《The Chosen Dead》 The beginning Kane sat at his desk, submerged in the pale, artificial glow of fluorescent lights. In his office, day and night were indistinguishable. Everything was a muted shade of grey, drained of vibrancy. He stared at his screen, his eyes scanning the charts and figures in front of him, though their meaning had long escaped him. The words blurred together, faintly whispering some possibilities, but Kane never cared to untangle it. He ended his task, as always, with a capital ¡°K¡±. Kane was "K." The ¡°-ane,¡± as his colleagues and bosses liked to remind him, was unnecessary. K was enough. His mornings began with the hum of the elevator, a brief and inconsequential exchange of greetings with colleagues, and then back to his desk¡ªfilling out forms, sending emails about things he didn¡¯t fully comprehend, attending meetings with clients whose concerns never seemed to matter. His clients greeted him with polite indifference, exchanged shallow pleasantries, and handed him briefs written in language that might as well have been foreign. They wanted something, though K was never sure what it was. They met not out of need but out of obligation, a ritual neither party comprehended nor questioned. Afterward, K would dutifully shake hands, type a few routine, similar words into his documents, and pack his bag. Then he would board the same underground train, traveling back to his equally unremarkable apartment. The train was a river of anonymity, ebbing and surging with a tide of interchangeable passengers¡ªheads bowed, faces paled by the faint glow of their phones. The train twisted and wobbled through the tunnels, and its passengers swayed as one, movements dictated by the train¡¯s rhythm. The train cared nothing for those it carried, and K cared nothing for the train. It took him downward, always downward, toward the same destination as the rest, before finally spitting him out at the end of the line. There, in the hollow quiet of his squalid apartment, the day faded, indistinguishable from the one before it, or the one that would come tomorrow. ¡ª----------------- It was 7 p.m., and the station was growing busier. The gloomy faces of workers, their eyes glazed over, moved mechanically through the crowd. Each person was cocooned in their own little world¡ªheadphones firmly in place, eyes fixed on the glowing screens of their phones. They wore similar, yet slightly distinct outfits, all carrying the same kind of bag with minor variations. The crowd surged forward, a slow, pressing tide, pushing each other into the elevator line, inch by inch. One by one, they descended. K found himself awkwardly squeezed between two passengers with suitcases, their sharp edges poking into him. He glanced at the posters sideways for some distraction. Another new adaptation for a play that had been adapted countless times before. Another poster announcing a new play exactly resembles the new adaptation of the play that has been adapted countless times before. Then a new slimming pill, a new investment opportunity, a new place to travel.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Suddenly his eyes fell on a bold, bleak note written in contrasting black and red with a clear white background. It reads : "If you harass or verbally abuse our staff, we will pursue legal action." It went on to describe a young man who had gotten into an argument with the ticket clerk and was promptly sent to prison for weeks. K let out a small laugh at himself. He couldn¡¯t move. Any shift in position might throw him off balance. He imagined himself rolling down into the abyss that seemed to stretch out ahead of him, tumbling into the void where all the other faces floated, just like his. They swam together, this sea of people, each heading toward the same destination, parted in two opposition directions, bound by an invisible current. Waiting. Always waiting. ¡ª----------- K was squashed, smashed, barely sardined into the space. His body twisted uncomfortably, his chest pressed tightly against another¡¯s back, while something hard dug into him from behind. At the first stop, K barely managed to breathe before being assaulted by the heavier exhalations of those standing close to him. By the second stop, exhaustion crept in. Then, suddenly, a mass exodus: passengers surged and shoved their way out, their rush dictated by the stop¡¯s promise of connection to more trains, more stops, more waiting. In the sudden stillness, an empty chair presented itself. K moved towards it. He sat down without hesitation, his body moving voluntarily . The doors slid shut with a hollow thud. The train jerked forward, quieter now, though the air still felt stagnant. Around him, passengers were absorbed by their phones, their faces illuminated in soft, detached glows. Some wore oversized headphones, others smaller, snug buds, their heads slightly bobbing to unheard rhythms. Occasionally, a rare figure clutched a newspaper, their focus singularly fixed on the Sudoku¡ªalways Sudoku. K felt the familiar tide of fatigue washing over him, it greeted him daily without fail. He stared emptily at the space ahead, his mind as blank as the advertisement board that hadn¡¯t yet been replaced. The doors opened again, and a fresh swarm of people flooded in. They wore variations of the same uniform¡ªcoats, scarves, and bags, all shades eventually blended into a corporate grey. They carried the same air of indifference, their eyes glinting with a