text: The room smelled of bleach, sterile and arcid. I sat on a chair that was designed, first and foremost to be looked at. I wondered how I’d gotten here. My last job was a repetitive lot of 30 second phone phone calls and paperwork. That was it. Any sensible person would have held onto that little over paid position - but I was bored within a week. So there I sat, uncomfortable and slightly dazed. (The fluorescent lighting was really doing a number on me) &#x200B; The room looked just as sterile as it smelled. White walls, white tiled floor and that awful lighting! It even felt like a hospital - it wasn’t. &#x200B; After waiting patiently for fifteen minutes, I started rubbing my thumb on the top of my jeans. I hated these first days at a new job, the whole thing was such a long process of half truths and grovelling. At least it’d be over soon. Just as I began to drift off, I saw the doorway across from me actualise and my interviewer step through. She was one of the most strikingly beautiful people I’d ever seen. &#x200B; “Thank you so much for coming, and thanks for your patience Mr. Talbot” &#x200B; I had to put on a happy face despite myself. &#x200B; “No worries” I chirped back. &#x200B; “I’m sure you’re interested in seeing what this job’s all about, so lets get started! - If you’ll follow me we can begin immediately.” &#x200B; I squirmed in my chair - I’d always found it hard to speak to women, the attractive ones most of all. &#x200B; “Sure thing” I squeaked back and scurried silently through the door behind her. &#x200B; The next room, somehow was even more sterile than the first. The same faint air of bleach in the room, the same tiles, the same damn lighting. And not a stick of furniture, save one white stool that rose out of the centre of the room as if it was a part of the floor. The walls were rounded so once the door closed it seemed like one continuous surface. &#x200B; “Here,” she said - gesturing to the stool “Is where you’ll be doing the majority of your work with us.” &#x200B; Opposite the stool was a long, thin window - the kind you see in interrogation rooms. &#x200B; “As I’m sure you know already,” she continued “your main role here will be observation” &#x200B; “Yes” I stammered “but what exactly will I be observing?” &#x200B; “We have a series of new patients here, all S class psychopaths - we’re trialing a new drug to hopefully help them reintegrate into society.” &#x200B; A wry grin crossed my face - &#x200B; “Ha” I thought “reintegrate into society” &#x200B; That explained the waiver and the non-disclosure agreement and layers of locked doors. Com-Sec was up to something. Either they were finding a way to chemically lobotomise these “psychopaths” or they were creating mind-wiped soldiers to fight on the Kashmir front. Whatever it was, the boys at news net would pay handsomely to know. Suddenly it all rushed back to me. The room, the girl, the job. &#x200B; “So what am I supposed to be monitoring?” &#x200B; “We’d like you to watch each subject and write what you see, simple as that. Because of the experimental nature of the procedure, its best if you are told as little as possible, so your observations aren’t biased.” &#x200B; “Fair enough” I muttered &#x200B; “We picked you because of your background in psych-analytics, no need to overthink this” &#x200B; “OK, sounds simple” I replied, trying in vain to sound neutral and professional. &#x200B; “Great, well if theres nothing else you want to know, lets get started!” &#x200B; “I hate to ask... but whats the rate of pay for this position?” that was the big one. Glad I managed it. &#x200B; “12 gigacredits per day with a 5 - pent bonus at the completion of your 3 year contract” she said flatly. &#x200B; My eyes widened. With that kind of money I could move out of my shoebox in Stately and move somewhere nice. I could get mom out of the retirement village - with just enough left to feed my growing list of vices. I did my best to sound nonchalant &#x200B; “Sounds fair” &#x200B; “Well if you have no other questions - lets begin.” &#x200B; She raised a desk from the floor like quicksilver and handed me a small black tablet and stylus. “Your first session will last for 5 hours - I’ll be in the next room, if you have any trouble just hit the button on your desk and I’ll come right in.” &#x200B; Then, as if by magic she was out of the room as soon as she had spoke, with the door