/I have measured out my life with coffee spoons/

Arkady wakes up; it’s a new day, according to the digital clock on his wall. He honestly doesn’t know if the time displayed is the actual Outside time; somehow, he doubts it.

It is 0700, an hour till he has to be in the mess for breakfast. He has time to read something else. He jumps to some of the non-fiction brought to him; he’s up for a bit of a mental challenge. There’s one of his favorite books down there, Hawking’s God Created The Integers. He’d requested it specifically, the only book for which he’d done so this week. He normally trusted the guards to give him the books he wanted, but there were some books that he loved too much for that. He starts at the first page again, reading through the section on Pythagoras, getting out a piece of paper and following along with some of the math there. It is 0800, breakfast-time.

Arkady heads to the mess, the route he’s traced so many times, his feet light on the cold concrete floor. His eyes are yet again hyperactive, subconsciously observing everything. It’s not that he wants to escape; no, that will come in time. He’s content here for now. He has all the time in the world. It’s just an instinct, stemming from his natural curiosity. He walks to the rightmost table, as far away from the robots as possible. He still can’t think of them as humans, though they look like humans, talk like humans.

There was already food at his seat, as there was every meal, every day. The same thing, a grey-white-yellow sludge with a couple of flavoring packets nearby, their contents ready to be dumped ignominiously and sloshed half-heartedly into the whatever-it-was.

A sound, the sound of a footstep. He looks up, sees a robot behind him, wonders what a robot is doing in his corner of the mess.

Then it makes a sound and he realizes it, no, she isn’t a robot. Robots are confident. Robots do not hesitate, search for words, they do not have the imperfections that make humans humans. Yet.

“...Hi.”

It hits him.

There is someone else here.

What the fuck?

“Who the hell are you?” That came out a lot more forcefully than he intended.

It, no, she, flinches a little, a hurt expression crossing her face, then pivots ungracefully and leaves.

Shit, no, come back come back come back

No words come out. For the first time in his life, Arkady has nothing to say.

For the first time in his life, Arkady pushes his food away, tries to leave. Of course, the guards stop him. He has to eat all of his food, after all. Can’t have him starving. Arkady shovels the rest of the gruel into his mouth, not even bothering with the shitty flavoring packets, breaking the illusion he’s tried to maintain for months. His quick footsteps, heavy with sorrow, regret, but light due to his pace, echo down the concrete hallways. He reaches his room, his cell, his prison.

Why does this affect me so much? It’s just a girl.

But it’s another human. Maybe that’s why. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen anyone else. Maybe…

He tries to bury himself in God Created The Integers. He can’t. No matter how much he tries not to care, he just cares too much.

Why do I care too much?

It’s early, but he still wants to sleep.

Sleep forever. Sleep until I die. I’m imprisoned anyways. What is my life worth, in chains? I must get out get out get out

He sleeps. He sleeps weirdly; he feels something’s off. Something’s very off.

It’s 1200. A guard comes by his room, no, his cell, to bring him to lunch, coerce him if necessary. He doesn’t protest. He’s over it by now. He’s collected himself.

When he reaches the mess, he sees her. But not her face, no. He just sees the glowing red negative five above her.

The fuck? The fuck is that? Why is it there? Why is it red? Is something wrong?

He’s already pretty fragile, as he’s seen from what happened earlier today, but somehow, miraculously, he collects himself and walks to his seat, not far from where she sat. He realizes he didn’t know her name, never asked. He resolves to ask her.

But still. What the fuck is that?

He eats, gets up, leaves. He’s at a bit of an unstable equilibrium right now; any nudge will break him. In his room, no, cell, he can’t focus enough to read. The words blur together, disconnected amorphous blotches of ink coming together into one large mass unreadable by his illiterate eyes. He can’t anymore, just can’t.

He picks up his phone (why do they call it a phone if I can’t call anyone on it?), unlocks it with a quick tap, and recoils.

For where there used to be many games, all provided by the One, all free of charge, all specifically designed to waste his time, flashing their little thumbnails in garish colors so as to attract his attention, there’s just one left. One he’s never seen before. A little white square with its corners rounded off, a perfect red heart contained inside. AMA, it reads.

He can’t anymore, he just can’t. Shaking even though he’s warm, yearning for his routine, ordinary life back, he lies down on his bed, no, cot, and cries.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Change is happening, Arkady. The world is changing around you, and you can’t cope, you fucking crybaby. You’re lying here, bawling your eyes out. Go fucking do something, but stop this bullshit.

Dinner. He goes and eats. The girl isn’t there anymore. That makes him sad.

He sits on his bed for the rest of the night, lost in a lack of thought, mind blank.