The Masked Man walked slowly to the center of the stage. His presence carried weight—every step deliberate, every pause calculated. The guards remained statues along the perimeter, their silence amplifying the tension.
Masked Man (voice deep, resonant):
"Trainees, I hope you enjoyed the time you have spent here in the honeymoon period."
The Masked Man's voice carried across the stage, heavy and deliberate.
"I am glad that none of you came forward with the request of leaving the island. And I am also glad that, except for one, nobody resisted our set rules. The one who resisted—I will not say names—has agreed with our terms, and he is among you still."
A ripple of unease moved through the crowd. Heads turned subtly, eyes searching, but no one spoke. The silence was heavier than suspicion—it was fear.
Mike glanced at Jules. Jules gave a small nod, his expression grim. They both remembered—the man who had vanished during the honeymoon period, gone without explanation, only to reappear the next day.
The Masked Man let the pause linger, as if savoring the weight of his words.
"I am sure you have read the Codex that was distributed. Among its pages, five main rules were announced. We expect you to adhere to them. You have your freedom, but without rules, we would be like animals. And we are not animals. We are more than that."
His words echoed against the stage walls, sharp and final. The Masked Man's tone was not a request—it was a decree. Freedom here was conditional, bound by rules that were absolute.
The crowd shifted uneasily. Some nodded quickly, eager to show compliance. Others stood rigid, their silence betraying unease.
The Masked Man paused, letting the silence settle before he spoke again. His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of command.
"Every quarter, we will have a blood donation drive. Our hospital blood bank stock is low, and we must ensure it is filled so that, if needed, there is no shortage."
A Pause.
"This drive will continue for a week. On the day of your donation, you will be granted leave from your duties. But understand this clearly—donation is mandatory."
The crowd stirred, but not with resistance. Heads nodded, voices rose in quiet agreement.
"That makes sense," someone whispered.
"It's for the hospital. For all of us."
"At least we get a day off."
The pleasers spoke louder, eager to be heard.
"This is fair. We should all contribute."
"Yes, it's for our benefit. We'll be ready."
Even those who had stood rigid before now softened, their unease reshaped into acceptance. The word mandatory had struck hard, but the promise of necessity dulled its edge.
The Masked Man's voice rose again, steady and deliberate.
"We are understaffed, so we will have to work all seven days of the week. But I assure you—the work will never feel like a burden. And if it does, you must inform your supervisor. We will arrange for something that suits you."
The crowd shifted, murmurs rippling through the clusters. Some nodded quickly, eager to show they understood. Others exchanged glances, weighing the promise against the demand.
The Masked Man continued in a firm tone.
"This should be obvious, but let me state it clearly: some roles will require shift work, yet no one here will be bound to permanent shifts. Shifts will rotate every quarter, ensuring that everyone has the chance to live on a normal schedule."
Relief flickered across a few faces. The pleasers spoke first, their voices carrying.
"That's fair."
"Yes, rotation is good."
"Everyone deserves balance."
The Masked Man's words pressed on, leaving no space for doubt.
"For those roles where shifts do not make sense—education, physical training, and others—strict timings will be enforced."
The declaration settled over the gathering like a net. The crowd acknowledged it with nods, whispers, and faint smiles. They convinced themselves this was for their benefit, that structure meant fairness, that strictness meant stability.
Mike stood silent, watching. He realized compliance wasn't forced—it was engineered. The Masked Man didn't demand obedience; he shaped it, turning necessity into generosity.
The Masked Man spoke again.
"Earlier, when we gathered here, I announced five meals: breakfast, brunch, lunch, evening snacks, and dinner. From tomorrow onward, it will begin like that—plus one more meal, dawn break, for those assigned to night shifts. Timings will be announced shortly, or will become known to you.
Since there are no phones or any way to communicate with each other, you will all be provided pagers to stay connected, and walkie‑talkies will be issued on a role basis."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some frowned, others whispered under their breath.
"Why not phones?"
"Wouldn't devices be easier?"
"How will we talk to people outside?"
The Masked Man raised a hand, silencing the questions before they grew louder. His voice was calm, but carried finality.
"We want you all to have a life free of smartphones or any other devices that hinder social activeness. We want you to be social, to mingle with each other face to face. Technology isolates. Here, you will learn to connect directly—with words, with presence, with community."
The Masked Man spoke again.
"Now, let us speak of housing. Each of you has been assigned a penthouse, and these are to be treated with respect. You are responsible for the cleanliness of your penthouse, though you may take help from your fellow people if needed.
Unscheduled visits may occur, but obviously these visits will only happen when you are present in your home. We request that you keep your home in order at all times.
Stocks in your refrigerator will be refilled on the 1st of every month, so I advise you to utilize the food appropriately."
The Masked Man let the silence linger before he spoke again, his tone softer but no less commanding.
"I know it is a lot, and I am sure many of you will have doubts about the way we do things here. But when you are the person responsible for keeping peace among so many people, one must be strict and disciplined.
I am certain you will agree that none of the things I have said are excessive, nor is adhering to them difficult. So please, keep these rules in mind."
He paused.
"I am very pleased for all of you to be citizens of this island. Tonight, let us celebrate together. There will be a feast in honor of this beginning. Remember—discipline builds paradise, and paradise is yours to keep."
The crowd stirred, relief breaking through the tension. Whispers of excitement replaced unease.
"A feast…"
"Yes, we'll celebrate."
The Masked Man raised his hand one final time.
"Thank you, everyone. I hope we will meet again soon—with good news."
With that, he stepped back, his presence still heavy even as silence reclaimed the gathering.