Break Time

“How many you got so far today? " Cage asks as he unwraps his leftover fish tacos, instantly filling the break room with the scent of tuna.

“Seventeen,” Rook can barely disguise the pride in his voice, “but that last one may not count. His vitals dropped dangerously low at the end, and they had to bring him out early. So, who knows if I will get credit for it.”

“Not bad for the first half of the shift. I only have twelve right now, but I’m hoping it picks up later. There are at least seven coming off medical restriction in a couple hours. So, fingers crossed,” Cage replied, crossing the middle and index fingers on both of his hands in a sign of apprehensive hope.

“Today’s emergency sent that particular inmate into medical restriction, and there were two more yesterday that had the same issues. It seems like this process is getting more stressful on the general population,” Rook says with genuine concern in his voice. “Pretty much every single one death grips the arms of the chair a few minutes into their dream, and the white knuckles persist throughout the ordeal. Sometimes, I think they may break the arms right off that thing, and they are not even technically conscious!”

Rook combines his fruit, strawberry yogurt, and granola into a metal bowl he pulled from the break room cupboard, stirring the mixture vigorously. The break room itself seems unnecessarily large to him. Nothing like the one in the basement where he started his contract at this prison. Everything here seems unnecessarily large though, almost like a castle of sorts. The fact that it is a penitentiary instead made him wonder about the architect who designed it. This amount of extravagance is typically reserved for mansions that are occupied by rock stars and movie producers, not a cage for hardened criminals. It reminded him of The Emerald Tower from Wizard of Oz, minus the emerald color, of course. Everything here was flat charcoal gray, accented by shiny metal. The hallways were wider than most roads, and the archways separating the various rooms were easily twenty feet high. The ceilings were closer to forty feet high, and each one had a surprisingly opulent light fastened to it. He imagined this to be a newer facility, but he had no inclination as to when it was actually built. Based on the baroque landscaping outside, however, it had been standing for some time. It was not located on maps of any kind, and it was privately owned and operated. By whom, he did not know.

“Consciousness and subconsciousness are differentiated mainly by your awareness, Rook. The dream state can, at times, be more stressful than the waking state, from your body’s perspective. Your mind may be asleep, but your internal systems are still running. They are occasionally running rather hard, depending on what your dreams consist of. And the dreams in here are not your ordinary dreams either, as evidenced by the white knuckles and obvious tension in the bodies.” Cage seemed more like a professor, and he explained this away in a nonchalant manner that, to Rook, seemed contrary to the subject matter at hand.

“The whole thing gives me the creeps. I mean, you’ve obviously seen it, right? Heard it too, surely? I do not know why any of these inmates would volunteer for this, accelerated sentence or not. It blows my mind that any of them would sit in that chair at all,” Rook exclaimed, getting it off his chest how he had been feeling at work ever since they promoted him to the Dream Team, as it was playfully called between the guards.

The pay was better though, and he was quite accomplished in the act of keeping his head down and not asking questions, even seemingly important ones. It had been roughly three weeks since his reassignment, and out of all the other guards, Cage was the one Rook most closely considered a friend here, even though they had not met prior to his promotion. Normally, break time was done alone, but due to the medical emergency in the chair this morning, he was given permission to take his break early today with Cage.

“The gum is the secret sauce, you know. You ever see so many prisoners chewing gum? Think about that for a moment. Truth is, it makes them feel like superman when they chew it. No fear whatsoever. They would walk right into a fire with that stuff in their mouth. Sitting down in that chair feels right as rain to them in the moment. At least, at first it does.” Cage explained this with more than a little satisfaction in his voice.

“The chair isn’t the part that creeps me out though,” Rook said hesitantly, glancing at Cage as he put way too much taco into his mouth to devour. Rook swore his food was now fish flavored. The smell of Cage’s tacos had become a blanket covering everything in the break room with its pungent odor, even the flavor of his fruit and yogurt.

“Feed the sky, brother,” Cage exclaimed through a mouth full of fish and assorted toppings, “Feed the sky!” he said again louder for clarity, as the first time sounded mostly of vowels.

“What does that even mean?” Rook was genuinely curious about this phrase that had been repeated, oftentimes shouted, so often in the hallways to and from The Dream Room by Cage and the other guards.

“You just joined the team, Rook. That is not how this works, you ask and I tell. All will become clear in time. We are performing important work here, but it is best to come into the knowledge of what we are actually doing organically. On your own, I mean. I didn’t know the how or why of it until a couple months into my station here. I figured that it was some sort of psychological experiment. We have plenty of inmates here that want out early, like most prisons, I would imagine. So, if you take part in our experiment, you get some time shaved off of your sentence in the name of humanity. Its a no brain-er. You will come to find out, though, that it is much more than that.” Cage stopped there, somewhat ominously, and continued his assault on the last taco.

