Ben spent the rest of his free afternoon wallowing in a pathetic pool of self-pity. He bounced between fits of deterministic flurry to crippling anxiety. One minute he’d convince himself that he’d smash the quarterly targets or find a new job with better pay, the next he’d envision himself losing his house and living on the streets.
The elastic nature of his temperament had stunned him into inaction. He lifted his cup of tea, hand shaking as he tentatively sipped at the sweet brew. “I know.” he launched off the couch to fetch his phone beside the computer. The company screensaver made him nauseous. AR-Prom - A brighter future. Ben thought the irony of the company tagline was some sort of cosmic insult. A brighter future? Maybe for their scummy investors.
Ben scrolled through his contact list to find Wayne. He felt a tad guilty, he hadn’t spoken to Wayne since he quit AR-Prom even though they had both made that faux promise one always would make to colleagues when they leave. We’ll keep in touch, let’s meet up, blah blah.
The phone rang for about thirty seconds. Ben would have given up but his desperation had taken over.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Wayne.”
“Hi, who’s this?”
Ben frowned, Wayne must have deleted his number, or never put it in his contact list when he left. “It’s Ben.”
“Ben?”
“Yeah, from AR-Prom.” Ben’s heart sank.
“Ahhh right yeah, Ben, how are you, mate?”
“Oh, you know me, plodding along as usual, you?”
“Fine, yeah.”
Ben rubbed his forehead, he could tell by Wayne''s tone that this call was not something he wanted. “Sorry to call you out of the blue and all, I just wanted to ask about that new company you work for, feeling like a change of scenery.”
Wayne paused a moment. “Ah, I’m not employed there anymore.”
“You got another new job?”
“Didn’t work out.”
Ben frowned. “Did you not try to come back to AR-Prom?”
Wayne cleared his throat. “Look, Ben, I lost my job at AR-Prom.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, they gave me a week''s notice.”
“How did you find a job so quickly?”
“I didn’t did I, Ben?”
Ben sighed. “Sorry, Wayne.”
“Is that all you called for me for?”
Ben brushed aside the formalities, “What did they sack you for?”
“Performance,” Wayne spoke with stiff lips.
“You were good though.”
“Pretty sure you’re not the umpire on that.”
Ben raised an eyebrow in agreeance. “So…where are you working now?”
“Working? I’m at support section six.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you live under a rock or something?”
“I will be soon…”
“Look, Ben, nice to catch up and all, I gotta go.”
“What’s sec–”
Wayne hung up.
Ben frantically hit the redial button.
“Hello?”
“Wayne, I just wanted to ask–”
“You’ve reached my voice mail, leave a message after the beep.”
Ben growled and hung up before tossing his phone at the armchair across from him. He caught his head in his hands and rubbed his face. “I need to eat.”
The kitchen was bare but for a tin of beans, half a pint of milk and some cereal. He poured himself a bowl and sloshed some milk over it before slumping down in his armchair. “Abi, switch the tele on.”
-SWITCHING THE TELEVISION ON-
His little automated pet had become his company over the last year or so. Ben didn’t have much in the way of family. His mother died, his dad was never there and although he wasn’t a pug, he never had luck with women. Apart from Abi, though, she was just a stupid robot.
The afternoon news theme blurred out. It was dark and serious, filled with ominous synths. The well-groomed presenter shuffled his papers and looked at the cameras, going through the list of headlines, all of them bleak. One caught Ben’s attention.
“A riot in support section eleven has raised concern over the security of the surrounding neighbourhoods and those within the facility.”
Ben leaned forward with a mouth full of cheerios. He hadn’t heard of these support sections. He didn’t watch the news, or anything, just old movies and the occasional re-run of his favourite comedy show on the catch-up Golden Oldie channel.
The rioters on video were grey and pale, much like their surroundings. The buildings were made of cheap breeze blocks painted a dull orange. Everything had an angular brutalism to it. There was a large building behind the riots that seemed to claw at the clouds as the camera panned up to it.
A few of the inhabitants got to speak on camera, and it was the only insight he got into the facility. Seemed like some sort of correctional facility. But Wayne said he was in support section six, and this was eleven, how many were there?
The news moved on to something about a panda finally having a baby. “Abi, turn this shit television off.”
-TURNING TELEVISION OFF-
Ben finished his cereal before daring to ask: “Abi, what are support sections in the UK?”
-SUPPORT SECTIONS ARE GOVERNMENT LIVING FACILITIES DESIGNED TO PROMOTE A HEALTHY WORK ETHIC AMONGST THE UNEMPLOYED POPULACE.-
“Are they working?”
