Internal Body Replacement Agent

Internal Body Replacement Agent

         I jet lagged on my way to applying for a new job overseas in New Korea. The result of a united country, after nearly a century of extremely fearsome and scary ceasefire war. The most secure bored on Earth that was not meant to be crossed, where countless people dropped dead, shot for trying to cross. An invisible wall that kept a people divided to the point were they almost became two completely different nations for good.

         Landing at the car park within the former border between Pyongyang and Seoul, we were greeted with a bunch of wonderful fill out forms. A quick check attempting filter out people that might carry some risky diseases into the country. Koreans claimed to be the most vulnerable on the planet.

         “The boob growth virus went out of control in a small city quarter of Seoul. It also causes men to grow boobs. Foreigners who travel as tourists or came for work, can rest assured that the virus was carefully engineered to only enlarge the breast size of a specific human strand specific to Korea. Although the infection is meant to only affect Korean women, it's transmitted through sexual intercourse and that's how it affects men just as much. Patient 0 is the generous CEO of the large Cheorong corporation. The very same person that prevented the disbanding of the famous K-Pop group Pink-Grills, due to lack of funding. After an entire year of successful career now the group known as Pink-Grills, has to deal with the sugar daddy outrage from the fans.” A large projection of the news reporter was flickering on the commercial panel.
         “Are they still going to claim, that the extra wide hips are caused by obesity and not the virus itself?" an outraged ajushi was expressing his opinion extremely loud and clear.
         We walked away to a restaurant just across the holo-panel.
         There was nothing better than a tiger steak, from a freshly caught animal in the border's wild life reservation. All those years of well protect demilitarized zone finally paid off and served as nourishment for travelers with sensible good taste. My companion ordered a salad with freshly cooked tree bark toppings, as she always had a strong inclination for so called naturalism and meat aversion.

         High rise building estates. Floors made entirely of see-through glass with builtin paper thin displays, that would mimic the look of a carpet for new visitors. The carpet displays would then gradually fade towards the ordinary see-through opacity until perfectly transparent.
         Below them lay an oblique square grid of metal pipes.