cold, hollow efficiency. They piled in, pressing into one another until the train was flattened with bodies once more. No one spoke. The doors shut again with a sterile hiss. ¡ª------------------- K had not noticed the man standing before him. Perhaps the man had not noticed him either, but in the stifling silence of the underground train, something shifted. The man, sensing perhaps the emptiness lingering in the air between them, held his gaze for a moment too long. K, caught in the stare, remained inert. His body was present, but his mind had long since drifted elsewhere. The man was unremarkable, much like K¡ªaverage height, average face, slightly balding, his gray coat rumpled from the press of the crowd. He stared at his phone with an intensity that suggested importance, though none existed. A sudden rustling broke the monotony. There were murmurs, disgruntled noises rippling through the passengers like a slow wave. The sound grew louder, closer. People shifted, stepping back, parting like the arms of coral. There was a man in a black mask, wearing a well-weathered jacket, he was hooded too. He carried a black bag. Then, the first shot echoed. The grey-coated man collapsed instantly, crumpling to the floor. Then another shot. K¡¯s body remained motionless. He remained still, his gaze fixed on the door ahead as though it had not happened. Yet the air in the train grew thick with something unnameable. The other passengers seemed to notice, but no one moved. No one reacted. At the next stop, the masked man stepped off the train calmly. The doors shut behind him, sealing the carriage in silence once more. The aftermath K sat there motionless, blood, bone fragments, and bits of brain splattered across his face. He was unaffected, staring blankly ahead. Though, if he had one wish at this moment, it would be for a piece of tissue to wipe himself clean. "Oh, that''s so gross," a woman groaned. Other passengers briefly glanced at her before returning to their own concerns. "Someone gonna clean that up?" "My new shoes are ruined." They all frowned at the dead man, subtly shifting their positions, adjusting to a more comfortable stance. Meanwhile, blood continued to flow, tilting and dashing across the carriage floor with the train''s rhythmic twists. With every sharp turn, feet lifted and landed in unison, a silent choreography to avoid the creeping crimson stream, which seemed to flow with both purpose and aimlessness, pausing briefly at each passenger before continuing its indifferent journey.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. At the next stop, some passengers had enough. They squeezed out, opting for another carriage or waiting for the next train. K remained unmoved. The carriage was quieter now, if only for a moment. New passengers hesitated outside, peering in with uncertainty. Some turned away and chose a different carriage, but others, for the sake of convenience, boarded anyway. They all noticed the dead man, yet their responses were muted¡ªan awkward shuffle, a brief glance, then heads buried in their screens. Their phones were the only distraction strong enough to make this scene feel normal. The corpse¡¯s limbs swayed ever so slightly with the motion of the train. Occasionally, someone stepped on him. One man, engrossed in his copy of the Evening Standard, stretched his legs out, resting them absentmindedly on the body as he focused on his Sudoku. K was too tired to wipe his face. Not that he could¡ªhe had no tissue, and no one offered him one. Home The Final Stop. K waddled out of the train doors as usual. It was the end of the line. He passed through the station gates, unnoticed. The attendants were too busy chewing gum and chatting to each other to care about the blood and brain matter staining his clothes. The night was cold and dark. Nobody exiting the station looked at one another. They wore headphones, tapped away at their phones, muttered into them¡ªtexting, scrolling, speaking in low, inaudible voices. Each one went their separate way, disappearing into the slabs of concrete they called "home." No greetings. No recognition. K¡¯s home lay beyond a dingy alleyway, reeking of vape smoke. A group of men, forever looking like teenagers despite their age, lingered beneath a skeletal tree, inhaling and exhaling in silence. The leaves above them trembled slightly in the wind, making them seem more alive than the people beneath them.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. The overflowing bins lined the pavement with their chorus of rotting odors. K pushed through the narrow entrance of a crammed, three-story house, where every possible inch of space had been carved into a separate room. How many people lived here? He didn¡¯t know. Didn¡¯t care to know. The bathroom was occupied, as always. Someone downstairs was boiling a kettle, the air thick with strange, untraceable smells. The bathroom was always occupied for extended periods. Sometimes, it smelled unbearable. K often saw people emerge from it, their faces glued to their phones, likely the reason for the delay. Was this the life he had asked for? He didn¡¯t know. Didn¡¯t want to know. Exhausted, he collapsed onto his bed¡ªhalf the size of his room¡ªand let sleep take him. Morning K awoke at an unusual hour. He heard loud and sharp voices with doors being slammed open. Forceful knocks, followed by stern commands: ¡°Open up!¡± Then a door shut, and whoever was outside went in. The world outside his window was still dark. 6 AM. