descended—dense as fog. And in that silence, it seemed each of them was being haunted by their own ghosts.

Igor sat hunched at the edge of his bed, hands clasped tightly on his knees, as if holding back a storm inside.

His usually calm face now resembled stone—but a shadow flitted behind his eyes, revealing the truth within. When the silence stretched too long, he finally spoke.

My turn, – he said in a low voice, barely audible—yet in the stillness, it echoed.

He didn’t lift his head. Studying the worn pattern of his shoe soles on the floor was easier.

Some things, – he said, – you just can’t undo. No matter how much you want to.

Anna turned her head slightly toward him, bracing for another heart-wrenching tale. Katya, tear-streaked, stared at him like seeing a stranger. Artyom gave a weak nod, as if dreading what would come next.

I was married, – Igor began. His voice was steady, but under the surface, it trembled. – Her name was Lena. She was… smart, beautiful, talented. We met at work. I was just starting out; she’d already achieved everything I dreamed of. I admired her. At first.

He lifted his gaze to the wall, but his eyes seemed to look beyond it—deep into the past.

We were together for five years. At first, it was good. We were partners. We supported each other. But then… her success began to eat at me. – He gave a short, bitter laugh. – I always thought I was the smart one. That I’d outshine everyone. And she… she pushed me into the background. Made me feel small under the weight of her own brilliance.

Katya pressed a hand to her lips, wide-eyed. Anna frowned, but didn’t interrupt. Vadim’s expression had shifted to something tight and introspective, as if he recognized something in the story.

Lena was leading a big project, – Igor continued, voice quieter now, each word heavy. – It was her moment. Something that would raise her even higher. She worked day and night, consumed by it. And I… I just watched. Watched her drift away. I was angry. At her, at myself, at the job that took her from me. At everything.

He paused. His hands trembled slightly, but he steadied them.

I knew her weaknesses. Knew her system, how she stored her files. One evening, while she was out meeting clients, I… – He swallowed, voice faltering. – I sat at her computer. Opened her project. And I deleted everything. All her files. All the data. I knew they couldn’t be recovered.

Anna let out a gasp before quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

When she came home, – Igor continued, ignoring their reactions, – I pretended like nothing had happened. She sensed it immediately—something was wrong. And in her eyes… in her eyes was pure terror when she realized everything was gone. She cried, called her colleagues, tried to understand what could’ve happened. And I just sat there beside her, comforting her, telling her everything would be fine. That it was probably just a mistake.

His voice turned sharper now, tinged with bitterness.

That was the end of her career. The clients pulled the contract. The company suffered losses. She was fired. She was destroyed. And I… I kept pretending it was just a tragic accident.

Igor fell silent. His face remained expressionless, but his voice betrayed the pain he could no longer contain.

A few months later, she left me. Said she couldn’t do it anymore. I tried to stop her, but… deep down, I knew I was to blame. I never told her. Never confessed. Just watched her vanish from my life.

He raised his head, his gaze steady, though regret lingered like a shadow in his eyes.

I don’t know how she’s doing now. Sometimes I imagine she started over, built something again. And sometimes… sometimes I think I broke her for good.

Igor’s story ended, leaving behind a silence that echoed louder than any words. Katya cried quietly. Anna sat still, unmoving. Only Artyom looked like he might say something, but he didn’t. Vadim’s brow furrowed; his lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line.

Igor lowered his head once more, unable to face the others. His hands, trembling, rested on his knees, and this time he made no attempt to hide the shaking. The silence around them had grown so thick it felt like a physical weight pressing down on each of them.

Then Olga—who had until now remained silent, her face frozen into a cold mask—sat up straight and cast a keen look around the room. Her eyes passed over each of them, as though evaluating whether they were ready to hear her truth.

No one dared interrupt her gaze. Even Vadim, so often ready with a cutting remark, met her eyes without a word.

Alright, – she said evenly, arms crossed over her chest. – I guess it’s my turn.

Her tone was disturbingly calm, almost icy, but the faint shadow at the corners of her lips betrayed a bitter undercurrent. She leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, tilted her head slightly, and began speaking as if narrating someone else’s life.

I had a best friend. Anya. We studied together in university, started our careers side by side. She was… – Olga paused, her fingers twitching slightly, as though trying to decide how to frame Anya before the others. – She was smart. Charismatic. People loved her. The bosses adored her. And it… irritated me.

She took a deep breath, her gaze steady, her voice as calm as ever—as though discussing the weather.

Anya was the perfect candidate for a promotion. Everyone recommended her. Praised her. And… they chose her. Not me. – Olga let out a dry chuckle, though her eyes remained cold. – I congratulated her. We sat down, had champagne, talked about her plans for the new position. I smiled and told her how proud I was. And in that moment, I decided—it wasn’t her place. It was mine.

Her voice dropped, but the quietness only made her words cut sharper, louder than if she'd shouted.

There was no sisterhood in that moment—Anna frowned deeply, and Katya looked away, as if she couldn’t bear to face Olga. Even Igor stiffened slightly in his corner.

I knew where she kept her documents, – Olga continued, her voice low. – We trusted each other. She thought I was her friend. Her real friend. And that trust… is exactly what I used against her.

She glanced at Vadim as if challenging him, but he only raised a brow slightly, face unreadable. Artyom turned away, though there was nowhere to hide from the sound of her voice.

