Green Light Island

The tiki bar, a ludicrously ornate structure of carved wood and glowing amber lights, set in the center of a circular enclosure. Metal gates, spaced evenly, formed a perimeter, separates a small group of people celebrating around the bar from other, similar groups are scattered across the island. Beyond the gates, indistinct shapes move; occasional glimpses of other faces, shadowed and distant, visible through the gaps in the metalwork. The air hangs thick with the scent of rum and something else, something subtly metallic and unsettling.

One man, his face etched with weariness, raises a glass. "To success," he says, his voice a deep low rumble. His companion, a woman with unusually bright, almost phosphorescent eyes, clinks her glass against his. "To survival," she counters.

Another man, younger, nervously clears his throat. "Do you think this will be our last reward?" he asks, his voice barely audible above the celebratory chatter. His question hung in the air, unanswered, as the others continue their toasts.

The bar itself seems to pulse with a faint, internal light. Strange, bioluminescent flora clings to its supports, casting an eerie glow. Tiny, iridescent insects, unlike any known species, flit around the artificial torches, their movements strangely synchronized.

"Another round!" a booming voice declares, and the group obliged. They laugh, raising their glasses high, the metallic clinking a jarring contrast to their forced merriment. But the smiles didn't quite reach their eyes.

A sudden tremor shook the island. The bioluminescent plants flare, bathing the celebration in an intense, almost painful light. The metallic scent intensifies, becoming overwhelmingly pungent.

A woman with the phosphorescent eyes looks towards one of the gates. A figure, impossibly tall and slender, steps into view for a fleeting second before vanishing back into the shadows. It carries something – a long, slender object that shimmers with an inner light – that resembles a gigantic, bioluminescent feather.

"What was that?" The young man whispers, his voice choked with fear.

"Nothing," the woman replies, her voice strangely calm. "Just… a shadow. Drink up."

The tremor ceases as abruptly as it began. The party resumes, the forced gaiety more brittle now, thinner. They continue their celebration, the awkward silence between toasts grows longer, the laughter more strained. The other groups remain watchful, unseen eyes peer through the metal gates. The rhythmic pulse of the bar, however, continues, a steady beat against the unspoken dread.

"It feels… different this time," one of the group members murmurs, looking towards the glowing plants. "The rewards... they feel... less like rewards, and more like... sustenance."

"Nonsense," the woman with the phosphorescent eyes snaps, but her voice lacks conviction. "We earned this. We survived."

The unsettling pulse of the tiki bar continues, a constant reminder that their celebratory moment is taking place within a larger, incomprehensible reality; a reality that they are perhaps merely delaying their inevitable end.

At another location on the the Island, a circular room hums with a low, almost imperceptible thrum. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow upon meticulously arranged desks, each identical in its minimalist design, reflecting the overarching circular theme of the Island’s facilities. A palpable tension hangs in the air, heavier than the recycled atmosphere. Zee, a man whose face bares the etched map of countless sleepless nights, stands rigidly at the center, his silhouette a stark contrast against the pale walls. Each member of his team enters with the hesitant gait of condemnation. Their faces, usually etched with the intensity of their work, were now masks of apprehension.

Jerry, usually the first to arrive, who usually is seen pushing a cart laden with the day’s manuscripts, shuffles in empty-handed. His brisk stride was replaced by a slump, his shoulders bowed under an unseen weight. He approaches Zee, his voice a bare whisper.

"Zee," he began, his eyes welling. "They… they've shut it down. This is it. Their last day."

The words linger in the suffocating silence that follows. A collective gasp ripples through the room. Then, the dam broke. Sobbing erupted, a cacophony of despair. Desperation clawed at their faces, twisting expressions of quiet competence into raw, vulnerable agony. Pleading cries mixed with the choked whispers of disbelief. Years of dedication, their lives’ work, are being erased in a single, brutal stroke.

"No, no, this can't be happening!" cries Susan, clutching a data cube like a lifeline. Mark, normally unflappable, crumpled into his chair, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Zee, remains stoic. He raises a hand, silencing the anguishing chorus. His voice, though firm, betrays a tremor. "Enough," he commands, his tone carrying an unexpected authority. He brings a two-way radio to his lips, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Garbage Men. Report to Pod four, immediately."

The arrival of the "Garbage Men"— Seven figures in identical dark uniforms, their faces obscured by shadows—chillingly efficient. They move with practiced precision, their actions devoid of any emotion. Zip ties flash, swiftly silencing the pleas and cries of the team. The screams, though muffled by the metal, are agonizing. One by one, they are led towards a newly unlocked vault-like door, a stark contrast to the usually impenetrable steel. The heavy metal door closes, swallowing the last vestiges of their desperate cries and the echoes slowly fades.

