The White Space. Chapter 8. Ministry of Spatial Balance 2.0

It felt as if he had entered another world. The road was winding, tilting with every turn first to one side, then to the other. The entire landscape seemed uneven, textured, and sloping. Trees lined both sides of the highway—countless green trees—but their colors appeared muted, as though something was preventing them from reaching their full vibrancy.

- My glasses...- the protagonist remembered and quickly took them off.

His eyes were blinded by the bright foliage and the rich blue sky. He slammed on the brakes—barely able to see—and pulled over onto the shoulder. He wanted to take everything in, but his eyes had not yet adapted to such brightness. He began opening them gradually: first for a second, then two, and little by little his vision adjusted to the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Everything was astonishingly vivid, as if someone had turned the brightness all the way up. A wave of intense emotion surged inside him.

He stepped out of the car and walked toward the guardrail. He wanted to touch the leaves, to feel their color and texture, but the trees were too far away.

Suddenly, a car slowed down behind him—a police vehicle.

“Great. Just what I needed. You're not supposed to stop here...” he thought.

A police officer wearing the same glasses as everyone else stepped out of the white car with green markings. He approached while carefully checking the license plate.

- Good afternoon, sir,- the officer said.

- Good afternoon, sir,- the protagonist replied.

- Please place your phone against the tablet.”

Two short beeps, as always—an inseparable part of the system.

- First time visiting us, Mr. Hale? - the officer asked, a smile appearing on his face.

The protagonist felt as though he had been struck by electricity. It was so rare for anyone to address him by his first and last name. And the officer's smile... it was something extraordinary.

- Yes, sir,- was all he managed to say.

- I thought so. Took off your glasses and our sun caught you by surprise?- the officer said, smiling warmly again, without the slightest hint of judgment.

- Yes, sir...- the protagonist replied monotonously.

He felt embarrassed by his cold responses in front of such a pleasant officer, but he simply couldn't force out anything more.

The officer removed his glasses, took out a cloth, and began cleaning them.

- Three kilometers ahead there's a rest stop with parking. There's a café there and a beautiful view of the city. You can take a break and get used to our bright sunshine.

- Yes, sir...- the protagonist mumbled, - Thank you, sir - he added a moment later, finally managing a slight smile.

His facial muscles still resisted, but the smile was beginning to break through.

The officer turned toward his car.

- Have a good day, Officer,- the protagonist called after him.

The officer paused, smiled warmly once more, and replied,

- You too, Mr. Hale.

The police car drove away, but the protagonist remained standing there in a daze for several more minutes. In the past fifteen minutes, he had experienced a range of emotions greater than anything he had felt in his entire life. The sensations were incredible, yet understanding did not come. It felt as though something inside him had awakened, though he did not yet know what.

Eventually, he slowly got back into the car. For a moment, he stared into the rearview mirror. His face seemed unfamiliar, as though he were looking at someone else. He tried to smile. At first uncertainly, then a little more sincerely. He started the engine and continued on toward the place the officer had mentioned.

The location was intriguing: a spacious parking lot and a single-story building marked by a large red letter W. The establishment was called W-Point Café. Both the building and the parking area stood beside a high cliff. Numerous picnic tables and benches overlooked a spectacular view.

He entered the café first and downloaded the menu through his glasses. There were so many different drinks and dishes that he had never seen or tasted before. In his world, there were only smoothies with various flavors. They contained all the necessary nutrients, and each serving was precisely calculated according to a person's daily schedule, physical activity, and countless other factors.

Here, however, you could choose whatever you wanted.

Not wanting to take risks, he ordered coffee and chocolate ice cream. The ice cream appealed to him only because its texture vaguely reminded him of the smoothies he was used to.

He stood near the pickup counter and observed the people around him. Everyone was different, emotionally open: smiling, arguing, flirting. Not a single person was dressed like another. Everyone had their own style, their own colors.

Life seemed to flourish here.

The protagonist kept wondering whether this might be a dream. But no—it was reality. He could feel it with his entire body: through scents, touches, and visual impressions. Even the sounds were different—a pleasant, gentle hum of life. And now he was about to taste this reality as well.

A slightly overweight woman brought his order and handed it to him with a genuine smile.

