The walk back felt like a second. Ben was consumed with rage, sorrow, guilt and confusion. His car came into view and he started a light jog. He couldn’t wait to get out of the cold. The policemen were eyeing him up as he approached. “Thanks, checkpoint Charlie!” Ben waved, “Missed my interview. Good work officer.”


    The policeman shrugged and turned away to speak to another driver as they pulled into the barrier gate.


    Ben got in his car and started the engine. It didn’t complain this time. He turned on the heaters and closed his eyes. He wanted to calm his nerves before he started driving again but everything that had happened today, yesterday and the day before was beginning to drive him insane.


    He decided to flick through his phone, searching for information about the movement zones. The articles were almost impossible to find, buried beneath irrelevant news. The local news and updates for his town made no mention of the movement zone barriers and the online maps weren’t updated with locations. As the officer said, there was a pass available on the government website when he searched for them. “It’s like they don’t want you to fuckin’ know about this shit.”


    Ben glanced looked at the barrier through his wing mirror. It was clear now. Both police officers were laughing and shaking their heads as they pointed at him. “I’d love to blow your heads clean off,” he muttered as he stared at the pair. Thoughts of running them down brought a small smile to his face. Bored with the mockery he decided to head off.


    He put the car in gear, raised the clutch to bite and then THUNK. The car shuddered a few times and stalled. “Fuck sake.” The officers were laughing now. “Oh, never seen someone stall before.” Ben tried again. THUNK, shudder, stall. “What?” Ben was sure he was careful with the clutch this time. He got out, scratching his head.


    “You’re not going anywhere in that car.” Shouted one of the officers, shaking his head.


    “What are you talkin’ about?”


    The policeman pointed. Ben followed his finger. His wheel was chained up.


    “Double yellow lines, sir.”


    “Was this you?”


    “Had to, sir. The tow is on its way.”


    “You’re kidding me, take it off.”


    “We can take it off, but you have to pay the fine.”


    Ben ran his hand through his hair. “Lads, come on, you can see I’ve had a terrible day, cut me a break.” Ben placed his hands on his hips and tapped his foot.


    The officer looked both ways before crossing the road to approach Ben. “Your paperwork is on the passenger side window, sir. You can pay it online, or over the phone.”


    Ben sneered and ripped the sticky bag from the window. He ripped the notice out and read through it. “Two hundred quid!”


    The officer shrugged and went back to his barrier.


    Ben didn’t have that kind of money. He had about twelve pounds in his wallet. That was going to be for a takeout tonight after he got the job, a little celebration. Instead, it’d become taxi fare.


    The taxi arrived just as the tow truck did. He was able to watch his car being pulled in the opposite direction as it turned off the main road. The taxi driver tried to make a little small talk, but Ben didn’t acknowledge his existence. He dropped the free into the cup holder and let himself out without so much as a thank you.


    Ben crashed face-first on his couch and screamed into the pillow. A day''s wage and a car, the price of failure was steadily rising.


    He thought back to the conversation he had with Dave, he could have sworn there was no mention of the movement zones in the email. He sat up and reached for his laptop. “Let’s see what you sent.” He went through his most recent emails, but the one from Dave wasn’t there. “What the…” Ben checked his junk, deleted and archived folders, nothing. Finally, he looked for the email address. It would be easy to find as it contained his name. Nothing.


    He closed his laptop and picked up his phone. He decided to call Dave. One to apologise and two to ask for a copy of the email he had sent earlier.


    “Good afternoon, SS9 reception.”


    “Hi, may I speak with David Blakely?”


    “Sorry?”


    “David Blakely.”


    The lady paused. “We have no David Blakely here.”


    “Pull the other one, love. I have been speaking to him for the past three days.”


    “What is his position?”


    “He’s a support advisor.”


    “Ah, we only have one support advisor here, that’s Andrew Hefton.”


    “You know what? Put me through to Andrew.” Ben shook his head furiously.


    The phone clicked and rang again.


    “Andrew Hefton speaking.”


    “Hi, my name is Ben Yeoman, I’d like to speak to my advisor, David.”


    Andrew paused. “David Blakely?”


    “Yes.” Ben felt a flush of relief.


    “Ah, David is no longer available to speak to.”


    “Why?”


    “He sent me your file.”


    “My file?”


    “Yes, it has everything I need to continue your support.” Andrew''s voice was grey and accent-free. He didn’t chuckle or sound appetised by the thought of human interaction.


    “I was rude to David, I want to apologise.”


    “No need–”


    Ben interrupted, “I think can decide if I need to apologise or not. I was rude and I’d like to speak to him.”


    “David is no longer available. I am your support advisor now.”


    Ben sighed. “It’s just, look…I told him to–”


    “Go fuck himself. I know.”


