Gainful Employment

Same thing every Wednesday, usual questions, usual answers, usual lies. Callum Turner had spent his entire life avoiding any kind of work; far better, he thought, to use the generosity of others and, as he grew into adulthood, exploit the welfare system instead.

The main fly in Mr. Turner’s slothful ointment was the council’s insistence that he should find a job. He could circumvent the worst of their methods with forged entries in the employment journal, but sometimes he would be forced to attend ‘employment workshops’ or interviews; of course, they served about the same purpose as the paperwork. But after everything over the past ten years it looked like they were getting serious but he’d managed to get out of every other scheme they’d signed him up for and this one would be no different.

It was another half an hour before Callum was called in. This was not the usual man that put his name down for these things. The usual man, Mr. Collins, was middle aged with thinning grey hair and a permanent air of near terminal stress but this one was very different, he was very smartly dressed with slightly greying brown hair and a cool air of calm. The man led Callum into the room and offered him a seat at one side of the desk before sitting down at the other. On the desk was the familiar old computer that held the relevant information regarding Callum and his failed ventures into the world of work. The man looked at Callum with a passive expression, as though waiting for something to happen, before speaking:

“Good morning, Mr. Turner,” he began “I am here as part of the new initiative to help individuals such as yourself who find it difficult to engage themselves in the workplace.”

He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a small pamphlet and an application form, placed these on the desk and continued,

“This is a new programme which aims to give people such as yourself the skills and attributes necessary for employment before being given a starting position at our waste treatment facility.”

Callum didn’t like the sound of any of that, not the work and certainly not the prospect of work in waste treatment.

“Well, I’d really like to, of course, but I don’t think you’ve been told about my health problems.” He lied smoothly, slipping into his default excuse for all occasions.

Before he could concoct any further maladies the man held up a hand to silence him.

“Mr. Turner, I assure you I am fully aware of your physical condition. When you enroll upon this programme you will spend two weeks at our on-site training academy, while there you will be given a full and thorough medical examination to allow us to make best use of your capabilities” He picked up the application form; Callum’s details had already been filled in, all that was missing was the signature. Callum looked over the document, he knew better than to sign just anything they put in front of him but couldn’t find anything particularly alarming about it, however he was still reluctant.

“Suppose I refuse to sign?” Callum asked, his inflection suggesting a hint of innocent enquiry.

“Then I’m afraid, Mr. Turner, you will be stripped of all benefits.” Came the frank and stern reply.

With nothing to lose but his money Callum relented and signed.

“Excellent!” the man smiled as he handed over the pamphlet in return.

“This will tell you everything you need to know and how to get to the academy. So, I shall see you there at nine’o’clock Monday morning.” He smiled again as he motioned Callum to the door, Callum gave a half-hearted thanks and left.

Callum headed home after the depressing meeting, reading the pamphlet as he went. To be honest, he thought to himself, the academy didn’t seem like such a bad place; it had private rooms with T.V. and bathrooms en suite, there were three square meals a day and all he had to do was attend two classes each day. Besides that and the compulsory medicals his time was very much his own until the end where he’d be guaranteed a job which, of course, he’d find out he was somehow unsuitable for in advance and be back on the dole doing nothing before the two weeks training were up.

Monday morning soon rolled around, Callum hadn’t planned on turning up on time and so was rudely awakened by a knocking on his door at seven; it took constant knocking until half past seven to finally convince him that premeditated lateness wasn’t going to be an option.

Callum got up and dressed in his most worn and unkempt clothing and went downstairs to open the door. Standing at the door was a taxi driver who smiled and motioned Callum to the car waiting by the roadside.

“Ah, Mr. Turner sir, if you’d like to accompany me.” The driver said cheerfully.

“Sorry mate,” Callum replied, “You must have the wrong house.” And went to shut the door only to find the driver holding it firmly open.

“I don’t think so sir.” The driver’s tone was somewhat less friendly now “Now we have got quite a way to go so if you could hurry up?”