I forged documents. Took her reports and added mistakes—errors that had never been there. I left a few 'accidental' files on her desktop with blatant confidentiality violations. And, of course, there was the anonymous letter to HR. – Her bitter smile returned, faint but razor-sharp. – Everything was perfectly executed. Anya had no idea what was happening. Until she was called in.

Her fingers dug into her arms, nails pressing into skin, but she kept her voice steady—chillingly so.

She was fired. Naturally, she cried. She said it couldn’t be real—that she would never have made those mistakes. But the evidence… it was too convincing. And I… – she paused, her eyes dimming just slightly, – I sat beside her and comforted her. Hugged her. Told her everything would be okay. And then I took her place.

Olga looked around as if measuring how far she'd gone. Anna stared at her with disgust. Igor fixed his eyes on the floor, his face unmoved, though his gaze seemed lost in deep thought—the similarity to his own story unmistakable. Artyom looked like he wanted to speak, but chose silence instead.

You know, – Olga added, voice softer now, – at first, I thought I’d won. I got the job I wanted. Everything went according to plan. But every time I looked at her old desk—my new desk—I saw her. Saw her smile. Heard her talk about her dreams. – She bit her lip but quickly regained composure. – And now… now I don’t know what happened to her. Maybe she found another job. Or maybe she never recovered.

Her eyes swept the room again, cold and calculating.

And yes, I don’t regret my choice, – she said defiantly, though her voice trembled slightly. – But sometimes I wonder… was it really worth it?

Her words left behind a suffocating silence. No one knew what to say. Even Vadim, always composed, sat quietly, his gaze heavy. Igor looked like he was trying to drown out his own memories. Artyom ran a hand through his hair again but said nothing.

Olga tilted her head down, face impassive. Only her eyes betrayed a flicker of pain she refused to show.

Then Vadim, who had been lounging comfortably all this time, suddenly sat up. His gray-green eyes, cold and predatory, swept across the room. He paused, as if savoring the tension, then gave a crooked, almost mocking smile.

Well, – he said, voice calm, even lazy. – I suppose it’s time I entertain you with my story. Fair warning though—it won’t earn your sympathy.

Anna tensed, her face hardening. Katya, still sniffling, lifted her eyes—confused, wary, nearly calm. Igor and Artyom watched Vadim, puzzled, but Vadim seemed to bask in their attention.

I have a younger sister, – he began, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked. – Or rather, I had. She’s still alive, technically, but… we don’t speak anymore. Her name’s Sveta. Sweet girl. Kind. Trusting. You know, the classic ‘little sister’ type.

He paused, tilting his head slightly, and continued—his voice lower now, laced with scornful amusement.

We had a family business. After our parents died, we inherited it equally. Half to her, half to me. Sounds fair, right? But the problem was… Sveta had no idea what she was doing. Too soft. Too… naïve. Honestly, I never believed she deserved that share.

Anna turned sharply toward him, eyes blazing. Katya pulled her arms close, as though to shield herself from the words. Igor’s lips were pressed tightly shut, his face shadowed. Vadim, meanwhile, remained utterly composed.

She was too busy with her 'dreams', – he went on, curling his lip. – Wanted to open an animal shelter, do charity work. You know, typical of someone who doesn’t understand real money and how the world works.

His smile widened. He leaned in slightly, savoring every syllable.

I realized this couldn’t go on. If she kept her share, she’d waste it. Or worse—give it away to strays. And business? Business is serious. It’s my legacy. – He met Anna’s furious gaze and added smoothly, – Sometimes, you have to make hard choices. You understand that, right?

No. I don’t, – Anna snapped. Her voice rang with restrained fury. – How can you do that to your own family?

Vadim ignored her entirely, his tone unchanged.

I convinced her to sign some documents. She thought it was just formalities. You see, people trust those they love. I explained a few things, lied here and there, dressed it up just right. In the end, she signed papers that gave up her share. Everything became mine.

Katya clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes brimming with tears. Artyom looked like he was ready to leave the room but stayed seated, fists clenched. Igor sighed deeply, gaze averted, his expression even darker. Anna, on the other hand, stared at Vadim with visible disgust.

And her? – Anna asked, her voice quiet but brimming with icy rage. – What did she do when she found out?

Vadim finally looked at her, something like mockery flickering in his eyes.

Oh, she cried. Of course. Made a scene. Accused me of betrayal. But you know how it is—tears don’t solve anything. I gave her some money. Enough to start her ‘new life.’ Haven’t seen her since.

He leaned back, hands behind his head, adding casually:

And you know what? I don’t regret a thing. The business is thriving. I got everything I wanted. And her? Probably forgotten by now. If I had to do it all over again—I would. No hesitation.

His words left a tomb-like silence. Anna jumped up from her seat, wordless, her face twisted in a mix of rage and revulsion. She looked like she might strike him, but held herself back.

Katya turned away, curling in on herself, overwhelmed. Artyom’s breathing grew heavier, fists still clenched. Igor slowly raised his head—his eyes shining with fury, though he said nothing.

Vadim glanced around the room with a calm, almost bored expression. He clearly relished the reaction, like a performer receiving applause for his most vicious monologue. But at the corners of his mouth, something trembled—a flicker of bitterness he could not completely hide.

When Vadim finished speaking, silence descended upon the room like a heavy blanket. No one dared to speak, yet each person struggled to make sense of what they had just heard, trying to decide how they now felt about this man.

Anna stood with clenched fists, her face twisted in a blend of fury and disgust, while Igor—usually calm and composed—looked as though a storm was raging inside him.

