Capsule 3

Mike stepped into the small white room. The door itself reminded him of a fridge door, and he couldn't see any other exits. The moment the door closed behind him, he lost the ground beneath his feet.

His limbs spread out, weightless, and he felt as light as a dandelion seed floating over snowy fields. Except it was warm, and there was no snow. Instead, water droplets appeared, as perfectly round as anything could be, moving in slow motion from the bottom upwards. Time stopped for a second. The water fell, and Mike with it.

Two seconds later, he was back in the air, but this time more like a skydiver in free-fall. He felt his cheeks flutter—or rather, every tiny cell of skin on his body fluttered. It happened so fast before he slammed back onto the floor.

Now he noticed that the entire room was soft, and he really appreciated that feature. It stirred thoughts ranging from creepy to wondering whether elderly people had to go through the same experience.

The wall in front of him opened by the time he had managed to get back onto his feet. Beyond it was another small room with a chair and a table. A soft yellow jumpsuit lay on the chair, and a glass of water stood on the table. After getting dressed, he felt like a little yellow chick.

Another wall opened, and this time it led directly into a crowded room.

Mike took a small breath and stepped forward. The wall behind him disappeared instantly. No one seemed to notice him. He simply stood there and observed the crowd.

Most people sat with bored expressions, while some moved toward the small service windows in the opposite wall. Everyone who arrived first stopped at a little button on the wall next to the exit door. A small paper ticket came out of it.

He understood that he must be in some kind of reception area and that he needed to take a queue number. He pressed the button, took his ticket, and found a seat far off to the side of the room, from where he could barely see the numbers displayed above the little windows.

He tried to gather his memories and understand what had happened and why he was there. Everything seemed strangely familiar, yet impossibly far from his memory.

Suddenly, he noticed his number appear on the display. He stood up and started walking toward the window. Halfway there, his number disappeared from the screen, and the next one popped up. The next person was already at the window.

When Mike tried to explain that he had been skipped, the lady behind the window muttered angrily that he simply needed to take a new number if he couldn't make it there in time.

The intimidating look of the little lady in the purple jumpsuit was convincing enough for him to do exactly that.

This time, he didn't go far. Instead, he tried very hard to make himself comfortable by leaning against the massive pillar in front of the service windows.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The clock on the wall didn't appear to move at all, as if it had been stuck on the same number forever.

15:05. It should be sunny outside, wherever they were.

He noticed that everyone was wearing jumpsuits. Everyone dressed in yellow was bald, just like him. There weren't many people in yellow—in fact, there was only one other. It looked more like a woman, although it was hard to tell beneath the jumpsuit and the bald head.

The rest of the crowd wore purple jumpsuits, and they all had hair.

His posture sank lower and lower. He could feel gravity dragging him closer to the cold floor, but he kept himself upright, using the pillar for support.

The line moved slowly. Every time the door let in another purple creature, he noticed the man standing behind it, who wasn't wearing purple. The man seemed friendly and exchanged a few words with every guest who came in.

The chair closest to him suddenly became vacant, and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was only three steps away. At the very moment he started moving toward it, he saw his number appear on the display. He changed direction mid-step and hurried to the window. Behind him, someone immediately claimed the empty chair.

The man behind the window held out his hand for the ticket.

Receptionist: "It's the wrong number."

Mike: "Excuse me?"

Receptionist: "You have the wrong number."

Mike: "How do you know I have the wrong number?"

Receptionist: "You're wearing a yellow suit. People in yellow have to press the other button."

Mike: "But there's only one button on the wall!"

Receptionist: "No. Press the correct button and wait for your turn. Now move along. People are waiting."

A large man seemed to flow in front of the window without even noticing that Mike had been standing there.

With no other choice, Mike began looking around for another button.

All the walls were empty.

Then the door opened, and he spotted the not-purple man standing beside it with his friendly expression. Mike decided he looked like the least likely person to eat him alive, so he asked him about the button.

Still smiling, the man pointed to a button on the very same pillar Mike had been leaning against earlier.

"That's the one for the yellow ones."

Mike hadn't noticed anyone pressing it because no other yellow people had arrived while he had been waiting.

He took a new number and was lucky enough to find a seat close to the exit door.

He slowly felt himself transforming into a piece of furniture, melting into the chair. He tried to remember who he was, where he was, and why he was there.

Nothing.

Just an empty head.

He understood that he had to wait in line, but he couldn't remember what he was waiting for.

His thoughts were interrupted by the other yellow one.

She—or at least he assumed it was a woman—headed toward the exit door. Short, bald, and dressed in the same yellow jumpsuit, she walked with complete determination, convinced that she was finished here.

The not-purple man stepped into her path and calmly explained something.

She didn't seem to agree.

She made a move as though she were dribbling an invisible basketball, trying to get around him.

The doorman accepted the challenge of the invisible ball and blocked her path with remarkable grace.

Then the situation turned into wrestling.

The man smoothly grabbed her over his shoulder and threw her straight into the wall.

Surprisingly, the wall gave way, and the woman disappeared from sight.

The man brushed off his hands and continued with his day as though nothing had happened.

Mike remained seated, his mouth hanging open, feeling even more confused. He looked back at his ticket, not entirely sure it was the correct one this time either.

Time still stood still. He couldn't tell whether an hour or two had passed.

All his attention returned to the display above the windows. He wasn't going to miss his number again.

Eventually, it appeared.

He jumped to his feet and hurried to the window.

The man behind it seemed to have all the time in the world. He moved painfully slowly, his eyes fixed almost entirely on the screen in front of him.

Mike didn't know exactly what to say because he didn't really know what he was doing there—or why.

"Yellow... jaa..." the man muttered, peering over the top of his ugly black glasses.

"No... we can't take you."

Mike: "Take me where? Why not? Where not?"

Receptionist: "The system is down. Take a new number. Maybe it'll work again later."

Mike could hardly control himself.

He had waited all this time, and now the system was down.

He stood on the edge of rage and desperation, barely holding back tears of anger and frustration. He was about to argue, but one look at the receptionist's perfectly stoic face told him that nothing good would come of it.

He stepped back and wondered what to do.

Just in case, he decided to take another number anyway.

Taking a deep breath, he felt the need for simple human contact.

Looking around, he saw only people in purple jumpsuits, all of them having exceptionally weary or unfriendly expressions. None of them looked like someone you would strike up a conversation with.

The exit door opened again.

The doorman looked at least ten times more approachable than anyone else in the building.

Mike sighed to himself and walked toward the exit door.