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He had fallen asleep without eating. Ignoring the commotion, K shuffled to the kitchen. The knocking continued, but the officers had already forced their way into another room, their voices carrying through the thin walls. The kitchen was silent. K turned on the kettle, its surface coated in a greasy film. He reached for the communal food cupboard¡ªa dirty, faded structure with chipped paint and a greasy sign labeled COMMUNAL FOOD in barely legible letters. The stench hit him immediately. Mold. Rot. Something sour and rancid. He grabbed an already-opened, half-empty box of Aldi-brand cereal and a bottle of milk of uncertain age from the battered fridge. The fridge door handle sucked at his fingerprints, leaving his palm sticky. The kettle whistled. He set the bowl aside and made himself tea, adding a splash of milk and two cubes of sugar with spots of brown and black dots. He turned around, found a short man appeared out of no where, dressed in all black and sat in the chair K had just reached for. Without a word, the man grabbed K¡¯s cereal bowl, as if it is his and started eating. K blinked. ¡°My breakfast!¡± he exclaimed. The man¡ªstill chewing¡ªignored him completely. ¡°ID, please,¡± the stranger muttered a moment later in a mouth full of cereal, staring into the bowl as if K weren¡¯t there. K¡¯s blood boiled. ¡°I¡ªYou¡ªYou¡¯re outrageous! You appeared out of nowhere, stole my breakfast, and now you¡¯re asking for my ID? Who the hell are you? Who do you work for?¡± No response. Then¡ª A voice from behind.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. ¡°Good morning, Mr. K, I assume?¡± K turned. Another man in black stood there. K was snappy and confused. ¡°Uh, yeah. I¡¯m Kane. K, whatever.¡± ¡°We need to have a chat with you, Mr. K. If that¡¯s alright.¡± The man gestured to his colleague. ¡°This is Ivan.¡± K scowled. ¡°Are you his supervisor?¡± He took a deep breath, trying to suppress his anger. He needed to remain professional. Work etiquette, he reminded himself. ¡°This man¡ª¡± he jerked his fingers at Ivan, who was still casually chewing, oblivious to the tension in the air, ¡°¡ªyour colleague¡ªate my breakfast. I haven¡¯t eaten since yesterday, and now I¡¯m left starving.¡± The supervisor gave a slow and calm nod ¡°I see. Ivan is allowed to eat while on duty.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Ivan¡¯s duty is to check your ID. And as an employee, he is entitled to eat.¡±,the supervisor spoke with a detached voice. ¡°But he ate my food!¡± ¡°Ivan is simply following his job description. And I can sense nothing of concern here¡± K¡¯s voice shook. ¡°You mean to tell me that as long as he¡¯s ¡®on duty,¡¯ he can eat whatever he wants? Even if it belongs to someone else?¡± "Ivan is by his contract obliged to check your ID, as a part of his job and he is entitled to eat during his work hours." The supervisor explained himself again "l see nothing wrong here, Mr K" He paused and then continued, "I understand you want to eat, Mr. K. But first, if you could show us your ID, you¡¯ll be free to resume your meal." "But you are wrong, he, ate-" ¡°Mr. K.¡± The supervisor¡¯s voice was stern now, cutting through K¡¯s words. ¡°I understand that you¡¯re hungry, but we cannot allow you to eat until you show us your ID.¡± He paused then continued ¡°This is a part of our standard procedure¡± "We cannot let you do anything. In fact, I will wait here till you show us your ID" the supervisor grabbed himself a chair and sat down. K is speechless, he cannot comprehend anything anymore. But something compelled him to say " Um, okay. I will show you my ID" . As K reached for his pocket, despite how he ruffled, nothing was there. " l left that in the room l guess" K say, ¡°bear with me a moment l will be right back¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t let you leave until you show us your ID,¡± the supervisor said, stepping in his way. K clenched his fists. ¡°But I don¡¯t have it on me. I have to go back to my room to get it.¡± ¡°Leaving is not permitted.¡± K exhaled slowly. ¡°Then how do I show you my ID?¡± ¡°Mr. K, I understand you¡¯re eager to leave and have your breakfast, but¡ª¡± ¡°Oh, for god¡¯s sake.¡± K buried his face in his hands. ¡°What do you want me to do? Call your supervisor? Who the hell is your supervisor?¡± ¡°I simply cannot let you leave.¡± K sat down. His hunger deepened. His exhaustion pulled at him. All surrounding him is nothing, but the silence, and the walls and these two men. Time stretched, distorted. He wasn¡¯t sure if he was passing out, falling asleep, or simply slipping into a nightmare. Maybe it didn¡¯t matter. Maybe it was all the same. He will wake up soon, and go back to his grey cubicle. And the day would begin again, just as it always had. No exit Suddenly, a sharp ring shattered K¡¯s hazy, half-conscious state. he supervisor¡¯s voice, once composed and detached, now trembled with urgency, hushed and frantic. He sounded drained, his words laced with frustration. K¡¯s mind cleared. This wasn¡¯t a dream. Everything remained unchanged¡ªthe supervisor¡¯s face growing redder by the second, his agitation intensifying. Meanwhile, Ivan, having long finished his cereal, sat perfectly still. K blinked. Maybe it was a dream within a dream, K thought. "Ah, yes, yes," the supervisor stammered into the phone. "But we can¡¯t proceed¡ªwe have a situation here. There is a man without his