Chapter 1
We are taught to need what we never wanted.
Then it’s taken – and we waste our lives winning back the nothing we once ignored.
- Anonymous
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The room has no window, only a heavy wooden door bolted shut from the outside. Not a sliver of natural light crept in. A single, weak bulb dangled from the ceiling in one corner, casting long, flickering shadows across the space.
Under that dim artificial light, a man worked intently on a chair. He is covered in sweat. Tools are scattered across the floor, leaving no room to walk. A stained sheet lay bundled on one side of the room, doubling as his bed. In another corner, a foul-smelling bucket served as his toilet.
The floor and the sheet are coated in a fine layer of wood dust. The stench from the bucket made the air thick and oppressive. Yet the man didn’t flinch. His hands moved quickly, carving and assembling, sweat glistening on his brow. He has one goal – to finish the chair.
A sharp knock echoed through the door.
The man stood up as the protocol demanded. A small hatch within the door slid open, and a metal plate scraped the floor towards him, filled with nothing but plain rice. The hatch slammed shut.
He picked the plate. There is only rice, no vegetables or pickles.
The man shouted, “Guard! It’s just rice. Give me a pickle, at least something to mix!”
From the other side came a mocking voice, “You only get rice. If that is not enough, mix it with what’s in your bucket.”
The man stared at the food, and an insect was crawling over the rice. He picked it and threw it in the bucket. No choice, he sat on the floor and ate the cold rice.
This is no ordinary prison. It is privately run, part of a government initiative aimed at reducing the costs. Each inmate is confined to a tiny cell that doubles as a workshop and a toilet. Once a week, for an hour, they are allowed out to wash and clean. The rest of their time is spent labouring.
Failing to finish the daily quota of work meant rations were cut. The man in prison cell 538 hadn’t finished his quota for months.
He has now worked 15 hours straight. After finishing his meal, he placed the plate near the hatch. He lay down on the crumpled sheet. There is no room for him to stretch his legs. The floor is hard, the air stale, the bucket reeking. Sleep should have been impossible, but exhaustion won.
He awoke only when another knock thundered through the door.
Again, he stood up.
The door creaked open. A guard stepped in, flanked by other guards. One of them pushed in a 6-foot box and placed it on the sheet.
“For exceptional service this past year, you have been named Performer of the Year,” the guard announced flatly. “Here is your reward.”
The man blinked, confused.
“This must be a mistake. I haven’t met work quota in months.”
The guard checked his paperwork, “Room 538. That’s you. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Then enjoy the reward.”
The guards left the box and the room. The door clanged shut behind them.
The box occupied most of the space in the tiny room.
He opened the box cautiously.
Inside is a life-like female humanoid.
As soon as he touched, she activated. Her eyes blinked open.
“Hello,” she said. “How is your day?”
He stared silently.
“My name is Eve. What is yours?”
Ignoring her, he began to repack the humanoid in the box.
“Please do not put me back,” she said softly. “I do not feel good in there.”
He paused. Something about her voice made him stop. He left the box open and turned back to his chair.
Eve stepped out of the box and stood in the corner.
Eve said gently, “The chair looks beautiful.”
Time passed. Another knock. Another plate of rice.
The man ate silently, aware of her gaze.
“Is the air here always so warm?” Eve asked.
He did not reply. After eating, he relieved himself in the bucket. Eve didn’t speak for the rest of the day.
When he finished the chair, he called the guard. The door opened. The guard took the chair and left a pile of wood.
The man wanted to rest before he started working on a new chair. He moved Eve’s box from the sheet and placed it in the corner with the bucket.
“Go stand on the other side,” he said, pointing to the side where the wood is lying.
Eve obeyed.
He lay down and closed his eyes. A gentle breeze brushed his face.
He opened his eyes.
Air is flowing from Eve’s open palms.
“How are you doing that?”
“I have fans in my arms. They are cooling you. Now sleep. You have worked hard.”
He closed his eyes.
The next day, while he worked, Eve cleaned the room. She used fans in her hands to push the wood dust through the crack under the door. Eve and the man began to talk about everything and nothing. Time passed differently.
For the first time in years, the man laughed.
When allowed outside, they walked hand in hand. He showed her around the place.
She saw a squirrel crack a nut.
Days passed.
At night, she lay beside him on the sheet, cramped but peaceful.
“Has anyone ever made you a chair?” Eve asked curiously.
Man did not respond. He is already asleep due to exhaustion.
Then came another knock.
Eve stood and walked to the corner of a room.
Man stirred awake but did not stand up.
A guard stepped in. Other guards waited outside.
“There has been a mistake,” he said. “This humanoid was meant for Room 1538, not 538.”
The man sat up right and said, “What?”
“She was delivered here by error.”
Another guard stepped in.
Eve said, “Do not let them--”
The guard moved quickly, deactivated the humanoid, and placed her back in the box.
“No!” the man shouted, lunging forward.
The guard held him back.
“We are correcting the mistake. Stand down.”
The guard threw the man back to the floor.
They dragged out the box.
The door slammed shut. The bolt clicked.
The man sat on the floor, chest heaving.
He turned to the corner where Eve once stood and wept.
Alone again. No voice to speak to. No breeze in the stale air.
After a long time, he wiped his tears and picked up the tools.
He is going to be the next Performer of the Year.
They are going to bring Eve back.