But before either of them could speak, the voice returned. It rang out again—cold, emotionless, just as before. Only now it was louder, as if to deliberately cut through the tide of their emotions.

You have successfully completed the task. Your capacity for confession has been noted.

Those words only deepened the cracks already spreading through their fragile states. Yet no one moved, no one made a sound. The voice offered nothing more, leaving them alone—with themselves, and with the truth that now tore each of them apart from within.

Anna, as if unable to bear it any longer, took a step back. Then another. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her eyes darted frantically about the room, and her heart pounded against her ribs. She looked as though she were about to scream, but held herself back.

Katya had slid down to the floor, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her quiet sobs grew louder. She covered her face with her hands, unable to withstand the suffocating atmosphere. Artyom looked at her, opened his mouth as though to speak—but changed his mind and turned away. His gaze landed on an empty corner of the room, as if seeking refuge in its emptiness from what had just transpired.

Vadim, by contrast, looked almost pleased with himself. His face remained calm, even faintly smug. He had kept his promise. He had spoken—delivering a storm of silent emotion. His eyes swept over the others, then he stood and walked toward his bed without another word.

Igor rose quietly from his seat. He looked weary, but his eyes were filled with a tense, brooding thoughtfulness. For a moment, he looked at Vadim—his gaze heavy, full of undisguised contempt—but quickly looked away. Then he turned to Anna, who still stood frozen, fists clenched.

Anna,” he said softly but firmly. – You need to calm down. It’s over now.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t even glance his way. Igor stepped a little closer, his hands rising slightly, as if to touch her shoulder—but he stopped, unable to bring himself to do it.

I know this is terrible, – he continued, his voice gentler now. – But you're not alone. We’re all here. We all went through it. It’s… it’s just part of the game. But it’s not you. You’re strong.

Anna turned on him sharply, her eyes flashing with rage and pain.

Igor, just don’t, – she said flatly. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, yet it carried the full weight of her anguish. – Don’t say you understand. You don’t understand anything.

She took another step back. Then another, widening the distance between them. Her face remained hard, but her eyes held a sorrow so deep it bordered on bottomless. She turned away without waiting for a reply and retreated to a corner of the room, where she sat at the edge of a bed, knees pulled to her chest. Her gaze fixed on the wall, as if searching for answers that simply didn’t exist.

Igor stayed where he was. His hands slowly dropped to his sides, shoulders sagging just slightly. He made no move to follow her—only stood in silence, watching her go. His weary face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes revealed a quiet, crushing guilt.

The room sank once more into silence, but now it felt like a black hole, pulling everyone inward into its void. No one wanted to speak. Each person was lost in battle—with their thoughts, with their pain. With the new reality.

Each of them had become a traitor.

The air was thick with tension, yet there was nowhere for it to go.

And so they remained—silent figures in a room where no one was just physically confined, but trapped within their own guilt.

Chapter 5

The next morning, after breakfast, the participants scattered throughout the room, each retreating into the solitude of their own thoughts. Despite the limited space, the room seemed to expand around them, emphasizing their isolation. Anna sat at the edge of her bed, head lowered. Her fingers absently fidgeted with the end of her sleeve, as if trying to focus on that motion alone—to keep the anxious thoughts at bay.

Despite the tension that hung over the group, Katya dared to break the silence. She slowly approached Anna and stopped beside her, offering a timid smile.

Maybe… we could do something to distract ourselves? Play a game later? – she suggested. Her voice trembled, yet carried a genuine note of hope. – It might help… right?

Anna didn’t respond. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, her face distant and closed off. Katya, unable to bear the silence, stepped back. She walked over to the wall, leaned against it, and crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes darted around the room, but no one answered her.

Igor seemed entirely absorbed in his work. He had seated himself at the table where a previously discovered laptop lay open. His nimble fingers tapped swiftly across the keyboard, his eyes scanning the screen with tense concentration. From time to time, he frowned, checking line after line. Finally, he stopped, leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his face with both hands.

It’s useless, – he said quietly, but his voice carried clearly in the oppressive stillness of the room. – They’ve planned everything. There’s no way out.

His words fell like a heavy stone on everyone present. Katya bit her lip, holding back tears. Vadim, standing off to the side and idly flipping buttons on the TV remote, smirked and shook his head.

There’s always a way out,” he said calmly, with a faint trace of mockery. – The question is whether you’re willing to pay the price.

Anna, who had remained silent until then, lifted her head and looked at him. Her gaze, unexpectedly firm, now held a spark of resolve.

A price? – she echoed. – And what price are you ready to pay to get out of here?

Vadim tilted his head slightly, as if amused by her question. He slowly straightened up, his voice turning cold and assured.

That depends on the circumstances. But one thing I know for sure—pity won’t help anyone here.

Anna frowned, her fingers curling into fists. She opened her mouth, as though to reply, then thought better of it. Her gaze dropped once more, but something inside her had shifted—like a wall long keeping her safe had begun to crumble.

In a chair in the far corner, Olga had remained silent all this time. Her posture was rigidly upright, though tension radiated from her every movement. Her fingers tapped anxiously on the armrest—an uneven, nervous rhythm. At some point, she looked up and fixed her eyes on Vadim.

He’s right, – she said sharply, breaking her silence. Her voice was firm, but laced with irritation—perhaps at the truth she didn’t want to accept. – Weakness will destroy us. And if any of you haven’t realized that yet, let me remind you: yesterday’s task was just the beginning.