ID, and as you know, protocol states that he cannot be permitted to leave without presenting it." "Can you transfer me to a higher official? Someone with the authority to resolve this?" His voice wavered now, strained, desperate. The operator murmured something unintelligible. A moment later, the line filled with the droning hum of elevator music. The supervisor let out a sharp breath and began pounding at the keypad with increasing force. But each press only summoned another automated response in an eerily gleeful voice "Press 1 for Important Matters" . He pressed. And the music resumed. -------------- K forced himself into a semi-dreamlike state. If he could just convince his mind he was asleep, maybe he could slip away from all this. But no matter how hard he tried, he would always jolt awake¡ªonly to find himself still in front of the desk, the same two men before him, unchanged, unmoved. The elevator music droned on, louder now, seeping into his bones, looping endlessly. Beneath it, the supervisor¡¯s footsteps pounded in erratic rhythms, sharp and agitated. Then, through the static-laden receiver, a muffled voice finally emerged: "Good morning, are you an internal official?" The supervisor exhaled sharply, gripping the receiver tightly. "Yes! Yes, I am an internal official! I need an urgent ruling on a case of identification non-compliance. We have a man here¡ªMr. K¡ªwho cannot present his ID, and as you know, procedural policy forbids movement without verification." His voice wavered between authority and desperation, as though he himself were uncertain of his role in the grander scheme of things. There was a pause on the other end. A faint cough. The rustle of papers. The distant echo of someone else on another call. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. "Certainly," the voice responded with artificial cheer. "Please hold while I transfer you to the appropriate department." The elevator music resumed, looping back onto itself every thirty seconds. The supervisor squeezed his eyes shut. K could see sweat forming at his temples, his fingers tightening around the receiver as though trying to crush it into submission. "Ivan," K said, his voice hoarse, "he''s been on hold for¡ª" "We cannot leave," Ivan interrupted, as if K had said nothing. His spoon clinked against the empty cereal bowl. "We must wait." K looked at him. The bowl was dry. Not a single crumb left. He had not moved in minutes, yet his presence pressed against the room like a physical weight. His eyes were fixed forward, unblinking. The supervisor suddenly jolted upright. A new voice had come on the line. It was calmer, deeper, and strangely distant, as if speaking from the other side of a great chasm. "Good morning. How may I help you? Am I speaking to an internal official?" "Yes," the supervisor croaked, his previous composure disintegrating. "Yes, I have a case of non-compliance that requires immediate review. I¡¯ve been passed through seven different departments. I need a resolution." A pause. "I see," the voice said. "Can you confirm your identification?" The supervisor blanched. He glanced at K. Then at Ivan. His hand trembled slightly. "My identification?" he repeated. "Yes," the voice responded, patient, immovable. "Before proceeding with your request, I must verify that you are authorized to make this inquiry." The supervisor fumbled at his pockets nervously. "I¡ªof course, I have it right here, I just¡ª" His movements grew erratic. He patted down his coat, his trousers. His breath quickened. "I¡ªI had it this morning¡ª" There is nothing but silence from the other end of the line. K watched the supervisor''s complexion faded in to a sickly shade of grey. "I see," the voice on the phone finally said. "Please remain where you are. Your case will be reviewed in due course." A soft click. The line went dead. The supervisor stared at the receiver in his hand, unmoving. Ivan leaned forward slightly, his voice flat, empty. "We cannot leave." Nobody here had ever been meant to leave. The arrest As they all waited, a sudden clatter rang through the hallway¡ªsharp, metallic, followed by muffled shouts of protest. K turned his head toward the door, as did Ivan and the supervisor. The noise grew louder¡ªthe shuffle of feet, the clinking of handcuffs. K edged toward the door and peered through the crack. Outside, in the dimly lit corridor, tenants were being led away¡ªheads down, wrists bound. But something was strange. Each tenant was accompanied by a man in black, identical in dress to Ivan and the supervisor. A one-to-one ratio, as if every resident had their own personal escort into whatever fate awaited them. Then, without warning, two of them stepped into the kitchen. Their suits were crisp and severe, their expressions void of anything resembling curiosity or explanation. They moved with mechanical precision. Cold steel snapped shut around the supervisor¡¯s wrists first. He barely managed to stammer, "Are you¡ªare you from the High Office?" His voice cracked, turning desperate. His eyes darted between the two men. "Who gave the order? What department are you from?" The men did not answer immediately. They tightened the cuffs before speaking, their tone measured, empty. "We received a report." "A report?" The supervisor swallowed. "Someone in this building is a suspect in a murder." "Who? When? Where?" His voice pitched higher. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. "We don¡¯t know." The man adjusted his grip on the cuffs. "We are here to arrest everyone." "But why¡ª" "That is not our concern." Ivan flinched as one of them grabbed his arm. "Wait¡ªwhat is this? What¡¯s going on?" His voice wavered, but there was no response, no explanation. Then they turned to K. "You are all under suspicion of murder." --------------------- "This doesn¡¯t make any sense," K muttered. His voice was hoarse, more from exhaustion than protest. "I haven¡¯t eaten anything. I have work today." One of the officials, the one tightening the cuffs around Ivan¡¯s wrists, turned to him with an impassive stare. "As soon as you cooperate, everything will proceed smoothly. You will be interviewed, and then you may resume your routine. You may eat your breakfast. You may go to work." The words had the weight of a practiced reassurance, but they rang hollow. K glanced at the supervisor, who had gone silent, his lips trembling but voiceless now. Ivan had stopped struggling. There was no sense in arguing. The absurdity of it all hung in the air, thick and inescapable. K exhaled and simply extended his wrists. The metal locked around them with a mechanical finality. He had no more questions. He didn¡¯t even want answers. He only waited for it to end. And, he suspected, the others felt the same. On the road The two man lined them up neatly, a black car was already parked outside the narrowed hallway for them. The supervisor goes in the car first, then K, then Ivan. This is a small car, and it barely fits all of them in, the air starts to thick with the scent of anxiety and stale silence. K sat between the supervisor and Ivan, the bulk of Ivan pressing uncomfortably into him, making the cramped space feel even smaller. The handcuffs biting into his wrists as the vehicle jolted forward. The two men in black, one behind the wheel and the other in the passenger seat, hadn¡¯t spoken a word since they had taken them away. The low hum of the engine filled the void, punctuated only by the sound of the supervisor¡¯s frantic muttering. ¡°Oh god, oh god,¡± the supervisor repeated, his voice cracking. "He is not religious" Ivan suddenly commented K turned to him, his face a mask of confusion and frustration. ¡°What is there to fear? They¡¯ll let us go, right? We haven¡¯t done anything wrong. All we need to do is tell the truth.¡± He was trying to convince himself more than the others, but the words seemed weak even to his own ears. Still, it was the only thing he could hold on to. The thought of being dragged away for no reason felt absurd. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°I¡¯ll raise a complaint,¡± K continued, his voice gaining strength. ¡°These men have no right to do this. They can¡¯t just take us without any proof. We¡¯ve done nothing wrong. Nothing!¡± His gaze shifted to the two men in the front seat. They had barely acknowledged them, their faces expressionless, their focus on the road. Suddenly, the man in the passenger seat pulled out his phone. He spoke briefly in a voice devoid of any emotion, ¡°We¡¯ll be there soon,¡± he then hung up without another word. The supervisor flinched at the words, his hands shaking in his lap. ¡°Oh no, no, no,¡± he murmured under his breath. Ivan suddenly spoke with a grave voice, ¡°We won¡¯t be let go.¡± K glanced at Ivan¡¯s face¡ªpale, defeated, and filled with a sadness that seemed far too heavy for the circumstances¡ªhe felt an unsettling chill. The car sped on through the silent streets, its tires humming against the asphalt, carrying them forward to a certain somewhere which none of them could name. The Corridor of Compliance Ahead of them stood an industrial unit, its gates shut tight, save for a faint glow emanating from the top floor. The parking lot was empty. Without a sound, the heavy metal gate slid open as their car approached, welcoming them into its hollow silence. ¡°This way,¡± the man in the passenger seat ordered as he stepped out and pulled open the door. One by one, they climbed out of the car. The air was stale, tinged with metal and dust. The entrance was a long, featureless corridor bathed in the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. As they formed a silent line, the driver exited the car and took his place among them. The first officer led the way to the entrance.The door opened automatically. A man, dressed identically to the supervisor, Ivan, and the two escorts, stood waiting. ¡°Good day. I need to perform a search on all of you.¡± Without protest, the officers in their group began stripping down. First, their shirts. Then their trousers. Each movement looks mechanical . Beneath their uniforms, they all wore the same plain undergarments. Then, one by one, they peeled off their socks. Barefoot, clad only in undershirts and pants, they stood in silence. The supervisor¡¯s were red and white checkered, standing out amongst the dull shades of black, white, and grey. Ivan¡¯s were frayed at the edges, worn thin from time. K hesitated. ¡°And what about me? Am I supposed to do the same?¡±Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. The man gave no reply. K let out a strained laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t like this. It makes me look¡­ ridiculous. I always wear pajamas to bed. Some people sleep like this, sure, but this is absurd.¡± Still, silence. ¡°You have to do what we did,¡± their escort finally said. ¡°We can¡¯t proceed otherwise.¡± ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± K snapped. ¡°I¡¯ve gone along with your rules, I¡¯ve been patient. I should be at work right now, not¡ª¡± ¡°My duty,¡± the man doing the search interrupted, ¡°is to ensure you strip down and proceed inside. You must not carry anything¡­ dangerous.¡± ¡°Dangerous?¡± K scoffed. ¡°You¡¯re making your own colleagues do the same! What could possibly¡ª¡± ¡°Weapons are dangerous. Books are dangerous. Thoughts are dangerous. I have to check everything.¡± The supervisor sighed. ¡°It won¡¯t end well for you if you resist. Just do the same.¡± Thoughts are dangerous. The words settled uncomfortably in K¡¯s mind. Wasn¡¯t this just an interview? Weren¡¯t they simply gathering statements? He was supposed to clear his name and leave. That¡¯s what this was, wasn¡¯t it? His mind drifted¡ªback to his apartment, a simple cold cereal bowl with a cup of tea, the email he still needed to send, the manager who would not accept an unannounced absence. Perhaps, if he explained, if he came up with an excuse¡ª His hands moved on their own. Shirt off. Trousers off. Shoes and socks discarded. He stepped in line with the others, and together, they moved forward. The corridor tightened around them, growing narrower with each turn. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly. Concrete walls stretched endlessly ahead, each intersection indistinguishable from the last. There was nowhere to turn back. They simply followed their escort, deeper into the unknown. The interview One by one, they passed through a narrow corridor, its walls grim and sterile under the bleak paleness of the fluorescent lights. As they moved, they glimpsed rooms on either side, each indistinguishable from the next, illuminated by the harsh, white glow from within. Ivan was the first to step into one of the rooms. As he crossed the threshold, the door swung shut behind him, plunging the corridor back into shadow. The light from his room disappeared. Next, the supervisor stumbled toward another door, his body shaking with panic. His breathing was rapid, erratic. He clutched at his chest as if the weight of the situation had finally overwhelmed him. He collapsed, breaking into a sobbing fit. The man in black had no choice but to grab the supervisor¡¯s arm and drag him into the room, his cries echoing in the hallway. The door shut with a heavy thud. K watched, his heart racing, as the sequence continued. He stepped forward to the last door, the final one at the end of the corridor. The air seemed to grow colder as he entered the room. Inside, the light was blinding. The room was stark and empty, save for a solitary desk and a chair facing it. Another man in black sat behind the desk, his uniform identical to the others. The door clicked shut behind K, and he was left alone with this new presence. "Mr. Kane," the man began, his voice cold and unwavering, "Let¡¯s stick to K. You are here because you''re guilty of murder." ¡°Murder?¡± K¡¯s voice was shaky, disbelief rising within him. ¡°What do you mean? I¡¯m here to give evidence. I¡¯m innocent!¡± The man¡¯s expression remained unchanged. ¡°Your sentence has already been pre-determined. You are a murderer.¡± K¡¯s heart began to race. ¡°How? Why? What happened?¡± "We received a report that you were on the tube yesterday when a shooting occurred. A passenger died right in front of you." K closed his eyes, the memory flooding back. ¡°I remember that... I was so tired, I thought it must have been a dream.¡± "The gunman was masked, and we cannot verify his identity." ¡°But I was just sitting there! I couldn¡¯t possibly be the murderer!¡± ¡°No, but there were things you could have done to prevent the murder. You could have offered him your seat.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. K shook his head, his thoughts spiraling. ¡°There were so many other people around who could have done the same. Why me?¡± ¡°Because he was standing right in front of you." K¡¯s mind spun. "He could have chosen to stand anywhere else. Why does it matter that it was me?" The man leaned forward, ¡°That¡¯s exactly why you¡¯re here. The reason he was shot is simple: because you did not give him your seat. Had you offered it, the murder would not have occurred.¡± K¡¯s mind reeled. ¡°But the gunman must have planned it. Who has free access to firearms?¡± The man¡¯s lips twitched slightly, as if considering the thought. ¡°Interesting thoughts, Mr. K. However, I¡¯ve already reached my conclusion. I¡¯ve gathered all the information I need from you.¡± He then stood up ¡°The court will proceed. May good luck be with you.¡± He continued: ¡°I hope you can explain yourself to the judges. My job here is done. I¡¯m simply here to prove that you¡¯re guilty, so you¡¯ll be moved to the next stage¡± K felt a surge of anger rise within him. ¡°Next stage? What are you talking about? You¡¯re just following orders.¡± The man didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°I am here to ensure the process is followed. What happens next is not up to me.¡± ¡°But you¡¯re the one who decides what happens to us! You¡¯re the one who labels us as guilty with no real evidence!¡± K¡¯s voice was rising, frustration turning into desperation. "You¡¯re telling me this whole thing is just about giving people a sentence? No matter what we say, what we¡¯ve done?" The man¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, ¡°You misunderstand. My job is to gather the facts, to ensure the law is carried out. If you¡¯re truly innocent, then you will have your chance to speak your truth in front of the court. But, until then, your fate is already sealed.