    “So if I could just apologise, I know he might not want to speak to me for what I said.”


    “That’s not why he doesn’t wish to speak to you.”


    “Then why doesn’t he?”


    “You let him down, he has served his purpose in this stage. I shall take over for him.”


    Ben felt uneasy, but keeping his house and life together was his main priority. “So if you have my file you’ll know my predicament?”


    “It’s not good, Benjamin.”


    “I know. I need another job interview with the same kind of pay, also my car has–”


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    “I don’t think an interview will help.”


    “What? Why?”


    “You have another care package on the way, Mr Yeoman. I’ll include a brochure.”


    “A brochure for what?”


    “SS9 is a great place for people to start a new life, it will help you find and engage with meaningful work.”


    “I already have a job and a house.”


    “Those are not maintainable in your current situation, Benjamin. There’s no shame in living in the support sector, it alleviates much of the burdens life offers.”


    “I don’t want to live in some spastic estate, I want my house and a job at fair pay.”


    “The thing is, Ben, for what you can offer, there is no sustainable wage.”


    “So I’m just fucked?”


    “No, no as I said, SS9 is a great place. The facility is fresh and all of your financial worries will be gone. Meaningful labour and a roof over your head isn’t much to sniff at.”


    “I’ll live on the street.”


    “Hardly an alternative, Benjamin.”


    “I’ll find a new job.”


    “With no car? On a list for terrorism? We must be realistic now, Benjamin.”


    “Go fuck yourself as well, Andrew.”


    “Enjoy your care package.” The line went dead.


    Ben was starving. He pinged a meal in the microwave and ate it at the kitchen counter. As he ate he could hear a continuous banging coming from outside. Once finished he took the rubbish in a bag to his bin outside and investigated the noise.


    It was coming from Ste’s backyard. He pulled himself up the wall to get a good look in. It was the backdoor. It had been left open and the wind was continuously slamming it too. Ben figured there would be no harm in clambering over to shut it, didn’t want it raining in.


    He landed and caught his balance on the side of a large planter. “Bloody amateurs can’t even lock up after they empty a house.” Ben was more curious about peeking inside than he was concerned about closing the door. He leaned in. “Hello?” his voice echoed through the hall. He looked around before slipping inside.


    The house was immaculate. That made sense for a guy like Ste, he was very house-proud and was often working on, or fixing something. It smelt heavily sanitised. A low hum came from the living room, like television static.


    “Hello?” He called again, half hoping for no answer. He’d already played out what he’d say if caught. Oh, was just checking as I saw the door was open, it’s not like Ste. He switched the lights on in the kitchen. White. Everything was white. Oddly, there was no sink. Just countertops. “Everything including the kitchen sink is it?” He couldn’t believe Ste lived without a sink.


    He wandered through into the dining room. Or at least what he thought would be the dining room. He flicked the lights on. Everything was painted white just like the kitchen. There were no carpets, instead bare floorboards, all painted white.


    Ben felt a shiver tingle up his spine which caused him to shudder. The humming noise grew louder and seemed to be from the living room. The buzz of the noise rumbled through the floorboards beneath his feet. Ben glanced down at the white planks. “No way Ste lived like this.”


    Tentatively he peered around the corner into the living room. The humming pulsed in a regular beat. He switched the light on. “What the…” laid out in the living room was a bunch of white boxes with wires draping from them and linking to each other. It looked like a model city. They hummed loudly as he approached. “Some sort of high-tech cleaning equipment.”


    Ben almost leapt from his pants when his phone rang. His pocket buzzed angrily. He pulled it out and checked who was calling. Dave. “Hello?”


    “Hello, Benjamin. This is Andrew.”


    “What do you want?”


    “Please vacate your neighbour''s house.”


    Ben paused, “I’m not in my neighbour''s house.” He looked around while backing out slowly.


    “Lying has no benefit.”


    “I’m not lying, my neighbour doesn’t live here, the door was open and I was checking for burglars.”


    “There are no burglars, Benjamin. Now, do as you’re told.” Andrew hung up on him.


    Ben slipped through the kitchen and out into the backyard. Two men were there, dressed in red jumpsuits. “Oh, hi, I saw the back door open. I was just checking everything is ok.”


    The two men looked at him with jewelled eyes and then at each other.


    “I’ll be going now.” Ben made to pass them but one grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t come in here again.”


    “Right, yeah, no problem.” He shrugged the man''s hand off then slid out the back door gate and climbed over into his yard. He scrambled to lock his kitchen door and caught his breath. “What the fuck is going on?”


    Ben made himself a cup of tea and sat down on the couch. He opened his laptop but it failed to connect to the internet. “Crying out loud.” he checked his phone, as he picked it up, it rang again. An unknown number.


