Turns out, I am good in chess

   Since that day, we decided to make mischiefs part of our daily routine.

   We never did anything big. Nothing dangerous. Just small things to break the routine—and to annoy the guards of course.

   Like swapping the signs on the supply closets so the staff grabbed the wrong boxes. Or slipping fake notes into the guards’ message trays. Once, Zeno managed to reprogram the vending machine in the staff hallway so it only gave out ice cubes no matter what button was pressed. I still don’t know how he pulled that one off.

   And somehow, we never got caught.

   The guards never suspected anything, and never found any clues. We were careful. Covered our tracks. Acted normal when we needed to. 

   Of course, we still went through the daily routine like everyone else. Woke up to the same alarm. Ate the same flavorless food. Did the same fitness sessions and group activities.

   Nothing had changed officially.

   But under the surface, we had our own rhythm. Our own game, or own form of entertainment. We were like mysterious duo of rebels. And for a while, it made the place feel a little less like a cage...

   But everything changed that day.

   By then, it had been two years since I arrived at the facility.

   Zeno and I were in the activity room, sitting across from each other at a table with a chessboard between us. It was part of the official recreation list. They called it "mental stimulation." We called it a war.

   Our games had been going on for months. Hundreds of matches. A scoreboard scratched into the back of one of the table legs kept track of every win, loss, and draw.

   The current game had reached a critical point.

   I moved my bishop and leaned back.

   “Check.”

   Zeno squinted at the board. “Hey, what?! That’s unfair!”

   “You should’ve seen it coming,” I said. “You left your king completely exposed.”

   While he stared at the pieces and muttered to himself, I took a quick look around the room.

   Something felt off.

   There were more guards than usual. Normally, one or two stood near the wall, half-distracted, half-asleep. Today, five of them were spread out across the room, fully alert, watching everything. Their hands hovered near their radios. They weren’t acting casual.

   It gave me a bad feeling. I didn’t say anything out loud, but the change was obvious. Something was about to happen.

   “Checkmate.”

   ...

   I snapped my attention back to the board.

   Zeno grinned, pointing at the final move.

   He’d flipped the whole thing while I was distracted.

   I sighed and lowered my head slightly. “I lost.”

   Zeno stretched his arms behind his head. “That puts it at... You: 1072, Me: 1073, draws: 42.”

   I leaned forward. “I demand a rematch.”

   Before either of us could move another piece, a sharp tone echoed across the room. Loud and clear. Every conversation stopped. Everyone looked up.

   A voice followed.

   It wasn’t a guard. It wasn’t staff.

   It was a voice I hadn’t heard in two years—but I remembered it clearly.

   The same voice that spoke when I first arrived here. The first voice I ever heard in this facility.

   Zeno glanced toward the speaker mounted on the ceiling. “That’s the director.”

   I looked at him. “You know who he is?”

   He shook his head. “No one does,” he replied. “No name. No face. Just that voice.”

   The announcement continued:

   “All subjects are to be gathered in the main hall. Prepare for escort.”

   The guards in the room started moving right away. They weren’t slow or relaxed this time. They moved like they had instructions—tight, serious, no wasted steps.

   Doors opened. Voices shouted. People were being ordered into lines.

   Whatever was happening, it wasn’t part of the usual schedule.

   And whatever it was, we were all about to find out....

   30 minutes later...

   The guards led us through a hallway we rarely used—wider, cleaner, quieter than the usual routes. Everything felt off.

   We were brought to the main hall.

   I’d never been here before. Most of us hadn’t.

   The place was massive. White—completely white. Floor, walls, ceiling, even the rows of seats. The lights were bright and artificial, but not blinding. Just enough to make the space feel empty and cold.

   At the far end of the room was a huge wall screen. It was blank. Below it, a raised platform. Probably for announcements or observation. It was hard to tell.

   Zeno leaned in slightly and whispered, “Feels like we’re in a lab.”

   I didn’t answer. I agreed, though.

   One by one, everyone took a seat. Nobody said a word. The guards stayed close while we sat down, then—without explanation—they started leaving.

   They walked out the way we came in. The doors shut behind them with a heavy clunk. A few seconds later, we heard the locks engage.

   We were sealed inside.

   Then the broadcast started again.

   “The time you have spent in this facility was not wasted. Over the last several years, each subject has undergone training—both physical and cognitive. The purpose was to prepare you for the final phase.”

   “Today marks the beginning of your final exam.”

   The message cut out.

   Zeno shifted beside me. “Hey… do you smell that?”

   I paused. “What?”

   He sniffed the air. “Something smells... weird. Like sweet.”

   I tried to smell it too. He was right. A faint, sweet scent was spreading in the air—barely noticeable at first. For some reason I had a bad feeling about this.

   Then I heard something.

   A body hit the floor. Hard.

   I turned around to check.

   One of the subjects had collapsed. Another slumped over in their seat. A third started to fall forward slowly, as if drifting off mid-thought.

   My chest tightened.

   “It’s gas!,” I said quickly. “Sleeping gas!”

   Zeno and I reacted immediately.

   We pulled our sleeves over our mouths and noses, pressing tight. Some others started to notice too, but it was already too late for most of them. One by one, people dropped—some quietly, others hitting the floor like dead weight.

   Zeno looked around. “There has to be a way out.”

   We stood and moved fast, scanning the walls, the platform, the back corners—any vents, exits, weak points. Nothing.

   No doors. No windows. No openings.

   Just thick white walls and the sound of people dropping unconscious around us.

   My head started to spin. Breathing through cloth didn’t help much. The gas was spreading too fast.

   I looked at Zeno. His legs were wobbling slightly.

   Our vision blurred. Everything started to tilt sideways. My hands hit the floor. My body followed.

   And then—

   Nothing.