quickly deacutalizing behind her. At the same time, the window in front of me parted, slowly revealing an impish man squatting in the middle of the room across from mine. He wore a faded blue shirt and ripped blue jeans - his face was a scrappy hedge maze of dark, scraggly hair which seemed to hang from his face like moss. At first, he sat there, motionless - knees bowed apart like some great awful swan. He slowly raised his head, and if it wasn’t for the 6 inches of mirrored perspex, I could swear he was looking right at me. It seemed like his old, tired eyes were trying to find some way out of that 4x4 room. I began my notes. As I began to write, he began to mumble. An incoherent mess of syllables - I couldn’t tell what language it was, if any. &#x200B; “Where do they find these people!” I thought to myself “Surely he’s got some sort of complex.” I had to feel sorry for him. &#x200B; But I could scarcely say he was human. The more I wrote, the more he mumbled. &#x200B; “We make a good team” I chuckled to myself. &#x200B; Not that there was much to write about. After a few minutes he began pacing back and forth - muttering gibberish as he went. &#x200B; “At least they’ll get there monies worth” I cackled to myself. &#x200B; I’ve never written such a detailed account of something so ordinary - but it was their money and I wasn’t complaining. After half an hour of pacing and mumbling “Scabbers” - as I’d politely dubbed him, seemed finally to have tired himself out. He lay on the pristine white floor, splayed out like the cover model of some forlorn magazine waiting for their close up. I breathed a sigh of relief - finally, I could stop writing this meaningless drivel and have some time to myself. My mind drifted to thoughts of the credits and what I’d do with them. Take a shuttle and see the games maybe - this time of year both teams put their best foot forward to try and score the best sponsors, and you could be sure there’d be a heavy weapons expert and a ju jitsu master or two thrown in to really get the crowd going. &#x200B; “Fuck! Where’d Scabbers get to?” I thought &#x200B; My first day on the job and I’d already lost my patient! And he was in a locked room no less! &#x200B; “Ah” I breathed a sigh of relief, he was just sitting directly below the window. Must’ve snuck off for some private time. &#x200B; “Mustn’t scare me like that old chum!” I chortled &#x200B; I noticed the pool of blood on the floor and instantly my confidence evaporated. How had he managed to hurt himself? There wasn’t anything sharp in the room - hell, the room itself didn’t even have corners. I thought about calling in my interviewer, but decided against it. It didn’t matter, he didn’t look too hurt. What was important was the notes. &#x200B; I started writing again. As I started writing, he started mumbling. I noticed something - his hand was moving. He was writing something on the floor &#x200B; \- M - A &#x200B; Jesus, in his own blood - she wasn’t kidding about these people. Well, whatever he was writing must’ve mattered a whole lot to him, he kept going. &#x200B; M - A - L &#x200B; He ran out of blood and then I got to see how he’d done it - he’d cut open his hand with his filthy nails. &#x200B; Then after getting more “ink” he was straight back to work. I looked down at what he was writing. &#x200B; M - A - L - C - O - M - T - A - L - B - O - T &#x200B; My name. &#x200B; It definitely put a damper on my first day at Com - Sec. I’d had about enough. I thought I’d be getting these credits easy and now I had some half baked experiment scribbling my name across the floor in blood. Time to hit the button and take my smoke break. &#x200B; I felt the rigid surface of the button slide underneath my finger. Then, all at once - blackness. Where was the door? I stood up and groped the inky darkness around me. &#x200B; Nothing. &#x200B; No handle. No doorframe. No corners even. &#x200B; I sat there for what seemed to be an eternity - it was probably closer to 30 minutes. I heard the muffled sounds of footsteps through the wall. &#x200B; “Thank God.” I exclaimed &#x200B; Little miss pantsuit is finally here to turn on the lights and get me out of here. Across from me, a long thin window slowly opened. Through the wall I can just barely make out the conversation - &#x200B; “Your first session will last for 5 hours, I’ll be in the next room, if you need anything just hit the red button.