The Cage of Conscience

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.