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It was slow progress towards the Citadel. There was no clear pathway through the trees, and I had to constantly weave between trunks. A layer of pine needles fallen from the great evergreen trees, lined the forest floor, covering the uneven ground so that occasionally my foot would fall unexpected through the detritus and jar against the ground beneath.

The strong sea winds were still billowing in the background, and while the forest provided some protection, turning the winds into a loud rustling of branches, each blast still gripped my spine.

Eventually, I reached the perimeter wall. It was a little taller than myself and stretched into the darkness in either direction. With my injuries, I had no hope of scaling the wall from the ground, but behind the wall I could see the majestic white buildings, at the sanctuary on the other side.

I walked along the perimeter towards the back of the Citadel, until I found a tree that had fallen near the wall. I carefully climbed onto the thick trunk. It would normally have only been a step up, but the joint in my knee refused to bend freely, and so I had to crawl up on my hands and knees, the rough bark digging into the cut on my leg.

Even up on the trunk, the wall came up to my chest. And there was a small gap between the tree and the wall. However, it was my best hope.

Leaping from my left leg I jumped at the wall. The rim landed in my stomach, as my body wrapped around it. My knee banged hard against the brick, and I had to fight the reflex pain reaction to let go.

However, I was high enough to keep my leverage atop of the wall, and I waas able to wrestle my body over, and drop to the other side.

I landed hard on my feet, and my leg immediately gave way. I fell backward, my head landing in the grass.

I expected my head to land hard against the ground, instead, it was nestled in long grass that came up around most of my face. I expected the blades to be trimmed back, kept a crisp length. But the grass didn’t feel manicured. The sharp cut tips weren’t pricking my skin. Instead, wild, untamed blades tickled and itched.

I rolled over and pushed myself up once more. Though the surroundings were not as I expected, the buildings themselves were still beautiful.

The smooth pale walls bathed in the yellow light cast from the nearby lamps. Each stone was smooth and polished as if they would cushion you if you leant against them. Thick beams of rich, dark wood, outlined the frames of the three-story homes. The long wide windows were slick glass, reflecting back mirrored images of the cloud-covered sky. At the doorway to each home, there were small geometric carvings, that rose from the ground and arched over the entranceway. The doors themselves were made with thick oak painted with a smooth black that glistened in the night.

In more pleasant circumstances, I may have spent some time in awe. But I was still cold, still in need of help, and most of all, I was still a trespasser. The buildings were beautiful, but I wasn’t meant to see them.

“Hello! Can anyone hear me? I need help.” My voice was picked up by the winds and carried into uncaring trees.

I hobbled gently over to the nearest house. I reached the door and knocked. The thick wood absorbed the noise like a pillow. I struck again, this time with a fist so that the door rattled in its hinges. The loud sound echoed through the home, yet there was no sign of a response.

I decided to see if I could see anyone through the windows, perhaps if they could see me, see I was no threat and in need, they would let me in.

Standing next to the window, much of the light was still reflected back out. I could make out some depth the other side, but the view was mostly my own reflection. So I leaned in closer, placing my face against the glass, and raising my hands to the side of my head to try and block out any distracting light. Finally, the inside came into view.

It was empty.

The building was little more than a shell. The inside floor was bare, barren concrete. There was no luxurious wooden paneling or thick carpets. There was no furniture, no lights, no art hanging off the walls. The floor looked tired and stained and covered in a thick layer of dust. Looking up, I could see that the emptiness continued to the top , only the thick wooden support beams indicated where each floor was supposed to go. It was a tall, empty grey tower. There was no utopia in this home, it was just a void, an empty shell.

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I found it hard to move away. There was something so perplexing about the site, so odd, that I found myself glued to the glass. I reasoned the building must be being renovated or only recently built, and so I dragged myself away to the next home.

Hunching myself as tightly as I could, I limped through the gales to the next building. Once more I thumped on the door. I knocked three times, each time, no response.

I walked around the building to peer through the window again. Pressing my face up to the glass, peering through the darkness, I was greeted with the same site. The home was empty.

My stomach sank. My mind was struggling to understand the reaction. My whole body was feeling some paradigm-shifting horror, and yet my brain could not seem to make sense of what I was seeing.

I limped down the row of houses, passing a few. I had to get far enough away from the first two homes to be certain. The whole time I continued to let out cries for help. However, increasingly I sensed the calls were pleas for an explanation and not just the physical injuries.

