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It was sunny outside. I instinctively squinted from the bright light hitting my face. Everything looked almost realistic: worn-down houses, scuffed walls, crooked fences. In the distance, rows of gray high-rise buildings with peeling paint were visible, and below them—garbage bins surrounded by teenagers smoking cigarettes. On the corner, a rusty bicycle creaked, chained to a pole.
The asphalt was cracked, with tufts of grass sticking out here and there. A few cars parked by the curb looked as if their owners had long given up on any attempts at repair. Two women, apparently neighbors, were loudly chatting by the entrance, casting suspicious glances at everyone passing by. This neighborhood was a bad suburban area in every sense of the word.
I took a couple of steps, feeling the heels of my ballet flats tapping rhythmically against the sidewalk. Each step resonated through my body in a way I couldn’t ignore: my breasts, accentuated by the bra, swayed slightly, and the skirt of my sundress flapped against my thighs. The movement felt so alien that I almost winced.
– What a dump... – I muttered under my breath, glancing at my reflection in the window of an abandoned store. In front of me was a woman: delicate, with her hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a cute floral sundress. But the look... The look gave me away. Angry, almost desperate.
Marek walked ahead, his heavy boots thudding loudly. His broad shoulders took up almost half the sidewalk. He suddenly stopped, turned around, and nodded toward a car parked by the curb.
– Get in, Polya, – he said, opening the passenger door of an old sedan.
I gritted my teeth. "Polya, Polya..." The name disgusted me. It felt like being dunked into a bucket of filth every time he called me that.
I quickly walked over to the car, feeling the fabric of the sundress cling slightly to my thighs. As I sat down, I almost cursed out loud: my damn tits were in the way again, and the seatbelt rested right across them, emphasizing their size. I frowned, but Marek didn’t seem to notice. He got into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and the car shuddered before slowly pulling away.
Marek glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, shifting gears with one hand. The interior of the old sedan smelled of musty upholstery and tobacco smoke, which had probably seeped into the plastic panels years ago. A dirty rag lay on the floor, next to a coffee cup. The glove compartment was half-open, revealing a crumpled notebook and a set of keys. The car had clearly seen better days and was now just barely holding on.
– It’s a complete mess at the construction site, – he began, keeping his eyes on the road. – One of the trucks got stuck in the mud yesterday. The asphalt they brought, from some company called "Karanit," you know what that means? Nothing, just a name and a so-called brand, especially when it’s laid haphazardly. So we had to dig everything up again. I’ve got three more days of this chaos to deal with.
I silently stared out the window, trying not to pay attention to my bouncing breasts, which seemed to have a life of their own due to the car’s movement and the seatbelt. The road, like everything else in this place, was far from ideal. Cracks, potholes, chunks of asphalt that seemed barely attached to the ground. Along the road stood houses—identical, dull, and rundown. Every corner here screamed of neglect and lack of money.
– Polya, are you listening to me? – Marek’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
I turned my head, trying to look neutral.
– Yes, of course, – I replied, hoping the tone of my new voice wouldn’t betray my irritation.
– How’s work? You said there were more kids, right? – He was clearly trying to keep the conversation going, though it seemed like he didn’t really need to. His gaze was fixed on the road, and he spoke with such calmness, as if everything in our marriage was perfect.
– Probably, – I muttered, trying to make sense of the confusion in my head. What kids? And why was he talking as if we had discussed this yesterday?
Outside the window, dull houses flashed by, their facades covered in layers of old, peeling paint. Dirty windows, some broken, and yards overgrown with weeds. Suddenly, our sedan came to a halt: a long line of cars had formed ahead.
– What the hell? – I blurted out.
– Traffic jam, – Marek replied lazily, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He looked as if he was used to this.
– A traffic jam? – I raised my eyebrows. – In an experimental city? Where did all these people come from?
Marek gave me a puzzled look:
– What are you talking about? This is our usual morning traffic, Polya. Everything’s as it always is.
I froze, watching the cars ahead. Around us were people just like us—men, women, children. They looked completely normal: some arguing on the phone, some laughing, one woman applying makeup in the mirror. Their movements, expressions, clothes—everything looked eerily real. As if this wasn’t an experiment, but real life.
– But... this is... weird, – I muttered quietly, staring out the window. A school bus slowly passed us, filled with kids. They waved cheerfully from the windows, and someone even shouted something in our direction. It was all too... too realistic.
– Weird? – Marek smirked. – Polya, are you okay? What nonsense are you spouting today?
I didn’t answer, just clenched my teeth and looked away. "Say that again, and the cameras will catch it, and then you’ll get fined," I reminded myself, forcing myself to stay silent. But inside, I was boiling: where did they get so many extras? All these people, cars, even the damn traffic jam! This is an experiment! How did they make it so realistic?
Marek finally switched lanes, and we moved faster, eventually reaching the school. The large building with peeling walls and an unkempt yard greeted us with noise. Kids were running around the yard, and a couple of women in uniforms like mine were exchanging disapproving glances, chatting among themselves. Apparently, this was my new workplace, according to the script. I had known this since yesterday, but I tried not to think about it, and seeing it all in person was downright humiliating.
Marek stopped the car, turned off the engine, and turned to me. I hurriedly grabbed my bag and reached for the door handle. But it didn’t open. I pulled again, feeling the irritation rise.
– The door won’t open... – I said, pulling again, to no avail.
Marek turned to me with a mocking smile:
– It won’t open until I get my morning kiss.
I felt the blood rush to my face.
– Are you kidding me? Open the door, – I hissed through clenched teeth, but he just leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest.
– Polya, what’s with the attitude? – His voice became slightly firmer, though the smile didn’t fade. – We do this every morning. One little kiss, and you’re free.
My hand froze on the door handle. Every morning? God, what did I do to deserve this? The camera in the car, which I had noticed almost immediately after getting in, seemed to mock me now, waiting for me to play my part. Pull yourself together, Mike. It’s just a game. You want to get out of here with the money, right? Then play along.
I slowly turned to him, trying not to show my hatred, and with trembling lips, prepared to touch his cheek. But at the last moment, Marek suddenly turned his head, and my lips met his instead. Right on the lips. I froze, feeling the unexpected warmth and the rough stubble framing his mouth. His lips were firm, slightly dry, but terrifyingly real.
Shock shot through me, and I pulled back faster than I could process what had happened, almost hitting the back of my head on the seat.
– Hey, what’s wrong? – Marek said mockingly, running a finger over his chin as if nothing had happened.
I silently looked away, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. My heart was pounding wildly. "Just pretend nothing happened," I ordered myself mentally, clenching my teeth.
– Nothing... I’ll go, – I forced out, struggling to keep my composure. My voice came out quiet, as if I was afraid he might sense my confusion.