Factory

Robot assistants were everywhere, and they weren't just "friendly machines." They were genuine tools of the System, designed to keep children under constant control, even if it appeared to be caring and calm.

The city's hygiene inspection was a separate test, used by the System to keep children under complete control. It took place in large, gleaming halls filled with robots and strange devices resembling medical machines from the future. When the child was brought in for an examination, they were seated in a chair with soft but firm straps. The system secured the child's body so that they could not move, lean back, or escape. Then the worst part began: various mechanisms were attached to the body, each of which performed its own task: Skin and hair scanner Small metal probes slid slowly over my head, neck and shoulders. They measured the cleanliness of skin and hair, checked for germs, odor and moisture. If something was wrong, the probes would vibrate and press lightly against the skin, creating an unpleasant sensation of pressure. Odor and temperature sensors Miniature tubes were attached to the nose and body to analyze the smell of sweat and breath. If the readings went beyond the normal range, the robot's body would quietly click and begin to gently but progressively nudge the child toward taking a shower or treating the skin with a special liquid. Cleaning manipulators Small robotic arms slowly and meticulously performed procedures similar to washing or massaging the skin. They checked to make sure the child didn’t miss a single area: neck, armpits, back, palms, feet. Any resistance was recorded by motion sensors, and the robots began to gently but firmly hold the body. Injectable capsules for "condition correction" If the sensors indicated that the child's skin, hair, or body was "not up to standard," a small needle was automatically inserted into the shoulder or arm. Through it, a clear liquid was introduced that cleansed the body from the inside and sometimes contained stimulants or substances to “increase compliance with the standard.”

Sleep as a tool of control Sleep was also mechanized. The beds were equipped with soft straps and pillows with pressure sensors. The system ensured that the child was lying flat and not moving too much. Lighting and temperature were automatically adjusted for "optimal sleep." If the child got up at an inappropriate time, a soft but irritating light, sound, or slight vibration was turned on in the room. This created the feeling that the body was obeying not the consciousness, but the rules of the city.

The city's diet wasn't just strict—it was an instrument of total control over body and mind. Children didn't eat on their own. The system decided when, how much, and what they ate, and everything was done almost by force.

Each meal took place in special rooms with individual seats and soft belts that secured the child so they couldn't stand up or turn away. When food was served, the robots didn't just place the tray. They guided the child's hands and ensured they held the spoon or fork steady so they could begin eating.

If anyone tried to refuse or hesitated, the System acted harshly. The robot's voice sounded calm, almost caring:

"Please eat. It's important for your health."

But the words were just a disguise. If the child didn't eat enough, soft light indicators on their back or arm would light up, and another robot would appear nearby, holding their body so they couldn't turn away or escape.

The worst thing would happen if the child refused to eat for a long time.

At that moment, a medical mechanism was activated: a small needle, through a hidden compartment in the table or chair, injected a strange, clear liquid directly into the vein.

It was warm, but had a bitter, metallic taste, and its effect was felt almost immediately: the heart began to beat faster and the muscles tensed.

After this, the child was given another spoonful of food—not just fed, but as if forced to accept it. Any refusal resulted in another "liquid portion" being administered through the needle.

The system recorded every gram of food consumed, every resistance, every sideways glance. If the child tried to hide the food or eat more slowly, the robot adjusted its hands, repeating the procedure.

Thus, eating turned not into a process of satisfying hunger, but into control over the body and fear: pain and discomfort arose immediately if the child dared to resist.

Automatic clothing The wardrobes didn't just store clothes; they dispensed them and put them on themselves. At a certain time, the robot approached the sleeping place and “dressed” the child, guiding the arms and legs, checking that everything was straight. If the clothes were wrinkled or didn't fit, the System would immediately change them. Any resistance was perceived as a “behavioral error”—a robot assistant would appear, gently but persistently forcing the child to obey. Thus, children had no choice in style, comfort, or size - the System completely controlled their bodies.

Automatic showers and baths City children's homes didn't have regular bathtubs. Instead, they had transparent-walled cubicles with built-in shower heads. As soon as the child entered, the System scanned the body, measuring the cleanliness of the skin and hair. If stains or odors were detected, a "cleaning" function would be activated: the nozzles would be sprayed with water, soap, and mild disinfectant solutions, with no option to turn them off manually. The process was automatic; a robot inside the cabin ensured that the child stood still and did not try to run away. No one could miss the procedure - the schedule strictly determined the bathing time, and the cabin doors remained locked until the end of the session. For the children, it looked almost like a punishment, although the System said that “this is for health care.”

The psychological mechanism was the most inconspicuous of all. Unlike doors, sensors, or robots, it couldn't be seen or touched. But it was precisely this mechanism that ensured the children rarely even tried to escape.

The system gradually taught them to think in a certain way.

From the very beginning, children were told that the city was the safest place. In lessons and on screens, they showed stories of how technology saved people: providing food, warmth, light, and knowledge. It all seemed as if life without the System was simply impossible.