Her words shattered something in Katya, who burst into sobs. She turned toward the wall, covering her face with her hands. Igor glanced at Olga, then at Vadim, but said nothing. Anna, however, looked up again. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and her eyes, for a moment, burned with a hardened glare.

Weakness? – she repeated slowly, her voice trembling under the weight of unspoken emotion. – That’s not weakness, Olga. It’s what makes us human. Do you even understand that?

Olga gave a dry, bitter laugh—far from anything joyful.

Human? – she said sarcastically. – There’s no room for humanity here, Anna. Either you adapt, or you vanish. The Voice made that clear. The choice is ours—but the price is obvious.

Anna stood abruptly. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she didn’t back down.

There’s always a choice! – she cried. Her voice shook, yet in it rang a desperate kind of defiance. – Even if everything is against us. I won’t let them turn me into an animal.

Her words drew a wave of varied reactions: Katya sobbed louder, Igor looked away, and Vadim merely smirked, shaking his head.

Let’s see how long those principles last, – he muttered with a crooked grin.

Then, the Voice returned—cutting through the tension like a blade. Its mechanical tone, stripped of all emotion, seemed to suck the very air from the room.

Today’s task has been assigned. It involves physical intimacy, – it announced, each syllable landing with icy precision. – Pairings for the task will be designated by me.

The words hung in the air like frozen time. The participants exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of fear, disbelief, and secret hope that they would be spared. Silence stretched until the Voice continued.

Olga and Vadim.

A simple naming of two people—but it struck like a sentence, not only for them, but for everyone else in the room.

Four pairs of eyes turned toward the named pair. Their gazes darted back and forth between them—horror, shock, pity—all tangled in helplessness. Katya covered her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. Igor clasped his hands tightly together, struggling to maintain composure. Anna stared at Olga, her face dark with repressed fury and inner protest.

Olga suddenly sat bolt upright, her whole body tensed. Her gaze locked on Vadim, who stood calmly to the side, eyeing her with an almost mocking indifference. She drew a deep breath and forced out her words.

This is impossible. I won’t take part in this farce. You can’t make me!

Her voice rang out, high and trembling with emotion. Vadim merely raised an eyebrow, as though amused by her resistance. He crossed his arms and stepped half a pace forward, saying nothing—leaving it to the Voice to settle the matter.

Refusal to comply will result in severe punishment, – the Voice stated coolly. – Yesterday’s events serve as proof.

The mention of punishment hit them all. Katya hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Igor squinted, his jaw twitching with tension, as though struck by sudden pain. Anna looked at Olga, something wild flashing in her eyes.

Don’t obey, Olga, – she said suddenly, stepping forward. Her voice was loud, nearly desperate. – Let them do what they want, but this—

Olga turned on her sharply, cutting her off.

You don’t understand! – she nearly hissed. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned with anger. – If I refuse, they’ll find a way to break ALL of us. Or are you fine with that?

Anna froze. Her lips parted, but no words came. At that moment, Vadim took another step forward. His tone, like always, was cold and tinged with a hint of amusement.

Stop acting like children, – he said, glancing between Olga and Anna. – This is a survival game. You either play, or you lose. Breaking or resisting—those aren’t choices. They’re just another form of weakness.

Weakness?! – Olga turned on him, her voice rising to a scream. – You call this weakness—what they’re forcing us to become?!

It’s a choice, Olga, – he replied, his voice flat. – Whether you like it or not.

Then the Voice interrupted again, slicing through their argument.

The task must be completed. You have five minutes to prepare. Failure to comply will result in immediate removal.

The words were final—like a full stop at the end of a sentence. Everyone froze, afraid to even breathe.

If you think this is a game, – Olga spat, walking past him toward the bed, – then you’re worse than them.

Vadim said nothing. His face remained a stone mask, though a faint smile touched his lips. He followed her in silence.

The room once again descended into a heavy, tangible silence. No one dared make a sound. All eyes silently followed Olga and Vadim as they prepared to carry out the task, fully aware that these few minutes marked only the beginning of a new, darker spiral in their shared tragedy.

Olga stood trembling, nearly choking on her own outrage. Her cheeks burned, and fury seemed to flood every inch of her. She shot a glance at Vadim, waiting—pleading, perhaps—for any reaction, but he remained utterly still. His face was a mask, cold and expressionless. That only stoked her anger further.

So you’re just going to stay silent? – she shouted, her voice vibrating with tension. – You’re really going to go along with this circus? Is this okay with you—that they’re turning us into animals?!

Vadim, without shifting position, raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward her—as if her words had barely warranted his attention. But his gray-green eyes, sharp and cold, pierced her with a glint of mockery.

Are you finished? – he asked, his voice even, almost lazy, laced with barely veiled sarcasm.

Those words were like gasoline on a fire. Olga clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug deep into her palms, leaving angry red marks. She took a step closer, nearly violating the space between them.

How can you be so calm? – she hissed. Her voice was quieter now, but no less threatening. – Do you really think this is fine? That we’re just puppets to be used at will?

Fine?” Vadim repeated, his tone glacial. He stepped to the side, distancing himself from her fury. – There’s no such thing as fine here. No right or wrong. Only rules. And if you can’t accept that, then that’s your problem.

Olga’s eyes widened. Her face twisted with disbelief and fury. She opened her mouth to speak, but the voice from the speaker interrupted her, indifferent and perfectly timed.