“I know it is called the Dream Room, but the reactions I have observed while these inmates dream, it seems more like nightmares to me. Three medicals in two days is sort of a problem, isn’t it?” Rook had genuine concern in his voice.

“Keep in mind who we are dealing with. Nobody gets locked up here by accident. Rapists, burglars, thieves, all criminals. The lot of ‘em,” Cage said with a snarl. “Take inmate 410167, for instance. This guy buried his family up to their necks in his back forty, and left them to the birds, quite literally. Or, consider 356829. Serial rapist. He would tool around department stores to find vulnerable women out shopping. One time he literally ran a girl on her bike off a country road into a cornfield. You’ll never guess what happened next. He was finally apprehended when he snatched a woman and her three daughters at a shopping mall. It was sort of a combo grab he had never tried before, but one of them somehow escaped and alerted the authorities,” Cage’s voice was growing louder, angrier with each example he gave. “We are talking about true evil here. Not the sort of person you would worry about having a nightmare. Granted, those two will never see the light of day again, but taking part in our experiment may afford them a chance of being moved to a medium security prison at some point. Good riddance, but make them earn it, I say. Feed the sky!” Oh, how he loved this phrase, and he had reached roaring level decibels at this point.

“They are still people though, right?” Rook had to say it. “Criminals, yes. Some beyond the pale bad, sure. But they are here repaying their debts to society, and based on my observations, dreaming in The Dream Room is a real struggle. A physical struggle in addition to whatever may be going on in their minds at the time, and I am not sure I even want to consider what that may be right now. If we are subjecting them to what could possibly amount to torture, are we any better than they are?” He realizes he may be going too far now, because Cage looks visibly irritated with this line of questioning.

“How long did you sign on for, Rook?” Cage decides to switch topics.

“Three year contract, with the option to extend or renew at the end,” Rook replies.

“You just need to lighten up a little bit, my friend,” Cage softens his tone, and places his hand on Rook’s shoulder. “You will figure all of this out in due time, and then you will come to understand that this process, while a bit unorthodox, is both necessary and positive. Also, we are not dealing with the upper crust of society here. These are some wicked men, not innocent victims. Plus, the good news is that you will not even remember a bit of this when you get back home. They will make sure of that. You will not even remember being here. You will not remember me. You won’t even have a notion that this place exists. Clean conscience. Like it never happened. But what you will have is that cash though.” With this Cage adds a wry wink to drive his point home.

Rook thought about that last statement for a moment. He might be in over his head, he worried.

“Level with me, Cage. Is it alive?” He locks eyes with Cage as he says this, trying to gauge his reaction. “The first time I took someone in there, I assumed it was a machine of some sort. Now, every time I go back with another inmate, I see a bit more of it. Earlier today, the medical incident, I could have swore I saw it writhing as I entered the room to retrieve the inmate that almost died. How is that possible? What is it?” Rook’s voice had a fair amount of distress in it as he asked these questions, especially because he still couldn’t believe writhing was the most suitable word to use to describe what he saw earlier, but it was most certainly that.

Cage’s lips curled up, clearly amused by this line of questioning, “All will be clear in due time, Rook. You have your review next week, and they will go over the finer points of what we do here. For now, just keep in mind that patience may be bitter, but its fruit is quite sweet.”

“You didn’t really answer my question, Cage." Frustrated, Rook reminds himself that he is the new guy, and he needs to act accordingly and get along, no matter what that entailed right now. The money was right, and he had a long way to go to fulfill his contract. Any negative attention he drew from the other guards would make the rest of his time more difficult.

"By the way, did they give you that name, or did you pick it yourself?” he added.

“You know the rules, Rook.” Cage was most definitely highlighting his agitation with his voice now. " We all have our work names, and that is as much as we get to know about each other. None of us chose them. They were given to us by Management These rules are in place for our own protection. Trust the process. You will know more soon enough. Make sure you are prepared for it, brother.”

The speakers sounded off the end of break tone, and they cleaned up their area before preparing to return to work. Rook wondered how much, if any, of the process would actually be explained to him at his end of month review. Cage insisted that all would be revealed, but he was not convinced. He did not even know if Cage knew the whole story. Important work, he had said, but Rook was not sure what he had signed up for now. Someone spent a lot of money to build this place, that room, that thing. To make sure it was off the grid and unreachable without the location coordinates. He remembered Cage telling him to trust the process. He would just have to adapt, and temper his expectations for a while.

“Enjoy the rest of your shift, Rook!” Cage exclaimed, as they started heading back to the cell blocks. “Let's get these gentlemen dreaming. Its time to feed the sky.”

A chill ran down Rook’s spine.