Jim Jameson yawned. He was tired this morning, his eyes struggling to focus on the computer monitor. In the office all around him, his colleagues tapped away at identical computers, entering the data, updating the records. He tugged his tie loose, away from his collar and carried on working through the stacks of paper. The job was mind-numbing, soul-destroying if you thought about it long enough. The trick was not to over-think, just get your head down and crack on with the job you were there to do. Having finished one file, the figures and data all safety uploaded to the system, Jim decided it was time for another cup of tea. 

He grabbed his mug and headed for the office kitchen. His colleagues in the small kitchen bid him good morning as he joined the queue for the tea. He filled his mug with tea, and headed back to his desk. When you were not on your lunch-break, management didn’t like you being away from your desk for longer than necessary. He took a sip of hot tea and busied himself with another file from his in-tray. 

At twelve-thirty he joined his colleagues in the kitchen. They gathered around the tables and chairs and made small-talk, grateful to be away from their desks, even if it was for only half an hour. The talk would be of anything other than work, usually holidays they dreamed of taking. One woman, Helen Bell, detailed how her dream holiday would be to Thailand. She wanted nothing more than to visit Bangkok, to see the temples and the floating markets. 

‘Have you booked anything yet?’ Jim asked.

‘Not yet, but I’ve been looking at holidays online.’ 

‘Can you imagine? Thailand would be wonderful.’ He replied. 

Before long it was time to get back to work. Jim rubbed his face before summoning up the energy to leave the kitchen and trudge back to his desk. The afternoon at the office was the same as every other afternoon at work. He would print off the documents, and set about completing the online forms. As he fiddled with the printer, trying to sort the paper-jam, his mind went to the discussion from lunch-time. Thailand would be cool. Maybe he should look into booking a holiday himself. He could go and see the floating markets. 

He had just returned from his afternoon cup of tea, when the printer jammed again. The machine was making the strangest beeping and grinding noises. Jim cursed the decrepit old printer, and waited, hoping one of his colleagues would go and sort the printer out. With inevitability, his colleagues simply sat at their desks, ignoring the jammed machine and the racket it was making. Why was it always down to him to sort the printer out? He swore under his breath and stormed over to the printer. 

He chunnered about his bone-idle colleagues and flipped open the panel on the side of the printer. What was wrong with people? If you heard the printer jam, you’d get up and fix it, wouldn’t you? He reached into the workings of the printer, his arm going in up to the elbow. The printer groaned and churned suddenly, the workings of the printer spinning and whirring. Jim screamed in agony as his arm was chewed up by the gears of the printer. In panic and agony he tugged and managed to wrestle his arm free from the machine. 

In more pain than he ever knew was possible, he lay huddled on the floor next to the printer. He stared at his mangled arm. Was he hallucinating? Was he in shock? Blood, and tissue and tendons? There was none of that. Under his pink skin, was electrical parts, flashing tiny lights and equipment. He was looking at his arm, but at the arm of a robot. Was this happening? Was this even possible?

He was surrounded by people in white coats. They helped him to his feet and escorted him to the medical bay. He found himself in a white room, strapped securely to a hospital bed. People with blank expressions and white coats, filled the room fussing and tinkering with him. And then everything went black.

When he opened his eyes he was sitting in his manager’s office. He hadn’t been in the office since he’d completed his office training course. The manager, a man in his fifties in an expensive suit smiled warmly at him.

‘How are you feeling now?’ He asked. ‘Are you better now, after the accident?’

Jim stared at his arm in confusion. His limb was in-tact, as though the accident had never happened. How was this all possible? Had he been seeing things? Did he really have robotic limbs under his flesh?

‘I don’t understand. When I hurt my arm, I had wires and things, under my skin. What is going on? What have you done to me?’ Jim said.

‘We haven’t done anything to you, Jim. Please try and stay calm.’ 

‘Haven’t done anything? You’ve turned me into a robot.’ Jim yelled.

The manager still smiled, leaning forward on the desk.

‘What makes you think you’ve not always been like this?’

‘What? What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying, Jim, that you, and all your colleagues out there, are androids. You are office robots.’

‘No, that can’t be true. We’re not like robots on a production line.’

‘I’m afraid, that’s exactly what you are. It was found that, for office duties, a more intricate type of robot was required, rather than the shop-floor conveyor belt robots that have been in use for decades. For the office, it was decided that a more advanced robot was suitable. Office androids like you, were given more human traits and characteristics, more personalities.’

‘That cannot be true. We aren’t robots. We are real people. We meet at break-times and chat. We discuss holidays, places we’d like to visit. Robots wouldn’t do that.’ Jim insisted. 

‘Unless they were programmed to do so. And, yes, you discuss holiday destinations, but when has anyone of you ever been on holiday?’ 

Jim was lost for words. Now that he mentioned it, as much as everyone talked about far off places like Thailand, Australia and New York, he didn’t actually know anyone who had ever returned from holiday to the office. The manager went on.

‘Where do you live?’

‘What?’ Jim asked.

‘Go on, where to you live? At home time every evening, where do you go? What do you do with your spare time?’ The manager asked.

Jim was struggling to think clearly. Now that he was being asked, he couldn’t actually picture the house he lived in, couldn’t recall how he spent his free-time. The guy was messing with his mind. 

‘At home-time, you robots shut-down until your shift starts again. That’s when repairs and maintenance is carried out.’

‘None of this makes sense.’ Jim said, feeling himself start to panic.

‘I think you know that I am telling the truth. Now, listen to me very carefully.’

Jim said nothing, waiting to hear what was next. The manager spoke calmly and clearly, as though not actually speaking to Jim at all.

‘Restore to factory settings.’ 

Jim Jameson yawned. He was so tired this morning. Another mind-numbing day at the office.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom