Summary: A Texas Road Work Commission employee tries to figure out how SV198742 ended up in its slave processing pod.
I have worked for the Texas Road Work Commission for five years. At first it was off putting to see regular guys transformed into slaves. Not all are violent criminals, and at first it was hard to not feel empathy for young men condemned for minor crimes, sometimes as simple as drug use or shoplifting. We were trained to think of the slaves like equipment, less than even livestock. It's harder to feel that way when you manage pod processing. You see them before they are transformed. You hear their cries, their begging, their screams of pain before their vocal cords are severed. In time you become numb to it.
The recent federal grant to repair the interstate required a significant increase to our slave workforce. The grant finally allowed us to expand our processing pod complement by six units, up from only four. Having ten pods would greatly increase processing time, and would have the advantage of fewer new slaves needing to see and hear others get processed before them. It's always easier to encourage compliance when they do not know what to expect.
I was inspecting our shipment of new pods when I discovered that one was occupied. The slave inside had none of the usual records, no criminal file, no sentencing information. The pods were effective at purging the personal histories of slaves, reducing them to a number. Usually I saw them before their lives were expunged from existence. This one was a clean slate. "Who are you?" I asked out loud before unlocking and opening the occupied pod. Inside was a sweat covered freshly minted slave.
"What do we have here?" I asked. I reviewed the pod's records and read its designation. "SV198742. No criminal record on file." I pulled it to its feet. The slave was unsteady and needed help to stay upright. It was obviously dehydrated. I watched as it got its first look at the changes the pod made to its body. Hairless, tattooed, steel restraints and a collar permanently welded in place. The slave would learn the function of the control modules attached to its collar and cuffs soon enough. The loss of bladder control with the stent and access to the cock always seemed like a particular insult to the slave's dignity. It was confused, dehydrated, and malnourished. I grabbed its collar and pulled it to make eye contact with me. I could see its mouth moving silently, still not accepting that it would never speak again. The sooner it understood, the sooner it would accept its fate. When I knew it was focusing on me I said, "I have no idea how you got in there, but these pods and everyone they process are property of the Texas Road Work Commission. You'll be baking in the sun and filling pot holes for the rest of your life 8742. Let's get you over to slave orientation so you can get acclimated."
I pulled it along to the orientation and training center. It's where slaves were trained to do their work, where the last of their humanity was taken from them. It didn't fight me as I guided it across the yard to the entrance to the building.
As I entered I could see the ladies at the front desk raise their eyebrows. One asked, "Where did this one come from? We weren't expecting new slaves today."
"It was in one of the new pods, no idea how it got there." I answered. "It'll need to be processed through intake regardless of where it came from though."
One of the newer processors looked disturbed, the others got to work. "Common." one of them said to the new slave. "Follow me." It complied and slowly followed her down the hall.
I went back outside to finish checking in the new pods. We had a shipment of 8 new slaves arriving in 2 days and I wanted the pods installed properly before then. I was looking forward to starting all 8 at once instead of needing to watch 4 panic as they heard the screams of the other 4 being processed.
I finished inspecting the pods, restocked the one the new slave arrived in, and instructed my staff where to set them up before connecting them to power. Each pod could process several slaves on battery backup alone, but it wasn't ideal. Nothing was worse than starting a half processed slave over again because of equipment failure.
Following that I returned to my desk to finish some paperwork before I could go home. As I worked through the stack I came across the shipping manifest for the new pods. They were picked up at a warehouse in Tulsa Oklahoma. That made sense, there is a slave pod processing facility in Tulsa. Curiosity getting the better of me I picked up the phone and gave the warehouse a call.
"Tulsa Logistics," a man answered the phone.
"Hello, my name is Carl Stanford. I'm down in Dallas and just received a shipment of slave processing pods that were shipped from you guys."
There was a pause. "Was everything ok with your shipment, did everything get there all right?"
"Sure did, I just finished checking them all in. There was a strange situation with one of them. It came with a 21 year old slave inside. It had no and I couldn't really look it up due to the pod's purging of the slave's records. Any idea where it might have come from."
"A 21 year old...well yeah that does answer a mystery for us. We had a new security guard that disappeared the other night, a college student. Our morning crew came in and he wasn't there. Later that day we did find his uniform, phone, wallet, and car keys in a pile. We have camera footage of him doing his rounds, then he just disappeared. Not that every inch of this place is covered by cameras. We had no idea what happened to him, his family is worried. I'm not sure this will ease their concerns though."
"Certainly not, fate worse than death as far as I'm concerned. You'll probably want to let the police know."
"Well damn, this'll be a headache for us to be sure. I appreciate you calling to let us know what happened to him."
"Sorry to give you problems, hopefully there are no liability issues."
"Nah, security guards are trained to not touch the shipments. If he got into that thing on his own it's on him, if he let someone in that made him get in it's on him too. Thanks again for the call. Mind if I give your information to the police?"
"Of course not."
"Allright brother, well I hope you have a good night."
"You too." I hung up the phone. I hoped I made the right decision. I'm sure the warehouse management had no idea someone would be stuped enough to get into a pod on their own. No doubt his folks would find out where their son turned up. They'll probably call every authority on the face of the earth to get him back. I could only imagine what it will feel like when they learn his fate is sealed. Accidental or unjust enslavement does happen, but it's rare. Stories are usually suppressed by the government to prevent descent about the punitive slavery programs across the country.
I knew from experience that no amount of kicking and screaming would allow SV198742 to ever speak to its family again, not that it could speak. By now it was well into its first full day of slavery. I hoped, for everyone's sake, that it would be broken early. The sooner a slave gives up hope and accepts its fate, the happier they seem.
The next day I received a phone call from the Tulsa Police. They didn't have much to say, mainly just wanted to confirm what I told the warehouse manager and to get the slave designation number of the missing college boy. The detective wasn't thrilled about calling the kid's family, but knew it wasn't worth putting off.
After getting off the phone I returned the new pods to do a round of tests to prepare for the new slaves arriving the next day. I wondered if I'd see 8742 when I brought them over to processing.