He chose a table near the rocky edge of the cliff to enjoy the view. Below flowed a wide river, and on the opposite bank stood a vast metropolis. From this distance he could see only its striking silhouette; the details were impossible to make out.

A large suspension bridge with a greenish tint connected the two shores. That was probably the bridge he would soon cross himself.

There was a strange sense of peace in this place.

He took a sip of coffee. Familiar... yet different—stronger and richer.

The ice cream, however, was incredible. It tasted nothing like a smoothie. Sweet, with a slight bitterness from the chocolate.

He barely noticed when he finished it.

Afterward, he sat holding his cup of coffee and gazed across the river for a long time, feeling the sun's rays on his face and enjoying the warmth that surrounded him.

Time to go. It's almost three o'clock, he thought.

He cleared away his dishes and headed back to his car. He got behind the wheel, turned on the radio... and once again, everything was different. Different music, different rhythms, different styles. Different voices, different words. Songs with meaning and songs without it, yet all of them unique. Never before had he heard music like this. It sounded so emotional—some tracks were inspiring, while others carried a sense of melancholy. He spent a long time switching between stations, trying to hear as many genres as possible. Eventually, he settled on a station playing light electronic music, started the car, and drove toward the bridge.

As he pulled onto the bridge, the true scale of the metropolis revealed itself more and more with every kilometer. In the district he was heading toward, skyscrapers of various shapes and shades towered above the city. They were not brightly colored, yet neither were they monochrome. On the contrary, the buildings seemed to complement one another.

Wide streets stretched between the tall structures, while every sidewalk was lined with trees. Color flowed through every part of the city.

People hurried about their business. Others, by contrast, seemed to have nowhere they needed to be. They sat in cafés, strolled along the streets, or simply relaxed in parks.

He arrived at his destination. The building was circular, as though it stood upon a pedestal, with tall windows and electronic sun shutters. Its glass façade reflected the surrounding buildings and the sky.

Above the entrance, written in small, understated letters, were the words:

Department of Spatial Development

He no longer felt any fear toward this government building. Perhaps because it evoked entirely different emotions. Everything around him seemed calming and reassuring.

He stepped inside.

The interior was nothing like the Ministry of Space. There was no overwhelming whiteness. Warm colors, comfortable waiting areas. What stood out most was the abundance of plants. Everything spoke of comfort and tranquility.

He approached the reception desk. The young woman looked up and smiled at him.

- Good afternoon,- she said.

- Good afternoon,- the protagonist replied. - I have an appointment at three o’clock.

He held his phone against the scanner.

Two short beeps.

- Very well. Second floor, Room 202.

- Thank you,- he replied and headed toward the elevators.

When he entered the office, it was strikingly different from the one he had visited that morning. A beige carpet covered the floor. For a moment, he had the irresistible urge to take off his shoes and walk across it barefoot, though he doubted the employee seated behind the wooden desk with glass legs would understand such behavior. She sat comfortably in a soft ergonomic chair.

Behind her stood a large shelving unit filled with books, sculptures, flowers, and various decorative objects. A lamp on the desk bathed the workspace in warm light. In one corner stood a large armchair that looked impossibly inviting. Beside it was a floor lamp casting a soft glow and creating beautiful, well-defined shadows.

- Good afternoon, ma’am, - he said. - I have an appointment with you.

- Good afternoon, sir. Please place your phone against the scanner.

He did so, and as always, two short beeps followed.

- Nice to meet you, Mr. Hale. My name is Catherine, and I’ll be your new supervisor.

Interesting turn of events, he thought, a smile appearing on his face.

The woman smiled back. The fear had already faded, of course, but he certainly had not expected anything like this.

- What exactly will I be doing? - he asked. Somehow, having gathered a little courage, he had begun asking questions.

- You’ve been transferred here to do the same work you were doing before,- she replied. - Did you bring your equipment with you?

- Yes, of course,- he answered, trying to formulate his next question. - I’d like to clarify the regulations you follow here—approved color schemes, lighting requirements, furniture standards, and so on.

- We don’t have restrictions like that, - she replied, sounding slightly uncomfortable. - You simply need to take the client’s wishes into account.

The client?

Who was this client? He desperately wanted to ask, but something stopped him from pushing further—whether it was a reluctance to abuse her hospitality or a fear of appearing unprofessional.

