Hardcore

Keywords: Fight, Test,

Such compounds contained jails, hospitals, schools, malls, and everything else required to make it a miniature city of its own. The living was pretty good, in those areas. But to enjoy the empire, you must suffer the emperor.

Employees had to be careful not to run afowl of their bosses. It could mean a night in jail, unemployment, or worse. Some executives, it was rumored, had even auctioned off the wives or children of failed employees as slaves. By the same token, there was a great many opportunities located in the compound for rewarding success.

Arriving for an interview at ColCorp, I was directed to a small, 10-story glass structure on the corner of the compound. Inside, a woman beautiful enough to be a supermodel sat behind a desk. She wore a bikini top and a short skirt, and smiled at me as I walked in. A waterfall 30 feet behind her fell from three stories up. On either side of the room, massive flat screen TVs looped footage of employees enjoying games of tennis, relaxing in large cushy living areas, taking trips to an unidentified lake paradise, eating at a fancy restaurant, and selecting young women to take into a back room in what was clearly a company brothel. Everything was immaculately clean.

"Mr. Young?" The beautiful woman asked me. I nodded. "Please take this name tag, and move to room 519 on the fifth floor. Mr. King is waiting for you."

I blinked. "Mr. King?"

"Yeah, hon." She winked. "Mr. King rarely interviews people. You must be pretty important."

"I, uh...I doubt it."

"Sure, hon. Sure." She appraised me in a way that said that she didn't believe my modesty, and might be willing to consider any offer I might make. As I clipped the nametag on, I noticed she had written her name and number on the back.

On the fifth floor, I found myself sitting in a waiting room with an equally beautiful, even more lightly clothed, substantially younger girl who might in another time have been starting to think about what college to attend. She barely acknowledged me, except to point to a seat when I came in. She very clearly believed that she had already been claimed by somebody with more power than I would ever have. She was surely right.

But who was Mr. King, that he was so important, yet was here to interview an insignificant accountant? I couldn't help but suspect...

The doors opened, at last, revealing Harold King, the very man who had sold his company to this larger rival. My former boss. For the first time, it occurred to me to wonder what they had offered him.

He had grown larger in his victory, obviously. His six foot frame, large for his heritage, contained a sizable layer of fat. If forced to speculate, I'd put his weight at somewhere between 240 and 260 pounds. His tailor-made suit and professional grooming made him look younger than his 50 years, however. The girl at the desk, who was probably five foot four and 120 pounds, looked at him with poorly-feigned devotion. He ignored her.

"Michael Young!" He beckoned to me. I stood, and he shook my hand firmly. "So good to see you, my man! Can you believe it?" He winked at me. "What odds roll in our favor?"

"I'm surprised, I admit, to see you, sir." I smiled back. If Harold King was in charge around here, the job was mine. My mind wandered to thoughts of beautiful receptionists with no clothes on, for a moment. Then I thought of my wife.

"Come in, come in," he waved me into a large, plush office that looked more like a cozy living room than a place of business. "I so rarely use this particular office," he admitted, "so it may not be up to the standards you were expecting." I neglected to point out that I slept underneath rusted pipes that hung from my ceiling. I simply found my seat in front of the big desk.

King dropped his massive weight on the chair behind it, and put his feet up. "I believe an explanation is due?" He winked.

"I am curious," I smiled. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Why thank you," he said. "The thing is, when it became clear that we were going to die a slow, aching death at the old place, I contacted ColCorp about making a deal. An acquisition of our size would put them above their biggest rival, and ensure domination for them. For now. I knew they would pay well." He poured two whiskeys, and handed one to me. "But the thing is, I understood on some level that power was going to mean more, in this new country of ours, and so instead of a large cash payment I requested a position of great influence in this company. I got it," he chinked his glass against mine in toast, "and spent the next year and a half maneuvering myself very near the top." He tilted his head, pleased with himself. "And now I have the ability to offer you employment once more."

I sipped my drink. I hadn't tasted whiskey in over a year. Maybe that was a good thing. "That's very kind, sir. I am grateful. But this company is....well....why me?"

He put his feet down, leaned forward, and acted like he hadn't heard my question. "How are things at home, Michael? Still married to that wonderful woman?"

