EIS Office Center

The Girl

“She doesn’t move,” she whispers.

The little girl with the purple braids looks up at her mother as they walk past the woman.

“I know, but you won’t be like her.” The mother reassuringly smiles down, and the girl’s face finally starts to relax. The woman’s phone flashes, indicating the end of the allocated visit time. As they start making their way towards the exit, the girl turns back and looks at the thing one more time, trying not let her body lock up at the imagery. The trip to the EIS Office Center was supposed to be an educational one, but seeing all the things lined up in front of those bright blue screens made the experience more akin to a nightmare. Though still anxious, leaving the building holding her mother’s hand settled the red-hot fear in the girl’s chest.

It’s not her. It won’t be her.

The Teen

“Must we come here every year?” The teen with the purple braids complains.

The school teacher shushes her as the tour guide continues leading the group through another grey hallway. A speech about the history of the program is given as the teens stare dully at the various forms in the newly entered room. A whirl starts in the purple-haired teen’s belly as one of the forms is moved by the tour guide to further display its visages or lack thereof. The guide’s smile is always cheerful, as it has been at every visit.

The group of teens drag themselves through the rows and rows of forms as some feign interest as the guide drones on and on. Finally, after some concluding words, the group is directed towards the exit doors. On the way out, the purple-haired teen feels a rough, yet slippery touch on her hip. It was like being brushed by the body of a snake.

The teen, startled, looks down at the form. It’s the closest she has ever been, and this closeness allows her to see it all.

It won’t be her. It can’t be her.

The Adult

“Sign here and here. Make sure you read the terms and conditions, as this document is legally binding.” The woman numbly signs each stark white sheet as the man in the all white suit stand next to her with a bright smile, eyes creased at the corners.

It’s all a blur, and the woman just signs each page, not reading a single line. There’s no point in analyzing every text or sentence. She’s vaguely aware of the contents and understands what she’s signing herself up to do. After the last signature, the man's smile widens, and he directs her to another white-walled holding room to wait for processing. Grey, white, black, and occasionally blue are all that she sees in this place. It’s strange, but she thought that there would be more color in the holding area to at least provide some comfort or familiarity, but she guesses that there’s no point.

Everyone should know by now, so why pretend? She thinks.

“The papers have processed! Let me direct you to your desk.”

She stands, and they walk briskly until they stop at a low-lit bathroom. It’s sterile, almost blank. It's huge despite only having a tiny toilet, a plain sink, and several shower heads on each side of the four walls.

“You get to decide if you want to have one last cleansing. Do you want to keep your hair?”

Startled, she looks at the man. The question seemed to have come from out of nowhere. She doesn’t recall hearing anything about having to cut one’s hair. Granted, most of her knowledge is rumor-based from whispers of friends and coworker.

She doesn’t respond. His smile remains, though tightening a bit.

“Once you’ve been seated, there is no more chance to cleanse. Well, at least, not in the normal way that you would expect. Due to this, people opt to shave their heads. It helps with the transition.”

The woman stares at him for a long moment, and after some thought, she says, “No hair.”

The man’s smile loses it’s tightness, and he pulls a sharp, stainless steel pair of scissors out of his pocket and grabs a purple braid gently.

He cuts, and the purple mass falls onto the pristinely white floor.

The Body

She was placed in the seat a couple of days ago.

The man had directed her to a quaint black chair in the corner of the room. Close enough to see the bodies around her in their own little cubicles, but not close enough to see their faces or hear their breathing. The cubicle was all white with nothing on the side walls or desk besides a large desktop computer. The computer had no wires, and on the screen, all she saw was a mess of pictures, live feeds, and codes.

“You were assigned to the hospital sector. EIS FL General Hospital needs more assistance in maintaining its systems and preventing shutdowns. See, the logs are similar to what you learned a couple of months ago in school. You should already be familiar with the system and processing; just follow your previous teachings.”

He was right. On closer inspection, the screen did display similar coding to what she learned in her honors coding class. The connection made her heart constrict.

“This-”

“Please sit.” He commands, firmly cutting her off.

She continues to stand, looking at the man with increasing terror. After a long silence, she abruptly drops onto the seat. The man moves, and tight bands start to wrap around her. Her lower back spasms and aches as fear shoots down her spine. Her muscles were seizing, making her abruptly twitch in her binds every five seconds. The man, ignoring her heavy breathing and twitching, continues to strap her in tightly. After making sure the bands were secure, he reached into his suit pocket and brought out two tiny white objects. It reminded her of two worms, except they didn’t writhe in his palm; they were completely still. The man reached towards her face and placed his hands on either side of her head.

The smell was everywhere suddenly. Clorox on a hot day. He smelled like he had drowned himself in bleach for weeks on end. The smell was so distracting that she didn’t notice what he was doing until all she heard was screeching and pounding thumps.

They were headphones. She realized.

Next was the tube. It was a clear tube that was about the width of a thumb. Stomping his foot on a small ridge in the floor’s carpet, a small compartment was opened. Grabbing her head, he forced her mouth open as he pushed the tube in. Pain everywhere erupted in her as the tube scraped against the walls of her throat, leaving blood to come up. After making sure the tube was secure in her mouth, the man stepped away, taking the suffocating smell with him.

“All done. The papers documented how you should be feeling in the next couple of days and months, so no need to rehash that. Furthermore, your mother has received the funds, and all medical bills for your brother have been paid.”

The man stops smiling and simply walks away.

The Equipment

Every two days, nutrients are administered into the tube by the faculty. The goal is to keep the equipment energized enough to maintain normal activities, but not enough to elicit extreme movement. Due to this, the equipment needs to be switched out every two years.

By the end of the two years, the equipment is showing signs of wear and tear. The eyes are red and continuously closing. The tubes, despite constantly being changed, are bloodied within minutes, forcing EIS to make new ones more frequently. The fingers are losing their outer skin, causing slow typing. The stomach of the equipment is caved, causing it to hunch over in a not very conducive fashion for the monitoring. The skin is deterring and butchered from the lack of care, which, despite the already dejected environment of the EIS Office Center, would be too much for visitors. It would make the place morbid.

Hence why, they are replaced, and new ones are collected.

Despite the weary atmosphere, it is quite easy to obtain new machinery. They’ve seen the awful place several times, and yet, it's that familiarity that makes it so simple for them to sign up. They know it exists, and so when the day is over for them, the EIS Office Center always crawls its way into their minds. Consequently, on a particular day, a day that dismantles them, they turn towards the grey building seeking purpose.

That is how the equipment is sourced.