Abi paused, -THE HOME OFFICE REPORT STATES A POSITIVE RESPONSE TO THE INITIATIVE.-
“I bet it fuckin’ does.” Ben set his bowl to the side and fetched his laptop.
He decided to look into these sections a little closer. His local section was nine and was only a couple miles out. “Christ, how many unemployed do we have in our town?” He went through the pictures on the section''s website. Everything looked clean and the people had big smiles. The website borders were filled with pictures of residents with some sickly quote imposed over them; “I got my new start and I’m ready to start building my career again.” “A safety net that became my family.” “Meaningful labour and a great sense of belonging.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Ben looked disgusted, “Sounds like a fuckin’ cult.” At the bottom of the site was a number that said: “We are ready to listen.” He smirked, “Yeah, listen to this: blow it out your arse.”
The phone rang.
Ben almost jumped out of his skin. “Jesus.” He set the laptop to one side and walked over to his buzzing phone as it danced on the armchair cushion. He picked it up and turned it over. Unknown number. Ben hated unknown numbers. He sighed and answered. “Hello?”
“Is this Mr Yeoman?”
“Who’s speaking?”
“My name is Mark, I’m calling from Worthington and Hamlets Building Society.”
“Right.”
“Is this Mr Ben Yeoman?”
“It is.”
“Thank you, I need to go through a few security questions before I can continue.”
“You called me, pal.” Spat Ben.
“I understand sir, however, the nature of this call requires I verify your identity.”
Ben felt like hanging up, but the sternness of the message and the anticipation of what his mortgage lender had to say was too much for him to resist. “Fine, go ahead.”
The man on the phone went through a series of simple questions which Ben went through begrudgingly. “So what’s this call about?”
“Your last payment three mortgage payments have not come through, sir.”
“Well, I had them reduced.”
“Correct I can see you sold equity to reduce payments, however, you’re still not making the payments.”
“I am struggling right now.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Do you?”
“I do sir, however, if you fail to keep up with your payments your home may be repossessed. We will need you to complete the back-dated payments within a two-month period or we shall begin the legal process of repossession on behalf of your lender.”
“Mate, I am on minimum wage, and my bonuses’ have been melted, I can’t afford these payments.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that.”
“I have the outstanding payment calculation here, sir.”
“What’s the damage?”
“You owe three thousand eight hundred and ninety-five pounds and fifty-three pence.” Mark enunciated each word with a slimy gleeful undertone.
“I don’t have that, I don’t even have milk.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Say that one more time you little shit.”
“Sir, I will terminate this call if you continue to speak to me like that.”
Ben rubbed his forehead, empathising with his own customers now. “Yeah, sorry am just stressed.”
“I understand, sir.”
Ben gritted his teeth. “Look I cannot pay, so we need to work something out.”
“Have you contacted your local support section community advisor? They have a raft of information and support lines for people in your position.”
“You mean citizens advice?”
“Citizens advise is no longer an active service, it has been redirected to your local support section.”
“Ok, look, Mark was it?” Ben stood up, now energised.
“Yes, sir.”
“I need some sort of lax, right now I am looking for a new job, and when I get it, I can make all the payments back.”
“Sir, the time frame for the payment is two months.”
“That’s not enough time, I need more time!”
“I understand, sir.”
Ben clenched his fist and made to punch the wall. “Look, give me a bit of time.”
“You have two months, sir.”
“Two months isn’t enough.”
“I understand, sir.”
“I swear I am going to ram that phone up your fuckin’ arse if you say–”
The phone went dead and Ben was treated to an automated message with uplifting plingy music accompanying: “Worthington and Hamlets building society values our customers and our employees, your behaviour on the call has been deemed abusive and the call has been terminated. It is an offence under the Communications Act to make threats over the phone and this call has been recorded.
“Oh, now am getting grassed on by my lenders, twats.” He closed the call and tossed it to one side before falling back onto the couch in a heap.
Ben rubbed his chin and thought wicked ideas, ones that cheered him up. “Hah, hey Abi, I should blow up that lender''s office, how do I make a bomb?” he chuckled.
-I AM RESTRICTED AND UNABLE TO PROVIDE INFORMATION ON: [HOME MADE EXPLOSIVES] ACTS OF TERRORISM ARE PUNISHABLE UNDER THE ANTI TERRORISM ACT-
“I was kidding, you stupid robot, that’s the problem with AI, can’t take a joke.”
Ben had a shower and got dressed, it was half two and he thought he should make some sort of effort. He needed to head to the shop for some food too. He gathered up a stray twenty quids worth of change and hopped in his beat-up Nissan.