“I’ve not had breakfast.” Callum protested.

“Food will be provided on arrival. Please follow me.” The last sentence held an air of irritation and mild threat. Callum was by no means a violent person, not least because he was a slender and unathletic man, so he decided that discretion was the better part of valour and got into the waiting car.

The journey to the academy was long and boring, however, the seats were comfortable so Callum made the most of the situation by going to sleep. Upon arrival Callum was rudely awakened for the second time that morning before being taken to the front door of the academy. The building was very modern, with large glass doors and marble tiles in the foyer. The driver pressed a button on the intercom panel and a few seconds later the same man that had signed Callum up to the program opened the door to let him in, the driver returned to his car with a cheerful

“have a good day sir!”

The man smiled at his latest participant and offered a handshake.

“Good morning Mr. Turner. I’m sorry that I didn’t properly introduce myself before. My name is David Myers and I am the manager here at the academy.”

Callum reluctantly took the man’s hand and shook it stiffly.

“Now, if you’d like to follow me, I’ll get you signed in and then you can get settled into your room before your first session.” Myers continued in a far too cheerful manner.

As they approached the front desk to take care of the formalities Callum was introduced to Dr. Phillips who would be taking care of the medical assessments and providing a proper balanced diet in the canteen. Signing in was a simple matter of a couple of forms followed by a key card being issued. Myers left Callum at the desk and an orderly showed him to his room which was acceptable; the furniture simple but modern and the bathroom was spotless with a bath and shower as well as the expected conveniences. Callum sprawled out on the generously sized bed and thought about how he could maybe try to spin out the course for longer than the two weeks.

A brief, if rather thorough, medical examination and a hearty breakfast later and Callum was attending the first of the day’s training sessions. He was taken into a drab grey room with blackout curtains and a large screen. There was a small table with a single chair and an orderly sitting with their back to the screen. Callum took his seat and waited patiently, giving his best feigned interest as the orderly shut the door and started the film before putting a pair of earplugs into his ears. The video was basically the same kind of thing that Callum had seen several times before, interview technique, punctuality and proper conduct, all the usual dross that they tried to hammer home; although this time Callum couldn’t draw his attention from the screen, he was bored to tears and the slightly tinny audio was annoying him, but he watched every second.

Just over an hour after he’d sat down Callum was allowed to leave, he stretched and thought back over the video he’d just watched, he was pretty certain he’d actually seen it before at another course but his head was feeling sort of fuzzy after sitting in the dark room staring at the screen and he couldn’t quite place where he’d seen it, he shrugged and decided that what he needed was to take a bath and relax.

Back in the comfort of his room Callum sat back into the inviting heat of the water and sank into the dense bubbles. As he lay there in his own little world he couldn’t help but feel something was ever so slightly amiss, a little detail was niggling at the back of his mind but he just couldn’t place it; relaxing further into the warmth of the bathtub he decided it was probably nothing.

Callum spent a peaceful hour or so dozing in the bath before his stomach decided it was time for food again. As he left the room he found Mr. Myers heading his way.

“Ah! Mr. Turner! I was hoping I’d be able to catch you. How was your first session?” he asked in a jolly tone.

“A bit boring if I’m honest.” was Callum’s blunt reply.

“Yes, we hear that a lot.” Myers replied unperturbed.

Callum decided to push his luck and try to get a response.

“That video,” He said, “I’m sure I’ve seen it before, this place getting by on hand outs is it?” he asked hoping to strike a nerve but Myers was as cool as ever.

“Not at all,” Myers replied, “All our instructional materials are specifically produced for the programme.” Myers leaned in a little closer and smiled “but when someone has played the system for as long as you I’m sure they all look the same.”

Callum was shocked, this was the first time that anyone had openly accused him of what he had obviously been doing his whole life; he knew he was playing the system but the system was not supposed to answer back. Before Callum could formulate a reply Myers patted him on the back

“Why don’t you go and get something to eat?” he said, almost condescendingly, “we need you to be nice and alert for your next session.” and with that he turned and walked off, Callum still staring in surprise as he went.

