Aether's Legacy | Elysium [Dreamnotfound]

Walls

"I'd like to know what it is you think you're here for, George."

With a scoff, George crossed his arms and pressed his back against the seat. He glared at the woman in front of him and said, "Because I almost killed a man on accident and you think locking me in a cage is the best solution."

Her office was freezing. The walls were lined with portraits of cities around the world and faraway vacation lands. All to paint a make-believe fantasy of freedom and a good life. As if anyone on this stranded piece of land in the middle of the sea would even have a chance of stepping out.

Wrinkly skin, beady eyes, and a black pimple stared back at him. The metal name tag pinned to her coat read 'Agatha.'

She was the facility director (or so one of the senior patients at the waiting room had told him on his first night). She had the last say in the admission and dismissal of the patients at Elysium—not that they did the second very often. Apparently, it was a rare occurrence to have a one-on-one meeting with her.

"It means they're considering you for Unit Three."

"Unit Three?" he had asked.

"That's where they keep the crazies," the man let out a dry chuckle.

At George's bewildered expression, the man elaborated, "The ones who've lost their minds. Who can't control themselves no more." The man eyed him down. "You don't look like a crazie though. What got you in here, kid?"

He didn't answer, and not long after, they escorted him to his room in sector one with familiar cuffs around his wrists. It was a cramped space with a tiny twin-sized bed, a dresser, and more cameras than reflective surfaces.

"Dining hours are posted in the lobby," the nurse told him. "Social hours are between ten in the morning and seven in the afternoon. You're only allowed in your sector's lobby after that, not the common area. Lights out is at ten. Be in your room by then. If you have any problems, take it up with the sector head. Your file says you have a meeting with the director tomorrow at seven in the morning so be up on time."

He was left with a black suitcase, two cuffs around his wrists and trapped inside a room that brought back unpleasant childhood memories. The next morning, the director greeted him with a fake smile and some welcoming lies.

"This isn't a prison, George. This is a rehabilitation facility to help you return as a functioning member of society."

"People on this island don't get out, kid. Unless you're lucky enough to be transferred to Unit One on the mainland, you'll probably be taking your last breaths in this hell hole," the man had told him.

"I reckon that's going to take a while, isn't it?" he replied.

Agatha didn't seem to care much for his offhand remarks. Instead, she readjusted herself on her desk, interlocked her fingers and leaned her chin on her hands. Then she responded, "Our facility houses some of the more difficult cases around the world, so many of our patients spend a good part of their life here. There are only a select number of facilities that rise up to this challenge. We are by far the most respected."

"Is it because you imprison people with the guise of helping them control their powers? People who've been told all their lives that they're dangerous—that they should sacrifice their own lives for the sake of others." He raised his wrists and pointed at the muters around them. "You haven't let me out of these cuffs once since I stepped in here."

Agatha didn't respond instantly. He studied him with a keen gaze. Then she said, "This place will be what you make of it, George. If you decide it's a prison, then it will be. But you can also take this as an opportunity for growth."