I tried to put as much distance between Hugh Jaman and I on the train. Unfortunately the train was already crowded before the large number of candidates tried to get on. I found myself uncomfortably close to my new worst enemy. The fact that High Jaman was also very clearly not pleased by this was little consolation. Millicent Lute looked worried which confused me. Why was she worried? She already knew we were going to be in direct competition with each other, what was the point of showing any concern?

Unless it’s a trick. Yes a trick, and I almost fell for it. She was acting nice in the hopes that I would go easy on her, or that I would help her in some way, then she could betray me at the last moment. Well I’ll go along with your tricks Millicent Lute, but you won’t get one over me.

The ride to Victoria Station was mercifully short, so it wasn’t long before I could escape from that metal tube. I’d already memorised the route from the station to Extech headquarters, and based on the confidence with which the rest of the candidates set out, everyone else had too. Hugh Jaman strode ahead, his long legs carrying him swiftly along the pavement. Even by non-mountain-man standards I was a little short, and had to keep the pace up to stay as part of the group. Despite my efforts I was still one of the last to round the corner and see the Extech headquarters. In the grand tradition of business headquarters it wasn’t much. Tall and glass fronted, it was indistinguishable from any of the other buildings around. The only way I could tell it was the Extech headquarters was the large Extech logo, in prim and proper blue tone, on a sign above the entrance, and again near the top of the building.

No matter. The building may have been unimpressive but I knew full well that no business worth its salt wouldn’t have extensive underground facilities. For now, any underground rooms and tunnels were obscured by the ground. There was only one entrance, guarded two sets of automatic sliding doors and two actual guards holding very visible sub-machine guns. I could tell even from a distance that they were both holding Coca-Cola Protest Suppression Rifles Mark 553, usually referred to as the CC-PSR533 by professionals in the arms industry and the “sea pisser” by less professional professionals in the arms industry. One of the guards noticed me staring so I quickly looked away. I didn’t want to draw attention from the guards, get thrown out or stopped and searched. The entrance had formed a bit of a bottleneck as everyone reached it so I caught up with the rest of the group. The moment I entered to lobby I looked around, taking it all in. There was a very tired looking receptionist looking at the group of us with what could only be described as an aggressive lack of enthusiasm for what she was facing. There was a staircase up to somewhere and a couple of doors off leading deeper into the building. One door had a scanner for a pass by it while the other was protected by the far less secure defence mechanism of a door handle. By this less secure door stood a grey man. Sorry, by this less secure door stood a man dressed in grey, an even more aggressive lack of enthusiasm on his face and a tablet in his hand.

He was also watching us. Yes he was looking at us, that was plain to see, but there was something more. He was watching us each in turn, he was observing us.

I tried to recall if, during my research, I had come across this man’s face but I couldn’t think of who it was.

It took me a moment more to realise that the assessment had already begun. I stood up a little straighter. With tentative order the group of us candidates went to the receptionist and gave our names and received a visitor pass.

“Hugh Jaman. Here for the assessment day.” Hugh Jaman took his pass.

“Hello, I’m Millicent Lute. I’m here for the assessment day.” Millicent Lute also took her pass. She stepped away and towards the less secure door and I stepped up to the desk. I opened my mouth and stopped, suddenly becoming very aware of the grey man watching me.

Something is wrong. What is wrong? What changed? I clenched my teeth, trying to keep my breathing regular.

“Are you here for the interview too? What’s your name?” The receptionist’s voice managed to pierce that crazed fog that had flooded my mind.

“Norman Pearson.” I managed to say. Something is very wrong? What is happening? What- it hit me with as much force as Hugh Jaman had less than twenty minutes earlier. The man in grey had stopped watching me. He’d moved on, he’d judged me. I span round to look at him. The tablet, he was marking something on the tablet. What was it, was it notes on us? What decision had he reached?

The man in grey looked back at me, his face revealing nothing.

“Your pass, Mr Pearson.” The receptionist again. I took the pass and walked slowly away, towards the door we’d all been taking. Once again the man in grey wasn’t looking at me. I had made my first impression, well after the application and all the online assessments it was closer to my fifth or sixth impression, and I’d have to live with it for better or worse.

I passed through the doors into a room roughly the same size of the lobby. There were some chairs about, all being sat on presumably by those that got here first. I looked around to see where Millicent went, told myself off for doing that, and continued to look around at those in the room. This was an early chance to observe my competitors. My observation was interrupted when I heard someone say my name.

“Norman.” The voice was familiar. My eyes flicked over to the origin of the voice and saw an old… friend. Donald Rugg was of about average height, that is to say he was taller than me, and had light brown hair. He hadn’t changed too much since I had last seen him. His hair was a little shorter than I remember and he wasn’t drooling but apart from that the passage of time had made little change. “It’s been a few years.” I nodded.

“Hi Donald. So you’re job hunting now as well?”

“Well I graduated this year so yeah.” That stung a little. He’d only just graduated and he had already made it to the assessment stage, what had I been doing for the past year? I didn’t say any of this, of course. “How have you been?” Donald asked

“Ah same as ever.” Constantly stressed and high. “How about you?” I deflected.

“Well I’ve been studying hard. Didn’t want a repeat of our first year.” Yes Donald had been the one who had stopped taking his smart drugs at the end of our first year. A year of study and a mathematical method, lost forever. But he was here now and, as far as I was aware, was far more capable than me. Even if that man in grey hadn’t already marked me for rejection things were not looking good.

