I woke up in a large, dark room. I could barely feel my face. The slightest movement caused me indescribable pain. I was covered in wounds, bruises, and dried blood. When I ran my tongue over my teeth, I realized several were missing. All around me, dozens of migrants sat on the floor. Apparently, I hadn't managed to save any of them. I looked for Flirty among the crowd, but I didn't see him. Perhaps he had managed to escape.
"Next," said an officer at one end of the room. Beside him stood three other officers and a cell where several migrants were being held. "Who the fuck's next?!"" he shouted, and a migrant stood up and walked toward them. Without being told, he handed over his backpack and began to undress until he was down to his underwear. The officers opened the backpack, turned it upside down, and shook it. A half-eaten apple, a blanket, and a water bottle fell to the floor. The officers picked up these items and placed them on a table where many others lay—presumably confiscated from other migrants. Then they took the clothes and confiscated them thoroughly. They found a few bills and some coins, which they placed on the table.
Then they took a pocketknife and used it to cut open the soles of his shoes, in case he had hidden something there.
And in the end, they gave him back his clothes and ruined shoes. The migrant got dressed, and they shoved him into the cell.
"Next," this process continued again and again. If any migrant was carrying a large amount of provisions, the guards would eat the food or throw it on the ground right in front of him. I was so weak that not even all the rage I felt at seeing this was enough to make me stand up.
"Well, look at that. This guy really had some cash on him." On a couple of occasions, the officers found small rolls of bills that the migrants had hidden. One of them begged them to give the money back because it was his life savings, but the officers simply beat him up and locked him in the cell. He wept out of rage and impotence.
More than one migrant presented papers, arguing that they were not illegal—that they had documents or permits to travel through the country. But the officers simply told them:
"This shit is worthless here," all while they were tearing up their documents. The first time this happened, I tried to get up, but the moment I put my foot on the ground, I felt such intense pain that I couldn't move.
When my turn came, I tried to drag myself toward the officers, but pain surged through my entire body again, and I collapsed to the ground.
"Bring him over, you assholes," one of the officers told the migrants surrounding me, and they dragged me toward him. The pain was almost unbearable, but at least I only had to endure it. "Strip him," the officer ordered; the migrants turned me onto my back and removed almost all my clothes. The officers took them and inspected them. Naturally, they found nothing. "Get him dressed and put him in the cell," the migrants put my clothes back on me and dragged me inside. When I arrived, there were already too many people in there—far more than there should have been. There was barely enough room for me to lie on the floor.
Naturally, it didn't take long before several of the migrants inside had to hoist me onto their shoulders so that everyone else could fit in. They propped me up against the cell bars, and I clung to them with all my might. Soon, the cell was so packed with people that there was no room to move.
But the officers kept cramming in more migrants, and eventually, we were packed so tightly that if one person pushed another, the shove rippled through the whole group. In fact, to fit one of the last migrants into the cell, the officers made some space by pushing in the people at the entrance; they, in turn, shoved us all with such force that, even though I was gripping the bars with both hands, I ended up in the middle of the cell, crushed between all the people surrounding me. There were so many of them and so close that I couldn't fall to the ground even if I'd wanted to. Ironically, been crushed by so many people made it way easier for me to stay on my feet.
The officers then left and locked us inside. It didn't take long for the stench of sweat, dampness, urine, and excrement to fill the air. In one corner of the cell stood a bucket that served as a toilet, though we were packed so tightly that moving it from one spot to another was nearly impossible; consequently, people ended up urinating or defecating right where they stood.
For my part, I focused on coping with the pain. I used almost all the energy I had gained while unconscious to heal my wounds. The pain ceased to be unbearable, though it remained far from negligible. My knees were trembling, and my legs burned; I could barely endure the pain in my chest and lower back. Hunger, thirst, and exhaustion were gradually taking hold of me.
Suddenly, the officers returned and even entered the cell. They then forced their way through the crowd and began selecting men and women, whom they dragged out.
"Help me," someone behind me murmured in a barely audible voice, so I gathered all my strength and, whenever an officer passed by, I would stand tall and—if necessary—move a little bit to one side or the other so that no one would see the person hiding behind me. At that moment, I couldn't save the people the officers were dragging away, but at least I could protect this one.
Fortunately, soon the officers left.
"Thank you," said the person hiding behind me—and now that she wasn't whispering anymore, I managed to recognize her voice. "Thank you so, so much... boyfriend."