The Collector Read Free

with a stopped pocket watch as inside the white room a psychologist questions Neil from a pre-populated list. It is a standard Agency evaluation form and isn’t very forgiving.
    “This is weekly evaluation, session four, two, one. Please state your name and number for the camera.”
    Neil doesn’t flinch as the red dot from a camcorder blinks at him from a tripod in the corner. “Neil Vaughn. Collector One, Four, Zero, Five.”
    “Now I’m going to ask a series of questions and I want you to answer honestly and openly,” the psychologist states as she nears her pen to the first check box. She’s cold and blunt, much like Neil, which could be a prerequisite to work for the Agency. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the necessity of the Collections Agency?”
    “Ten,” Neil doesn’t hesitate, his standard response to the same first question each week.
    “Do you ever have thoughts too terrible to tell another person?”
    “No.”
    “Do you prefer flowers or clouds?”
    “Neither.”
    “Do you hear voices in your head?”
    Mazer studies Neil’s body language while Neil looks back to the observation window. Even though Neil can’t see Mazer, he stares seemingly right at him. He knows he’s under constant scrutiny by the Agency.
    “No,” he confidently responds.
    Satisfied, Mazer returns to his pocket watch and taps it again. It finally ticks forward. The psychologist checks the last box on the evaluation form: PASS.
    “The Agency thanks you for your continued service.”
    Wade’s eyes fixate on the floor, noticeably distant from the psychologist. It’s his turn for his weekly evaluation. Mazer once again supervises the session from behind the one-way glass. He can read the psychologist’s lips, “Do you ever have thoughts too terrible to tell another person?”
    Later in the office bullpen, all the Collectors sit around after hours. It is a diverse bunch: Cecil, Dale, Raymond, Garrison, Benson, and Wade. Wade is the only one under thirty, and the new blood to the team. Many are loud and rowdy, but none as boisterous as Patrick “Slayter” Huntley, the longest tenured Collector with a 5-stripe arm badge.
    “Shoulda seen this guy. Kickin’ and scratchin’ while I’m draggin’ him through the dirt,” Slayter brags to anyone who listens. “So what do I do? I tased him in his balls, that’s what I did. That’s one way to fight our overpopulation problem.”
    All the Collectors laugh, except Wade.
    “Made sure his partner saw it too,” Slayter continues. “Not so tough when you’re about to lose your manhood.”
    Off to the side at a small counter, Neil disposes used blood sample cartridges into a red biohazard container, then reloads his device with new ones.
    Pinned to a bulletin board above the disposal station are four mugshots labeled MOST WANTED: Brock, Jace, Chelsea, and Leon. The four members are part of the group called The Brigade , a resistance organization publicly against the Agency. Adjacent to this is a killed in action (KIA) section with half a dozen photos of Collectors in uniform. For many of them their picture was taken on the day they received their first stripe on their arm badge.
    “It’s not the job that breaks you down, it’s how you deal with it,” a voice says, sliding up to Neil at the counter. It’s Mazer. He clarifies, “Your rookie’s not laughing.”
    Neil notices Wade separated from the group. “He passed evals, didn’t he?” Neil asks rhetorically.
    “I know this is a hard job. He’s got to be able to laugh.” Mazer’s knack for worrying explains why he has salt-and-pepper grey hair. He takes his role with the Agency very seriously.
    “What are you concerned about? You chose him. I trained him.”
    “Just keep an eye on him. We need him on our side.” Mazer motions to the bulletin board, the number of killed Collectors greatly outnumbering the Brigade Leaders.
    The Downtown Sector is a bustling urban zone with deteriorating skytowers