During what he assumed was day two, the various bodily sensations had given way to hunger pains which gnawed mercilessly at him. He could only focus on his breathing and wait as the line between sleep and wakefulness became blurred. He was drifting in the abyss with no grasp of time, anchored only by his loathing for Scheffler. His rage was boundless, but his body had limits. Still, he was alive, and he was holding out. Screw him, he thought again, shivering uncontrollably. No way he was going to win.
“Not a peep in three days,” said Scheffler, phone to his face while leaning back on his chair with one leg up on his metal desk.
“Total darkness and no food or water? Are you sure he’s still alive?” replied Francois.
“Yep, we’ve got infrared cameras in the room. He’s sitting in some yoga pose. Every once in a while he does some stretching, otherwise he just sits there and dozes in and out.”
“How did this all start exactly?”
“Well, I was helping our young friend Piotr Paleski harden up a bit, and that bastard Frederich decided it was too much for his precious eyes.”
“Explain what ‘harden up’ means.”
“We were marching at high altitude, and he lost his breath. He was slowing down the unit. He said he wasn’t going to make it. So I gave him a helping kick to get down the mountain easier. That was when Abel came up from behind and almost bowled me over. Something’s not right with that kid.”
“Is all of this necessary?”
“You’re joking, right? He’s lucky I didn’t break his kneecaps. Or at least send him packing.”
“That’s not an option,” said Francois.
“I know, I know, he’s Kalakia’s golden child,” replied Scheffler. “You guys never get this interested in a recruit, do you?”
“What happens next?”
“Same thing that happened to the ones before him. He breaks, crawls out of his shit infested hole, begs me for forgiveness, and we get on with it.”
“Kalakia is not going to like this. If the boy dies in there, it’s on you. I hope you understand this.”
“Yeah, and if he gets away with what he did, the precedent is set, and we both know what happens after that. Revolt. You want that?”
The line went quiet.
“I’ll call you back in an hour,” said Francois before the connection closed with a click.
It was hard to know exactly how long he had been inside. It felt like two days, which meant it was probably closer to three or four. He had read all about it. People in total isolation end up with a warped sense of time. Experiments proved that without stimulation, the mind eventually caves. Without a psychological line of defence, a person gets a glimpse at insanity. A front row seat in extreme cases. Anxiety, terror and hallucinations were not uncommon. He would avoid that if he could. He worked to keep his mind busy by trying to recall every country in the world. He traversed the map in his head, beginning with Europe and travelling eastward toward Central Asia. Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan. He shot back to Europe. He had forgotten Slovenia. Capital: Ljubljana. And San Marino and The Vatican, both states within a state. Back to Asia. Kyrgyzstan. Mongolia. China. Afghanistan. Pakistan. Eventually he completed all of Asia and The Pacific, The Middle East and the entire American Continent all the way down to Chile and Argentina. Africa, he knew well, including Lesotho, another enclave. He was doing a final sweep of the continents when his mind wandered. He began naming all the planets in the Solar System as well as their moons. Jupiter had too many to remember. Fifty or so, he believed. Pluto had something like five. Hydra and Charon were two of them. He left the Solar System and drifted further into the vastness of the Milky Way.
He woke up with a flinch. How long had he been asleep? He hugged himself and began rocking in place. Was it the cold or the anxiety causing his body to shake? His insides were burning.
“Think!” said a voice from the corner, causing him to jump in his place. He paused and leaned his head to the side.
“Kraas?” he found himself whispering.
“Come, Frederich. I know this isn’t all you got. What’s your next move?”
He began shaking violently. The burning in his body lifted like a fever. His palms and armpits grew sweaty. Where the hell was that voice coming from?
“Oh, nice try. But where’s your power? Stop overestimating me. Push! Harder! More! More!”
Frederich shook his head in disbelief, still shivering.
“Kraas?” he called again. “Kraas, is that you?”
He was hallucinating. He had to be. But the voice was there. He could hear it. Clearly.
“Hey! Hold on. Ugh! Ah, you sneak!"
Finally, he understood. It was his memory in replay. He even knew the precise time. He was fourteen years old, and they had been grappling on the grass outside their home. Kraas had let him win. Or at least it seemed so. Kraas had insisted for days that Frederich had outplayed him. Frederich often looked back on it. Did Kraas fool him into believing in his own strength? Or did he really outgrow Kraas? It was difficult to know. Either way, it had the desired effect.
“You see? There’s always a path forward, Frederich. Always. Never give up,” said Kraas.
Frederich felt suddenly warm inside. His eyes glazed over with tears. The unconscious mind was a wondrous thing, he thought. It was comforting him with Kraas’ voice. The calmer he grew the more the voice faded until he dozed off again.
“Push it! Let’s go, let’s go!”
Scheffler walked among his recruits while they completed a set of push-ups in the training hall. The recruits were arranged in rows of ten along the mattresses, all dressed in their black training pants and black t-shirts. Scheffler stopped in front of Piotr Paleski, whose chin and arm were scratched all over from his