After walking for a little while I picked a random home on the other side of the street. I didn’t knock this time, I just pressed my face up against the reflective window and peered in.

It was the same. The same lifeless concrete from ceiling to floor. It wasn’t a mistake, some fluke I stumbled across deserted buildings. They were all like this. The Citadel was nothing more than a series of fakes. Empty capsules pretending to be homes. All of it, it was all a lie.

--------------------

My mind went to all those conversations I had with people down the years, with colleagues like Thomas who constantly spoke of their desire to go to the Citadel. The Citadel was his motivation to get to work early, his motivation to stay late. He was fighting for this dream, to live here, in one of these lifeless husks.

I could feel some rage beneath my skin. Not an angry violence, but a strange simmering build-up of emotions that threatened to overflow, and my eyes stung as I held back bewildered tears. I was still trying to rationalize everything when the light from the nearby lamps became disturbed by the shadows of approaching figures.

“Stay there. Do not even think about running,” came a man’s voice. It was an oddly calm voice despite the clear threats. I turned to see a group of five people, led by a man in a long black coat made from expensive-looking fabric. While I didn’t know the face, I knew instantly he was one of the council members who ran the island.

As for the people around him, their purpose was clear. They wore thick padded clothing, and each carried a revolver, with the barrel of the gun pointed at me.

The councilman broke the silence. “You know you’re not allowed here.”

“I came off my bike on the eastern path. I needed help,” I replied.

The councilman lowered his head. He let out a small chuckle to himself, before continuing. “You came here because you needed help? Not to see for yourself, to uncover the truth? Just for... help?”

“I had no intention of exploring here. I just need medical help.” I replied.

“I don’t think that’s ever happened before,” he responded, still smiling to himself. Around him, there were still guns pointed at my chest, and I was eager to have them point another way.

“I hope you can forgive my trespassing. If someone can help me get back to my house in town, I promise you I will not tell anyone I was here.”

The councilman’s face quickly lost its humour. “You won’t be going back there.”’

Panic hit me. The guns weren’t a precaution. They were a solution. Until now, I felt threatened but relieved to have been found and safe. Suddenly my conviction was gone. I was deathly afraid and it made my tongue ramble. I begged them to let me go, promised I wouldn’t tell anyone what I had seen. A stream of consciousness fell from my terrified mind.

Eventually, the councilman interjected. “You’ve already seen inside the buildings? Already seen inside the Citadel?”

I nodded.

“Then you know the truth,” he added.

I hesitated before speaking. “That the Citadel isn’t real. It’s a hoax.”

“For the most part, it is empty, yes.” His voice was slow and smooth. I was beginning to feel like he was reading from a script, and I was the fool who didn’t know their lines.

“For the most part?” I queried.

“Nearer the entrance, the homes are all genuine. The council lives there, as do a handful of very select staff.” He indicated to the armed enforcers surrounding him. “There is some good news,” he continued with a wry smile, “you can live here too now.”

For a moment I thought there was some weird reward. That I could move to the Citadel in return for my secrecy. However, that notion was quickly destroyed as the enforcers walked up to me, and one of them violently wrenched my hand behind my back.

They marched me towards one of the buildings. My injured leg was unable to keep up with the marching rhythm, and soon it was no longer able to hold up my weight. It fell limp, but they didn’t relent. They just carried me by the shoulders, my foot clipping against the ground with each step, sending another shock up the left-side of my body.

We reached one of the buildings. Outside was another guard. She turned and unlocked the door as we approached, letting it swing open. It was dark inside, and my eyes had only just enough time to make out the outline of five steps leading down before the guards flung me forward. I let out a small cry as I sensed the inevitable. My leg buckled as soon as it landed, and I fell forwards, my body bouncing off the rough concrete steps. I landed on the cold, hard floor, and as I took a deep breath in, trying to find the air knocked out of me upon impact.

I heard the door slam, and the key turn in the lock. I sensed my body, tweaking all my joints to check nothing was broken. Then I heard a voice from the dark.

“Help him up,” someone called out. I heard feet move as two sets of arms grabbed me by the shoulders and lifted me to a sitting position. I looked around the room. Moonlight trickled in from the windows, the thin pale light bouncing off maybe a dozen faces, all staring back at me with concern and interest.

I was not alone.