¡± K¡¯s chest tightened. ¡°So, it¡¯s all just a show then..¡± The man¡¯s lips curled. ¡°If you want to think of it that way, sure. But the truth is, there¡¯s no place for questioning. No place for dissent. You will be moved to the next stage. I suggest you prepare for what comes next.¡± K¡¯s pulse quickened, his mind spinning with panic and disbelief. ¡°I need a legal representative¡­ You didn¡¯t even give me the option. And now, suddenly, I¡¯m a criminal? A murderer?¡± His voice cracked, but he fought to keep it steady. ¡°I¡¯m just someone who works in an office, who takes that tube home daily at the same time! How am I supposed to be guilty of this?¡± He couldn¡¯t control the anger now, ¡°This isn¡¯t justice! This isn¡¯t right!¡± His voice rose, "I didn¡¯t ask for any of this! I didn¡¯t ask for any of this!¡± The man is unaffected by K¡¯s emotions. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. The facts are clear. And the truth is, you were there. The court has decided that¡¯s all that matters.¡± K stared at him. ¡°I won¡¯t go down quietly. I¡¯ll make them listen.¡± The man said indifferently ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be so sure about that, Mr. Kane. You can scream all you want. But in the end, the court decides, and your voice won¡¯t matter.¡± Judgment ¡°Your time is up, Mr. K. Thank you for spending these precious ten minutes with me. I¡¯m afraid I must attend to our next visitor now.¡± The man¡¯s words were punctuated by the sudden blare of an alarm. Without a word, the interviewer calmly reached over and silenced the noise, his face still as impassive as ever. The door creaked open, and another man in black appeared in the doorway. He didn¡¯t speak a word as he moved toward K, pressing his hands firmly against K¡¯s back, forcing him to stand upright. Both hands gripped K¡¯s wrists with such force that K couldn¡¯t even move on his own will. Before he could gather his bearings, the man shoved him forward. K stumbled. He didn¡¯t know where he was going, but he was being pushed into an unknown destination. They reached a massive door, its size imposing as it slowly opened. Beyond it stretched a giant room, filled with a sea of faces, all turned downward, staring at the floor in unison. The silence in the room was suffocating, broken only by the echoes of their footsteps on the cold floor. As K¡¯s eyes adjusted, a sense of unease washed over him. The faces were vaguely familiar, though his mind couldn''t quite place them. Then it clicked¡ªthese were the tenants. The people he had seen in passing, in the halls of the building, perhaps. Now, they were all here, watching, silent witnesses to whatever was about to unfold. They are all in their undergarments, just like himself. A pair of eyes met his briefly from the crowd¡ªIvan and the supervisor, both standing at the back, their heads lowered. Their expressions mirrored the same confusion and helplessness that churned in K¡¯s chest. But before he could fully process the sight, his attention was snapped to a raised platform at the far end of the room. A tall, imposing figure stood on the podium. The man¡¯s eyes locked onto K, his voice boomed, mplified by the acoustics of the vast room.. ¡°Mr. K,¡± he began, ¡°I am the judge, and I will therefore listen to your statements.¡± ¡°Your¡­ greatness?¡± he hesitated, unsure of the proper way to address him. The word felt hollow in his mouth, foreign and wrong. ¡°I¡­ I was here mistakenly. I am innocent. Please, I don¡¯t belong here.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°Mistake?¡± The judge raised his voice, ¡°No one is here by mistake, Mr. K. We are all guilty in our own ways. Whether you admit it or not.¡± ¡°Does that mean you are guilty too?¡± K shot back in a shaken voice. ¡°Yes,¡± he replied, ¡°I will be guilty if I do not perform my duty as I have been told. Now, let us proceed.¡± K suddenly starts to laugh: ¡°You¡¯re not performing your duty if you don''t gather proper evidence and sentence the right person.¡± The judge¡¯s cold gaze never wavered. "Mr. K, aside from the guilt we¡¯ve already established, we must also point out that while other passengers were staring at their phones, you were simply... staring into space. That is certainly odd behavior." K¡¯s mind raced, "So, the real reason is that I didn¡¯t stare at my phone?" "Yes, you were thinking, and thinking, as we¡¯ve determined, is dangerous." the judge replied "What are you talking about?¡± K¡¯s voice filled with disbelief, ¡°You¡¯ve got nothing. You¡¯re just grasping at straws." The judge continued without missing a beat, "We also detected that you looked at an official poster about anti-staff abuse at the underground station." "So what? I looked at a poster. Is that a crime now?" "We noticed you laughed at it," the judge¡¯s tone remained even "Such thinking¡ªmocking, undermining¡ªis dangerous. It reflects criminal tendencies." K¡¯s voice turned more defiant, "So, I¡¯m not allowed to think for myself? I¡¯m guilty because I thought?" "We are simply investigating the reasons behind your need to be sentenced. We are not concerned with your innocence. That is irrelevant." "So I¡¯m innocent, but you¡¯re just finding excuses to condemn me?" K cannot repress his anger, he shouted every word. The judge sighed, "We are following the rules, Mr. K. This is how this court operates." He paused, then continued, "There