2 Serialisation of the book 'Uprising' 1st book in the 'Corpalism' series - by Arun D Ellis

Terry slumped into his settee and started flicking channels, more for something to do than actually find something to watch, he would probably channel hop for a good couple of hours.

It was ironic that under other circumstances he’d have been glad of a few spare hours to run through his patterns; it would have surprised Peter Illyffe and his work colleagues to know that as a Tae Kwon Do 4th Dan he trained regularly. However, abruptly out of work and awaiting re-location to God knows where he didn’t really feel like committing time to any particular activity.

The TV went dead at the precise moment the phone rang, “Terence Jones?”

“Terry,” he corrected, “I prefer Terry.”

“Mr. Jones,” said the woman on the other end, “my name is Delia Helm and I’m phoning from Central Services. We note that you were dismissed from Peter Brooke’s redeployment agency today and as a result are due to be relocated…”

“Well yeah,” said Terry, “but that was only about 5 minutes ago and….”

“From our records it was 2 hours and 15 minutes ago,” continued Delia, “and as a result of your dismissal and your financial situation we’re terminating all services with immediate effect.”

“What?” the word came out as a gasp, “All services?? But what does that mean?”

“It means that until you have repaid the £30,000 you owe your creditors you will be unable to take advantage of any services offered within the UK.”

“What?”

“We have deactivated the purchasing power of your chip,” she paused, “and we will take possession of your flat and its contents today.”

“But you can’t do that!”

“Please don’t shout at me, Mr. Jones or I will have to raise a P118 which will be escalated to your local law enforcement officer.”

He fell silent awaiting the next hammer blow; he knew the drill, but not the detail nor had he anticipated the speed and in any case, it didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Your flat and its contents will be auctioned this afternoon and the funds raised will go to settle some of your debts. For your information I can confirm that Galaxy have estimated that we will raise £1,500 on your possessions and £500,000 on the sale of your flat. However, as you are aware we are currently in a recession which means the market value of your flat is around £150,000 less than you originally paid for it…”

“Oh don’t give me that...” snapped Terry.

“As you had a 100% mortgage you will owe your bank the balance of £150,000 which plus the £30,000 sundry debts minus the £1,500 obtained from the sale of your possessions means you will be looking at an overall debt of approximately £178,500.”

“What!”

“As this sum exceeds the total unemployed indebtedness allowable under section 12a of the Employment Act” she continued relentlessly, “which for your information is £25,000, you will face criminal proceedings for fiscal incompetence.”

“You are fucking kidding!” The expletive resonated round the room.

“Mr. Jones, I warned you - I have raised a P118 reporting you to your local enforcement officer. Please do not leave the building.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” yelled Terry, “I’ll leave the bloody building if I want to.”

“Of course you must do as you wish however I should warn you that your details will have been passed to building security. The minute you step outside your flat you will be Tasered.”

“Fuck off!” shouted Terry as he hung up.

He turned and stormed to the door, opened it and stared into the hallway, ‘Tasered? Who’s going to Taser me? I can’t see anyone.’ Then for the first time he noticed a thin strip running the length of the hall on both sides of the corridor. ‘Nah, that’s just electric cable, surely?’

∞

“Right, sit over there and wait for the Duty Sergeant.”

The enforcement officer walked away leaving Terry to his own devices. He sniffed, stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled over to a long bench positioned along the hallway. He sat and stared at the posters opposite; there was a large one about securing your home, car and general neighbourhood from roaming gangs of thieves and worse. There were a couple offering rewards for stolen items, a few missing persons, some dog-eared wanted posters with photo fit pictures of some seriously scary looking blokes and then a load of what looked like internal memos.

“Jones?” Terry ignored the call: ‘make ‘em work for their money’. It was a pointless gesture; he was the only one in the corridor. “Oi, you - you deaf or just a fucking twat?” Terry sneered, still into making pointless gestures. “Get over here.” Terry unravelled himself from the bench slowly and strolled over to the counter. “Causing an affray,” said the Duty Sergeant, “carries a fine of £1,000 and compulsory 5 day incarceration.”

“I wasn’t causing an affray,” argued Terry, “I was in my own flat.”

“According to our records it’s no longer your flat.”

“It is my flat,” argued Terry. It occurred to him to wonder how he had transitioned so swiftly from an employed, reasonably pliable, rule follower into a belligerent, confrontational person with nothing to lose. Hell, he did have nothing to lose, they’d taken it all.

“Not any more it’s not.”

“But that’s got to be illegal, surely.”

“Nope, looks like you should’ve read the small print on your mortgage.” Terry gritted his teeth and stared at the ceiling. “Also according to the Galaxy’s transcript of your conversation with the young lady from Central Services…...”

“Young lady?” snapped Terry, “She was abusive and rude.”

“I think not, not according to the transcript from Galaxy, which I have here if you’d care to take a look yourself.” Terry sneered. “You were the one being abusive.” Terry said nothing. “I also see that they’ve deactivated your chip.”

“So!” The bravado was patently false but he couldn’t prevent it.

“So how do you intend to pay your fine?”

“How the fuck should I know!” snapped Terry, “They’ve taken everything, they’re a bunch of thieving …”

“Enough of that or I’ll have you banged up for 10 days.”

“Oh for Christ’ sake….” hissed Terry, “what am I supposed to do? It’s not my fucking fault.”

“Oh, and whose fault is it? Mine? Or perhaps it’s the fault of the officer who arrested you? Or perhaps the young lady from Central Services….what was her name?” he murmured, scanning down the sheets in front of him, “Ah yes, Delia, was it her fault?”

“Oh, funny haha!” replied Terry, “How’s anybody meant to get on under these ridiculous rules?”

“Oh? What? You mean paying your bills?”

“I pay my bills” snapped Terry, “but on my salary and with prices being what they are how can anyone stay ahead?”

“I manage.”

“Well bully for you,” replied Terry, “but then I’m not surprised on what you lot make.” Any remnant of goodwill drained from the room like water flushing down a toilet.

“We earn our money dealing with little shits like you.”

“Really,” answered Terry, going for broke, “I thought you earned it by protecting the Aristos.”

“Enough of your fucking lip, you’re getting 10 days, 2 to be served here and 8 to be served wherever they decide to ship you …Which I really hope is going to be shitville.”

Cheers

Arun








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