Leaving it all behind

I look down at the card in my hand, checking the address despite having it memorised for weeks now. Up at the seemingly abandoned warehouse that the map on my phone had led me to. The industrial park I'm standing in looks as deserted and run-down as the warehouse does and it sends a shiver of primal fear down my spine. Am I really here? Am I really doing this?

My entire life has been defined by the desire to run that flows through my veins, moving out and away from everyone I've ever known at eighteen years old, starting fresh in new towns every couple of years when the restlessness grows too strong, when too many people know my name, when people start asking pointless questions of where I'm from. I can't help this urge within me, but I've finally identified it as a need to be someone else entirely. Once I figured that out and started researching, the rest fell into my lap with suspicious ease.

Meeting up with 'John Smith', a name so generic it was clearly fake, being subjected to the weirdest and most vague interview of my entire life, only for him to leave with no contact details but a blank card with only an address- this address -printed on it. It all felt so surreal. The idea that I could leave my life behind without dying. It intrigued me enough to lead me here. So now, on the precipice of getting everything I feel that I've ever wanted, I hesitate. Once I step inside that building, there's no turning back. I'll be wiped off the face of the earth, nothing but a memory in the lives of every person I've met. Finally, truly free.

I step forward, slowly, again and again until I stand at the door, hand trembling above the door handle. The final obstacle in my way. My stomach churns with nerves but I know. I know myself far too well. I won't be turning back now. My backpack contains the last of my possessions, a couple of sets of clothing and a wash kit. I've shredded all forms of ID already, left behind in an empty apartment that no longer belongs to me. I have nothing left but this, nothing left to do but open the door that stands before me. I rest my hand on the handle, turn it, and push.

The inside of the warehouse looks just as derelict as the outside, and I'm not entirely sure what I expected. However, I can see a light on in an office further inside. I make my way towards it, footsteps echoing throughout the empty space, and before I'm even halfway across the large, empty room, the door to the office opens and the same man who interviewed me, John Smith, steps out. He smiles at the sight of me, but it looks empty on his generic features. He does not look surprised. He raises one hand and beckons me closer, going back into the office but leaving the door open, letting the light shine through like a beacon guiding me home.

I enter the room and close the door behind me. John Smith sits behind a desk, his face a blank mask and nothing on the desk in front of him. He gestures again, this time towards the empty chair opposite him. I take a seat and wait for him to say something. Instead, he opens a drawer and retrieves a small cup with a screw-cap lid, placing it in front of me on the desk.

"We need you to provide us with a urine sample before we can proceed," he says, voice as emotionless as his face.

"Why?" I ask.

"We need to ensure that you are of sound mind and that you have no mind-altering substances in your system." I nod, the reasoning makes sense to me. I pick up the cup and look around, and he speaks again before I can stand. "If you are looking for a bathroom, I assure you that there will be no need. If you desire it, I can look away, but I must insist that you remain in this room."

No chance of switching samples then, not as though I wanted to in the first place. "Alright." I stand and move to the corner of the room. If I miss the cup, I'd rather it not be directly where I'm sitting. My back to John Smith, I unzip my jeans and push them down just enough for me to squat over the cup semi-comfortably. After a couple of awkward seconds, the sound of my piss hitting the cup fills the silence of the room. My cheeks burn but I know that the quicker I can get this done, the sooner it'll be over. Peeking down at the cup, I watch it fill, stopping myself mid-stream when it's new contents near the top. I screw the white cap back onto the cup and let out a small sigh of relief. I didn't spill any. I pull my jeans back up and re-zip, turning back towards the desk and meeting John Smith's dispassionate gaze. I place the cup back on the desk and take my seat once more.

"Thank you," he says, taking the cup and standing. He walks to a little door in the middle of one of the otherwise bare walls and opens it. It's a dumbwaiter, I realise, as he closes the door and pushes a small button. He reclaims his seat and rests his hands, clasped together, on top of the desk. "This won't take long, but once we have the confirmation that you are sound of mind, we can proceed."

"I understand."

In silence we sit. John Smith makes no attempt at small talk so neither do I. I spend the time glancing around the room, taking in every bland detail. Whenever I look back at John Smith, his eyes are fixed to me. I don't attempt to smile when we make eye contact. Minutes pass this way before a soft ding breaks the silence. John Smith once again stands and approaches the dumbwaiter. He opens the door, retrieves a single piece of paper, closes the door, and returns to his seat. Scanning the paper with his eyes, he nods once and sets it aside.

