The room was a cold and white box. Glass separated her from the blinding lights above and below. The girl kept her eyes closed and rubbed her right wrist. She had stopped counting the seconds she had been waiting. She wondered if they had been watching her the whole time. There were two doors, the one she entered and the one across from the metal table and two chairs. The one she had entered locked as soon as she closed it behind her. She didn’t think to try the other one.
Instructions came in a private message twenty four hours after she submitted her application. The steps were clear; come to this address, provide the password to the woman outside, enter the room marked ‘talent scouting’ and wait for the man. She didn’t know what this man would look like. Once she got the message, she waited for the time given and made her way to the office.
Behind the entrance, the woman held out a bag and asked for her clothes, her shoes, everything. The girl nodded and gave her what she asked. Once the bag was full, the woman thanked her and threw her a white shirt and pants to put on. The girl put her new clothes on and looked up to see the woman was gone. There were no windows inside the office. The walls were glass, with wired lights and walkways of concrete that led her down hallways marked with numbered, metal doors.
The girl remembered the path back out to the street if things went wrong. She heard the tumblers of the other door move. The door opened and she had forgotten the path back outside. The man was dressed in a black suit, white shirt and tie. His black hair was combed into sharp edges and once he stepped to the table, smelled of cologne and product. The girl didn’t look up to make eye contact. The man carried something in his left hand. Once he stepped to the table, he took the briefcase and slammed it on the table. The girl flinched at the sound and continued to rub her wrist.
He pulled out his chair and took a seat at the table with her.
“The instructions were clear,” he said.
“I’m sorry?” asked the girl.
The man moved the briefcase to the side. He clasped his hands together and dropped them on the table.
“No weapons allowed.” he said and motioned to her wrist.
“It was a gift,” she said.
“Take it out,” he sighed.
The girl stopped rubbing her wrist and placed her thumb just above the veins in her elbow. The man watched the skin of her forearm neatly unfold and saw the blade thrust outward. The edges left cuts on either side of her arm. Blood began to run down both sides of her arm like small rivers. The man opened the case and reached inside.
“Have you never used it before?”
The man threw a white towel to her to clean herself.
“Never had to,” she said.
He watched her soak up the blood from each side. He noticed that the rivers continued even after she tried to press down hard on each wound.
“Release the blade first,” he said, annoyed.
She looked at him finally and saw the blue shimmer in his eyes.
“Proper defensive augmentation is done by contract. Chop shop work like this will get you nothing but limb de-compatibility. If your arm is not set to self clean the weapon, mercury poisoning. Drop the blade and then wrap your wounds.” he scoffed.
The girl relinquished the hidden weapon and then wrapped her arm. The knife made a sharp sound against the table.
“It was silly to bring this. You won’t need it anymore.” he said.
The girl pressed down again on the cuts across her arm.
“It’s true. It was a gift for my 18th birthday.”
The man produced another towel. He cleaned the blood from the knife with two quick swipes across the edges.
“Who got that for you?” he asked.
“I got it for myself,” she said.
The man placed the blade into the case along with the stained towel.
“Glad to see you didn’t have to use it. If you had, it probably would have killed you.”
The girl looked down and saw her blood had dripped on the metal table. She tried to wipe them away with her hand.
“Does this void the contract?” she asked.
The man waved his hand and produced a stack of paper from the case.
“It does not. It’s normal to be afraid,” he said.
She wanted to tell him she wasn’t afraid but stopped herself. The stack of papers was a contract, she knew that much. The man took a black ballpoint pen from the case and placed both in the center of the table.
“Are you going to tell me your name?” she asked.
The man shook his head.
“You won’t meet me again,” he said.
He opened the cover sheet of the contract. Her eyes caught the writing across the front.
“Tell me your name,” he said.
“You don’t have to know mine, either,” she snapped.
The man cracked a slight smile. Her name shot across the page in stylized writing, along with the words, “Clock Candidate”, in crisp italics.
“Alyse Wu,” he began.
“Why did you ask me my name if you already knew it?”
The man cracked his knuckles and laid his hands flat on the table.
“Clock Candidates get nervous when they start reflecting. There have been times, when a candidate will sit through an interview, agree to the terms, sign the contract and then when it’s time to begin, they will disappear,” he said.
The girl was not moved.
“That won’t happen to me,” she said.
“A Clock Candidate agrees to give their body and their life willingly to another host.”
“I know the description. I read the contract,” she said.
The man leaned forward.
“You can walk out of here right now. There will be no consequences. If you sign this paper and then decide to vanish on us, you will be found. The contract you agree to, will still be fulfilled. This paper, if you sign, is binding in perpetuity.”
He held up the contract. It was a manuscript. The neat stack of carefully stapled sheets were decorated with cascades of small black letters.
“No way out?” she asked.
“Right now, there is.”
The man put the contract back down and slid it across the table to her.
“I am going to ask you, Alyse Wu, because you deserve time to think about this…”
She waited.
“Why do you want to give up your life for someone else?”
shadowart 