         What I have kept away from the viewer so far, is that it's my mom that had traveled along with me. I highly admire my mom having raised me into such a successful man alongside five other kids.
         “Ugh!! This gives me chills,” she said.
         We went to a sealed up balcony with a wide see-through window, held by only 2 vertical bars all across, to admire the view over the great river Imjin of New Korea that still reminded of the country's division. The mountain tops in the distance had a new layer of asymmetrical buildings. Closest one being an observatory.
         Steps were heard and as I turned around, an office lady approached with a pile of papers in her hands. Apart from a fluffy and well rounded pony tail, she had a face so round gorgeous and aesthetically beautiful, that it was clear she underwent the perfect plastic surgery.
         “Are you still hanging out with your mom,” she laughed at me. “How about you hang out with me and I'll teach you how to be a grown up man.”
         “I am married.”
         “Coward.”
         “What happened to the ajumma tradition, of being a revered married women that never cheats?
         Her cheek started twitching. I forgot ajumma is referring to a married elderly woman, that is at least in her 40s.
         Please, that's a myth. Surely someone with a degree such as yours would know that grown up mature individuals enjoy each other indiscriminately, apart from those with facial unaesthetical deformities that is.
         She stared at me widening her eyes, her smile enlarging, taking in a deep breath:
         “No matter, she smiled, I'll have sex with that body whether you like it or not.”
         “How are you going to force me?” I gave a spiteful smirk.
         “That's the best part. I don't have to,” a high pitched chuckle followed. She walked away with an irritated grin, clearly despising me for having refused her own, within the entire corporation, widely and highly cherished body.
         However I came for the interview, so I had to chase after her into a room where other interviewees were already being thoroughly interrogated. Judging by some of the tired face expressions, from people who seemingly had their life sucked out of them, a long meeting was clearly ahead.
         “Please, meet the CEO,” the lady from before said to me stretching her hand towards a disheveled guy with curls in a tailored suit.
         We slightly leaned towards each other to shake hands. “Mister ..”
         “Gavin Spice,” he finished with a smile making his green eyes reflect the sunlight. “Please, take a sit, feel comfortable.”
         “You sound British,” I told him.
         “I'm half. My mom is British. Was. She died of hearth attack.”
         “Oh I'm so..”
         “Don't worry,” he waved me off with half shut eyes.
         “Hello, mister Silvio Gomez? Is that right? Am I pronouncing your name correctly?”
         No. The accent and pronunciation nearly killed it. Almost sounded like Syrbyo. You bitch!
         “Perfectly,” I said to a lady who sat herself across the small coffee table. No coffee was served though. At least the small sofa was comfortable to be sat on.
         Her mouth was half open, making it look as if her jaw is hanging from that large face.
         “Do you have all papers ready with you?” she widened her bubbly fish eyes. Again. Surgery.
         “I see,” she said after a brief moment of face checking my passport. “Do you have your visa sorted out?”
         “It's here, but it's just an interview visa and needs to be upgraded.”
         “If you get the job,” she said looking down and shuffling through the pile of certificates, technical qualifications, proof of working experience, references regarding good working conduct, records of proven expertise …
         “You have a work permit already,” she said to answer my mention of the visa upgrade.
         “But the law demands ..”
         She interrupted me with a nod, tightening her lips and continued to look down on the table. My personal financial statement was closely looked at. One had to write a long essay regarding their financial status, why they desire to work in New Korea, why they desire to work for the company they applied for, why they applied for that specific role and which other role do they believe they're suitable for within the company, in case the role was already filled and they were willing to give you a different one, so they could make sure you waited to obtain the position you actually applied for.
         Human Parts Tech, a company focusing all around the smooth integration of robotic prosthetics, nanites and various wired enhancements, generally for quick body repairs instead of lizard like regrowth procedures.
         Still not an excuse for the inhuman torture like interviewing and screening procedures.
         She stood up, walking away with my documents. My attention moved further away into the room, to another interviewee who had a really difficult time.
         “... Korean citizen through and through. A proud patriot. Always study hard, always work hard. Was always top of the class. Put me to the test. I have highest commitment and put most effort into my work. As a strongly dedicated young man I can only grow more from here on.” The externally protruded round eyes began tearing. His lips clenched as tiny amounts of spit bubbles were escaping and jumping off. Spasmodically he inhaled and exhaled air as he cried for having his application rejected.
         On a nearby sofa sat a blonde guy with well built physique. A scarf loosely lied around his polo shirt. The next in line to be tested for mental break down, I thought to myself.
         “Gomez-nim, come this way please,” another office lady addressed me.
         I was led to an array of tables somewhat perpendicular placed together, at which most of the office staff sat at, including those I've been talking to thus far.
         A black guy stood up.
         “Sorry,” one of the ladies said
         “No matter,” he responded clearly upset to have failed.
         “Bye!” another woman said.
         “Have a nice day,” another one gave the fake impression she actually cared.
         Gavin made his way over there, to wish me good luck, after he tapped me on the shoulder.
         “Please. Take seat,” one of the girls pointed her stretched out palm towards the vacant chair.
         “Before we continue processing the interview, we have some work to do.” After a brief moment she said “Your essay needs proof reading and company standard formatting.”
         “Standard formatting? What …”
         “It's just the first page that needs to have a very specific page format. The rules probably weren't presented to you when you applied for the job, but you must follow them nonetheless.
         “We will help you of course. First of all rewire the first page on this blank sheet of paper. Include paragraph indentation. Fix the red marked punctuation and spelling mistakes. Also you didn't comply with the standard paragraph coloring and layout format that was requested. They introductory paragraph was supposed to be green tinted, then followed by two core paragraphs in blue tint and finally a red closing paragraph. And that's all you can include on the first page.
         “This is the essay from the North Korean that failed the interview. As you can see it contains the correct coloring and spacing between paragraphs. Also take a good look at the paragraph sizes.”
         And so I fixed the formatting mistakes. Proceeded to answer work related questions, such as desired wage, working hours, preference of used tools.
         “You're an admirable candidate, but we aren't sure you are the right match for the job,” one of the office ladies said. It sure felt scripted.
         “What exactly makes me unsuitable?”
         “Well, for starters the content of the paragraphs could use more work. You didn't even attempt to use any metaphors in your description. Remember showing, not telling is the only way to tell a story about yourself.”
         “But I am not presenting you with a story. These are real life facts about myself.”
         The lady showed her raised palm while widening her eyes, as if I was too loud or rude or whatever the fuck the dumb goat was trying to imply.
         It all seemed futile at this point.
         “Can I just have the job? I'll adapt with the working environment in due time.”
         Silent stares followed.
         After all the talk and begging, as I felt really upset that I might still get reject, the CEO suddenly shouted “Cheer up already. We accept you as our new colleague.”
         Already? I turn my baffled gaze towards him.
         “The fight everyone put up here was pretty much futile. We already decided who to pick, before any of the candidates even entered this office,” said Gavin. “Have a drink on it.”
         A small white plastic glass was placed in front of me with only a tiny bit of red fluid at the bottom. I stared down at it, is that supposed to be wine? Then looked around wondering why nobody else received one.
         “Come on! Drink up. Don't refuse the job now that you got accepted. It's like baptism. Every other candidate would drink it,' said Gavin.
         So I cheered up. Lifted the glass and mimicked a toast.
         “Yeahey,” I gave out a cheer filled with forced enthusiasm and then dropped it down my throat. As I put the glass down on the table I immediately lost consciousness.


