The INDIVIDUAL

one

 Anya shifted her weight ever so slightly as Supervisor studied her statistics from last week. He nodded every so often, but showed no sign of emotion whatsoever. The monitor showed all sorts of graphs and charts that would be overwhelming for an ordinary person, but for Supervisor he took it all in immediately. Finally, he turned to Anya and spoke.

"So more pests chose white female over male?"

"Correct," Anya said. "I tried to makeout some correlation, but it could just be chance."

"No," Supervisor breathed. "This was not chance."

Anya's job was to oversee and study the choices made by the pestilence once they were of age. The pestilence were once referred to as 'children,' but that was in another era. At age twelve, the pestilence were inducted into the Institute and decided their gender, race, appearance and abilities. Once they came out of the Changing, they were considered Individuals and had a place in society.

"The Feed showed an advertisement a few days ago featuring a white female, perhaps that inspired some of their decisions?" Anya offered.

"Yes, I think you're right," Supervisor said. His Band blinked and chirped at him. "I have a meeting with the Media Team, so I must go." He paused and glanced at the monitor once more. "Well done, Anya."

Anya fidgeted a little as he walked away. The use of compliments and names was old-fashioned, and somewhat reckless. She would have to record that when she got home.

The monitor powered off and the light went out as Anya closed the door. She peered inside the Changing facility and was satisfied that it stood empty. There were thirty pests set to come in tomorrow, a good round number for Thirdday. Anya tapped her Band, signaling that she was leaving for the night, and walked out into the street.

The filthy pests were scattered around the Centre, crawling and groveling around the Individuals. Anya walked around them, holding her breath. A pale little boy came right up to her and tugged on her apron.

"Miss! Miss?"

For a moment, Anya looked down into his green eyes. They held years of starvation and want- ideal for the Changing. What would he decide when it was his time? What would he become?

Anya cursed herself, it was foolish to be concerned for others, especially the pestilence. The Individual was superior to all. Her only concern should be excelling in her career. Nothing more, nothing less. She scoffed at him and turned away.

Anya's cubicle was identical to everyone else's. A singular white room with only the bare necessities of living. Every Individual had a cubicle and every Individual lived alone. There was no such thing as family, and you had no identity in what home you had. The only thing you had identity in, the only thing that mattered was your ability to make progress in your career. That was your purpose and only purpose. Failure was death. If an Individual failed their career, they were terminated. These were the principles they knew. To consider otherwise was ignorance, foolishness, waste of thought!