Alone, Zee unlocks another door, revealing a control room bathed in an eerie glow of countless video screens. Each screen depicted a different section of the Island, displaying the lives of individuals within the facility. Faces, blurred and distant, seem to reflect his own quiet despair. His phone rings, the sharp sound cutting through the silence. He answers.

"Zee," a voice, cold and detached, rasped from the receiver. "The purge is complete. It will be a couple months before the next batch."

"Understood," Zee replies, his voice barely audible. He hangs up, the image of the emptied circular room, the silenced cries, echoing in his mind. He is left facing a wall of monitors displaying countless lives he could only watch. The weight of the Island's cruel efficiency is callus to him. He has a job to do and there is nothing to do except continue. He is part of the system. Now a system with one less group to worry about.

The group celebrating at the Tiki party on the other side of the Island silence their commotion instantaneously. They look up towards the sky as smoke pours above to the heavens. The smell of burnt hair, iron and leather took hold of them as they silently knew the signal. A thick voice bellows from a loud speaker for them to return to their gate as the reward had ended. Looking at each other with worried eyes and palpable fear as they gather quickly to their destination.

Two Months have passed.

Zee drives a transport vehicle swiftly along the the narrow road to the air strip. A commuter plane is landing on schedule, as usual. As he slows to a park, the door opens as stairs mechanically form from the fuselage to the entrance. A man immediately comes out waving the seven new recruits down the stairs. He wears an expensive suit and smiles obnoxiously to anyone or anything that looks his way. Zee secretly hates Prescott, as to him he is just a recruiter, a mindless promoter, a living infomercial. He gets more pay, has more freedom and does not have to deal with the bullshit that he always endures. He is "soft", yet Zee nods back to him, not knowing or caring if Prescott is waving at him or a security camera.

The group approaches Zee as he stands outside the transport with instant realization that the pampering was about to end.

David is the first to step in line and introduce himself. Zee just ignores him and stoically remains idle with anticipation to get to the next step. He despises the whole process entirely.

The transport, a hulking, light green behemoth, rumbles along the perimeter road. Seven new recruits, their faces a mixture of nervous anticipation and apprehension, sit rigidly in the back. Zee, their silent, imposing escort, grips the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road. The landscape of a beautiful tropical Island slowly transforms into an unsettling; stark, almost lunar expanse of concrete and steel punctuated by the occasional, impossibly tall, obsidian tower. The air itself, thick with an unspoken tension. The gates, colossal slabs of reinforced metal, begin to close behind them with a mechanical groan that echoes in the van's oppressive silence. Simultaneously, several of the recruits collectively gasp, their eyes darting nervously to the multitude of surveillance cameras that dot the buildings and fences – cold, unblinking eyes of the facility. A low hum emanated from them, a subtle, persistent drone that somehow feels more invasive than any overt sound. One recruit, a young woman named Anya, visibly trembles, her knuckles white as she clutches her worn duffel bag.

"This isn't... this isn't like anything I expected," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the van's engine. Zee doesn't respond immediately. He continues driving, the silence stretching taut until it feels almost tangible.

Finally, he speaks, his voice flat, devoid of inflection. "Welcome to the facility. Follow protocol and you'll be fine. Fail to do so, and consequences will follow." He glances at them in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. "Observe. Learn. Obey." The transport slows, pulling up before a sleek, dark green building that appears to defy gravity – its smooth surfaces seem to absorb the ambient light, rendering it obtuse against beautiful blue open sky. "Dormitory Pod 4," Zee states, his voice like polished granite. "Your accommodations. Each dorm has a computer terminal. It contains the facility’s rules, regulations, a comprehensive schedule, and access to the food requisition system." He pauses, his gaze sweeping over their faces. "I don't do explanations. I don’t do chit-chat. I do security, I am the link between you and your management. The computer will tell you everything you need to know." He continues, "The food menu is strictly controlled. Any deviation from the permitted items will result in disciplinary action. There's no need to ask, no need to question. Simply obey the rules."

Another recruit, a tall, muscular man named Kai, speaks up. "What about... emergencies? What if something goes wrong?" Zee's gaze sharpens. "There are no emergencies. There are only protocols. Follow the protocols. If you have an issue, record it on the terminal. Your report will be assessed. I am not a babysitter. I have no tolerance for insubordination."

The vehicle pulled to a stop. The recruits, a mixture of apprehension and dread in their eyes, file out, their footsteps echoing unnaturally loud on the smooth concrete. Anya’s eyes, wide and reflective, catches the glimmer of something unusual in the glass of the building - a fleeting image of what looks like a vast, star-filled sky swirling within the seemingly solid structure. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving her unsure if she’d hallucinated it.

"See you tomorrow morning," Zee says, his voice cutting through the silence, before driving away into a sudden encroaching dusk, leaving them alone in this surreal, almost oppressive environment.

They look at each other, each person holding a similar unspoken question that no one dare say out loud. What have we done? The obsidian doors slide open to reveal a sleek, minimalist interior, the hallways dimly lit, and humming with an undercurrent of unseen energy.

