Mr Lim

They took him to the factory, and made him sign the forms. Work had been hard to come by.

"You understand, Mr Lim, that this means that for ten years, your personality will be reduced? In exchange for double the usual pay? Emotional detachment is necessary, as accuracy is a must. "

He nodded. He needed the money, or his children did. Having three kids in the new century required it. The thick smell of oil and iron from the factory floor wafted up to the room.

The supervisor nodded, thumping the clipboard. They placed a bowl-shaped device on his head with a whole host of tubes and dials. He felt an electrical current surge through him, but not much pain.

"Very well then. You can start work immediately," the supervisor said, giving him a wrench and pointing him to a spot on the factory floor. Mr Lim didn't think of anything as he started his work, nor notice the thousands of others on the factory floor.