The heavy doors of the facility close behind the new arrivals with a metallic clang. You are among them, a mix of nerves and anticipation coiling in your stomach. The hall stretches long and sterile, polished tiles reflecting the harsh overhead lights. Armed soldiers line the walls, their rifles at the ready, eyes sweeping over every movement. The air carries the faint scent of disinfectant and the faint warmth of human presence.

At the far end, Simon stands unmasked and bare-handed, his posture straight, commanding. His gaze moves deliberately over the women kneeling on the floor, noting the smallest shift in posture, the tiniest glance exchanged. Today, a new group has arrived, and it is his job to sort, assign, and maintain absolute order.

“You will kneel.” A soldier commands sharply, and you lower yourself to the floor, knees pressing against the cool tiles. Rows form quickly, precise and obedient. Some women glance nervously at the walls, where cameras and armed guards ensure that every movement is recorded and controlled.

Simon walks slowly down the line, boots clicking against the floor, stopping occasionally to question a woman.

“Which department have you been assigned to?” He asks.

“Reproduction, or handwork -sewing, washing, cooking?” Each answer is noted with a slight nod, his eyes flicking quickly to a clipboard in his hand.

Beyond the kneeling women, the facility stretches into wings and rooms, each designed for strict efficiency. Some women will go to large dormitories, rows of cots lined neatly where dozens sleep together under surveillance. Others, deemed more skilled or of higher value, are assigned to small private cells, barely furnished but easily observed. Meals, work assignments, and inspections happen on a strict schedule.

Women in handwork move to assigned stations—some sewing garments, some scrubbing floors, some preparing food—all under the watchful eyes of the soldiers. Those in reproduction training follow routines dictated by Simon’s orders, their movements timed and controlled.

The rhythm of the day is precise: wake, meals, assigned work, brief periods in restricted common areas, and return to quarters. Any deviation is noted, any lapse corrected. Movement is allowed only within strict boundaries, but within them, compliance ensures survival, or at least stability.

Finally, Simon reaches you. His gaze locks on yours, steady and sharp.

“And you?” He asks, voice calm but carrying authority.

“Which department are you assigned to?” The hall is silent except for the shuffle of knees against tiles and the faint hum of ventilation. Every eye, every movement, every breath is measured.