K awoke at an unusual hour.

He heard loud and sharp voices with doors being slammed open.

Forceful knocks, followed by stern commands:

“Open up!” Then a door shut, and whoever was outside went in.

The world outside his window was still dark.

6 AM.

Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He had fallen asleep without eating.

Ignoring the commotion, K shuffled to the kitchen. The knocking continued, but the officers had already forced their way into another room, their voices carrying through the thin walls.

The kitchen was silent. K turned on the kettle, its surface coated in a greasy film.

He reached for the communal food cupboard—a dirty, faded structure with chipped paint and a greasy sign labeled COMMUNAL FOOD in barely legible letters.

The stench hit him immediately. Mold. Rot. Something sour and rancid.

He grabbed an already-opened, half-empty box of Aldi-brand cereal and a bottle of milk of uncertain age from the battered fridge. The fridge door handle sucked at his fingerprints, leaving his palm sticky.

The kettle whistled. He set the bowl aside and made himself tea, adding a splash of milk and two cubes of sugar with spots of brown and black dots.

He turned around, found a short man appeared out of no where, dressed in all black and sat in the chair K had just reached for. Without a word, the man grabbed K’s cereal bowl, as if it is his and started eating.

K blinked. “My breakfast!” he exclaimed.

The man—still chewing—ignored him completely.

“ID, please,” the stranger muttered a moment later in a mouth full of cereal, staring into the bowl as if K weren’t there.

K’s blood boiled. “I—You—You’re outrageous! You appeared out of nowhere, stole my breakfast, and now you’re asking for my ID? Who the hell are you? Who do you work for?”

No response.

Then—

A voice from behind.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“Good morning, Mr. K, I assume?”

K turned. Another man in black stood there.

K was snappy and confused. “Uh, yeah. I’m Kane. K, whatever.”

“We need to have a chat with you, Mr. K. If that’s alright.” The man gestured to his colleague. “This is Ivan.”

K scowled. “Are you his supervisor?” He took a deep breath, trying to suppress his anger. He needed to remain professional. Work etiquette, he reminded himself.

“This man—” he jerked his fingers at Ivan, who was still casually chewing, oblivious to the tension in the air, “—your colleague—ate my breakfast. I haven’t eaten since yesterday, and now I’m left starving.”

The supervisor gave a slow and calm nod “I see. Ivan is allowed to eat while on duty.”

“What?”

“Ivan’s duty is to check your ID. And as an employee, he is entitled to eat.”,the supervisor spoke with a detached voice.

“But he ate my food!”

“Ivan is simply following his job description. And I can sense nothing of concern here”

K’s voice shook. “You mean to tell me that as long as he’s ‘on duty,’ he can eat whatever he wants? Even if it belongs to someone else?”

"Ivan is by his contract obliged to check your ID, as a part of his job and he is entitled to eat during his work hours." The supervisor explained himself again "l see nothing wrong here, Mr K"

He paused and then continued, "I understand you want to eat, Mr. K. But first, if you could show us your ID, you’ll be free to resume your meal."

"But you are wrong, he, ate-"

“Mr. K.” The supervisor’s voice was stern now, cutting through K’s words. “I understand that you’re hungry, but we cannot allow you to eat until you show us your ID.”

He paused then continued “This is a part of our standard procedure”

"We cannot let you do anything. In fact, I will wait here till you show us your ID" the supervisor grabbed himself a chair and sat down.

K is speechless, he cannot comprehend anything anymore. But something compelled him to say " Um, okay. I will show you my ID" . As K reached for his pocket, despite how he ruffled, nothing was there.

" l left that in the room l guess" K say, “bear with me a moment l will be right back”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave until you show us your ID,” the supervisor said, stepping in his way.

K clenched his fists. “But I don’t have it on me. I have to go back to my room to get it.”

“Leaving is not permitted.”

K exhaled slowly. “Then how do I show you my ID?”

“Mr. K, I understand you’re eager to leave and have your breakfast, but—”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” K buried his face in his hands. “What do you want me to do? Call your supervisor? Who the hell is your supervisor?”

“I simply cannot let you leave.”

K sat down. His hunger deepened. His exhaustion pulled at him. All surrounding him is nothing, but the silence, and the walls and these two men.

Time stretched, distorted.

He wasn’t sure if he was passing out, falling asleep, or simply slipping into a nightmare.

Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it was all the same. He will wake up soon, and go back to his grey cubicle. And the day would begin again, just as it always had.