were clues, of course. But gathering clues takes time. Time is scarce. And so, the court has ruled: Everyone here is guilty. This is the only reasonable conclusion." The judge carried on, "Tomorrow, there will be more murders. More crimes. More trials. But trials require rulings, and rulings require time. We do not have time. So, we erase. It is efficient." They didn¡¯t need justice; they just needed efficiency. Transit K was the last one to be sentenced. Because simply after the judge concluded his case, the rest of the crowd all stood up, one by one they left the courtroom in the order they came in, heads down, placing their cuffed hands in front of them. K remained seated, the weight of the room pressing on him. He watched them go, each figure retreating into the shadows of the corridor. Why is he even sentenced? Was it simply because he existed¡ªbecause he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? ¡°Move, you¡± a man gave him a hard nudge in the back. For some unknown reason, he refused to stand up. K felt himself act out of character. He was supposed to go, supposed to follow the others, but something in him¡ªsome stubborn, unfathomable part¡ªheld him in place. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Then, without warning, strong hands gripped his arms, pulling him up with force. His body obeyed against his will, and he was thrust forward, into the sea of people that flowed steadily toward the door. His feet moved of their own accord, but his mind was elsewhere¡ªlost, adrift in the absurdity of it all. K refused to lower his head. What had he become all these years? The endless grind of work, the constant bowing in the office, and now this¡ªa place where he was either an office worker or a criminal, stripped of any identity beyond what this court had assigned him. Why had he allowed himself to be called "K"? Why had he abandoned his full name, Kane? What happened to the person he once was? His body moved, almost on its own, through the crowd. He didn''t hear the murmurs of voices around him. He didn''t notice as they shuffled out the door, where a line of priests stood, repeating their short passages of final blessing, their words hollow in their routine. All streamlined, all maximized for efficiency. He already knew where he was going next. Finale They all move down the stairs, and the air is mushy and damp. Then they were asked to stop, and a white mask was placed on their head. They cannot see anymore. ¡°Platform one, the next tube will be in one minute¡± K realise they are in the underground station, all stood on a platform One by one, they were pushed down the platform. There are shrieks, cries and horrors. Time had lost meaning as the train¡¯s sound filled the cavernous space of the underground. The clamor of life had been replaced by the noise of indifference. He had been waiting for the absurdity to cease, for the world to return to some form of logic, but there was no escape from the void. The trial had been nothing more than a performance¡ªa show to maintain the appearance of order. As he stood there, hands trembling, the voice of reason¡ªa voice that had long been drowned in the relentless rush of the world¡ªwas silenced by the finality of the ruling. He was no longer K, no longer an individual. He was a cog, disposable and forgettable, ready to be cast aside. The rumble of the train grew louder. K stood frozen, repeating the words under his breath, as if they were the last fragments of something that could save him, that could tether him to the reality he had once known.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. "My name is Kane Abbot. I am from Wiltshire originally. I like football..." Each word seemed more fragile than the last, but K kept repeating it. It felt sacred, almost like a prayer¡ªa desperate attempt to define himself before it was too late. A plea to the world that he existed, that he mattered, no matter how small or insignificant. The train, indifferent to his presence, sped by with a sharp hiss of air. The man in front of him, another faceless casualty, was swept away without a sound, his body absorbed by the roaring metal.. "My name is Kane Abbot. I am from Wiltshire originally. I like football..." K repeated the words again, the rhythm of them becoming a mantra. And then, as the train thundered toward him, a realization washed over him¡ªa brutal, undeniable truth. It didn¡¯t matter. None of it mattered. The world would continue turning, just as it always had. People would get on the trains, rush to their jobs, curse the delays, and never once pause to question. K, and the others, would be swallowed up by it. They would fade into nothing, forgotten, as though they had never been. The train roared by, uncaring, and the crowd around him remained oblivious. No one noticed him, no one cared. K felt a strange sense of clarity, the absurdity of it all settling into him like an old, familiar weight. The light from the train blazed forward, and K closed his eyes. It felt like salvation. Perhaps, in this moment, he could finally let go, could finally surrender to it all. Maybe he would wake up one day and laugh at the absurdity of everything, laugh at the world that had never cared. It all ended for K now, and the broadcast in the station suddenly started ¡°There was a road incident detected, all underground closed, passengers are advised to travel via alternative routes.¡± And all the displays are updated to the same information.