The rush of fear and confusion settled, allowing realization to creep in slowly. Niam wasn't the only one who had lost something. Everyone had - whether family, friends, partners, pets, or even their entire planet.
The rings distributed weren't ordinary. These devices granted access to personal quarters near each camp, allowed Vessels of different races to monitor their assigned groups' vital signs, and enabled emergency communication with overseers. Niam's ring had immediately alerted Saona to his unhealed injury - explaining her sudden attention when he'd put it on.
After ring distribution, the humans were permitted to rest and prepare for what lay ahead. Niam followed the path Saona indicated toward a tall building connected to the facility by a wide tunnel. Through circular windows, Jael's alien landscape stretched before them - scattered with unfamiliar trees and rolling hills of red soil that some compared to a terraformed Mars.
The ten thousand humans filed into the building single file. A long hallway stretched before them, flanked by staircases reaching ten stories high with five hundred rooms on each level. Notably absent were any recreational areas - the overlords clearly intended their captives' focus to remain solely on work.
As the rings began vibrating with varying intensity, most realized the devices were guiding them to their assigned rooms. With this final task completed, the Sulonians departed after issuing a stern warning: no one was to leave their quarters until morning.
Niam's ring pulsed more strongly with each step he took until it vibrated insistently on the second level at Room 555. Though the numbering system used alien symbols, mathematics proved universal enough for him to decipher it.
The wooden door - constructed from an unfamiliar variant of timber - slid open at his approach. The sparse accommodations contained white walls, grey floor tiles, and ceiling-mounted blue lighting. A futon lay on the floor opposite a desk and round chair, while a curtained window offered limited outside view. The bathroom featured hollow steel doors concealing basic facilities: a washing container, floor toilet, mirror, and cupboard.
After some experimentation, Niam mastered the room's simple controls - lights, curtain, and bathroom water hose. The absence of a wardrobe puzzled him until he noticed the wall-mounted gem near the futon. Suspecting surveillance, he tentatively touched it with his ring.
His consciousness flooded into a void - sensory deprivation so complete he simultaneously saw and didn't see. Gradually, he discerned objects floating in this nothingness: soap, a wooden stick, and folded white garments. When he mentally reached for them, the items materialized at his feet with a thud.
'A pocket dimension? Like in fiction?'
The crystal indeed functioned as dimensional storage. After bathing in the container and using the hose to wash away dried blood, Niam examined the stick - recognizing it as a miswak toothbrush, something his father had occasionally used. Changed into fresh clothes, he finally sat by the window to process everything.
'Mom...' The grief he'd suppressed now surfaced. His father's words echoed - she was gone. Tears traced paths down his light brown eyes to his lips as he sat cross-legged, fingers digging into his thighs. The emotional whirlwind left him numb - anger, sadness, confusion, and hopelessness blended together.
No nightmare could have prepared him for the last twenty-four hours. Alien subjugation. Collective punishment for ancestral sins. Nothing made sense to anyone. Their entire existence had been rewritten in chains of foreign purpose.
He knew most survivors wrestled with the same fundamental question: 'Do I keep living, or let go?' The phrasing was gentle, but the conclusions many reached were not. Nearly a million had already chosen death - no shame in that when faced with such devastation.
"Agh!" A muffled scream pierced the floor. Emotional outbursts echoed throughout the complex - sobs, angry cries, the chaos of shattered minds. But Niam remained still, as he'd always sought peace in turmoil.
Yet this marked one was neither pacifist nor rebel. His idealism had always been impractical on Earth, and he remembered that now with painful clarity. When lost, humans cling to ideals, and Niam's crystallized around one concept: change. He wanted to rewrite their story's ending. Some might call it coping mechanism or false hope. They'd be wrong. To Niam, this was opportunity - perhaps even a gift.
He considered himself special enough to believe it.
***
"Get ready!" The same commanding voice from the blue light startled Niam awake. Momentary panic gave way to grim recollection as yesterday's events flooded back.
Five minutes later, all doors slid open simultaneously. Niam stepped out dressed in his elastic white hoodie and pants. The housing block reeked of blood - everyone understood why without asking. Hundreds of hollow-eyed workers stood at attention outside their rooms.
"Proceed to the workshop and gather around your overseer," the voice instructed. The crowd moved with eerie efficiency and silence.
Niam studied the faces around him - sorrow, fear, anger, resignation, and rarely, purpose. Scanning the thousands of hovering Sulonians, he located Saona after nearly a mile of walking. Surprisingly, he arrived first at her station.
Saona raised an eyebrow at his approach. "Fingers, it's you," she remarked.
But Niam's ambitions now outstripped mere survival. To walk his chosen path required risks. He pointed to his chest. "Niam."
For the first time, something resembling emotion flickered across Saona's features - amusement, perhaps - as she repeated: "Niam."