Felix jolted awake, heart hammering, his mind a fog of panic. He lay on a soft, warm bed, a woollen blanket tucked around him, its comfort alien and unsettling. A bedside table held a plate of crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and golden toast—an extravagant meal he'd only seen in pictures, never tasted. His family's meagre pantry in Intermarium couldn't afford such luxuries. His stomach growled, but hunger took second place to dread. He wore a thin hospital gown, and a quick check confirmed no injuries. Why am I here?
A nurse yanked back the curtain, her smile too bright. "You're awake!" Her accent—clipped, dropping 'r's, turning 'ou' into 'oot'—matched Carter's, the traitor who'd handed them to the Technate. Suspicion coiled in Felix's chest.
"I need to leave. Where are my clothes?" he demanded, voice hoarse.
"Eat your breakfast and relax," she said, gesturing to the plate. "The food's free, and you don't need insurance here."
Felix shook his head. "No. I stayed overnight for appendicitis at the hospital when I was thirteen. My parents had to pay thirty thousand dollars."
She laughed, a sharp, disbelieving sound. "That's absurd. I never heard of a hospital charging that amount. I have other patients—eat, and I'll check on you later." She breezed out, leaving the curtain swaying.
Clueless, Felix thought. Memories of Kipford's decrepit wards—mould-streaked walls, the stench of unwashed bedpans—flashed in his mind. This place, with its pristine floors and antibacterial soap scent, screamed wealth. The military made a mistake. I can't afford this.
He spotted slippers by the bed, soft and gray. Springing up, he slid them on and shuffled into the hallway, passing rooms where patients slept under crisp sheets. A shout stopped him. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"
Felix turned. A man stood fifteen feet away, his short Caesar-style hair dark brown, a silver cross gleaming on his chest. A minister. No time for sermons. "I can't afford this place," Felix said, pushing open a stairwell door.
"Stop! I need to talk to you!" The man sprinted toward him.
Felix darted through, letting the door slam, and raced down the stairs to the main floor. He burst through the hospital's front entrance. Across the street, sleek skyscrapers pierced the sky, their glass facades glinting. Cars hummed along a smooth road, electric and silent. Where am I?
"You need to come back!" The minister's voice rang out. Felix spun to see him flanked by two security guards.
"I can't," Felix snapped. "No insurance. This'll bankrupt my family."
"Where do you think you are?" the minister asked, his tone measured.
"Gem City, Intermarium's capital. Only elites live there."
The minister's eyes softened. "You're in Opal City, Technate."
Felix's breath caught. "No. That's impossible. The army brought me home. This is real, not a prank." He backed away, heart racing.
"Look at the sign," the minister urged, pointing.
Felix's gaze locked on the hospital's entrance. Technate General Hospital. The words burned into his mind. He shook his head. "I need to go home."
"That's not possible," the minister said, voice firm but kind. "It's a shock, being in a foreign land."
The guards seized Felix's arms, their grip like iron. "Let go!" he shouted, thrashing weakly, still drained from the drug. They dragged him back inside, past a crowded lobby. Fifty people lounged on chairs and benches, their eyes flicking toward him.
A man with a gray beard down to his chest sneered. "Intermarium's a shithole. Underfunded schools, starving kids."
A woman clutching a tablet shouted, "Intermarium sucks!"
Rage flared in Felix's chest. How dare they? But the guards hauled him to a white padded room, its walls soft as marshmallows. They tossed him onto a low bed and locked the door. Furious, Felix screamed and punched the wall, the cushion absorbing his blows. Hours crawled by as he rocked against the wall, despair settling in.
The door clicked open. The minister entered, carrying a tray with an egg salad sandwich and orange juice. "I brought you food," he said, setting it beside Felix, his smile gentle but unwavering.
Felix stood, squinting. "I know about your genocide. Technate wants to wipe out Intermarium."
The minister—Pat, he introduced himself—raised an eyebrow. "No genocide. Your country's films are propaganda. They paint us as monsters to keep you loyal."
"Lies!" Felix snapped. "I saw a movie—Intermarians forced into pits, shot by your soldiers."
"Corrupt films," Pat countered, arms crossed. "I visited Intermarium ten years ago, before travel bans. Poverty everywhere—teenagers fighting over dumpster scraps. I brought gifts for orphans, but the staff stole them for their own kids. Your country lies to you."
"My country wouldn't lie!" Felix's jaw clenched. "You've never lived there. You don't know!"
"I'm Patrick Bates, but call me Pat," he said calmly. "I run a church shelter for refugees. You could stay there."
"Refugees?" Felix's face flushed. "I'm not a refugee! I want to go home!"
"You can't," Pat said, eyes dropping to his polished shoes. "Intermarium will persecute you for aiding the enemy. You're safer here."
"I miss my mother, my sister," Felix said, voice breaking. "I haven't seen them since I joined the army. I belong in Intermarium."
"You need deprogramming," Pat insisted. "Your hate for Technate is built on lies. A counsellor can help you see the truth—Technate's a good place to live."
"I'm fine!" Felix crossed his arms. "All I need is a plane ticket home."
Pat sighed, pulling a pamphlet from his cassock. "Read this. It explains our culture. Your country bans our films, our news. You've never seen the real Technate." He set it on the bed and left.
Felix crumpled the pamphlet and hurled it across the room. His stomach roared, forcing him to grab the sandwich. As he chewed, the creamy filling tasted foreign, like this strange, gleaming world. But home—Intermarium's muddy rivers, his sister's laugh—called to him. He wouldn't let Technate break him.