Stock or Spectator?
"C'mon, it's the best job you could hope for!
"I just don't want to be the one sending them to their death"
Sarah knew that she shouldn't turn up this job offer, but as her alternatives were being a scavenger and risking her life every day or becoming a street whore in the DMC's sprawl. She just didn't want a guilty conscience and this list of "acceptable payments" was crazy.
"So, it ranges from guns to... lighters?" Sarah asked as she looked at the insane list.
"Yeah. I got some guys on the field looking for some special things for me. They're good but they're gonna need all the help they can get." Stoat said simply as he poured himself some whiskey.
"This may sound strange but... why don't you just charge people money to enter?"
"Think about it, my girl, how far is the DMC? What am I gonna do with money, huh? Go get myself a new jacket? Guns, drugs and electronics are things I can use."
"And how exactly are you gonna use "every iSlab you get milk outta' the guy"?"
"Ha! I got a guy in the DMC that can get me visitor pass for every couple a' iSlabs I get him. Maybe I'll get ya' one if you stay with us for a while. So, you in or what?"
Sarah was quite concerned about the guilty conscience she would inevitably receive. She had seen the amount of people that got killed every day in that pit.
"Know any therapists around here? I'm gonna need one if I have to do this every day."
"Ever heard about the art of illusion? If you make your brain think it isn't a big deal, your mental health won't take such a big hit. It's all in here." Stoat said as he pointed to a book entitled "Why it's Never Your Fault". "You can borrow it if you want. 'Got some great tricks in there" He enticed.
Sarah picked up the pen and signed the contract, as well as ticking the box "Will take payment in cash", with the hopes of getting that visitor pass and escaping to the DMC as soon as she could.
The Stoat chuckled to himself, "So that's a pass on the book?"
The guy in the fur coat said "You know where the bunks are" as he tossed her a locker key.
Sarah sighed as she put her uniform on, treating the clothing as a mask to disconnect herself from the job.
She dragged herself down the corridor and sat herself down in the booth, not taking notice of the guy with the stamps.
"First time on the job?"
Sarah remained silent
"Yeah I was like that too at first. It gets better, trust me."
"Yeah right" she thought.
A shivering man in a hospital gown carrying a plastic bag walked up to the booth, as if he had been waiting for a lifetime in the cold.
"Stock or Spectator" Sarah asked looking at him only in her peripheral vision.
"Huh?" he replied.
"Stock" She said to the stamp man.
She soon realised how ironic it was.
They were all stock.
Some just died slower than others.