    “Hello?”


    “Hello, is that Mr Ben Yeoman?”


    “Yes?”


    “Hi, this is James calling from your internet service provider.”


    “Ah right, yeah it’s down.”


    “Yes, your account has been terminated with us.”


    “What?”


    “We are making this call as a legal courtesy.”


    “Why? I made my quarterly payment last month, I’m good for a while.”


    “We have had a report that you have used online devices that relate to illegal activities including terrorism. By law, I have to inform you that we can no longer do business with you as you’re considered a threat.”


    “I need it to work!”


    “There’s nothing I can do.”


    “I’m going to lose my job, there’s no office.”


    “I understand, sir.” The line went dead.


    “Bullshit!” Ben tried calling his ISP back but there was no dial tone.


    He called Andrew next, getting through to the receptionist and being put through. “What’s happening?”


    “I’m sorry?”


    “You’re not sorry. Since I spoke to you lot everything is going wrong. Just lost my internet. That means I can’t work!”


    “Benjamin, this is your doing, not ours.”


    “My doing? They cancelled my internet because I said a joke to my Abi!”


    “Was it a joke?”


    “Yes!”


    “What about the little quip about blowing those policemen’s heads off?”


    Ben screwed his face up, “What?”


    Andrew paused and spoke cleanly: “I’d love to blow your heads clean off.”


    “Ah–”


    “You said that about those policemen didn’t you?”


    Ben shook his head.


    “Don’t shake your head at me, Ben, you know it’s true.”


    Ben stood up. “Where are you?”


    The phone went dead.


    “Where are you?” Ben roared as he started searching the house. “If I find you, you’re dead meat!”


    The house was empty. “I’ve been bugged…” he looked at his phone. He raised his hand to smash it on the ground but stopped. This was his only way to contact the outside world. Ben controlled himself. “If I don’t say anything, they won’t know.” Ben looked at his phone. “I bet they are tracking my movements.”


    Ben’s conundrum was interrupted by his doorbell ringing. He breathed slowly and crept downstairs. The living room was a total tip by this point and it was hard to walk through it without almost breaking his neck.


    He couldn’t see a silhouette through the frosted glass in his front door. Ben took his door handle and waited. After a moment he wrenched the door open quickly. Nobody was there. He looked down. Another care package had been left. He stepped out onto his drive and looked around.


    Ben brought the box inside and set it on the coffee table. The box contained the brochure that Andrew had promised him. It was glossy and well put together. It contained pictures of nice living quarters, public bath houses and people enjoying various amenities like tennis and chess. It reminded him of one of those spa centres.


    “Meaningful labour.” He shook his head and tossed the brochure to one side. Inside was a plain green, cardboard box. Curiously he opened it. Inside was a small booklet and a black USB stick. The booklet contained information about the stick. It gave him one hour of internet a day. It made it clear this was a free one-week trial and that he’d be granted this as part of his move to SS9.


    He shrugged and pushed the stick into his laptop. Lo and behold he was back online. “Thank you boys.” He clicked on the website with all the videos about the support sectors. A message filled his screen: -UNAUTHORISED WEBSITE-


    Ben tried a few different sites, but all of them were unauthorised. He checked the booklet once more. A website address was provided so he tried that one. It led to an intranet of sorts. All of the information and links appeared procured.


    Ben fumbled through his care package and pulled out a can of pop. It was cheap cola but it’d do. He sipped at it as he flicked through the tedious websites they offered. It was basic news, low IQ games and a social media-type website with other people on the intranet chatting.


    Surprisingly he already had an account. His name, a picture and details were all up to see. “I didn’t sign up for this…” he muttered.


    He clicked around a few profiles before trying to remember Wayne''s surname. Aldridge, that was it! He tapped it in and there he was. Wayne. His front page was filled with posts talking about how incredible his life was and how much it’d turned around since joining SS6. There were a few bantering posts in his reply section from people in different support sectors. One said: Support sector 8 is going to beat you SS6 lot in tomorrow''s footy game!


    Ben clicked on a chat box with Wayne and typed: Hi Wayne.


    Wayne was online and he replied quickly: Hello


    Ben: It’s me, Ben.


    Wayne: I can see that. You are in the support sector now?


    Ben: No.


    Wayne: How are you on here?


    Ben: Care package…


    Wayne: It’s how they get you


    Ben took a breath, Wayne was still typing.


    Wayne: to realise how amazing it is here.


    Ben wanted to ask if it was Wayne who sent him the link, but his system lost connection. “It’s how they get you…”


    He picked up his phone. “You’re not getting me, you pricks,” he said looking into the black screen. “You hear that?”