The room Arthur Cessman led us to was far better equipped than the waiting room just off the lobby, by which I mean it had enough chairs for us. Despite this everyone stayed standing up as they entered and dispersed around the room. Perhaps sitting down would be seen as a weakness. Also my legs were stiff from sitting on a plastic chair for two hours.

“Please remain here,” Arthur Cessman instructed, “You will be taken one by one to the interview room where your interview will take place.” With that he left, leaving us to our own devices for a short while. Millicent Lute came over to where I was. I’d been trying to avoid her, I wasn’t sure her strange cheerfulness would make me feel any better. I wanted to go over everything I had researched in preparation for my interview, since that research had been my lifeline in the written and technical assessments. But it seemed that I wouldn’t get a chance. Perhaps talking to me here was Millicent Lute’s way of sabotaging my efforts, though if she really wanted to sabotage someone and give herself an edge in the competition why would she try to sabotage me? Even I could tell that I was in no way the top competitor, and my display against Hugh Jaman should have proven to everyone that I was in no way a force to be feared.

“How did you find the tests?” Millicent Lute asked, smile firmly plastered on her face. I gave as non-committal a shrug as I could. “You don’t speak much do you?” Millicent Lute observed.

“He never has.” Donald was here too apparently, “He was super serious, always studying. Never had any time for fun.” I was going to protest and remind Donald that I had come out with him and his friends once, but that was on the last day of our exams, the day that Donald hadn’t taken his pills and lost a year of memories. I found myself wanting to ask Donald exactly how much he still remembered but… I wondered if I could take another pill myself. Probably not wise to do so right in front of Donald and Millicent, though I was certain all the candidates were regularly dosing throughout this entire process.

“Sounds like you were a hard worker Norm!” Millicent Lute was right, I sure did sound like a hard worker, but I’d cracked and failed hard. A mere first-star in computer science and a 2:1 in physics was all I had to show four years of my life. Four years spent living far from home, away from my father and his dark mutterings and stained hands and hollow stare and I really needed to get another dose. Seeing as everyone probably knew that everyone else was dosing, apart from Natalie Yamnson who apparently never took any nootropics, I just took the bottle out and popped a pill. Neither Donald or Millicent seemed at all surprised, though Donald did react slightly, just a small twitch. Perhaps he didn’t like being reminded of the stuff, though he had to still be on them himself right? At around the same time as I returned the bottle to the inside pocket of my jacket a middle aged woman entered the room.

“When I call your name, please come through here and make your way down the corridor to the interview room,” she said, apparently not seeing fit to greet us or pretend to be pleased to see us like Isaac Yamnson. “Julian Port.” she called out the first name and a young man with sharp looking eyes and a large forehead stepped up and through the door, on his way to the interview room.

“We’re going to the same room for interviews? One by one? How do they plan on getting through us all?” Donald was muttering. He had a point, I’d thought the same when I saw the itinerary. Were they usually far more ruthless and had far less candidates by this stage most years? That couldn’t have been the case, why would they bother with the final stage of the assessment if that was how it usually worked.

“Samuel Grear.” The woman called, less than twenty seconds after calling Julian Port’s name. Samuel Grear seemed taken aback, evidently not expecting someone to be called out so soon after. Still he got up and left the room. Less than twenty seconds later the woman called out a third name, “Christina Massey.” A woman, presumably Christina, marked out a quick cross on her chest as she left the room.

“Hey Norm,” Donald whispered. I wasn’t a fan of him adopting Millicent Lute’s nickname but could see that there were bigger things going on, “Do you think the interviews are actually all just less than a minute long?” Less than a minute long? How would that even be possible? But even as I opened my mouth to deny Donald’s conjecture I thought back to how we’d been assessed in the lobby. There were still two hundred of us, and the written and technical assessments weren’t guaranteed to get rid of many of us, so more instant death assessments made sense. Perhaps they gave you a matter of seconds to sell yourself as an employee, an elevator pitch for a person, as it were.