- When can I begin working? - he asked.

- Today, - she replied. - First, you’ll need to stop by Room 107 and collect the printing materials. After that, you can head to the site. One room needs to be redesigned.

She glanced at her tablet.

- I’ll send the data library to your phone. You’ll also find the project address in the accompanying letter.

- And after I complete the assignment?

- You’ll be free until the next one.

- Very well. Thank you for meeting with me, - he said, rising from the comfortable chair.

- And thank you. Have a wonderful day. We’ll stay in touch.

- Goodbye, - he replied and left the office.

Well, this day is turning out to be unusual, the protagonist thought as he headed toward the elevator.

Ever since he had discovered that hidden apartment, his life had changed dramatically. It was as though it had suddenly been filled with color. The world that had once seemed orderly and understandable had revealed itself to be far larger than he had ever imagined.

But why?

He had no answer to that question. And it was the answer he wanted more than anything else.

Because of what he had seen and what he had done, he had been almost certain that things would end badly for him. He had prepared himself for interrogation, for sentencing, for disappearance. For anything.

Instead, he had been transferred here.

And everything looked as though he had been rewarded.

Yet he could not bring himself to believe it was really that simple.

It's not over yet, he thought.

Maybe this was just another form of punishment. Like a condemned man’s final meal before execution — something they used to do in the past. First they let you taste life, and then they take it away completely.

He sighed. No. He still had to be careful.

When he reached the materials distribution point, he was surprised by what he saw. There were no long corridors, no checkpoints, scanners, weighing stations, or guards. Just one man behind a counter. And nothing else. It felt almost… suspicious.

He paused for a moment, carefully scanning the space around him. No cameras, no control systems, no familiar cold order. Everything worked differently here. And somehow, that made it even more frightening.

The man behind the counter looked up at him. A calm, ordinary gaze. Not cold or bureaucratic — just human.

- Good afternoon, - he said.

- Good afternoon, - the protagonist replied a little uncertainly and held his phone to the reader. Two short beeps. That sound had already become almost a ritual.

- Materials for the object? - the man asked.

- Yes.

The man nodded and quickly typed something on the keyboard.

Meanwhile, the protagonist kept looking around. The place was quiet — not the oppressive sterile silence of a ministry, but a living kind of quiet. A ventilation system hummed somewhere, someone walked down the corridor, distant footsteps echoed.

Normal life.

And suddenly he realized something strange. Just yesterday, he wouldn’t have noticed any of these details. In the white world, there was no need to feel anything — everything was already defined: colors, light, space, people’s behavior. But here… everything was alive.

- You can go to room 107 and take the materials. In room 109 you can return the used ones, - the man said.

- I left the materials in the car, - the protagonist replied.

- No problem, you can bring them next time.

- Alright, thank you,- he said and headed toward room 107.

Everything here resembled the system he knew, and yet it was different. Wooden doors blended into wooden wall panels, barely noticeable without the small number plates and scanning screens next to each one.

He remembered the hidden door in apartment 58-A. Maybe the owner of that apartment had been here too, and took the idea from this place.

A double signal — and the door opened.

Inside were shelves full of materials: black-and-white and RGB cartridges.

He hesitated briefly before taking them. Nobody had told him how many he could take or which ones were allowed. Strangely, there seemed to be no strict control here. Most likely, he would need color cartridges. He took three color ones and two black-and-white, placed them in a special container, and walked back to the counter.

Tension slowly started to rise. He didn’t know what would happen at the exit. What if they stopped him for taking color cartridges?

With every step, his anxiety grew. He couldn’t even remember what to say or how to behave at the counter.

But nothing happened.

- Have a good day, sir,- the man said calmly.

- Thank you. You too, - he replied.

And suddenly, the tension released.

He left the building. The sun warmed him immediately, and it became easier to breathe.

The system had trained him so thoroughly that he now feared every government-like institution. Even though everything here was different, the feeling remained.

He sat in his car, set the navigation, and drove toward his destination.

On the way, he observed this new, vivid world and thought about what he would have to do. Who would be the client? What would they want? What exactly was he supposed to create?

Eventually, he arrived at a single-story brick building with a flat roof, large panoramic windows, and greenery almost swallowing it whole.

He held his phone to the reader. A soft, pleasant chime sounded inside.