         When I regained consciousness, I was on a boat. Sun shinning deep into my eyes. My head leaning backwards, as I was staring into the sky. I immediately leaned forward to avoid the sun rays plunging into my eyes.
         Next to me was a white haired, well rounded old man, with slight protrusion of baldness on his forehead. “So you're finally awake, welcome on my boat,” he gave a large smile below his fluffy mustache.
         “What happened? Did I get refused in the end and sent off on a boat?”
         “Not at all. You definitely got accepted and you're welcome any time to go back. I don't recommend it though. Just enjoy the relaxing boat trip for now. You don't have to pay for it, take it as a favor of good intent from me.”
         “Who are you anyway, why am I here?”
         “Know that job you applied for. You applied to have your body serve as replacement for someone else's within the company.”
         “But I applied to be an internal body replacement agent. Replacing a small part within the company should the said body fail …” I got stuck in deep thoughts for a moment.
         “Yes, exactly. It's not a corporate body, that you replace per say, but an actual human body within the organization, hence why it's internal.
         “This includes, but is not limited to, replacing someone deceased within the company as soon as possible by any means necessary. Emphasis on any means necessary. When I saw a young man lying unconscious before me with a promising future still ahead, I knew I had to forfeit the operation.”
         “So what did you do.”
         “I just had to say no. I can't agree with the operation. As the minister of the neuro-transplant department in this country, there's nothing they can do about my decision, in order to ensure they successfully transplant the boss' head over to a new body, unless I personally agree with it.”
         “But what about the others, did nobody really know what they're getting into?”
         “Of course they did. They all had some sort of terminal disease or bad condition. All apart from you.” He made a break and looked at me deeply in the eyes clenching his lips.
         “Such as, brain tumor that the black guy had and felt the need to pass away with comforting and reassuring thoughts, of how blacks aren't discriminated against any longer.
         “The blonde Norwegian with slightly darkened hair was considered as nearly god sent, if only it weren't for the fact that he's actually a transgender girl. The newly developed lab hormones used for his gender change, for some unknown reason, occasionally attack the brain of the other gender.
         “So the next best option, until you arrived that is, was the Korean, who got rejected because his body probably looked too thin and frail. I saw all candidate photos. He was very skinny North Korean.. Excuse my french I am not supposed to use the words North and South along with Korean any longer in this country.”
         “I am confused. What should I do now?”
         “Honestly? You're better off just leaving this country. Next boat trip might end up on the river Styx for you.”
         The sun was shining brightly and the entire eerie feeling reminded of the ending of an old mafia movie. As I got off the boat, the thought kept lingering with me and persisted while I was walking around on the narrow Venice like streets while window shopping, occasionally admiring my reflection and rich hair I had on my head.
         How could that old geezer ever refuse to have a brain transplant instead of a head to full body transplant?
         Grinning at my own reflection, a face of pure Latin natural beauty, I swore, I would use the full capacity of my brain to claw the organization from under Gavin's hands and lead it myself as a complete stranger to this land.