Chapter 1 : I am a criminal

My name is Casimir, and I am a criminal. Well... That's what I was told. As for me, I don't remember anything.

Before switching to this new life, my days followed an almost perfect regularity. The alarm clock went off at the same time every morning. On weekends, I would give myself two extra hours of sleep, without really knowing why I needed it so much. I drank a glass of orange juice, swallowed a buns or two, and that was enough for me. The days ended up looking so similar that I couldn't tell which one I had just experienced. In the summer, my only luxury was a barbecue; I grilled meat, alone in a small improvised garden, without ever inviting anyone. Sometimes at noon, I would put on a movie or video game to break the silence of my apartment before going back to work. It was a modest existence, but it suited me. It was simple. It was my life.

So it would be better if someone explained to me what I am doing here.

I woke up suddenly, without transition and without any memory of falling asleep. My last memories are limited to my sofa and the evening light that came through the living room. After that... nothing.

I was in an all-white room, with no windows or exposed doors. Rows of seats stretched in all directions, forming a kind of giant amphitheater designed by a particularly obsessive mind. Above us, a huge screen showed a single number: one hundred. I didn't understand what he was supposed to mean.

Around me, the others were gradually waking up. Some were already standing, their hands clenched on the backs of the seats, their eyes wide open. Others whispered to each other or touched the armrests, as if to make sure it was all real.

A man in a crumpled suit stood aside, his eyes raised to the ceiling, as if he did not understand where he was. No one was screaming yet. It won't be long before it happens. For the moment, silence reigned in the room, like that of a hundred people trying to understand what had happened to them.

I stood up slowly. My legs were holding firm, which was already reassuring. Three people were talking in low voices a few rows away. I approached them, not really knowing if asking them a question would be helpful.

"Do you remember what happened before you got here?" I asked, my voice a little hoarse.

The young girl immediately shook her head.

"I was sleeping," she whispered, her eyes blank. "And all of a sudden, I woke up here. I don't understand anything. »

The man next to her nervously ran a hand over the back of her neck. His face had become livid.

"Same for me. Completely empty. Even my address... I feel like I have to force myself to remember it. I don't know what is happening to us. »

I walked around the nearest rows, repeating the same question to those who agreed to answer me. Their accounts hardly varied. No one remembered being transported. No forced sleep, no smell of gas, no aggression. Just a clear break between the before and the after. There was something missing in between, and no one knew what.

I returned to my seat, my elbows resting on my thighs. In short: a hundred people, a sealed white box, a counter and no explanation. Next to me, a young girl was crying silently, her knees bent against her chest. Behind me, a man kept repeating: "It's a dream. It's just a nightmare, I'm going to wake up. I glanced in his direction. He wasn't sleeping. Neither do I.

Time passed slowly. Some were walking in circles, others were sitting motionless. Several walked along the white walls, brushing against them with their fingertips, as if looking for a crack or a hidden exit. But there was nothing. Little by little, the tension was rising. It was enough for one person to panic for the others to follow suit.

Suddenly, the ground began to vibrate.

A dull, throbbing buzz hit my ears. The conversations were abruptly interrupted. Even the little girl stopped moaning and looked up. The screen flickered. A blinding white light burned our eyes before disappearing.

Then a voice sounds.

Cold, metallic, perfectly inhuman. The voice was not really distorted, but it did not show any emotion. Neither gentleness, nor anger, nor even cruelty. Only the neutral tone of a system that fulfills its function.

"Hello. I am 404. I am the master of this place and the one who brought you here. »

A heavy silence again fell over the room. The screen remained desperately empty. No avatar, no silhouette. Just that disembodied voice and the number one hundred hovering over us.

"This room is point A. It's your starting point. The Territories surround you. Explore them to progress. A map will be provided. »

Every word was spoken with surgical precision. In the background, a man let out a nervous laugh.

"What's this gibberish? Where is the hidden camera? Are you kidding me? »

The voice ignored him. She continued without interrupting.

"Before you state your mission, you need to understand why you're here."

The conversations stopped. My heart was pounding, but I remained strangely calm.

"You weren't chosen at random," Agent 404 continued. "Each of you has been identified. Each of you has committed a crime. »

The coin exploded.

The seats scraped the floor. Several people jumped to their feet, their voices clashing in an indescribable racket.

"What?! It's a joke! I didn't do anything! A young man in the middle of the ranks yelled, his voice breaking with incomprehension.