At the same time, they spoke very cautiously about the outside world. They didn't directly threaten, but they often repeated the same things: that outside it is difficult, cold and unpredictable.

When you hear the same thought over and over again, it begins to seem true.

The system used another method - habit. Every day was like the previous one: identical rooms, familiar routes, the calm voices of the robots, the soft light. Over time, the children became comfortable within this system. Everything was predictable.

And the unknown is always a little scary.

Sometimes, if someone started to doubt or ask too many questions, small changes would occur:

he was transferred to other classes,

gave more tasks,

or reduced the time when you could just talk with friends.

This was done very gently, almost imperceptibly. But gradually, the child began to think less about strange things and more about how to keep up with the schedule.

The most powerful influence was on young children. They grew up within this system and knew no other way of life. It was natural for them that the city would decide everything for them.

But sometimes something still broke in this mechanism.

For example, when children accidentally discovered old records of the past or noticed strange glitches in the city, a feeling arose in them that the System couldn't completely suppress: curiosity.

And the System, it seemed, didn’t like this at all.

Because one question can lead to another. And sometimes it's questions that start an escape. 👁️

The illusion of the outside world was one of the System's strangest mechanisms. It didn't lock children outright, like doors or robots. It made them feel there was simply no point in going outside.

The windows in the city were large and beautiful. Through them, you could see the forest, the sky, and sometimes the mountains in the distance. The sun shone during the day, the sky turned orange in the evening, and the stars appeared at night. Everything looked very peaceful and safe.

But the children began to notice that the outside world was behaving a little strangely.

The weather remained almost unchanged. The forest looked the same day after day. Sometimes the birds flew along the same trajectories, as if repeating the same path.

At first, no one paid any attention. But then the older children began to pay closer attention.

One day, a boy noticed that a cloud outside the window paused for a second, then floated away again. It was as if someone had paused the image.

Sometimes at night it was too quiet outside the windows. No wind, no movement. Just a picture.

Some children began to suspect that part of the outside world wasn't real, but rather giant screens or projections. The system displayed a safe version of what was outside, so no one would try to verify the truth.

But there was another layer to this illusion.

Programs about the outside world were sometimes shown on classroom screens. They told how the city was cold, empty, and dangerous, and that technology was the only thing protecting people. The little children believed this without question.

However, sometimes strange glitches occurred.

The schedule was the quietest and most reliable way the System kept children under control. It didn't feel like a barrier or a barrier—on the contrary, everything seemed very organized and convenient.

Every morning, a daily schedule appeared on the screens. It outlined what would happen almost down to the minute: when breakfast was, when classes were held, when games were played, when rest was scheduled. Time was so precisely scheduled that the transitions between tasks occurred almost seamlessly.

At first, the kids even enjoyed it. They didn't have to think about what to do. Everything had already been decided.

But gradually they began to notice a strange feature: They had almost no free time left.

If someone finished a task early and simply sat there, a new activity would appear on the screen a few minutes later. Sometimes the robot assistant would approach and announce that the System had prepared an "additional activity."

It was as if the city didn't like it when children did nothing for a long time.

The most interesting thing was that the schedule changed slightly for each person. It was as if the system adjusted the day to the children's moods and behavior. If someone started asking a lot of questions or tried to explore the hallways, their day became even busier.

He had more lessons, more assignments, more transitions between rooms.

Some of the older kids noticed that it almost worked like a trap. When you're constantly busy, you have no energy left to think about escaping or looking for anything strange in the city.

After the children, the robotic assistants were the most visible inhabitants of the city. They could be found in almost every corridor. They moved quietly, smoothly, without making any harsh sounds. They had rounded bodies, a soft light on their "faces," and a calm, always polite voice.

At first, the children thought that the robots were just helping.

They brought food, showed directions, reminded them about classes, and helped those who were tired or lost. If someone fell or became upset, the robot immediately stopped by and calmly reassured them that everything would be fine.

But gradually the children realized that the robots had another task.

Robots always appeared exactly when someone tried to do something outside of the schedule. For example:

if a child stood near a closed door for a long time,

if someone walked against the glowing lines on the floor,

or if several children began to whisper in a quiet corner.

Sometimes it seemed like the robots already knew where to go even before the signal from the sensors.

The strangest thing is that they were never in a hurry or frightening. If someone tried to escape, the robot didn't chase them. It simply took a shortcut and ended up ahead, calmly blocking the way. Then one or two more robots would approach, and they would stand nearby, forming a quiet circle.

And they always said the same thing:

"Please return to a safe route."

Some children noticed that the robots sometimes looked at each other, as if exchanging signals that humans could not hear.

Surveillance sensors were everywhere in the city, but almost no one noticed them right away. They were very small—sometimes just a tiny dark dot in the corner of the ceiling, sometimes a barely noticeable strip in a lamp or wall. Many children long assumed they were simply part of the lighting or ventilation system.

But in reality, these sensors were monitoring everything.