As they step inside, the sound of the humming intensified, resonating deep within their chests, a feeling more akin to a heartbeat – a heartbeat of the building itself. The seven new recruits were utterly alone, feeling swallowed by this strange and unsettling place. The unsettling truth begins to dawn on them. This was no ordinary facility.

The group begins their first day of work. They enter from a long concrete pathway down an to an underground passage. They are met with Zee who waves them to the entrance of their work chamber simply marked "Pod 4". As they take seats that coincide with assigned numbers received prior, they take in the sterile environment that resembles a court room.

"You are the judges," A thick mechanical voice fills the room ominous and deep. "You are to agree on what manuscripts are to be thrown in the red bin and which ones are to be thrown in the green bin."

The members look at eachother with seriousness. They know that their fate lies among the group decision. they were given this choice. they were given this opportunity.

"You will be gifted twenty-eight movie scripts a week. Each month, we will be taking the one that you agree upon. Remember our investment solely relies on each individual as a group."

"That's right, so if you don't know crap about entertainment, just leave it to the ones that know this business," Kai says out loud, who was the first to show his self imposed alpha status.

Zee walks over to Kai as the voice continues to encouragingly discourage the group with details. He towers over his chair like an awaiting vulture that was ready to pull muscle from bone.

"I've seen you before, in this very chair, acting as if you have all the answers. I assure you, it's the ones like you that take everyone down. Maybe you should let your work speak for its self?" He steps back after seeing Kai sink into his seat in fear. Zee knows it doesn't take much to change the atmosphere. The facility was created with keeping most people in line, some just need a little extra attention.

The voice continues with all of the rules and regulations that the group has already heard before. This time, it is just presented in a more serious and almost sinister way.

An elevator door opens with a screech as Jerry, the overseer enters pushing a cart that contains the said scripts for the week. He brings it over to a large wooden round table that exists in the center of the half-circled court of the Pod four residents. He displays a nervous smile and nods to Zee as he exits the room.

"I don't care how you do it, just get to work people," Zee demands.

Min, a quiet Chinese man is the first walk over to the table, he lofts the scripts around in search for something that grabs his attention. He uncovers titles like, "It Was All Just A Dream," "Jenny," and "The Devil's Doorknob." Nothing grabs his interest. He shakes his head and looked away and grabs one from the middle of a stack and walks back to his desk.

At that point, everyone rushes the table and starts rummaging through the manuscripts as if there is a winning lottery ticket hidden in the pile.

Eventually everyone gains a script, some have a few and they review, write down notes and the room remains quiet for hours.

There are no clocks or evidence of time present. A loud voice breaks the awkward silence as it hums through a speaker that conveys break time for lunch. They exit to a small piece of paradise located between there dorm building and their work facility. Food is then delivered in pods through a tube system labeled for each member.

Kai is not in much of hurry to sit, as he notices another group located on another side of a fence between pods, he cautiously looks around before walking over to the gaps between the metal slats. "Hey," he whispers to a member from the other unknown pod, "hey there, I'm Kai."

The timid female walks over to him with curiosity. She stands ten feet away as if he was diseased, looking in every direction to make sure none of the overseers are paying attention. "What?" she asks.

He tries to offer a smile to loosen her up, to no avail. "How long have you been here?"

"Ha, Pod four, right?" she responds. "You just got here huh?"

"Yes, there are seven of us."

"There are seven people in every pod. I hope you guys have better luck than the last group." She lifts a bottle of some sort of alcoholic beverage that he can't make out.

"Do you guys have drinks?" He notices immediately after he questioned her that there was large tiki bar behind her with a couple people mingling. "Can I have a sip?"

She looks at him with instant disapproval as she walks back to the gathering.

"You enjoying yourself Kai?"

Kai pivots around to see that Zee is standing two feet away from him in a stance that looks threatening. His eyes widen. He wants to speak but finds himself frozen with a fear he has never felt.

"We can easily replace you. Is that what I should suggest to management?"

"No, I'm good. I apologize. I'm sorry, I just -"

"Get your ass back to your group, I'm not saying it twice."

Kai walks with shame back to where his group huddles, eating and conversing.

Zee sighs heavily. After Kai walked away, he grabs his two-way and asks for Prescott.

"Hey."

"How is it going Zee?" Prescott asks.

"Any reports ready about this batch yet?" he replies in a stern fashion, skipping all pleasantries.

"I do, just have to get the paperwork scanned." He stated in a serious tone.

"What is the word on Kai?"

"He was a partner at a law firm, got lucky with an investment at one of the major studios. He is used to getting his way and we thought that maybe he has a good eye for majority appeal. He is annoying though, but I promise, he is worth it."

"Hmm-mm." Zee put his radio back on his belt letting out a gasp before looking directly at Kai. Kai is already glaring back at him.

(to be continued...)