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Scratches, lines in the wall, indicating the days spent in this cell. What was even the point of counting them? Gently, he let his fingertips trace the fresh line. He threw the small object that he used to carve them with aside. The piece of metal, it reminded him of a coin, landed in the opposite corner and his eyes followed it. Back in that corner, where the bed had stood when he had “moved in”, were a great number of marks in the walls as well. Simon had moved the bed to the other side, as somehow he felt uncomfortable sleeping next to them, seeing them first thing whenever he would wake up. Of course he had counted them, several times as there was nothing else to do than being trapped in his own mind. 734 scratches on some days, 735 on others. He thought of the soul that had left them. Had these been the last marks they had left in the universe?
The humming noise that announced his cell door being opened interrupted his thoughts. Simon stood up, fists clenched and eyes forward. The door slid open and a guard waved him to step outside. The same uniform, the same dark visor that hid their face as always. Simon followed, holding out his hands for the guard to quickly slap on a pair of handcuffs. He was slowly getting used to the process, and he hated it. As he turned to walk down the hallway, he saw other prisoners going through the same procedure. Lunchtime.
The canteen had the same dreary look about it as every day. He didn't know what kind of change he wanted to see but he needed something. The food was some grey slime that tasted salty, sometimes a bit sweet. On rare occasions they were served vegetables on the side. That day they had peas. And after Simon had sat down on a table in the corner, he gobbled the stupid peas down. They tasted like heaven. When he looked up, three big guys stood over him.
“Can I help you?”, Simon asked in a monotonous voice, taking his cup of water into his hand.
“This is our spot”, one of them claimed. His nose was flat and a nasty scar ran over it. “Move.”
Simon took his spoon back up and shoved a spoonful of the grey slime into his mouth. Very salty today. “There is plenty of room to sit.”
“But we want to sit here”, the man with the scar demanded. He placed his hands on the table. But when Simon still ignored him, he reached for the tray and slung it to the ground.
Simon slammed the spoon into the table and rose to his feet. The guy towered over him but that didn't stop him from glaring up at him in anger. “You know, I was going to finish that”, he hissed, getting a chuckle out of the three.
“Then you'll have to do that elsewhere”, scar-face replied, triumphantly. “What are you gonna do now, huh? Butcher?”
“You little–” Before Simon could finish his insult, he was dragged away from the table. He expected to see one of the guards to have interrupted the situation but instead it was a fellow inmate. He was an older man, hair and beard already grey but his eyes were sharp. Simon had chatted with him a few times before. “Let me go”, he mumbled and tried to pull away.
But the man had him in an iron grip and pushed him to sit down at a table far away from the corner. “I’m saving you from making a mistake, son.” The older man let himself fall into the chair opposite of Simon.
Simon could still feel the rage boiling in him, though it slowly, very slowly, calmed as he looked at the man. “I can look after myself, Peter.” He felt like a child that had gotten itself into trouble and needed an adult to get out.
Peter watched him for a moment. “Believe me, they would've beaten you into a puddle. You wouldn't be able to leave the medical ward for months.” He leaned forward, pointing his index finger at his temple. “If you would've survived, that is.”
“At least it would get me out of here for a while.”
“C’mon, you can't be that stupid.”
For a brief moment, Simon had turned around and looked at scar-face and his friends. Then he shook his head. “Even I know when I'm outnumbered.”
Peter let out a relieved laugh. “Then I can trust that you won't make a pact with the devil tonight.”
“Why do you even care?” It sounded snide, which hadn’t been his intention. Again, Simon couldn’t help but feel like a rowdy teenager.
“Because in here”, Peter looked Simon deep into the eye. “It doesn’t matter what you were out there. It matters what you are right now and what decisions you make.”
Days passed with the same routines, blending together in a haze. Since the incident in the canteen, he had kept an eye on the three bullies. But one day he noticed the absence of scar-face. He awaited his return yet one day turned into two. Then three. Then more. He didn’t return.
At lunch, Simon sat next to Peter, leaning over. “What happened to the one with the scar?”
Peter, hungrily shoved the grey paste from his tray into his mouth. “Oh, the one with the pig nose?” He raised his head and looked around, confirming Simon’s observation with a nod. “I see.”
“Where did he go?” There was no way out of here, at least not that Simon could have thought of one. And he had a lot of time to think.
“There are rumors”, Peter replied, lowering his voice significantly. “People get offered a deal. You can take part in experiments, expeditions or whatever crazy thing they need a human being for. Point is, no one returns, so who knows where they’re going.”
“And in exchange they get…?”
Peter chuckled. “The only thing that’s worth something here, boy. Freedom.” Simon’s heart started racing at the thought of getting to leave. He could taste the word freedom on his tongue. It was so bittersweet. “However, they’re all suicide missions, if you ask me”, Peter concluded with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Simon bit his lip. A new flame of hope had sparked in his heart. A way out. A way to reclaim his freedom and recover from the betrayal that haunted him every night and day.
And when the time came, when important looking people stood inside his cell and made him an offer, he couldn’t refuse. He took the chance. As he placed his hand on the scanner to confirm his agreement, it was as if he had sold his soul to the devil. Though even the devil himself might have been kinder to him.