The food was good at least. Callum was not a voracious eater but he was unusually hungry today and decided to make the best of the free food and drink available; two plates of pie and chips followed by rice pudding and three cups of coffee seemed to fit the bill, especially since it wasn’t the so called ‘balanced diet’ the doctor had threatened. He sat in the canteen and watched the television that was hung on one wall, it showed reruns of old shows and Callum was enjoying himself as he poured a fourth cup of what was very good coffee. Following the unsettling exchange with Myers, Callum was nevertheless feeling quite good and was warming to the idea of spending the full two weeks. A few minutes later Dr. Phillips sat down at the same table.

“Hello there Callum, may I join you for a brief chat?” he asked.

“You already have.” Callum replied trying to convey the unspoken message that he wasn’t in the mood for a chat. Dr. Phillips chuckled to himself as though the reply were hilarious.

“Thank you. So, how are you finding life here on your first day?”

“Good enough thanks.” Callum replied again, keeping answers to a minimum.

“Good, good. Glad to hear it!” the doctor continued “Your medical results are good too; we’ll have no trouble finding something to suit you once you’re done here.”

Callum gave a quick glance, checking over the doctor’s expression but it betrayed nothing more than honest enthusiasm.

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Callum replied with a theatrical sigh “there’s all kinds of things you can’t properly diagnose.” he finished as the voice of experience.

Dr. Phillips smiled as he stood up and placed his hand on Callum’s shoulder in an annoying, overfriendly way.

“Nonsense!” he laughed “you’ll be an important cog in our little machine, you’ll see!”

After dinner Callum attended his second session which was, apart from the content of the video shown, exactly the same as the first; once again Callum felt the slight fuzziness in his head which was, if anything, a little worse than before but he decided that it was nothing a good meal and a rest wouldn’t solve.

The following days continued much like the first, with the study sessions like unpleasant punctuation in an otherwise agreeable situation. Callum was now in the habit of taking full advantage of the free food and drink, consuming considerably more than he normally would have; he even fancied he might be putting on a little weight. The only problem Callum could find was that the strange, clouded sensation in his head now seemed to be permanent and getting quite intense. It was sometimes hard to focus outside of sessions. Soon enough it was time for the first medical assessment, this one much more thorough and prolonged than the initial medical As Dr. Phillips fussed around, taking Callum’s temperature and blood pressure and so on Callum mentioned the persistent fogginess in his head, Dr. Phillips smiled.

“Ah yes, only to be expected!” He started “Nothing to be concerned over, it’ll just be a little stress from the sessions.” He explained as he fetched a device from one of the cupboards in the infirmary. The doctor held up what looked like a small digital camera to Callum’s eyes.

“If you’d just look here for me a moment please.” he said, pointing to the lens of the device. The camera flashed a sequence of lights into Callum’s eyes and the pressure in his head faded.

“Better?” the doctor asked, Callum nodded although, while the pressure was gone, there was still something at the back of his mind that he couldn’t put his finger on but, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to mention it. With the medical concluded Callum was once more free to please himself.

The days passed, again strikingly similar to each other except that now Callum felt as though he was on autopilot for the most part; choosing to stick to a set routine rather than make the most of his freedom as he had done those first four days. He didn’t mind the routine as such but it was disconcerting that he seemed to just adhere to it without thinking, anytime he let his mind wander he’d just set off to a session or find something to eat; he was even sleeping routinely, without need of alarms to rouse him. It was at the second of his medical checks that things became strange.

Callum sat on the bed in the infirmary as the doctor carried out the checks, he followed the doctor’s instructions without comment or question even though he wanted to voice some serious concerns about his own mental state. Dr. Phillips once again fetched the device from the cupboard even though Callum hadn’t mentioned anything, in fact Callum had been deathly silent for the whole examination. Once again the doctor held the lens to Callum’s eyes which stared intently down into the device despite his best efforts to look away. Another sequence of flashes burst from the device and as the glare subsided Callum found himself feeling detached, as though observing from inside his own head, capable of thinking and perceiving but now without any control of his body. The doctor waved his hand in front of Callum’s blank glassy eyes, smiled to himself and then picked up the phone on his desk and called through to Myers. A few minutes later he entered the room and inspected the immobile participant.