The drive was quiet. He was about to turn into his local supermarket but decided to go a little further. He wanted to see section nine. The road signs were marked SS9, he hadn’t noticed that before but it all made sense now. They had been doing building and road work for ages a year or so ago, this was probably why.
The support section came into view. Tall, imposing orange cubes tore out of the ground like monoliths. “Even uglier in person,” Ben muttered.
He parked his car at the front beside the huge black gates and thought about the call he had with his mortgage lender earlier. He was advised to speak to some support sector centre something or other. Maybe he would feel better if he handled this issue head-on and took some initiative.
The carpark was freshly laid. The drizzle made the white lines pop brightly. Ben had no clue where he was going so figured the big black gate was a good start. There was an intercom button on a panel against the wall which he made no delay in pressing. It rang out with a croaky buzz.
“SS9, how can I help?”
The whir of a camera above Ben’s head made him glance up, right into its lens. “Ehm, I want to speak to the Support centre advisor?”
“Support section community advisor?” The voice was feminine and she sounded like she wanted to go to bed.
“That’s the one!” Ben smiled at the camera, trying to inject a modicum of pleasantness into the exchange.
“Please head east and around, there is a blue building marked with a red band.”
“Right.” Ben headed off.
“East is the other way.”
“Of course!” Ben chuckled and waved at the camera. It followed him down the path around the outside of the wall. The small cabin was easy to spot with its bright blue paint job. It wasn’t a welcoming office Ben thought. He knocked on the door and a speaker buzzed. “Come in.”
He went inside. In the middle of a cabin was a flat grey table, one of those brown plastic chairs they used in high school and a monitor across from it. There wasn’t even a window, so this was essentially a box. Not the kind of place fit for a man to be working.
The monitor flickered and a puffy face appeared. The man was smiley and looked jovial, his eyes were big and bright and filled with hope. “Good afternoon!”
Ben half smiled and sat down. “Afternoon.”
“My name is David Blakely, I’m SS9’s community support advisor.” His voice bounced happily around Ben.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Ben.”
“Ben! Well met, lad. So, what brings you to my office?”
Ben looked around. “Not much of an office, hope they don’t make you work in here.”
“Oh no no, I am on facility currently, this is a remote access unit, very handy to be fair.”
“It could do with a plant.”
“Agreed, Ben!” David chuckled heartily. “So what can I do for you, Ben?”
Ben felt at ease now and he almost melted in his chair. “Well, things aren’t going great.”
David frowned and his bottom lip eased out. “No? What’s happening.”
“I don’t want to get into detai–”
“Nonsense, lad. I am here to help, you tell me what’s happening and I’ll be on it right away, we need to get you in good spirits.”
Ben nodded. He was intoxicated by the positivity and willingly spilt everything onto the table. His job, house and money situation, even the lack of food.
“My, Ben. This is the problem with this country, hard-working folk like you are taken advantage of by these big corporations. It’s why these sections were set up.”
Ben remembered where he was. “I saw there were riots today.”
“Oh yes, section eleven. Those people will be kicked out for sure, some people want to ruin a good initiative for everyone.”
Ben nodded, “I spose.”
“I know!” David chortled. “Right then. Here’s the thing. I want you to get back at that job and perform the best you can. In the meantime I am going to have a care package sent to you weekly, from SS9, it’ll have food, bathing products everything you need.”
Ben’s eyes widened. “Wow…thank you.”
“No problem. I’ll compile a list of potential jobs for you to apply to and help you build a CV.”
“Right.” Ben nodded enthusiastically, he was elated at his decision to come here.
“I’ll also speak to your mortgage lender and see what we can do.”
Ben felt as if he was floating now. “Amazing, David, you’re incredible, no one has helped me like this before. I felt so alone.”
“I understand, Ben.”
Ben cleared his throat. He remembered the conversation he had with Mark from the mortgage lender and he felt just awful, the advice he was given was actually incredible and he responded with rage. He’d make a point of calling them back.
“Right, Ben, I’ll need to take your personals, so I can have everything sent and such. You can email me documentation later and I’ll be on with it for you.”
Ben offered up his details and left the cabin feeling incredible. He looked back at the blue building as he walked towards his car. He stopped at the gate and pressed the buzzer again. The lady answered. “SS9 how can I help?”
“What’s your name?”
“My name is Claudia.” She said flatly.
“You’re doing an amazing job.”
“Thank you. How can I help?”
“Just wanted to say that.” Ben smiled and blew a kiss into the camera before heading to his car.
“A new day, a new Ben.” He said, before switching on the radio and singing along all the way home.