He had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes.
The austere waiting room had one desk upon which sat an austere secretary, an austere vase containing austere flowers that rested upon an austere side table and an austere chandelier on an austere ceiling, which when switched on, produced an austere shade of light on the similarly austerely painted walls, as it was now.
That was how Austere had been advertised. He was only returning the favor by thinking of it the same way it wanted to be thought of, in self-obsessed refrain.
The room also had only a single row of three steel chairs upon which candidates could sit and prepare for their prospect appointment to an job. Or impending rejection, he thought as he eyed his competition, smiling courteously when one caught him staring, so as not to appear too conspicuous.
It was some time before the only certified austere person in the room ushered him inside. He got up, straightened his tie, and went in, his leather shoes clip-clopping, closed the door lightly behind him and locked it with a key he took out from his pant pocket.
He walked the long hall painted with austere pictures of other certified austere employees of the organisation who had led the company to unaustere revenues and near monopoly of a market of over a billion. The candidate walked straight forward, not bothering to look at any of the portraits, even out of curiosity.
At the third turn in the long hall, after walking by over a dozen portraits of former Eviscerators, he knocked on a door painted in monochrome. "Enter", a stentorian voice replied. The candidate obliged, and was offered a seat upon which he promptly sat down.
The current Eviscerator of one of the biggest artificial intelligence companies in the world stared at his candidate. He was surprised the candidate didn't back down. Had he not read the Prospect Employee Code of Conduct which specified how candidates should appear at all times? Indeed, the candidate had appeared to be complying with company protocol in every manner when the Eviscerator had watched him in the thirteen CCTV cameras that led to his door. Why break the facade now?
YOU ARE READING
Catharsis
Science FictionThe year 800 I.T. Joining as an intern at WAIT, Edward McLaren Bower is excited at his triumph of having effortlessly secured a job his contemporaries highly covet. With his acumen for objective thinking and detailed observation, he is soon poise...
