The Cage of Conscience

– 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 image 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.