The orange light that flooded the cell began to stretch the shadows of the iron furniture across the gray concrete. The square of sunlight on the wall climbed millimeter by millimeter, pushed by the Earth's rotation, a cosmic clock that Michael decoded without needing to look at his wrist.
Albert remained seated on the edge of the lower bunk. The outburst and the hug seemed to have removed a layer of armor from that man who stood nearly two meters tall. He looked at Michael, who remained motionless, his arms crossed behind his back.
– You're a weird guy, Michael – Albert said, breaking the silence with a lighter, almost paternal tone. – But I think that, of all the cellmates I've ever had, you're the one who gives me the fewest headaches. The others only knew how to talk about crime, who they were going to get once they got out, or they'd spend the night whining. You... you're like a frozen lake.
– Emotional agitation consumes unnecessary metabolic energy – Michael replied, his voice flat. – In a confined environment, conserving internal resources is a primary survival strategy.
Albert let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
– Here comes the dictionary again. But tell me something... you asked whether I had other children. Do you think about those things? Family, you know. Getting married?
Michael processed the question. In his records, the concept of "family" was a sociological structure designed for the perpetuation of the species and mutual emotional support, something that had never been part of his functional scope.
– I do not possess practical data to evaluate the value of a family structure – Michael explained. – My historical interactions have always been based on performance assessments and exchanges of technical information. However, statistically, individuals inserted into stable family units present lower rates of criminal recidivism. For you, Albert, it is a recommended variable.
– Yeah, for me it is – the giant agreed, lying on his back on the bed and using his massive arms as a pillow. – But what about you? When you get out of here with all that money... what are you going to do? And don't give me calculations. I'm asking what you like. Like... food. What's your favorite food?
Michael shifted his weight from one leg to the other, a mechanical adjustment to avoid muscular fatigue.
– The human organism requires an average of two thousand calories per day, with balanced macro- and micronutrients. Prison food meets the minimum requirements for survival, although its sodium content is elevated.
– Man, you're impossible – Albert laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the concrete cubicle. – I'm talking about flavor! A fatty barbecue, a steaming pizza, some dulce de leche... don't tell me you only see protein and carbohydrates when you chew?
– Flavor is a neurological interpretation of chemical receptors on the tongue – Michael said, although for the first time there was an infinitesimal pause before he continued. – But... if there is a need to choose a variation of gustatory stimulus, foods with a high concentration of glucose and lipids combined, such as dark chocolate, activate dopamine receptors more efficiently.
– See? I knew it! Even the machine likes chocolate – Albert teased, closing his eyes for a few moments and enjoying the last traces of warmth disappearing from the environment.
The twilight advanced gradually. The golden light turned into a deep dark blue until the outer yard was completely submerged in shadow, illuminated only by the artificial beams from the watchtower floodlights. Inside the cell, the details faded into the growing darkness. The conversation slowed, becoming more spaced out, adapting itself to the silence imposed by the prison as night fell.
Suddenly, a dry snap echoed through the corridor, followed by the sound of electrical contact. The central fluorescent lights of the cell block shut off all at once. The daily blackout of lockdown. Only the emergency lighting, a faint reddish glow in the corridor, filtered through the bars of the door.
– Lights out – Albert murmured in the darkness. The mattress creaked as he adjusted himself. – Good night, Michael.
– Good night, Albert – the firm voice replied in the darkness.
Michael walked to the upper bunk. He climbed the iron steps with silent, precise movements and lay on his back on the thin mattress. His eyes remained open for a few minutes, observing the gray ceiling and mapping the reflections of the wall light passing through the window. He initiated his heart-rate deceleration protocol, reducing brain activity to a resting state.
Neither of them said anything else. The silence of Iron-Hold's night was filled only by the distant sound of guards' footsteps on the walkways and Albert's heavy, steady breathing.
Within a few minutes, both were asleep.
The awakening did not come with an alarm, but with the abrupt return of light. The click of the circuit breakers echoed at six in the morning, and the corridor lights flickered, flooding the cell with a cold white brightness. Seconds later, the first rays of the morning sun began to strike the window, bringing the promise of a clear day.
Albert sat up in bed at once, letting out a loud yawn and stretching his arms, which almost touched the side walls of the cell.
– Man... what a night. I slept like a pig in the mud.
Michael was already standing, his uniform perfectly aligned, brushing his teeth at the small stainless-steel sink in the corner. He spat out the water, rinsed his mouth, and stored the toothbrush on the shelf with millimetric precision.
– Your sleep cycle lasted exactly seven hours and forty-two minutes – Michael observed, turning around. – There were three peaks of mild motor agitation, possibly associated with dream activity. Were you dreaming?
Albert rubbed his eyes, laughing at his companion's precision.
– I sure was. I dreamed about a beach. Funny thing is, I was never much of a beach guy, but I dreamed about the sound of the waves crashing and a strong wind hitting my face. A scorching sun, too. What about you, Michael? What do you dream about? Numbers? Equations falling from the sky like in that movie on TV?
Michael walked toward the center of the cell. Albert changed subjects without knowing that, for Michael, the concept of the past was an area isolated behind mental firewalls. Albert knew nothing about Michael's childhood, the sterile rooms of the Institute, the logical intrusion tests, or the scientists who treated him like a biological processor. To the giant, Michael was simply an incredibly intelligent and strange young man who had the bad luck of ending up in prison.
– My cognitive processes during functional sleep are primarily dedicated to memory consolidation and the disposal of redundant data – Michael replied, keeping the conversation at the superficial level Albert had initiated. – However, the human mind tends to recreate scenarios based on projections of desires or simulations of future situations. What were you doing on the beach in your dream?
– Nothing, just standing there, looking at the horizon. I guess it's the desire to see an open space that doesn't end with a concrete wall – Albert stood up and walked to the sink to splash water on his face. – You know what else I miss? Walking without a destination. Leaving home on a Saturday morning, going to the bakery, buying a newspaper I wasn't even going to read, just for the pleasure of walking around in flip-flops and watching people pass by. Do you like walking, Michael?
– The act of walking is an excellent low-impact exercise for maintaining cardiovascular capacity – Michael replied, approaching the bars as he heard the distant sound of the metal carts bringing breakfast. – It also allows for the observation of interesting urban variables. The architecture of cities possesses predictable geometric patterns that are visually satisfying.
– Yeah... you see geometry, I see freedom – Albert smiled, positioning himself beside Michael as the footsteps of the guards distributing trays approached. – But that's okay. Everyone enjoys the walk in their own way.
The sound of the locks on the neighboring cells began to click in sequence, announcing the beginning of another regulated day in Iron-Hold.