The woman continued to call out names. Hugh Jaman went early on, and Donald wasn’t far behind. Millicent Lute went within the first hour as well, leaving me behind with a shrinking number of candidates. No one had come back from the interview room, I can only assume they were sent elsewhere regardless of how well they fared. My stomach grumbled a little. It was almost half one, the time marked for lunch on the itinerary, but less than half the candidates had been called through. The rate at which we were being called upon had been slowing down as the time went by.

“Natalie Yamnson.” The woman called. Natalie Yamnson strode over and out the room. A plus side to Donald and Millicent being called before me is that I had time to prepare for any questions I could think of. I need to be quick, I will only have a matter of seconds to make myself stand out.

“Norman Pearson.” I heard my name. Yes the woman by the door had called out my name. That meant it was time for my interview. I walked over to the door and exited the room into the corridor as smoothly as I could. At the other end of the corridor I saw Natalie Yamnson walking towards me, and beyond her stood Arthur Cessman by an open door. I walked down the corridor, my pace quickening along with my heartbeat. I passed Natalie Yamnson halfway along. Like everyone else here, her poker face was impenetrable. I entered the interview room and saw the interview panel, which made a lot of sense really. Edward Chupton, chief executive officer of Extech, on the left, an empty seat, presumably meant for Arthur Cessman, on the right, and the Chief Executive Officer and Imperial Steward of Coca-Cola himself, Isaac Yamnson, in the central seat.

“Hello Mr…” Isaac Yamnson began.

“Pearson.” Arthur Cessman finished. He somehow sounded even more disinterested and bored than usual.

“Yes Mr Pearson, welcome to the interview.” Isaac Yamnson continued, “We have a single question for you Mr Pearson, and you will have ten seconds to give us an answer. If we do not like the answer you will be asked to leave. If we like your answer then you will go on to the next stage of the assessment day.”

Donald had been right. I nodded to indicate that I was ready. Ten seconds would be a tight squeeze but I could do it.

“Here is the question then Mr Pearson,” Isaac Yamnson smiled unconvincingly, “What is the worth of a person?”

I stood in dumbfounded shock for a moment.

That question… That’s… For an interview? What kind of question is that?

The three on the interview panel, Edward Chupton, Arthur Cessman, Isaac Yamnson, along with Isaac Yamnson’s two totally not armed guards, were watching me as I swayed slightly.

What is the worth of a person? Is that seriously the question?

It didn’t make sense. This was a job interview, right?

Why would they ask such an easy question?

“One million pounds.” I stated, “as outlined in Extech’s own policies, a maximum of one million pounds may be spent to preserve a human’s life.” Isaac Yamnson looked genuinely shocked at my answer. Edward Chupton looked over to Arthur Cessman.

“Is this true?” he asked. Arthur Cessman closed his eyes for a moment, evidently lost in thought. Then he nodded.

“Yes I believe that is the figure stated in the company policy.” he said. Isaac Yamnson chuckled to himself.

“I can’t help but feel like you cheated Mr Pearson, but you pass.” Isaac Yamnson confirmed what I’d known the moment he’d asked the question. Arthur Cessman let me out of the room. As I went to leave he put a hand on my shoulder.

“Take the first left turn and follow the corridor along to the waiting room where all the successful candidates are waiting. Also…” He paused for a moment, “The actual figure stated in our company policy is a hundred thousand pounds. Work on your memory, don’t just rely on the drugs.” He took his hand off my shoulder and I set off down the corridor, past the next candidate, and round the corner.

Dammit dammit dammit dammit I internally raged. I could have lost my chance because I forgot a <redacted for decency> zero!

But why had Arthur Cessman lied about it to the other two? Was he taking pity on me? Did he plan on calling in a favour if I got the job? What would he want with someone like me anyway?

In the end it didn’t matter. I’d gotten through to the next stage.

The deadliest stage.

1400 - Preparation I recited in my head.

1500 - Battle Royale