5 : Hell Is — Other People

He realized then that the doors weren't locked. They didn't have to be.

Elias checked his watch. He had been here for three hours. He began to calculate the collective misery in the room. If human irritation could be converted into electricity, this room could power a small city—or at least a very large microwave to cook everyone in it.

He looked at the exit. He could leave. He could walk out into the fresh air, forget the registration, and live as an outlaw. But as he stood up, the egg-sandwich man sneezed, a fine mist settling over the back of Elias’s neck. 5 : Hell Is Other People

Elias closed his eyes and tried to find his "inner temple," as his therapist suggested. But the temple was being invaded. A teenager three seats down was watching TikToks at full volume without headphones—a relentless loop of high-pitched laughter and distorted bass. Behind him, two elderly women were having a shouting match about their respective gallbladder surgeries.

The clerk behind the glass looked at him with eyes that had seen the death of stars. She didn't speak. She just pointed to a small sign taped to the glass: He realized then that the doors weren't locked

He looked at his ticket: .The red digital display on the wall read: B-002 .

Elias froze. This was it. Salvation. He stumbled toward the plexiglass window, clutching his paperwork like a holy relic. He had been here for three hours

The toddler began to scream, a sound like a hawk being fed into a woodchipper. "C-one-one-four!" the speaker barked.