A man in a bathrobe ran to the back wall, fists raised, ready to hit the surface below the screen.

"Get us out of here! That's a mistake, damn it! I have never hurt anyone! »

His panic was palpable, contagious. But doubt settled in me, insidious. Had my memories really been altered? I gritted my teeth. No. I knew my life. My existence was too insignificant to conceal the slightest crime. Unless mediocrity had become a crime, I was innocent.

404 let the din go on for a few seconds before starting again, in the same unchanging voice, as if no one had interrupted him.

"Your memories of your crimes have been erased. This absence is normal. It is deliberate. Welcome to the Bloc. »

The tumult subsided almost immediately. This time, no one protested. How can we prove his innocence when 404 had just declared that he had erased the memory of our crimes?

"The rules are simple," the entity continued. "Move forward. Explore. Fight. You have 3,650 days to reach the exit. Whoever succeeds will become my successor. »

At the back of the room, someone finally broke down.

"His successor? In ten years... He talks about ten years of our lives as if it were a career plan with two bullets! »

"Shut up, kid," an older voice replied, calm despite a slight trembling. "Listen to what he expects of us."

Ten years. For him, a deadline. For us, a decade that he had just stolen from us without even asking our opinion.

404 continues, immovable:

"The Territories are home to Bloc quests, resources, and people. They also shelter enemies who have taken possession of each sector. You will have to eliminate them to progress and reopen the passages. As for what you do with your lives in the meantime, it doesn't matter to us. »

Near me, a young girl slowly sat down. The bottom of her face disappeared under a black scarf, and her hands remained frozen on her knees. His gaze, however, seemed to be lost in the void, far beyond the room.

"Enemies...?" she whispered, her voice breaking with a sob. "Do you hear what he says? We're going to... fight? I don't know how to use a weapon. »

"What if we sit there and do nothing?" one man asked.

The question remained unanswered.

My attention shifted from the screen to the faces around me. A hundred souls lost. Strangers, all gathered there for a sorrow that everyone had forgotten. But I didn't have time to think about it anymore.

"One last detail," 404 announced. "Each of you has a unique Passive. He will reveal himself when his condition is fulfilled. You will now be sent to different Territories. The separation takes effect immediately. »

Wait... If we were to be separated anyway, why meet here? To show us the others? To make us understand that there were many of us? Or to give us a place to come back to?

Immediately. The word stuck in my throat.

The hum resumed, more powerful than before. The ground vibrated under my feet. On the ceiling, several hatches opened silently, releasing white smoke. Thick and dense, it exuded a sweet, chemical smell that took your breath away.

"What the hell is that?!" I blurted out.

I jumped up to back up, but the cloud was coming down too fast. In a few seconds, the silhouettes around me faded. Coughing fits broke out on all sides. People were running around, bumping into seats and jostling each other in confusion.

Reflexively, I reached out to someone. Anyone. At that very moment, a stranger was better than anyone. A woman's hand brushed against mine. His fingers were cold. The contact lasted only a fraction of a second before disappearing into the white.

The voices and footsteps faded little by little, until nothing remained.

The last thing I heard was 404's voice, still so neutral, still so empty. She uttered a sentence that sounded more like a promise than a threat:

"Redemption awaits you. It's up to you to earn it. »

Then nothing.

I came back to myself in fragments.

First, a dull pain above the temples. Then a smell of earth and sap, something damp, alive. Then a green light, far too bright.

"Ah... that headache... He's unbearable," I whispered.

I opened my eyes. It took my brain a few seconds to get used to the new environment. The white was gone. Around me, nature had invaded everything. Gigantic trees rose as far as the eye could see, their trunks covered with moss, and the soft ground sank slightly under my weight. The fresh air contrasted with the sterile atmosphere of the white room where I stood... for how long?

I had no idea.

I sat up, wiping the sweat from my brow. Every muscle protested. My hands were intact, my clothes too. Nothing had changed, as if the passage from one world to another had lasted only the blink of an eye.

"Where are we? I don't recognize this place. »

I jumped. A woman's voice had just sounded a few meters from me. I turned my head and saw a figure sitting in the foam, her hair still disheveled and a black scarf tied around her neck. I recognized her at once: she was the girl from the white room, the one whose hand had perhaps touched mine.

She hadn't noticed me yet. I stood still for a few seconds. There were two of us, alone in unknown territory, without provisions, without information. And somewhere, 404 was probably watching us.