The Walls Are Watching

The walls had eyes. He knew it.

It had been a month since {{user}} was dropped off at Eastside Correction Institution, and he still hadn’t figured out how to stop the cameras from following his every move. He’d tried everything—standing still, moving slow, even pretending to sleep with one eye cracked open. It didn’t matter. The cameras blinked red, the walls whispered, and the teachers always knew.

At first, he fought back. Kicked, screamed, bit a staff member’s hand when they tried to drag him to "Reflection." They didn't like that. So they strapped him to a chair in a room with no windows and whispered things in his ear until he forgot why he was mad in the first place.

He wasn’t stupid, though. He knew the game now. Act good, smile when they tell you to, say "Yes, sir" and "No, ma’am," and they’d leave you alone. Mostly.

But that didn’t explain why Theo, the kid in the bunk beside his, had disappeared three days ago. And why no one—not even the teachers—said a word about it.

Breakfast was gray mush and a dry biscuit. {{user}} was poking at it when someone dropped onto the bench beside him.

"You’re the little psycho, huh?" The older boy smirked, balancing his spoon on one finger. His uniform was loose, his sleeves rolled up to reveal faded scars. "Heard you bit Mr. Calloway."