(Viewpoint: Chetan)
The mask doesn't move.
Me neither.
We remain like this for several seconds.
Separated by this immense translucent pane of glass.
The silence was so profound that I ended up ignoring it and lying back down on the bed.
The fatigue had returned.
Then...
Psshh...
A breath of air crosses the room.
I immediately turn my head.
The two large doors separated.
She slowly moves away.
The opening is so discreet that I only notice the movement at the last moment.
The window... is open.
My heart rate increased slightly.
I dug my hands into the mattress.
My arms are trembling.
My torso leaves the bed.
My legs slide down to the ground.
The contact is icy.
I immediately waver.
My muscles are protesting.
My knees are about to give way.
I remain clinging to the edge of the bed for a few seconds, until the world stops turning.
Breathe.
Again.
One step.
Then a second one.
Every movement costs me an absurd effort.
It was as if my body had forgotten how to walk.
I finally raise my eyes towards the opening.
The mask is no longer there.
...
Party?
Yet I didn't hear any noise.
I'm taking another step.
Then another one.
The silence is still just as heavy.
– ...
But something brushed against my arm.
I turned around abruptly.
He's here.
Less than a meter behind me.
I didn't hear anything.
I didn't see anything.
He simply appeared.
I instinctively back away.
My back almost hit the door.
The mask tilts the head slightly.
He still doesn't speak.
He's looking at me.
Then he moves forward.
Slowly.
Without aggression.
Without hesitation.
As if he already knew my every move.
I instinctively extend a hand in front of me.
– Don't come near.
No reaction.
One more step.
Then another one.
Before I could even back away any further...
A gloved hand gently grasps my wrist.
I shudder.
The contact is cold.
Very cold.
The mask slowly rotates my arm.
He observes the infusion.
Then my hand.
My fingers.
He opens them.
Close them.
As if I were an object.
I abruptly withdrew my arm.
He cannot resist.
He simply relaxes.
I'm backing away.
The space between us lasts only a second.
He was already pressed against me again.
Another hand touches my shoulder.
Then my neck.
My face.
My hair.
He slowly runs his fingers along my cheek.
It goes all the way up to my forehead.
Move down towards my chin.
I remain frozen.
Not out of fear.
Due to a lack of understanding.
What is he doing?
Why is he touching me like that?
I push his hand away.
This time with more force.
– Stop.
The mask doesn't even seem to understand.
He tilts his head slightly.
Then start again.
He placed a hand against my chest.
Press gently.
As if to feel my breath.
My shoulders tense up.
I take another step back but find myself stuck against the door.
He moves forward.
Always.
It reduces the distance.
Again.
Again.
I can feel the cold door behind my back.
I'm out of space.
I hate it.
This closeness.
This way of entering my space without asking for anything.
I clench my fists.
– That's enough.
The mask remains silent.
Then...
A voice.
Calm.
Mechanical.
Strangely sweet.
– N-02.
I frown.
– ...
– N-02.
He pronounces the syllables so slowly, as if to test my reaction.
I'm not answering.
He starts again.
– N-02.
I shake my head.
– You're mistaken.
The mask remains still.
– N-02 identified.
I feel a shiver run down my spine.
Identified?
What is he talking about?
– I am not N-02.
No response.
He repeats it again.
– N-02.
It's really annoying.
- My name is...
My voice stops.
I remain silent.
How long had it been since anyone had called me by my first name?
I slowly raise my eyes.
– My name is Chetan.
The mask is not responding.
– N-02.
Always the same tone.
The same certainty remains.
As if the name I had just pronounced didn't exist.
I push him away.
He moves forward.
He reaches out a hand and touches my face again.
I turn my head away, but his fingers still brush against my temple.
I immediately feel this unpleasant sensation.
It was as if someone was rummaging through something that didn't belong to them.
I push his arm away again.
More bluntly.
– Don't touch me.
The mask finally comes to a stop.
A few seconds pass.
Then he tilts his head very slightly.
As if he were analyzing my reaction.
As if he were learning.
The room becomes silent again.
I'm having trouble breathing.
I'm keeping my distance.
He too remains motionless.
But its two black openings never leave my face.
I faced hunger.
The cold.
The monsters of the Pit.
Men capable of killing without hesitation.
Yet...
None of them had given me that strange feeling.
That feeling of being watched...
Studied.
As if I were no longer a person.
Only one player.
Only...
What is this thing?