“Excellent!” Myers exclaimed “He’s ready for phase two I take it?”

“Oh certainly, just an empty husk now,” Dr. Phillips replied, “he’ll follow instructions and react as programmed but otherwise he’s pretty much a vegetable.”

Callum could feel the panic rising, something terrible and sinister was happening but he couldn’t move a muscle to protest, his body was as much under his control as were the stars and moon but he could still see, hear and understand everything that was happening as he sat there inert and impotent.

Myers turned to Callum again,

“Now Mr. Turner; you are hungry. Go and find food for yourself.”

In his mind Callum fought every step but his body just moved towards the canteen entirely unfazed, whatever had been going on over the past week had been planned deliberately for this purpose. The sessions had been some kind of brainwashing technique, the dullness and tinny audio both unbearable and yet compelling while the checkups were an excuse to reprogram his brain. Callum reached the canteen, walked in and sat down. The television was off and the only sound was the cook plating up something behind the counter.

The cook walked over and placed a bowl and spoon in front of Callum. Inside the bowl was not the normal delicious foodstuffs that the canteen had previously offered, it was a thick blackish brown soup that had a nauseating acrid metallic smell to it, nevertheless Callum started to eat in spite of his struggles to stop. Spoonful after spoonful was automatically shovelled into his mouth and rapidly swallowed before the next arrived, hardly even stopping to breathe. The thick iron-like taste filled his mouth and nose but he continued to eat until the foul chemical slurry was gone. Once finished Callum sat motionless at the table trying fruitlessly to force his arms to put his fingers down his throat to disgorge what he had just eaten. A few minutes later Dr. Phillips walked in, spoke to the cook about how the subject, no longer bothering to refer to him by name, had taken the offered food and then sat down opposite Callum at the table. He took a moment to give his patient a cursory examination before writing notes down on an official looking document. Although to him the doctor’s writing was upside down Callum could make out what was being written:

‘Subject responded well to phase one; mental conditioning complete and stable, phase two has commenced. Conditioning of the alimentary and gastrointestinal tracts to receive materials for processing has started and the subject has taken the first dose of the conditioning compound without issue.’

The doctor, satisfied with the report then stood up and left the canteen; as the doctor left a second bowl of the vile compound arrived in front of Callum, his hand again picked up the spoon and brought another mouthful to his lips, screaming internally while his greedy turncoat body gulped it all down.

And so it went on, every day Callum did nothing but consume the foul liquid served at the command of the doctor, all they had to do was tell him he was hungry and his body would carry him to the canteen and drink everything put in front of him. Feeding had become more frequent, nearly once an hour now; Callum’s skin had taken on a grey pallour and his stomach was distended from the sheer volume of consumption. When he wasn’t eating or defecating he simply sat and waited for instructions. While his body was entirely under the control of the staff his mind was still aware, especially of the agonising cramps in his chest and stomach caused by a combination of the volume and toxicity of his new feed, even still the feast went on.

By the end of the second week, the deadline after which Callum was supposed to be enrolled in the company’s employment, he was barely recognisable; his already slim frame was now gaunt except for his distended stomach, his skin and eyes held a ghostly pearlesence and his hair was now only a few thin wisps across his bare scalp. Callum sat vacantly in his room awaiting his next instruction; Dr. Phillips entered and approached his patient.

“Stand up Mr. Turner.” he ordered.

Callum obeyed.

“Good, now follow me Mr. Turner.” The doctor beckoned as he turned to leave.

Callum again obeyed and followed Dr. Phillips out of the room, to a wheelchair waiting outside which he was told to sit in and like a frail automaton he did.

