The Doomed Needs a Desk

Tyler tries for a moment to remember how he got here, where he was before this room of noise and heat and patient waiting figures. He remembers aches and worries, and sometimes something that might have been joy. But it's far away now, like something seen projected on a distant wall. Another person processed. Another step forward on the snaking line of bodies. They wordlessly slide a form across to Tyler. His eyes travel down it, name, age, ethnicity, blood type, eye color, body mass index. The list stretches on and on and on; he can feel the stares of the thousands behind him burrowing into the back of his skull.

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