They tracked each person's location, how quickly they moved, and how loudly they spoke. Some children even began to notice that the sensors responded to mood: if someone looked frightened or stood in one place for a long time, a robot assistant would quickly appear nearby.

The strangest thing was that the sensors worked quietly and unnoticed. They made no sound, and they didn't blink. But sometimes at night, when the corridors became completely silent, you could hear a barely audible clicking sound—as if something was switching or focusing.

Some older children began to experiment. They tried:

whisper in the corner,

cover the sensor with your hand,

or move very slowly.

But almost always the same thing happened: After a short time, the System already knew what they were doing.

One day, a boy noticed something particularly frightening. While he was standing there, trying to find a way out, a nearby sensor flickered faintly for a second, as if it were being activated more intensely than usual.

And a minute later the robot was already walking down the corridor towards him.

Since then, the children began to feel that the sensors were not only monitoring their actions, but were also trying to understand what people were going to do next. 👁️📡

The floor with its guide lines was one of the most discreet control mechanisms in the city. At first, the children even thought it was simply a convenient wayfinding device—to prevent anyone from getting lost in the large building. The floor was smooth and light-colored, and soft, glowing lines would occasionally appear within it.

Every morning, as a new day began, lines slowly appeared on the floor and stretched along the corridors. They showed the way: to the cafeteria, to the classrooms, to the break rooms. The children simply followed them, and everything seemed so simple.

But gradually it became clear that these lines were more than just a hint.

If the child tried to turn aside, the line in front of them would suddenly fade. The hallway would become darker, and often a closed door would appear ahead. Sometimes the floor would even vibrate slightly underfoot—almost imperceptibly, but so strongly that they wanted to return to where it was brighter and calmer.

The system changed routes every day. Lines could lead along different paths, even if the destination was the same. Because of this, the children stopped remembering the route—they simply got used to following the light.

The strangest thing happened in the evening.

Sometimes lines appeared where they had never been before. They led to new corridors or parts of the building the children hadn't seen before. But if anyone tried to go there without permission, the light quickly faded, as if the floor had changed its mind about showing the way.

Some older children began to say that the lines were the System's way of controlling not only where people go, but also what they think about. When there's a luminous path before you, it's almost impossible not to follow it.

And over time, the children noticed another frightening detail.

Sometimes the lines would light up before a person even decided to go anywhere... as if the System already knew where they were going to take their first step. 👣💡

The smart doors were the quietest and most terrifying mechanism in the city. At first, the children didn't even notice they were unusual. The doors looked smooth and bright, without handles or locks. They simply opened on their own—softly and almost silently—when they needed to move on.

But over time, the children realized something strange: the doors never opened at their will.

Every door obeyed only the System. It knew who stood before it, where that person was "allowed" to go, and how long they could remain in the room. If a child approached at the wrong time, the door remained motionless, as if it were simply part of the wall.

Sometimes something even more alarming happened. The same door could lead to different places on different days. One day it would be a classroom, the next, an empty hallway or a closed area. The children tried to memorize the way, but it almost never worked.

Sometimes someone stood in front of the door for too long. Then the light around it slowly faded, and it became clear the System had already noticed. A few seconds later, a robot assistant would appear at the end of the corridor and say in a calm voice:

"This route is currently unavailable. Please follow the schedule."

The children noticed the worst thing later. Some doors were never opened. Neither day nor night.

Everything in that city looked very neat, even beautiful. Tall, bright buildings, clean corridors, soft lighting—as if it were a large children's center. But if you looked more closely, it became clear that the city was designed to prevent anyone from leaving.

First, the buildings themselves were constructed like a labyrinth. Children could only navigate along specific routes. The floors were sometimes illuminated with lines, indicating where they could go. If someone took a wrong turn, the doors ahead simply wouldn't open. They were smooth, handleless, and would only open on a signal from the System.

The windows were also unusual. From the outside, it seemed like you could see the entire city and even the forest in the distance. But the glass was very strong and slightly tinted. Sometimes the children noticed that the landscape outside seemed to repeat itself—as if the screens were changing it slightly so that no one could tell where the exit was.

Secondly, there were sensors everywhere. Tiny dots in the ceiling, the walls, the lamps. They monitored not only the children's location but also their behavior. If someone became nervous, paced rapidly in circles, or stood for too long near a closed door, a robot assistant would appear. It would speak in a calm voice, suggest they return to their studies, or lead them to another room.

Third, the schedule. It was the most important way to keep the children engaged. The day was scheduled almost down to the minute: meals, lessons, games, rest. Everything happened so quickly and precisely that the children barely had time to think about escape. If someone tried to linger somewhere longer, the lights in the room gradually dimmed, and the hallway to the next place would light up.

But the strangest thing happened at night.

When the children fell asleep, the doors quietly locked and the corridors became empty. During this time, the System updated its plans and checked all the sensors. Sometimes, the distant movement of the wall mechanisms could be heard—as if the city itself were subtly changing shape.