*　　　*　　　*

Gray eyes seem to reflect the winter sky. 

Why is it that you feel a trace of anxiety when you stare at the self you see in the mirror?

You should be used to seeing them by now, but those gray eyes still cast a feeling of malaise at you, like a pebble finding its way into your shoe.

>>>

Nineteen years ago, a girl named Miriam was born weighing less than thirty-six ounces. 

According to the story her mother told her, the high concentration of oxygen in the incubator caused a condition called “retinopathy of prematurity” to affect her eyes, and although she was able to avoid being blinded, one of her eyes turned gray because of it.

Miriam’s mother, Thelma, works as a librarian in a public library and raised her daughter alone.

She never spoke of Miriam’s father, and Miriam never asked. But just once, on her tenth birthday, a man wearing glasses appeared at her home.

“Miriam, when you grow up, I’ll come to see you again.”

She thought that the man with that kind-looking smile might have been her father, but as time passed, she forgot about it all. 

>>>

Miriam washes her face in the bathroom. After quickly putting on makeup and getting dressed, she’s putting on her shoes by the front door, when her cell phone rings.

“Hello...”

“Miriam, I see you’re finally awake.”

Her mother’s exasperated voice comes through.

“You’re a terrible oversleeper. If you keep dawdling, you’ll be late for school.”

“I get it. I’m leaving the house now.”

“Did you eat breakfast? There’s a sandwich on the kitchen table.”

“Yeah, but I’m in a hurry.”

“Speaking of which, you cried out in your sleep this morning. Are you alright?”

Miriam answers that she’s alright. She doesn’t want to make her mother worry, so she doesn’t speak of the dream where a white crow appeared. 

“Mom, I said I’m in a hurry.”

“Alright, alright. Be careful and have a good day. I love you with all my heart.”

Miriam hangs up the phone, unties her shoelaces, and goes back to the kitchen to bag up her mother’s homemade sandwiches.

As she goes through the front door and turns the key to lock it, the sight of the doorplate, stating “Room 101”, ever-so-slightly tilting must have just been her imagination. 

*　　　*　　　*

The Royal Academy of Dramatic arts that Miriam attends is a 20-minute subway commute from her home.

When she was in elementary school, she saw a stage production of Joan of Arc that inspired her to become an actress. 

Jean was a maiden of Orleans who heard the voice of God, fought for her country, and was sentenced by the Inquisition to be burned at the stake.

In that play, there’s a scene in which the imprisoned Jean confides her heart’s troubles to a white crow that had landed by her prison’s window. 

That scene took Miriam’s breath away.

【White Crow】

A crow with pale feathers. Highly intelligent, it appears in Greek mythology as a “messenger of the gods”. A symbol of non-existent, impossible things.

According to the book she found in the library, the white crow is described as a sublime being. But to Miriam, it’s a sinister bird that descends on the earth stained by the blood of the dead.

Why has this terrifying dream plagued her since her childhood? 

Miriam is shocked back to reality when the subway car stops with a creak. This morning as well, she makes haste to chase away the memory of the crow in her dream. 

As she rides the flow of people heading for the ticket gate, she suddenly gets the feeling that someone is watching her.

Even if she turns around, she wouldn’t know who it is. As she stands frozen by the escalator, a plump, annoyed-looking middle-aged man pushes past her. 

“Hey there, Miriam.”

As she exits the station, a voice calls out to her. It’s a young man from the same school who has feelings for her. 

“So it was you, Simon?”

“Huh? What was?”

“You were staring at me when I got off the subway.”

“That wasn’t me. I rode a bike to get here.”

Simon points at the public-use bicycles lined up by the roadside.  Miriam shrugs. 

“Anyway, were you painting yesterday?”

“Um... what do you mean?”

“Weren’t you walking around all covered with paint? I called out to you, but you just walked away.”

Miriam frowns at Simon’s words. 

She doesn’t remember that in the slightest.

“It wasn’t me. That must have been someone else.”

“No way. I’d never get someone confused with you. There aren’t many people with gray eyes like yours.”

*　　　*　　　*

Morning classes wound up being canceled due to circumstances with the acting teacher.

Miriam goes to a nearby park, sits on a bench, and fills her mouth with the sandwich her mother made. She shares a bit of bread with a wild squirrel who was watching enviously, and it eats wholeheartedly.

A girl with eyes just like hers—

As she thinks about Simon’s tale, the image of her face reflected in the bathroom mirror at home enters her mind. All of her little anxieties come back at once.

“Were you painting yesterday?”

Covered with paint? What could that mean?

Simon said that he saw the mysterious girl on the south bank of the river in the brickwork warehouse district. He said she was wearing a yellow raincoat. 

