White Room

The room was 16 feet on each side. It was painted white. There was a door but no window. To compensate for this, eight lights in each corner of the room were shined on the center of the room. In that central position was a desk and a chair. A computer was resting on the desk, and a man named John Walker was sitting on the chair.
         The office was one among a few thousand within the edge city, the headquarters for the RAMJAC engineering firm, located 20 or so miles out from central Dallas. Initially, the edge city had a near zero population; it consisted almost entirely of those living in the city outskirts who did not want to commute to the central business district. However, with cheap land, RAMJAC began to offer living space for its workers; these spaces rapidly became integrated into expanded office buildings. After the collapse of the oil market, which resulted in the economic failure of Dallas, RAMJAC proceeded, in what became an extreme test of ingenuity, to make their system independent of the outside world, from chemically engineering food products to constructing (fully automated) factories to manufacture all consumer goods. The ambitious nature of this system naturally necessitated the involvement of all citizens. Citizens below the age of 18 learned at one of RAMJAC's preparatory schools; those 18 or older were given positions in the firm depending on their skills. Unemployment was nonexistent, and all citizens were presented with their role in the system. Citizen and worker became synonymous, as did government and business.
         In order to maintain this cohesive structure, it was required that the productivity of each citizen was optimized, that there would be no flaws in RAMJAC's perfectly efficient operation. All citizens were tracked, and the data produced was analyzed. Correction facilities took care of any improper behavior. This process was run by management directors such as John Walker.
         John Walker assisted in the management of Unit 17C, consisting of 256 people. Along with other members of management staff, had access to the most advanced tools available for population maintenance. Among these was 24-hour live camera footage for each room in the facility, GPS trackers for each citizen, and chips installed adjacent to each citizen's brain in order to record information on their thoughts.
         It was the final day in his week-long exam to become a Chief Civilian Manager. Without any further instruction, six days ago he was told to identify an individual who was threatening the structure of Unit 17C. He was allowed to use all tools he had at his disposal. Walker had rarely stepped out of his office during the time period. The majority of his time was spent staring at the grid of white boxes displayed on his computer screen. Each box was the profile of a citizen within Unit 17C, and each citizen was a potential suspect. He spent the hours watching the footage, tracing back their footsteps, analyzing their thoughts. With only one day to go, he could find no suspicious activity. It was not the desire to achieve which led him to work obsessively, but the assumed notion that he must not fail.
         15 hours had passed in the room. He had yet to fall asleep, but it was a long time since he had been awake. His senses had become numb. He was unaware that the skin on his fingertips had wore off. Walking over to door, seeking a short break, he found that it was locked.
         It was at that moment, that subtle shift from worker to prisoner, in which the room changed. Color began to flicker, and the walls, losing their rigidity, began to pulsate. Turning to the door again, he found it opened at the slightest touch.
         The white room was replaced with a white hallway; office doors were lined against the wall. The offices were arranged in a grid; the uniformity made it nearly impossible to determine location. Going past them, he seemed to be floating rather than walking. He made his way down the stairs and out of the of office complex he had spent so much of his life in.
         Walking past RAMJAC headquarters, for a quarter of a mile, there was nothing but concrete. Beyond that was the edge of the suburbs. After walking roughly 10 more miles, he found himself in a barren wasteland consisting of nothing but dirt. Yet it was only at that moment, away from all civilization, that he felt, for perhaps the first time, the sensation of the sun beating down on him, or the wind against his face. The word "freedom" finally developed a meaning in his mind.
         He did not know how long he spent there; it may have been minutes, it may have been years. Events occurred in flashes. He walked for miles across this land; the suburbs was replaced by the rural. He walked through forests, past endless plains. He was a vagabond, not just physically, but of mind and soul as well. He was unsure how he survived - what he had for shelter or for food - but, after all, survival is an overrated concept. He was a man of no one but himself. That was, until, his coworker in the office adjacent to his let out a particularly loud sneeze.
         He was lying on the floor of his office. His head felt heavy. Thoughts raced through his mind, seemingly independent of any conscious mental effort.
         10 minutes or so passed. He was still lying down when he heard a knock on his door.
         Opening it, he was met with Smith, his boss. With only a brief greeting and a handshake, they both took seats at the desk.

         "Anything you would like to say?"

         He could have asked why door was locked. He could have asked who his target had been. He could have asked whether he had hallucinated, whether they had known. But as Walker and Smith made eye contact, he found that he already knew the answers.

         "So what now? You're gonna kill me?" The question was genuine, but his tone was impassionate.

         Smith reacted with surprise, confusion even. "Kill you? Why would we kill you?"

         His head resting on his arms, Walker looked up. He was too tired to answer, too tired to care.

         "Do you understand how inefficient it would be for you to die? You underestimate your value, Walker. No, this experience was beneficial, beneficial for both of us. The structure of 17C, the structure of RAMJAC, requires that each and every one of us plays our role in the system - you have helped fix the missing link. We thank you for that. We thank you so much, in fact, that if you believe the task was too strenuous, I will allow you to rest for a few days, to spend time with your family, to recuperate. On your return, I assure you you will be excellent as Chief Civilian Manager."

         Smith exited the room. The door shut. Walker could not hear whether the lock had clicked -- he did not check.
         He sat at his desk for a while, considering the offer. He thought of rest; the concept bore little significance on him. Smith had mentioned something about family; pondering that for a moment, he realized he could not quite remember the faces of his wife or children, although he was fairly sure they must exist. It seemed that ideas which deviated from his office, deviated from the white room, seemed to have little effect on his thoughts or emotions. Staring blankly into space, he booted up the computer. He glanced around the room wondering, not for the first time, whether there were cameras. Once again, he did not check. It did not matter.
         10 hours had passed. Walker had not stopped working since the hallucination. He had not once thought about the lights, not once about the chip inside his skull.