Living in the Hexagon isn’t easy. Living in the Hexagon—you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy. And it isn’t really life at all: half-starved existence in filth and crap.
A day off—one day in a decade. Only one day when you’re allowed a bit more than on the working days. The rest of the time is endless hard labor under constant supervision from steel machines and overseers-kapo. Sleep—in stuffy, damp chambers for a hundred people. Food—slop. Life—shit. But people with numbers on their gray robots don’t know anything else.
Can a person keep something human inside in such conditions—or will his fate be to become a rat? Will loyalty, honor, conscience, goodness, and respect for people still remain—or has all of it already rotted inside him a long time ago? Can he band together to fight—or will the rat instincts win out? Is he capable of self-sacrifice? Capable of believing? Capable of breaking free from the dark concrete walls of the Hexagon when the one who knows how will come?..