“Oh Norm! Is this a friend?” Millicent Lute emerged from somewhere to greet Donald and I. Donald raised an eyebrow at the name “Norm”.

Please don’t misunderstand.

“Hello. I’m Donald, I was Norma- Norm’s flatmate for a year at university.”

“Hello Don.” Donald’s eyebrow lowered as he understood completely, “I’m Millicent. Millicent Lute. I met Norm on the train here.” Millicent really was the loudest person in the room, it was beginning to draw attention.

“Well it’s nice to meet you Millie.” Donald smiled politely.

A muscle near one of Millicent’s eyes twitched, just slightly. It was so small that I thought I’d imagined it.

“So have you two seen the biggest surprise here?” Millicent was still all smiles. Donald nodded.

“I have. I’d heard rumours but I didn’t expect it to be here.” I hadn’t a clue what they were talking about but, with all these eyes on the three of us now, I didn’t want to betray my ignorance. Donald pointed, perhaps for my benefit, to a figure sitting alone. It was a young woman with curly blonde hair hanging loose. She was sitting upright with her eyes closed. Suddenly it all made sense, I recognised that person. She was Natalie Yamnson, daughter of the Chief Executive Officer and Imperial Steward of Coca-Cola, Isaac Yamnson. She was the daughter of the highest ranking employee of Coca-Cola, the man who was only second to the giant supercomputer artificial intelligence that ran the company. She was Coca-Cola royalty and one of the most powerful women in the world, and she was here at an assessment day for one of Coca-Cola’s smallest companies. Like Donald I had heard the rumours going around that she was trying to obtain a job through normal means but it never made sense. Why would she go through all the pain we had to go through to get a job? Natalie Yamnson’s eyes opened and she looked over to the door just as the man in grey entered. I glanced down at my watch. 0930 exactly. It was a good thing my train wasn’t late.

“Good morning.” The man in grey stood before us, tablet still in one hand. “I am Arthur Cessman, I am in charge of recruitment and personnel at Extech. Please listen for your name.” I tensed up when he said that. This man was in charge of recruitment, how did I not think to look into those people?! Arthur Cessman began to read out names. I dutifully listened for my own.

It never came. My fists clenched tighter and tighter and my heart rate steadily increased as the list went on, evidently running in alphabetical order. Arthur Cessman read out “Paisley, Partner, Peters, Pinhoe…” he’d passed Pearson! My heart dropped. Arthur Cessman reached the end of his list and looked at us. “If I have read your name then please leave. You will not be assessed further.” he said.

The words that passed through my mind at that moment needn’t be relayed but the overall theme was that I had passed this surprise first stage, somehow! Those that had heard their names were probably a little less thrilled but were mostly quiet about it. They also didn’t move. “You heard me. Please leave.” Arthur commanded. He sounded as bored as he looked but there was something else.

He’s always watching us. Even now he’s looking for something… What is it?

“What the hell?” a candidate said. The candidate, similar in size and scale to Hugh Jaman, walked towards Arthur Cessman, who he towered over. “We only just got here and you’re throwing us out? Are you serious?!” Other rejected candidates were nodding. Evidently they too took issue with their sudden rejection but had been too wary to voice it.

“Indeed Larry Boyd.” Arthur Cessman spoke, his voice measured. I realised he hadn’t consulted his tablet at all to learn the candidates name. He’d memorised us all.

“I’m not leaving.” the candidate named Larry Boyd declared, “I came here for an assessment and I will not leave before I am assessed.” Arthur Cessman regarded Larry Boyd for a moment, shook his head slowly and spoke again.

“You have already been assessed, Mr Boyd. Assessed by me, and you have been found wanting.” “Assessed? You just watched us enter a building! How the hell is that an assessment?!” Larry Boyd was yelling now, apparently oblivious to something that I, and probably most of the other candidates, had realised. Arthur Cessman was doing this on purpose, he was purposefully getting a rise out of Larry Boyd, provoking him. But why?

“Oh Mr Boyd,” Arthur Cessman gave a smile, a hollow smile. “There are hundreds of you here today for a chance to get this job. All of you are very capable, but only one of you will get hire. If you cannot even enter a building properly then what chance do you even have?”

Then Larry Boyd punched Arthur Cessman.

Or at least that was what I imagine Larry Boyd was trying to do. I can’t imagine what he was aiming to do was punch the air around thirty centimetres to the left of Arthur Cessman’s head then get knocked down by a vicious punch to the throat, which is in fact what happened. Larry Boyd collapsed to the floor, suddenly cut off from a thing he needed to live (that thing being oxygen).

“Would anyone else like to question our selection criteria?” Arthur Cessman, having successfully made an example out of the unfortunate Larry Boyd, addressed those of us still in the room. “Let me first congratulate you on passing the first stage of the assessment day.” Arthur Cessman congratulated us in the same way a bus driver would tell you how much a ticket costs. “Please follow me through to the next room for the welcome speech.” With that he turned and exited the room, leaving us to follow after him. As a collective sludge of people we began to follow.

“Well we passed the first stage. Well done guys.” Donald smiled.

“Yep. Good work, we’re one step closer to getting a job!” Millicent smiled in the exact same way.

I did not smile. I simply set off walking to face whatever awaited in the next room.