Any resistance will lead to severe consequences for the entire group, – it intoned with the same mechanical neutrality—devoid of anything human. – You were given a choice. The allotted time has been reduced.

The words froze her in place. She turned, scanning the others for any sign of support—but no one met her eyes. Anna sat with her hands clenched in her lap, Katya was sobbing softly, her face hidden in her palms, and Igor sat at the table, staring at the laptop screen—doing nothing. Just avoiding.

A surge of despair rose in her chest, mixed with helpless rage. She looked back at Vadim, who now seemed completely uninterested in her resistance. He stood leaning slightly against the back of a chair, a look of boredom on his face.

You’re not giving me a choice, – she whispered, barely audible. But her voice held no surrender—only exhaustion.

You never had one, – Vadim replied quietly, as if he’d known all along that she would yield. – You just realized it a little late.

Those words finally broke something in her. Olga closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, fighting back the tears rising in her throat. She turned away, took a few steps toward the bed, and stopped. Her shoulders sagged. Her arms hung limp at her sides. She looked like someone who had run out of strength to fight.

The voice resumed, pushing her forward with cold urgency:

The task must be completed. Time remaining: three minutes.

The number echoed in her head. She turned to glance at Vadim, who at last moved from his spot. His face showed no fear, no hesitation—only a calm so cold it seemed to crush everything around it. He stepped closer, stopping just in front of her, and, tilting his head slightly, spoke:

Stop tormenting yourself. It’s just a game. Filthy, disgusting—but a game. The sooner you accept that, the easier it’ll be.

Olga lifted her eyes to him, and her gaze said it all—hatred, despair, helplessness. She didn’t answer. She simply turned away, muttering over her shoulder:

So be it. But know this, Vadim—you will never be a human being to me.

He smiled—empty, hollow.

I’m not trying to be, – he replied.

Silence fell once more. The others didn’t move, as if even the air had thickened around them, pressing down. The voice delivered its final warning.

Olga remained frozen, unable to tear her eyes from the floor. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts. Words lodged in her throat, unspoken and now unreachable. Tears spilled down her flushed cheeks in slow, steady lines. Her shoulders trembled, and she looked broken—but still tried to preserve the last fragments of dignity.

Vadim, by contrast, moved with frigid composure. His face was stone. His gaze—calm and icy. He wasn’t rushing, but every step he took carried a silent, unshakable resolve.

When he stopped in front of her, towering slightly above, she saw nothing in his eyes. No sympathy. No compassion. Just emptiness, masked by indifference.

Their eyes met—and hers flinched with pain and anger, drowning in the realization of her own powerlessness. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to run, hide, disappear from this humiliation. But her legs refused to move. She knew: there was nowhere to go.

Go, – Vadim said quietly, but firmly, nodding toward the bed.

His voice was calm—oppressively calm, as though the decision had already been made for both of them. His words sealed it: there was no choice anymore.

Olga bit her lip to suppress the sob rising in her throat and slowly walked toward the bed.

Her steps were unsteady. Each leg felt like stone. Her hands trembled, but she kept them at her sides, trying not to show weakness. Still, her back—once perfectly straight—now hunched ever so slightly. Her shoulders hung low. Every step echoed in the thick silence, broken only by her breath and the weight of everyone's stares.

The others remained silent. Katya turned away, her sobs muffled. Anna sat frozen, hands limp on her knees, her eyes fixed somewhere off to the side, as though trying to block it all out. Igor still sat at the table, but his fingers no longer moved across the keyboard. He gripped them tightly together, his knuckles white, refusing to look toward the bed. His face revealed a bitter inner war.

When Olga reached the bed, she paused—unable to take that final step. Her knees shook. Her arms hung at her sides, lifeless. She drew a deep breath, as if preparing to dive into icy water, and turned to face Vadim. Their eyes locked—but where she searched for even the smallest trace of humanity, she found none. Only the same indifferent mask.

Do you even understand how revolting this is? – she whispered. “How can you do this like it means nothing?”

Vadim tilted his head slightly, as if trying to process her question. But there was no pity in his face. No empathy.

How else would you have me do it? – he answered evenly, devoid of emotion. – You think anyone wants this? It’s a condition. The sooner you accept it, the easier it’ll be.

Olga exhaled sharply, but the fight had drained from her. Her breathing quickened. She bit her lip again to stifle another cry, then turned away from him and sat at the edge of the bed.

Vadim followed silently. His footsteps were muted in the tense stillness. He stopped close behind her, looming. His movements remained steady, his eyes focused, as if he were performing a task—nothing more. He didn’t say another word, but in his stance there was the unmistakable air of someone convinced that everything was proceeding exactly as it should.

The room, now choked with a suffocating silence, felt smaller than ever. The quiet was so thick it could be sliced with a knife. No one dared move. No one dared speak.

The invisible line between silent submission and the eruption of protest stretched thinner with every heartbeat.

Olga stood, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if to shield her body from Vadim’s gaze and her own humiliation. Her frame trembled faintly, and stifled sobs broke free from her throat. She tried to suppress them, but they betrayed her, piercing the silence of the room. Tears streamed down her face, dripping onto the floor, yet she kept her head bowed, avoiding the cold, piercing stare that sought her out.

Vadim stepped closer, stopping mere inches away, so close that she felt his presence like another blow to her already shattered state. He leaned forward slightly, peering into her face. The corners of his lips twitched, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curling across his features.