"Tabby?" I asked, looking around the room at the varying expenses and trinkets. He rarely uses this office. "I am. She's the love of my life."

He grunted. "Did you see my pretty thing out there?"

"I did. She's very young."

His distinctly Asian features folded in a grin. "Seventeen!" It was a boast. "But merely entertainment, you understand. The thing is," he suddenly looked very serious, and not particularly friendly, "women can have a good many uses."

It was a strange moment, brought on by a strange statement. I fumbled for words. "Do...would you like to see my resume, sir?" I held it out.

He plucked it up and tore it in two. "Don't be silly, Michael. I'm not hiring you for your accounting abilities." He watched me over the rim of his glass as he finished his drink on one, swift gulp.

"I don't understand." My pride was hurt, but mostly I was getting nervous.

"The thing is, Michael..." he picked at something in his teeth, "I have always wanted a large family. Now, my ex-wife was sterile, and my life is getting late rather swiftly. I have acquired much, and I wish to have many dozens of children to share it with."

"Dozens?"

"Hm." He poured himself another drink.

"That's a lot of children," I said carefully, and ignored a sudden urge to get out of this place.

"It is a lot, yes." He sipped his whiskey. "But then women who are lucky enough to have the privilege of receiving my genes should be very grateful, I should think."

He said nothing for a moment, as though expecting me to respond. Then he handed me a contract.

"Sign it," he said. "It guarantees you employment opportunity here, with admittedly little room for promotion, but with a salary greater than your talents merit. I do not wish to insult," he waved his hand at my hurt look. "I only wish for you to understand that as good a man as you are, your talents alone do not earn this job."

"Then what am I good for?" I asked, flipping through the more than twenty page document.

"Isn't it obvious?" He gulped the last of his drink. "I'm going to get your wife pregnant."

I sat frozen only for a moment. Then I stormed for the door. King must have pushed a button, or something, because two ridiculously large corporate police thugs met me there. They gripped my arms painfully and lifted me up. I wasn't dumb enough to struggle, and was quickly brought back to my seat.

"Thank you gentlemen," King smiled. "You have the address and description, I believe?"

"We do, sir," one said. He was a massive black man, who made King look short and looked to be strong enough to lift us both with one arm.

"Excellent. The address is this young man's apartment. The description is of his wife. Find her and collect her. And gentlemen," he waved a finger, "she is not to be harmed any more than is needed to collect her. Have your fun elsewhere."

"Yes, sir." They left.

"You son of a bitch!" I spat at him.

"No," he stood up, "you are the son of a bitch. A stupid, stupid man who couldn't smell opportunity if it shat on his face. And now look at you....all you have to offer is your wife's ass." He grunted. "Consider this: I have been collecting the varying women who will have my children in much the same fashion I am doing now. Young desperate men who need work, who have beautiful wives. I know what I'm doing. If you refuse, my friend, you will be dead in less than twelve hours, and your wife will be given to my police force, for their own use. If you consent, you will both live a life of relative luxury and happiness, together. The only downside is that your wife will be available to me, whenever and however I choose, for as long as it takes. Once she is pregnant, the two of you will be contractually obligated to raise the child and care for it according to a set of predesignated rules. But once the pregnancy occurs, your wife's time as my concubine is at an end."

"We were friends," I whispered, deflated.

"We are friends, Micheal," he smiled. "Or I would be offering a great deal less money. Tell me this," he walked around to my side of the table and sat on the desk. "Is the offer really so bad? Is it worse than your life now? How long can you hold out before...what is her name, again?"

"Tabitha."

"Ah, yes. You call her Tabby. How long before Tabby is sucking dick or dancing on a pole just so you can eat, Michael? How long before there's no choice left?"

"Not long," I consented.

"No, not long at all, I should think. So here I am offering you a much less terrifying thought. One man, not dozens, and for a finite period of time. And instead of living in that shithole you will be a part of this glorious company. All in all, a much happier outcome, yes?"

"Yes," I wanted to cry.

"Then will you agree?"

"Tabitha never will."
ck.


"So, you have learnt a valuable lesson, no?" I said as I cut the rope holding you in this agonizing position. The air rushed back into your lungs. I allowed you lie there for a while until your colour returned.

Keywords: Fight, Test,

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