"We can now proceed." He opens the desk drawer again and this time he pulls out a stapled document. He slides it across the desk to rest in front of me, and I pick it up to look over. It's a contract. "This is a formality but an ultimately necessary one. As you read, I will talk through the most important points for you. I understand that the specific legal terms can be confusing for some people." At my nod, he continues.

"Know that before signing, there is no way to terminate this legal contract. It is completely binding, there are no loopholes to be found, nor will you want to find any once the process has begun. This paperwork exists for the slim chance that someone you once knew will try to find you. Essentially, you are signing your life into our hands.

"You must be absolutely certain that this is the path you desire before signing. There is no way to reverse the procedure that follows, it is entirely irreversible and you as a person will not exist once it is complete. Our organisation will maintain complete ownership of your body. The procedure will not kill you in a literal sense, and your body will be maintained and allowed to grow older until it no longer serves its purpose. Do you understand?"

"I understand." My voice is steady but the papers tremble in my grip as I skim the legalese.

"Good. We know that you stated your desire for this in our initial interview, and coming here today only cements your resolve to us, but we must take every precaution before we can proceed. Do you have any questions?"

"Just one," I say, and he nods, silently prompting me to continue. "What will happen to my body after the procedure?"

He nods again but his face remains carefully blank. "We are afraid that we cannot disclose this information before you sign the contract, but I will tell you after you do so. We must maintain the confidentiality of our organisation. However, I can confirm that you have already had a purpose assigned to your body."

I stare at the contract, not really seeing it, and we slip back into silence. It feels like thoughts should be racing through my head, that I should be talking myself out of this decision or debating it with myself, but my mind is as silent as the room I sit in. I know that I will sign this. The only thing in my way is working up the courage to do so. It's time to muster my courage and follow through with the only thing I've ever truly wanted in life.

"I'm ready." John Smith nods once more and places a black biro on the desk before me. I set the contract down beside it, turn to the final page, and sign my name, dating alongside. John Smith takes the contract, looks over my signature briefly, and signs his name underneath as a witness.

"Thank you for your cooperation. Would you still like to know your designation?"

"I would," my voice quivers with anticipation.

"You have been assigned the role of 'Sex Toy'. Now," he stands and straightens his suit. "Please follow me. You may leave your things here."

He walks briskly from the room and I rush to follow him in dumbfounded silence, abandoning the last of my worldly possessions. We cross the warehouse floor, our footsteps echoing around us as he leads me to a dimly lit hallway. The lights flicker overhead as we twist and turn down the seemingly endless corridor, and I'm just starting to feel disoriented when we come to a sudden stop in front of a sleek elevator. John Smith presses the button alongside the doors and ushers me inside.

"This is where we part ways," he says, as stone-faced as ever. "Be sure to follow all instructions as you proceed."

I nod once and he presses the button beside the doors once more, prompting them to slide close. The elevator is completely featureless on the inside, matte silver walls surrounding me with a single circular light embedded into the ceiling. I can feel the gradual descent but only barely, the elevator moving either too slowly or too smoothly for me to notice unless I really focus on it. The gentle hum of the machine drowns out my thoughts and I lean against the wall opposite the door as I finally let myself relax. It took more willpower than I'd previously imagined to get here, and now that I'm alone all of the tension drips from my body. I close my eyes and focus on the humming that envelops me, pressing down on me like a weighted blanket. It takes on a vaguely pulsating quality, but I chalk that up to the machine as it takes me further down into the depths of the building. The light beyond my closed eyelids takes on a similar quality, and I open them to fix my gaze upon the single light. It fades and brightens, waxes and wanes between a soft glow and near blinding fluorescence but I can't find it within myself to look away. The humming matches the light in its resonance, combined they weigh down my body and mind. In and out, the light and sound cycles speed up and overwhelm my senses before they suddenly--

Stop.

Pitch blackness and silence, it seems only natural for my mind to halt as well and for my awareness to drift away.

When I come to, I'm sitting alone in a dimly lit room. I've been divested of my clothing but the chair I'm sitting in is comfortable, plush and with a soft fabric upholstery. The temperature is comfortable and I can't help but relax.

A voice, gentle and androgynous, rings out from invisible speakers. "Please watch the screen in front of you," it says, and the wall before me lights up. A large black and white spiral takes up most of my vision, easy to focus on and I find myself losing myself quickly. A thought drifts through my head that perhaps I should be alarmed, but it falls away into dust as if it never even existed. No other instructions sound out, so I sit and I watch. Words flash over and over, too quick for me to register, but I can feel the effect between my legs. My right hand falls to my crotch and as the spiral takes my mind further down, my fingers rub in the same rhythm.

My final clear thought is barely a thought at all. It's simply a sigh of relief.