The doctor took Callum through an unfamiliar area, through doors and hallways that had never previously been open to him. Inside his head Callum was torn between relief that he wasn’t being forced to eat again and the cold dread of something far more terrible to come. As the two of them progressed through the restricted area of the facility, down elevators and through security doors, the overall look of the place changed from the familiar hotel carpets and light, airy decor of the ‘public’ side to a more clinical, sterile and claustrophobic hospital style. Some fifteen minutes or so of being pushed through the winding corridors and they approached a huge set of security doors at which a very large, serious guard checked that all the paperwork was in order before letting them through to a surgical theatre complete with a large operating table over which hung a fearsome array of armatures and devices, the purpose of which Callum sincerely hoped would remain a mystery.

Inside the operating theatre Myers and a group of men in suits stood chatting to each other. They turned as Callum was wheeled in and the doctor turned him to face them, not one of them showing the slightest unease at this ghoulish appearance. Myers beamed a disturbingly enthusiastic smile.

“Ah, dead on time! Gentlemen, this is Doctor Daniel Phillips.” He gestured to the doctor as he made the introduction.

“Dr. Phillips is the mastermind behind the conditioning programme!” this statement garnered a light smattering of applause from the men, the doctor thanked them and with a nod to Myers left the room. Myers strode over to the inert patient in the wheelchair.

“Gentlemen, here is the product of the first and second phases of the conditioning programme,” Myers placed a hand on Callum’s shoulder and continued “The process begins with a short period of mental conditioning, this is to break down the subject’s will and personality so that they will not resist further processes. A humane byproduct of conditioning is the removal of physical response; the subject is unaware and cannot feel any stimulus applied. Observe!”

Myers took a long pin from his suit pocket, lifted Callum’s hand and pushed the pin clean through the palm; externally there was not so much as a flicker of response but in the confines of his head Callum howled in silent agony. Another smattering of applause punctuated the act as Myers removed the pin, he raised his hand for silence and carried on.

“The next step is to prepare the body for use as a biological waste converter. The subject is now completely under the control of the assigned manager and will respond only to commands given by those whom the subject is conditioned to obey, this includes any commands so be careful what you ask for.” Myers paused for effect while the men politely acknowledged the humour.

“The subject is instructed to consume a specific mixture of microbial culture and nutrients for both microbes and host; the mixture destroys the resident bacterial populations and replaces it with a selected culture of waste treatment microbes. The mixture is also formulated to reduce host energy consumption, thus reducing the amount of nutrients needed to support the subject once processing is complete, thus reducing cost.”

Myers took hold of the wheelchair and pushed it over to the operating table; a group of five people, men and women all dressed head to toe in surgical attire entered the room and lifted Callum from the chair to the table. Myers removed the chair and gestured to a small door at one side of the room.

“If you would take a seat through there we can proceed with the final stage without disturbing the workers.” He said with another hint of forced humour.

Lying motionless on the slab Callum was terrified beyond anything he’d ever experienced. All his senses felt heightened, the rustle of clothing, the sharp chill of the steel table on his back; everything seemed so much more intense. Unable to move Callum could only see what was happening directly in front of him, the gloved hands and robed figures passing wicked-looking steel tools to each other as they chattered in a medical jargon totally foreign to the man laying prone before them. A shiver shot down Callum’s spine as he felt lines being drawn on his skin across the shoulders, thighs and stomach. A piercing electrical whine filled the room and a few seconds later lights appeared in the mass of menacing implements suspended above the table and the whole device unfolded into a myriad of razor tipped limbs, drills and clamps. Trapped in his own private hell Callum watched as the surgery began, no chance of escape, no anaesthetic, no voice with which to scream.

The surgeons and machine worked on with precision and efficiency while the men watched from the safety of the viewing room. As they watched the procedure David Myers explained the process:

“The first part of the procedure,” He began “Is to remove the four limbs as they are now surplus to requirement, doing so will greatly reduce the amount of nutrients needed to support the subject and in turn reduce the running costs.”

