||Series Removed|| OTB

9 - Keeping Clean

9

 

Round and round, the ceiling fan spun my eyes into every corner of the sickly-yellow office room as the six of us stood awkwardly in the centre, unsure of how safe we really were in such an odd place.

Shortly after approaching the great wall of scrap metal that surrounded Patch, everything was a blur… armed guards stopped our vehicle, and after a rather invasive inspection for any infections or blood types, we were poked and prodded through the main gate and forced into this curiously-neat workspace.

In front of us, a seated woman in her mid-forties shuffled documents and files around her desk, almost oblivious to our presence. Only after pushing her glasses back up her nose did she bother to make eye contact with us.

“…So, how may I help you today?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Alisha jutted forwards, annoyed after having all of our weapons stripped from us, including her massive bag of guns. “What the hell is going on here? You can’t just take everything we own, trap us in this dingy office and ask what it is we want! It’s obvious, isn’t it?!”

Narrowing her eyes at the fiery-haired client standing in front of her, the woman didn’t seem affected much by the outburst. She was probably used to hearing this, coming from people like us.

“…I guess you must be newcomers, then. Well, it is my greatest pleasure to be the one who welcomes you to Patch. Before we can begin the application process, I need to know who’s under the age of twenty-one. Raise your hand, please.”

Turning her nose up at our interviewer, Alisha was the only one who kept her hands at her side, twitching as though she missed having a pistol to fidget with. The seated woman scribbled on a couple of forms, and asked us everything from our names to our original countries of residence… we lied about most of them, just to be safe.

“All right, now we can move on to the real questions. What brings your party to Patch, and what are your intentions here?”

Before I could even speak, Tomás let out a loud snort of derision. “Seriously? You build a big-ass metal eyesore in the middle of America’s main road, and ask why people end up here? We’re just passing through… or is that against your rules?”

The lady before us didn’t seem amused by the musician’s word choice, shaking her head at the impoliteness. “...Can’t be too careful, these questions have to be asked. We’re a deweaponised colony you see, a society built on the principles of the old days. We want to make sure that all of our citizens are open-minded, peaceful… obedient. Is that understood?”

Nodding frantically before either of my companions could kick up a fuss again, the woman stepped away from her desk and handed each of us a yellow card, except for Alisha who got a blue one.

“I’ll peg you as ‘Group Twenty-Three’. You’ll find your daily schedule printed on one of the three residential high-rise buildings in the town centre. I would highly implore you to keep regular with the suggested deadlines, or you may lose your food credits for the day.”

Analysing the card, I only just then recognised what she was trying to tell us. “W-Wait, what? We don’t want citizenship! We’re just looking for some people who are staying here, and then we’ve got to continue on the Route!”

“...Oh, dear. I’m terribly sorry, but that’s just not how we do things here. Your items will be taken to the exit gate, and half of your vehicle’s gas will be siphoned to power our generators as payment, but you should know already… No one simply leaves Patch.”

The silence after those words was deafening… almost eerie. Beth poked her head out from behind me, she couldn’t understand what the problem was. “…Why not? We have to go through, my Auntie Lizzie needs me! I don’t want to live here!”