Well, now, – he said softly, drawing out his words as if savoring them. – It’s just a game, Olga. Want it to end quickly? Then relax.

His voice was deceptively gentle, but a mocking undertone threaded through it, making her shrink further into herself. Olga said nothing, only took a step back, but her retreat was halted by the edge of the bed. She stopped, uncertain where to go next. She turned her face away, but Vadim wouldn’t let her hide. He closed the distance again, now almost pressing against her, and lightly touched her shoulder.

She flinched, her body freezing as if paralyzed. He leaned closer to her ear, his voice dropping to a whisper, yet no less cutting.

No need to be so dramatic, – he said. – No one’s going to pity you. This isn’t a place for weakness.

Olga recoiled sharply from his touch, but made no move to flee. She knew it was pointless. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks, her gaze fixed on the floor. She felt broken, trampled, yet forced to stand and endure whatever came next.

Vadim, by contrast, radiated unshakable confidence and composure. He raised his hand deliberately, reaching for the collar of her blouse. His movements were slow, precise, like a surgeon performing a routine procedure.

Olga tried to pull away, but her body refused to obey. She stood rooted, gripped by fear and despair, as her clothing slipped away under his cold, indifferent fingers.

Vadim watched her reaction with that same faint smirk, his eyes glinting as though her distress amused him. When her blouse fell to the floor, he stepped back, appraising her with that same mocking gaze.

There we go, – he drawled. “See? It wasn’t so hard.

His tone remained calm, but it carried a veiled taunt, as if he relished the power he held over her. Olga could bear it no longer. Her hands jerked up to cover her exposed shoulders, a gesture that only underscored her vulnerability. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that if she stopped looking, it might all just end.

But Vadim didn’t stop. He sank to one knee, continuing to strip her of her clothing. His movements remained meticulous, but his eyes betrayed that he viewed this as little more than a tedious task. When he stood again, she felt the weight of his cold gaze once more.

Olga’s figure was slender and toned, with subtle, graceful feminine curves and slightly sloping shoulders. Her collarbones accentuated the elegance of her upper body. Her slim, faintly trembling arms appeared strong yet delicate. Her chest, of moderate size, had soft, rounded contours. A clearly defined waist flowed smoothly into hips that were slightly broader, lending her form a natural grace.

Her fair skin was almost porcelain, tinged with a faint flush that betrayed her inner turmoil. Delicate veins were visible at her wrists and ankles, adding a refined fragility to her appearance. Her firm yet not overly pronounced hips complemented her long, shapely legs, which were a natural adornment.

Olga’s body radiated a blend of fragility and inner strength, as if mirroring her complex character: an outward vulnerability concealing resilience and the ability to withstand fate’s blows.

Now it’s my turn, – Vadim said, as if stating the obvious.

He began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes never leaving Olga. Her breathing grew ragged, and she barely held back a scream. But she knew a scream would change nothing. She had learned that by now.

His movements remained steady, unhurried. He undid his cuffs, then slowly removed his shirt, folding it neatly and placing it on a chair, as if even this act was an extension of his composure. He squared his shoulders and cast a glance at the others in the room.

You’d better get used to it, – he said loudly, addressing them all. – This is only the beginning.

Olga’s sobs grew louder, but she didn’t move. Vadim looked down at her impassively, as if the scene unfolding had no personal bearing on him. He took another step forward, and she instinctively stepped back, only to find the bed behind her. A choked sob escaped her, her shoulders trembling like those of a cornered animal.

It’s going to happen anyway, – he said in a flat, cold voice, as if stating an indisputable fact. “The longer you resist, the harder you make it for yourself.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, a fleeting spark of desperate defiance flaring in her gaze. But instead of words, another stifled sob broke free. Her hands fell limply to her sides, her entire being seeming to surrender. She could no longer speak, no longer argue. Tears streamed down her face, trailing onto her chest, but she made no move to wipe them away.

Vadim stepped closer, closing the distance entirely. He reached out, lightly grasping her shoulder, and before she could react, he pushed her forward with a sharp motion. She stumbled, her legs giving way, and she collapsed onto the bed, sinking into the sheets like a broken doll. Her sobs grew louder, though still muffled, as if she feared letting her pain fully escape.

Vadim silently climbed onto the bed and parted her thighs as she whimpered. Her cries were soft and stifled, like those of a child who knows resistance is futile. She tried to close her legs, but he forced them apart, pinning her down with his weight. He leaned close to her face, his hot, sharp breath grazing her cheek.

Submit,” he whispered, his voice rasping like gravel. – It’s the only way.

Olga’s body shook with sobs. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut him out, then gripped the sheets so tightly her knuckles whitened, desperately seeking some anchor, some way to save herself.

But there was no escape. Vadim pressed her to the bed with cold, unrelenting force, and she knew fighting was useless. So she surrendered, yielding to the inevitable. Her body and soul shattered under the weight of his presence.

The others watched, their faces a mix of horror and helplessness. Igor gripped the edge of the table so tightly his fingers cracked. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, couldn’t stop witnessing the violation of Olga’s dignity, her humanity. Nausea churned in his stomach, a mix of disgust and pity.

Without a trace of compassion, Vadim entered Olga swiftly and fully.

Her stifled sobs filled the room, starkly contrasting with his strained grunts. There was no tenderness, no empathy—only cold, mechanical efficiency. Each movement was a reminder of her powerlessness, a brutal assertion of his dominance.

