I arrived at a stuffy office.

  The walls were white and the floors were a bureaucratic brown. A woman in a red sweater and black slacks sitting behind it. She was typing away on a computer, ignoring me for a few minutes to prepare the interview, and leaving me to sit, staring at the walls.

  “State your name”, she said, glowering.

  “Valencia Sanford.”

  “Age?”

  “25, ma'am.”

  She scowled upon hearing my answer.

  “Your form here states you are 24”, she said, her eyes burning a hole through me.

  “It was my birthday last week”, I replied.

  The interviewer looked back at the form on the computer, then back at me, repeating the process a couple of times. It came up December 4th, 2053, as I had written it. She looked back up at me and said, “Well, happy birthday. Either way, Ms. Sanford, please explain why you wish to join our illustrious security force.”

  I paused, taking a moment to conjure a response. My stomach dropped, and my heartbeat intensified. I took a breath, held it for a second, and started to speak.

  “I was leaving a bar with friends a few years ago, and someone being chased by the police threw an explosive out of their window as they passed us by. It was a bit tough adjusting to the circumstances.”

  I held up my arm, showing the termination point at the elbow, before continuing, “I fell into a depression and lost control of my life. I dropped out and am unable to afford a prosthetic. I saw the ads on the net that said this would help me get my arm back, and so, I figured what do I have to lose?"

  The interviewer looked intently at me for a second, before asking, “Any legal troubles, Ms. Sanford?”

  “No, ma'am. I had been in a rough spot for a second, and my parents weren't happy with me dropping out with 180 grand in loans for school, but somehow, no. No legal trouble... Wait, didn't OCP both ask me this on the form, as well as require contacts?”

  “Measure twice, cut once, Ms. Sanford. It would be unfortunate to have to... repossess... any cybernetics the company chooses to install in their workers. Bad optics and all.”

  The interviewer smiled for the first time this entire meeting. Repossess... I bit my tongue to stifle a laugh, imagining the company sending me to a chop shop and parting me out for money. Hell, they'd probably take more than their cybernetics if I had tried anything.

  The interview continued much in the same way for an ungodly amount of time. I was grilled over every little thing. Any ticket received, punishments in school, hell, they brought up the fact I kept getting detentions for ignoring school work. The questions were unending and so personal.

  Soon enough the questions ended and, the interviewer directed me to my next appointment, the surgery hall. I trudged through the hall, following a blue line on the wall that guided me to my destination.

  I arrived at another waiting room. After what felt like an intentionally long period of waiting, a jolly, overweight man with a skeletonized cybernetic hand called me back toward the operating theater. I was directed toward a place to change into a hospital gown, and deposit my things. I was then led to the surgery hall itself.

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  The hall was sterile and smelled of cleaning agents. There were 8 beds in the room, with curtains separating them. I was shown a bed, and was asked to lie down.The nurse went and showed me the cybernetics I would be receiving, as well as gathering a large pack of terms-of-use and non-disclosure agreements.

  I would be getting a new left arm, which brought a smile to my face. I would also be receiving a data link that would jack directly into my brain, allowing mental connections with the internet, among other things. The jolly man said it would make more sense with it installed. My eyes began to glaze over listening to the more technical descriptions.

  The man left for a bit to get the last few things needed for the actual surgery. In the interim I was left alone. The sound of EKG monitors beeping filled the room. The air in the room was cold, and I was shivering. I retraced what happened that led me here.

  I tried to finish school, but it was hard to get out of bed. Survivors guilt plagued my every waking moment. What could I have done differently? Would it have mattered? I questioned what even mattered anymore as life slipped away from me. My parents let me take the time off after dropping out, but they were unhappy about the money they spent and lost while investing in my future. Life at home turned into walking on eggshells, and I tried to strike it out on my own, get an apartment, and get a job. I never got hired and ended up lying to my parents about finding a job. I began drinking.

  Soon enough my parents refused to let me waste away and showed me this job. There were slogans such as, “We'll take anyone!”, and, “We'll help you, help yourself! Apply online!” What the adverts didn't say, and I only noticed while reading the contract, is that you had to work for 10 years before you are allowed to retire from the job. The pay was excellent, but they'd effectively you'd agree OCP was allowed to recover any cybernetics installed until that 10-year period was up.

  Realizing I was wasting my time, my mind went back to the packet of papers. My rough estimates looked to be about fifty to sixty pages, with about half having stickers annotating where to sign and initial the forms. The final lock was set.

  The man soon came back, and started his final preps before taking me in for surgery.

  “Alright, pick an arm for the IV drip”, said the jolly man, holding a catheter.

  I simply raised my right arm before a look of shock filled the man's face. He quickly grabbed a vein finder and tourniquet, before tying my arm off. Using the vein finder, he poked and prodded at a vein until satisfied, before sticking the catheter into my arm.

  “There we go, not too bad”, he said as he stuck the needle into my arm.

  The nurse affixed the saline drip to a rod on the right head-side corner of the bed, before he kicked off the brakes of the caster wheels. The nurse then began to wheel me away, and once more I was thrust back into the endless off white halls.I was being carted around for what felt like forever through the frigid, sterile corridors.

  We arrived at our final destination. Large robotic surgical tools hung from the ceiling. All I could imagine is how much this mobile could traumatize a baby. An uneasy feeling sat in my stomach, as I realized that this was the final moments I could still call it off.

  The nurse, using a needle, injected anesthetic into the saline drip. It was but a mere whisper of the word, fentanyl.

  “Alright, count down from ten”, said the nurse as he opened the valve to the saline.

  I think I made it to 7 before the world went dark.