One of the men raised a hand,

“If I may ask, what do you do with the limbs once removed?” he asked.

“Ah, that’s simple,” Myers smiled “they go to the canteen for lunch.”

The men all looked justifiably horrified; Myers sighed.

“Just a joke gentlemen. We do operate under strict ethical standards. The excess body mass is cleanly incinerated.” He finished to nervous laughter.

A second man raised his hand,

“What sort of impact could a program like this realistically have on employment? Is this an effective incentive?” he asked.

Myers’ uncomfortable humour froze.

“Let me be absolutely clear, gentlemen,” he snapped, “This program is not a method to be used in dealing with those who are merely disenfranchised and in need of help, we have a separate program dedicated to giving aid to those individuals where appropriate! The subjects here are selected because they are nothing but a drain on society. This process puts them to far better use than they would otherwise be thus serving the community at large.”

Myers took a deep breath, apologised for the outburst and regained his composure.

On the other side of the viewing window the first part of the surgery was complete with Callum now little more than a dismembered trunk with tubing protruding from him mouth and groin. The surgeons flipped what remained of the man over on to his front as another surgeon wheeled in a table upon which was a device like body armour with hundreds of long slender needles all across it.

As the surgeons began the next procedure Myers continued his explanation.

“The next step is the final process before installation into the system. The device being installed into the subject’s back is a neural stimulation matrix; the needles will be inserted into key nerves across the subject’s body. With this we can control all physical processes of the subject so that they function according to a specific sequence.”

The sensation of the needles pushing through his skin was almost pleasant after what had preceded them, gentle prickles compared to the visceral agony of live dismemberment. The pricking of the needles subsided as the final thin metal slivers slid into place. Through the haze of pain and confusion he heard one of the surgeons talking,

“Okay, ready to test the matrix, whenever you’re ready.”

He heard a click as something was plugged into the device now firmly anchored to his back.

“Ready? Three, Two, One.....”

Every nerve lit up like fireworks, the bursting patterns causing spasms in every muscle still attached; the pathetic torso danced on the table like a clinical sideshow. With the process now complete and the surgeons satisfied Callum, or at least what was left of him, was taken away to his final destination.

Inside the viewing room the crowd watched on in silence. A minute or two after the procedure was finished Myers clapped his hands and rubbed them together briskly,

“So, gentlemen; what do you think?” he asked.

One of the visitors raised his hand,

“How does the community react to this facility?”

“Excellent question,” Myers exclaimed “obviously the community at large is unaware of this particular part of what we do. The public image of the facility is that of a successful employment workshop. We have an excellent track record in helping people back into the workplace.” He beamed a proud smile.

“Why adopt this method over traditional ways of waste treatment?” Came the next question.

“A simple matter of image and logistics. Nobody wants chemical waste near their homes but neither do they want a waste treatment plant. What we do here is to replace the majority of the machinery with a natural bioreactor modified to process specific types of waste. It’s cheap, effective and provided the proper care and attention is taken no one is any the wiser. On average each reactor can process one and a half to two barrels of waste every day, multiply that by the one hundred bioreactors currently in use and we have a modest but effective treatment plant which is still compact enough to be discreetly placed within a suitably sized building.” Myers checked his watch.

“And now if you’ll follow me we can get something to eat and drink while we discuss licensing contracts.”

Finally, he had found his place, or more accurately was bound in place, within the rows upon rows of others just like himself, all the other subjects that had come before him all inextricably fixed into the winding system of pipes, pumps and tubes that kept the effluent flowing into the permanently hungry mouths of the mutilated bioreactors. The same terrible taste washing through the tubes into his atrophied gullet as the precisely calibrated needles forced his body to process the foul waste. Every day the sequence repeated, each carefully timed shock causing precise spasms: swallow, hold, churn, hold, swallow, churn, hold, evacuate, restart. The worldly remains of what once was Callum Turner pondered on that one strange remark from a different life only a matter of weeks before:

“you’ll be an important cog in our little machine.”

The End.