Anna couldn’t look away from the scene unfolding before her. Her heart pounded wildly, and bile rose in her throat. She wanted to scream, to intervene, to do something—anything—to stop this violence. But she was frozen, her body paralyzed by shock and fear.

She knew any attempt would only worsen Olga’s plight. So she sat there, tears streaming down her face, her heart thundering like a drum.

Vadim, it seemed, sought to prolong Olga’s humiliation. Every motion was deliberate and merciless, as if he—not some disembodied voice—aimed to break her completely. Beneath him, Olga continued to sob quietly, trying to hold back her tears, but they flowed endlessly. She turned her head aside, hiding her face from him, from the others, from the world.

The room pressed in, heavy with oppressive silence. The air was thick with tears, despair, and powerlessness. Katya, unable to bear the sight, buried her face in her hands and wept softly. Igor, seated at the table, stared blankly at the laptop screen, his eyes unseeing.

At last, Vadim quickened his pace and, with the same ruthless precision, completed his task inside Olga.

He rolled off her, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at her with an expression that suggested he had just finished some grueling labor. Settling into a relaxed posture, as though he had merely completed a routine chore, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. His gaze fell on Olga, tinged with a faint weariness that bordered on indifference. His breathing steadied, but his eyes held no trace of remorse or acknowledgment of what had transpired.

Olga, drenched in tears, her hands trembling, tried to rise. Her body seemed to defy her will: her legs quaked, her knees buckled. She collapsed back to the floor, exhausted, like a broken doll. Her hair clung to her forehead, and her gaze remained averted, as if she sought to hide her face from his eyes and from herself.

Vadim slowly shifted his attention to her. His expression carried neither pity nor malice—only a detached acknowledgment of the moment. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, and with a faint smirk, said:

You’d better get up. We don’t have much time left.

His voice was even, calm, but the words landed with a heavier weight for it. It wasn’t a suggestion but a command, delivered with icy clarity, as though he were addressing not a person but a malfunctioning cog in a machine.

Olga froze, her shoulders heaving with rapid, uneven breaths. She didn’t immediately raise her eyes, as if searching within herself for strength. When her gaze finally met his, it held not only pain but something else—a quiet, unyielding spark of hatred. It was a challenge, faint but resolute.

She drew a deep breath, struggling to suppress another wave of sobs. Her chest rose with the effort, her fingers clutching the sheet convulsively. After a moment, as if by sheer force of will, she released one hand, straightened, and slowly, unsteadily, stood. Her movements were uncertain yet determined, like those of someone desperate to cling to the remnants of their dignity.

Olga didn’t look at Vadim again. She turned away from everything around her, including herself. Her legs trembled, but she stood, arms wrapped around herself, as if trying to piece together what was left of her strength.

The others sat in the corners of the room like shadows, caught off guard by their own powerlessness. None could remain indifferent to the scene, yet each coped in their own way. Katya, her face pale, had retreated to a corner. Her breathing was quick and shallow, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She covered her face with her hands, shielding herself from reality, but the muffled sounds from the bed, cutting through the tense silence, were impossible to ignore.

Anna sat frozen on the edge of the mattress, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze, clouded with horror, fixed on the floor. She wasn’t crying, but her fingers trembled faintly, betraying her inner struggle. It seemed she wanted to intervene, to do something to stop this nightmare, but she didn’t know what. Her body was paralyzed by the realization of her own helplessness.

Igor, seated at the table, appeared composed, but his composure was laced with a tension bordering on despair. His eyes were fixed on the laptop screen, but his fingers remained motionless on the keys. He sat rigid, jaw clenched, unable to bring himself to glance at the bed. His shoulders trembled slightly, like those of a man straining to maintain control but on the verge of breaking.

As the tension reached its peak, a cold, mechanical voice sliced through the silence:

Result recorded: the participant did not achieve orgasm. Task failed.

The words were clear, leaving no room for doubt, resonating in everyone’s minds like hammer strikes. Katya let out a louder sob, covering her ears as if she could block out the voice. Anna lifted her head, glaring toward the speaker with a mix of indignation and powerlessness. Igor exhaled deeply, his face remaining impassive.

As per the experiment’s rules, participants who fail the task are immediately eliminated,” the voice continued in its mercilessly even tone. – Olga and Vadim are excluded from the experiment.

Olga’s tear-streaked face contorted, not in surprise but in despair. She had known this was coming, had felt it would end this way, but the reality of those words was too heavy to bear at once. Her lips trembled, but she couldn’t speak.

Vadim, by contrast, remained utterly unruffled. He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on the mattress, the other casually smoothing his hair, as if it were part of some ritual. His gaze swept the room, as though daring someone to speak. But no one did.

That’s that, – he said quietly, almost to himself. His tone held no emotion, no regret—just indifference. Then he stood, squared his shoulders, and, without looking at anyone, moved toward the bathroom door.

Olga didn’t move. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her gaze fixed on the emptiness before her. She heard Vadim’s footsteps, felt him pass by, but couldn’t bring herself to react. When he paused at the door and glanced back at her, she slowly raised her head. Her eyes met his cold, impassive stare, and for a moment, her face twisted with rage.

You… you don’t even try to understand what you’ve done, – she whispered, her voice barely audible but steeped in raw despair.

Vadim merely shrugged, then looked at the speaker as if awaiting further instructions.

The voice sounded again, its steady, unyielding tone cutting through the thick, oppressive silence.

Participants Olga and Vadim, proceed immediately to the bathroom to conclude your role in the experiment.