“There hadn’t been any rain, so that coat stood out to me.”

A yellow raincoat.The same as the little girl in her dreadful dream... 

Miriam stands up from the bench after she’s done eating her sandwich, still deep in thought. On instinct, she starts toward the warehouse district.

*　　　*　　　*

The river’s powerful current makes one reflect on the perpetuity of time. 

In this area where the past and the future collide, old buildings and new shops stand side by side, elderly people loitering on the street corners stare indifferently at the youths rushing around.

Miriam gets an uneasy feeling as she walks through the stone-paved alley under the overpass.

Feeling like she could encounter the girl in the yellow raincoat at any second, she’s startled by her face reflected in a window.

At that moment, she hears the screech of a crow.

Miriam’s head whips around instantly. She can’t see the crow, but she can hear the flutter of its wings. As she follows it down a small path, she smells a rotten stench. The smell of fresh blood, it’s her nightmare come to life.

Just as she’s about to go deeper down the alley, someone grabs her shoulder from behind.

“You’re Miriam, right?”

While she’s paralyzed with shock and fear, a tall man speaks to her in a cool voice. Although he’s wearing sunglasses, she remembers the gaze peeking out from under them.

In the subway, amidst the flow of people heading to the ticket gate. When the annoyed middle-aged man, pushed past her as she stood in front of the escalator, a calm-looking man wearing sunglasses was nearby. She’s been followed since then.

“...who are you?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to explain. For now, please, just follow me.”

Miriam struggles when the man tries to pull her along. She bites the man’s hand and runs as fast as she can.

“Oww... hey, wait!”

Run, run, run, through the maze-like alleyways. 

Before she knows it, Miriam enters a dead-end alley. Surrounded on all sides by brick walls, she’s shocked by the graffiti art painted on the wall at the very end. 

“...a white crow...”

Something clicks inside of her. 

The scene from the ominous dream she’s had countless times since her childhood is recreated in this mysterious mural. As she cautiously approaches it, the man who had chased her calls out.

“Stop! Don’t get near that painting!”

Ignoring him, Miriam touches the white crow. The next second, something strange happens to her body.

《Miriam’s gray eyes, stained with white and black, are able to concurrently perceive the events of reality and dreams.》

Reflected in her white right eye is the reality of the man staring at her in the back alley. Suddenly, a crack runs through one lens of his sunglasses, and he drops to his knees with a groan, covering his eye.

Reflected in her black left eye is the dream of the little girl standing on the blood-stained earth. She casts off the hood of her yellow raincoat and gazes over the deceased with her jet-black eyes. 

“...don’t look!”

Miriam shouts at the girl in an instant.

“Why?”

While Miriam is stuck speechless, the girl tells her with an innocent smile—

“I’m the one who killed them.”

*　　　*　　　*

“…Help me…” The Subject, bound in handcuffs and struggling to push past the fear in his throat, begins to speak. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Whatever is to happen to you is entirely irrelevant to the matter at hand.” The Interrogator remains completely still as he replies, his voice cold. “Remember your place in these proceedings. I am the one who will be asking the questions here.”

The walls of the room are windowless, and not a single timepiece can be found within. The Subject, perception of the passage of time failing him, finds himself unsure whether he had been thrown into the interrogation room mere minutes ago, or if it had happened weeks prior. But what scares him far more than not knowing how long he has been here, is not knowing how much longer this situation will last.

*　　　*　　　*

“I suppose it’s time to begin questioning. I want you to tell me what you know about that pair of troublemakers from the slums, Liu and Tough.” “I don’t know anything about those guys, I swear.” “Don’t lie to me.” “I’m not! I swear I’m not lying! No matter what you ask me, I won’t have any answers for you.” “Everyone I’ve questioned has said the exact same thing.”

The Interrogator stares down at the Subject, his eyes seeming to pierce through his very being and see all the way down into the depths of his heart.

“However, once I’ve got their jaw pried open and begin pulling their teeth one by one, they always change their tune. Crying that they’ll tell me everything they know if it means I’ll let them keep the teeth they have left. I wonder if you’ll react the same?”

The Subject’s expression stiffens. The Interrogator smiles faintly, before producing a small glass container. “Do you know what this jar contains?” “…??” “Jelly beans. The kind that Liu always keeps on his person. Tell me, why does he eat these so often? What secret purpose do they have?” “…Secret? Um, I think… he just likes them…?”

The Interrogator shakes his head, seemingly unsatisfied with the Subject’s answer. “That isn’t all there is to this. There’s clearly some other motive at play here. It doesn’t matter how much he likes them; no normal person would eat such a large amount of candy in a single day.” “Well, I mean, he’s not really a normal person, is he?” “You’re right about that. I’m very familiar with the kid’s eccentricities myself; the fact that he “isn’t normal” isn’t what I wanted to hear from you. What I did want to hear from you was the effect that high-volume consumption of these jelly beans has on the human body. There’s no doubt that this is directly linked to the abilities he possesses.”

