"You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop." – Rumi
The young man sat, breathing through what he had been told. There will be no other assignments if this assignment fails. He hesitated. "This is my last assignment. If I can't be successful this time, I won't be reassigned?"
On the screen, the man's smile faded and changed to a serious expression. "Yes, that's right. If you fail this time, you will be categorized as ineffective and no longer needed."
The young man gulped, his eyes narrowing as the words sank in. "No longer needed?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
"That's correct."
The clear seriousness of this message hit the young man pretty hard. He slid in his chair, his shoulders sagging. What little warmth in the room seemed to drain away, leaving a chill that settled deep into his bones. The screen's soft glow now felt cold and unwelcoming, as he processed the message.
The man signaled to the woman, and she approached the young man with a document in hand. It was thick, filled with dense text and several pages, with a rubber band holding it together. The document seemed as imposing as the environment around him. She placed it on the desk before him and explained its contents, but he was barely listening. Her voice blurred into the background for the young man; all he could hear was 'no longer needed'.
The woman read through the document, detailing the terms and conditions of the contract, her tone dry and devoid of feelings. He held the papers but stared passed them. Painfully waiting for her this woman to finish her oration, sinking deeper into to the oppressive atmosphere of his situation.
When she finished her spiel, she glanced at him, she asked impatiently. "Now, do you have any questions?"
He blinked, trying to collect his thoughts. His voice came out soft, almost hesitant. "Yes, um, what does it mean, 'no longer needed'?" The question annoyed her, and she sighed with barely concealed exasperation. She sat heavily in her chair, her eyes narrowing as she leaned across the desk.
"The company has one need for you," she said, her words slow and deliberate like she was explaining something to a small child. "If you cannot handle the basic tasks associated with this need, you are no longer needed." Her eyes locked onto his, her gaze unyielding. "Do you understand now?"
He nodded slowly, slightly sighing, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. "I understand," he said. The sense of finality in her tone was unmistakable. There would be no more chances. This was his last shot; if he failed, there would be no way back. The term "no longer needed" took on a new meaning, as cold and unforgiving as the room they stood in.
"Good," she says, sliding him a tablet where the contract awaits his digital signature. He went through the document, making his digital acknowledgments and signatures. She takes the tablet from him, makes some entries, and waits for a response. She then places the tablet on the desk and returns to her computer, saying nothing as she types feverously on her keyboard. Her glasses light up, and she stops reviewing the information across the lens; she glances up at the young man, "You're being called up."
He looked up at her with anticipation, struggling to smile, "Now?" The woman nodded a curt, almost mechanical gesture. He returned the nod, then stood up, smoothing the wrinkles in his jumpsuit. He knew the drill: wait for the signal, then follow instructions for his next assignment. The waiting room's stillness felt more oppressive, like a calm before a storm.
Another figure emerged from the plain door beside the desk—a large man in a well-fitted blue suit, his shoulders broad enough to suggest he had once been a fighter or something close to it. His hair was cut short and neatly styled, and he wore the same high-tech spectacles as the woman. He held a file in one hand; in the other, he had a large tablet. The woman pointed at the man, indicating that the young man should follow him. He did as he was told, disappearing with the suited man through the door.
They walked down a busy hall, following quietly by his guide. He led him a small room, barely more significant than a closet. The air was stifling, the walls close enough that he could touch both with outstretched arms. There was a single bench, a rack with a few articles of clothing, and a large black mirror on the opposite wall. It seemed to absorb the meager light in the room, casting an ominous shadow over everything. As soon as he stepped inside, the door shut behind him with a metallic clang, locking him in.
He took a deep breath, his pulse quickening. He slid his jumpsuit off and stood in his underwear, examining himself in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw—there was a nervousness in his posture, a slight tremor in his hands. At the mirror's top right corner, words began appearing in bold white font. He squinted to read them: 'brown wavy hair, short but not too short.'
He nodded, ran his hands through his hair, and felt the strands shift, reconfiguring themselves to match the description on the mirror. It was an odd sensation, his hair responding to a command like some living software. He awaited the following prompt, which soon came: 'Light brown eyes.' He rubbed his eyes, and they changed from blue to light brown, a subtle but noticeable transformation.
The following prompt: 'Age, 35 to 39.' His heart sank a bit. He rubbed his face, and the smoothness of youth was replaced with a touch of maturity, lines forming around his eyes and mouth. His disappointment was clear, but he had to comply.
The following prompt: 'Professional and casual.' He turned to the rack, sifting through the hanging clothes. The selection wasn't extensive, but he found a pair of black slacks, a brown pullover shirt, a brown belt, and a pair of dress shoes. He kept glancing at the mirror as he dressed, ensuring everything fit just right. When he was done, he took a step back, gave himself a final once-over, then nodded.
A button beside the mirror blinked to life, casting an eerie glow on the dark walls. He pressed it without hesitation, the soft click of the mechanism oddly satisfying in its finality. The door slid open quietly and another man appeared. Tall, imposing, dressed in a sharp navy blue suit. His stance was rigid, and his gaze was as cold as the metal floor they walked on. It felt like following a warden through a labyrinthine prison.
The young man was led back to the front office, where he met with the woman again. Her eyes scanned him from head to toe, taking in his new appearance with a critical eye. After a moment, she nodded her approval, though her expression remained stern.
"Okay," she said curtly. "Take him out, and let's see if he can make it work this time." Her voice was void of encouragement, more of a command than an instruction. It left no room for questions or hesitation.
The large man led the way to the large blue door, its color contrasting sharply with the sterile white walls. He gestured, beckoning him to follow. The young man obeyed and stepped through the blue door.
They entered a dark hallway, the dim lighting casting long shadows stretching endlessly. The corridor had identical doors, each with a small digital panel beside it. It was a long dark hallway that felt like a maze. The young man's nerves tensed with each step, the ominous silence broken only by the echoing clicks of the large man's shoes on the metal floor.
They stopped outside one of the doors, the large man quickly punched a code into the digital panel. The door opened with a soft hiss. He stepped in, scanning the room as it closed behind him.
The room felt different from the cold hallway. It was dimly lit, the light soft against the walls. In the center of the room, a chair faced a small table. On the table, a laptop blinked on, casting a gentle glow. Across from the chair, a large clock ticked steadily, each second adding to the quiet tension.
He sighed, taking in the sparse surroundings. It felt like a waiting room for one, the clock and the laptop the only company. He sat down, the chair creaking under him. The minutes seemed to stretch endlessly. With each tick, his sense of dread grew. Every second felt like a countdown to something he wasn't sure he was ready for.
Suddenly, the laptop chimed, breaking the silence. He looked at the screen. The words "Hello, I'm Sarah" appeared. The simple message sent a wave of unease through him
He reached forward, his fingers hovering above the keyboard as he gently sighed. The name seemed so ordinary, yet everything else about this place was anything but ordinary. He typed slowly;
"Nice to meet you, Sarah. I'm Richard."