The words made everyone shudder. Olga, still standing by the bed, flinched as if doused with ice water. Her eyes widened, her face slowly twisting in horror. She took a step back, shaking her head, as if she could flee but knew there was no escape.

No… no, I won’t go… – Her voice quivered, rising into a desperate cry. – Please, don’t make me… please!

She turned to the speaker, as if believing the voice could hear her pleas and reconsider. But there was only crushing silence in response. She looked to the others, her gaze darting frantically, searching for support in vain.

Help… someone, please, do something! – She sobbed, grasping at the air like a drowning person clutching at straws. But no one moved.

Katya broke into louder sobs, pressing herself into the corner. She covered her face with her hands, trying to block out the scene. Anna, still seated, froze: her reddened eyes stared into nothingness. She tried to speak, but her lips moved soundlessly. Igor stared at the floor, his hands clenching rhythmically into fists, yet he remained still.

Vadim, watching Olga with a stone-cold expression, finally stirred. His movements were slow but deliberate, as if accepting the inevitable with the same calm as the voice. He approached and caught her trembling hand, fragile as a leaf in the wind.

Let’s go, – he said evenly, almost in a whisper. There was no emotion, no sympathy in his voice—just another command.

No! Let me go! I won’t go! – Olga yanked her hand free, stumbling back. Her face was pale, her breathing ragged. “I can’t… I won’t!”

Her cry echoed through the room but went unanswered. Vadim, without another word, grabbed her wrist again. This time, his grip was firmer, unyielding. She tried to pull away, but her resistance was weak, almost hopeless.

Stop it, – he said, pulling her toward the door. His voice remained indifferent. – It’s going to happen anyway.

Olga let out a moan, her legs buckling, but Vadim held her up, refusing to let her fall. He dragged her along, almost carrying her, as she struggled feebly, pleading for mercy.

Please… please, no… I beg you! – Her voice broke, turning hoarse as she cried out.

As they reached the bathroom door, Vadim opened it and stepped inside without hesitation, pulling Olga along with him. She stumbled at the threshold, but he hoisted her up, gripping her arm tightly once more. Her cries echoed through the room until the door slammed shut behind them, leaving the others in a chilling, suffocating silence.

One second, two—and then came piercing, desperate screams. They were so loud, so raw, that the walls seemed to tremble with their force. The sounds tore through the air, curdling the blood in their veins. These were not mere cries of pain—they carried something inhuman, unbearable, as if a soul were being ripped apart.

Katya, unable to endure it, clapped her hands over her ears and curled into a ball, her sobs drowned out by heaving cries. Anna sat like a frozen statue, locked in her own horror. Igor clutched the edge of the table, his knuckles white with strain. Artem sat motionless, silent, but his face twisted with inner turmoil.

The screams gradually faded, dissolving into faint moans, and then silence fell. It was an unnatural, oppressive silence, as if the room itself had frozen along with its occupants. No one moved, no one dared breathe too loudly. All that remained was the echo of those cries, still ringing in their minds.

Chapter 6

Silence filled the room—dense, like morning fog over a swamp. None of the remaining participants dared to speak, as if a single word might awaken the nightmares of the previous night.

Anna sat on the edge of the bed, her face pale and exhausted, her eyes like empty mirrors reflecting only burdensome thoughts.

Katya was curled up on the floor, her face buried in her knees. Her shoulders trembled, and the occasional sob that escaped her filled the air with despair. Igor, hunched over, sat on a chair by the wall, his gaze fixed on a corner of the room, as if he were trying to tear himself away from reality. Artyom stood motionless by the window, staring into the darkness beyond the murky glass. His fists were clenched, and though his face was blank, it betrayed a storm of irritation and helpless rage.

Then came a sound—faint at first, like static from an old radio.

A cold, mechanical voice crackled through the speakers:

All participants must begin cleaning the bathroom. This task is mandatory. Failure to comply will result in punishment.

Each word carved its way into their minds, leaving behind a chill.

Katya jolted, clutching her chest, her terrified eyes darting around the room. But then she curled back in on herself, trying to hide from a reality too cruel to face.

I can’t go in there… That’s where it happened…

Her voice trembled, breaking apart with sobs.

Anna looked at her and slowly stood. She walked over, knelt down, and gently placed a hand on Katya’s shoulder.

We’re together in this. We’ll make it. No one will be alone.

Katya lifted her gaze—eyes full of tears and fear—but said nothing. She simply clung to Anna’s hand like it was her only lifeline in this waking nightmare.

Igor raised his head slowly. Though his face remained still, his voice carried the weight of exhaustion:

We just need to get it done. The faster we finish, the sooner it’ll be over.

Artyom scoffed, turning to face them:

As if they care. It’s just another one of their games. They want to break us.

Anna cast him a heavy, wordless glare of disapproval, but said nothing. Igor, however, replied sharply:

Then break. But don’t drag the rest of us down with you.

Artyom didn’t respond. He merely turned away.

They opened the bathroom door slowly, as if afraid of disturbing something lurking behind it. The heavy creak of the hinges shattered the tense silence.

The first thing that struck them was the smell. Faint, yet gut-wrenching. A metallic tang of blood mixed with the sour stench of decay. Katya slapped a hand over her mouth to keep her stomach from revolting.

When the door swung fully open, the sight froze their hearts.

Bloodstains covered the walls, the floor, the mirror—as if someone had flailed around in madness, their hands soaked in red, or thrown it wildly in all directions.