The Subject only stares back blankly, seemingly completely clueless as to what the Interrogator is trying to say. Growing impatient, the Interrogator makes a noise of frustration before adjusting the lamp upon the desk, angling the bulbs directly towards his Subject. A jolt of pain sears through him as he is suddenly overcome by the intense light.

*　　　*　　　*

“Let’s discuss a different subject. I trust you’ve seen the tattoo Liu has upon his arm?” “Yeah, of course.” “Are you aware of the meaning behind it?” “No, I’m not, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know himself. Poor kid can’t stand that the one mystery he’s never been able to solve is one that’s inscribed right onto him.” “So, you’re saying that he wasn’t tattooed of his own accord?” “I guess not… I mean, it’s kinda hard to know anything about him for certain - he doesn’t really like to talk about himself, and he usually keeps a pretty big distance from other people. The only person he ever lets his guard down around is Tough.”

“Well, why don’t you tell me more about Tough, then?” “That kid’s simple to a fault, kinda comes off as an idiot sometimes. But, God, it’s scary how strong he is. No matter who he’s up against, he can knock ‘em down in the blink of an eye. …Speaking of, there’s this one rumour I’ve heard going around. Apparently Tough really likes playing hide-and-seek for some reason. But he never hides; he takes on the role of seeker, every single time.”

The Interrogator thinks deeply about the strange rumour presented to him, drumming his fingers upon the desk. Watching the movement, the Subject suddenly finds his eyes drawn to the man’s fingernails. They are strikingly neat, carefully filed to perfection. In this moment, the gap between the fortunate and the less-fortunate couldn’t have felt any wider.

*　　　*　　　*

“You tell nothing but lies.”

The Interrogator suddenly ceases tapping at the desk and begins to speak.

“As did your parents, and their parents as well, and their parents’ parents before them. They are all nothing but liars. And, to tell the truth, I myself am very experienced at lying as well. We as humans owe our very existence to our ability to lie - constructing ourselves as a species from a long string of falsehoods, creating our desired fiction and designating it history."

Listening intently to the words of the Interrogator, the Subject nods.

“Let me tell you something. This room is known as Room 101. However, it is not the only Room 101 within this building. There are hundreds of interrogation rooms, each identical, each bearing the same designation of number 101. Do you understand the reason why? The fiction we compose in turn composes the world itself. And within that fiction, you and I are merely playing the roles of “Interrogator” and “Subject” as the narrative demands. Tell me, are you and I any different from our shadows?”

Upon the cold, lifeless wall, two cold, lifeless figures are cast. The Subject gazes upon them as he considers the role he has been chosen to play.

*　　　*　　　*

“I tell nothing but lies.”

The Interrogator’s voice rings out through the stale air.

“Within the fictional location known as Room 101, the moment any phrase is uttered it becomes a lie. The blackest crow, in an instant, becomes the purest white. And thus it becomes clear: the only thing you can do is lie.”

“…I can only tell lies?”

“That’s right! Our lies become truth, and we surpass the paradox!!”

Unable to contain his excitement, the Interrogator stands from his chair. The movement causes the lamp to topple, and the shadows cast upon the wall erratically shift and warp.

“Within this world, there are certain lies that must not be questioned, truths that must not be uncovered. But according to information we’ve received, there is a group of unregistered slum-dwelling non-citizens, a group of NoIDs, who aim to violate the taboos that have been put in place. And at the centre of it all is Liu, who will uncover the truth at any cost, and Tough, who will take out anybody in their way. What are they planning? What kind of expression are they hiding behind those masks?”

The Subject simply grins widely in response. The Interrogator can only grimace back at him before he is interrupted by the phone as it begins to ring.

“Hello? …W-- What!?”

In a panic, the Interrogator rushes to switch on the nearby monitor. The television feed springs to life, proudly displaying a group of NoIDs wearing yellow raincoats and masks breaking into a government residence. More images appear in succession - the forgery of famous artworks, the destruction of the slums with no regards for its residents - truths that the authorities had a great interest in suppressing, now being laid out for the world to see.

“Stop the broadcast! Right now!”

As the Interrogator shouts into the receiver, the Subject brings his fists down on the desk. The sound of his handcuffs hitting the surface rings out once, then twice, then many times in succession. And then, as if in response to his call, the same sound begins to resound through the walls - hundreds of handcuffs beating against hundreds of desks in hundreds of instances of Room 101. The building is engulfed in a deafening noise.