Suicide Inc.

"I can’t sleep," Dahlia lay restlessly in the dark confines of her bedroom, her plea for sleep falling on deaf ears. With desperation, she pulled her beloved orange flat-faced cat, Hamms, closer to her. In response, Hamms let out a shrill meow, expressing his indignation at being prematurely awakened from his slumber. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on Dahlia's mind. Having made the difficult decision to drop out of college, the consequences were now becoming starkly apparent. Her mother’s resolute stance on not renewing the apartment lease left Dahlia with a looming possibility: the prospect of reluctantly returning to live with her parents. "At least we can still afford food," she said scratching her kitty’s head.

She gathered her unruly hair into a scrunchie, jumped from the bed in underwear and an oversized black T-shirt, and made her way to a cluttered desk, switched on the laptop, the blue light casting a glow on her face. With nimble fingers, she typed away, steadfastly searching for a job opportunity deep into the night. Just as the sun began to rise, she stumbled upon it, a job listing that read, 'No Experience­ Will Train.' She swiftly submitted her application and within minutes, an email pinged her inbox, bearing detailed instructions on the venue and schedule for her evaluation for the position of, Assistance Technician.  

Monday dawned; Dahlia steered her vehicle onto the grounds of Richmond College. She located the Medical Technologies building, parked, and paused to take in the picturesque campus. The brick buildings stood proudly among expansive, rolling green lawns, intersected by pathways sheltered by a canopy of trees. It was a scene that exuded an air of scholarly charm. Across from campus she noticed a crowd of protesters in front of a steel and glass building but paid the scene little attention. 

Dahlia entered the building and stood in the bustling lobby with dozens of applicants, she wondered, are all these people here for the same job? The receptionist’s words cut through the chatter and answered her question. Her words carried a sense of purpose and direction. "If you are here for Nursing, take the corridor to room 108. Imaging Tech is in room 204, and Assistance Tech follows Mr. Jade to the elevators." The receptionist pointed to a tall thin man with a shaved head. 

Dahlia and a small group followed Mr. Jade into the elevator and descended into the depths of the building. With a composed demeanor, Mr. Jade led each candidate to their individual rooms. Alone, Dahlia found herself immersed in a flurry of medical procedures and inquiries. The sterile environment buzzed with activity as lab-coated individuals probed and prodded, extracting samples and delving into the depths of her personal history. Each question felt like a tiny invasion, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.  

As the hours passed, time seemed to blur, merging into a haze of anticipation and fatigue. Dahlia glanced at the Band-Aid covered cotton ball on her arm, her thoughts swirling amidst a sea of uncertainty. The room held a lonely silence, broken only by the distant echoes of footfalls in the corridors beyond. 

Mr. Jade entered the room. "Your group was the last we had time to screen before classes start, and you are the only one who made it." His words carrying a weight of significance. "Take this key," handing her an unusual, circular object adorned with bumps. "Next Monday, show the key to the receptionist. She will grant you entry. In the elevator, use this key to access B2. The button won't illuminate without it. I will meet you in the second basement at 5:00 AM. You did well." 

"I’ll be here," she whispered, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. The tears lingered at the edge of her eyes, but she willed them to retreat, refusing to let them betray her composure. Mr. Jade's words had ignited a spark within her, an ember of hope that whispered victory and achievement . It was as if she had stumbled upon a prize, a hidden treasure that only she had the privilege to claim.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the familiar presence of Mr. Jade, who greeted her before she could cross the threshold the first day of class. His appearance offered a sense of familiarity. He guided her to an auditorium. "The real work starts today. Be seated." 

Dahlia settled in, her eyes sweeping across the room. Sixty fellow students populated the auditorium, their ages and genders spanning a broad spectrum. Each face held its own story, a unique tapestry of life choices that had brought them to this moment.

Mr. Jade climbed the stairs to the stage and took position behind a podium. "Assisted Suicide is legal as of 2031. The Death with Dignity Act, or DWD for short, has spawned a cottage industry for us Dark Angels to help the sick and dying with their passing." He looked out over the room. "It's not for everyone. Statistics show only ten percent of you will make it to graduation. My job is to try to get that number higher. I will push you hard, so when the day comes to bring your sickle down, your training, your mettle will be enough to show mercy." 

Mr. Jade took a clicker from the dais, and a slide projected behind him titled ‘Process’, "It works like this: a person with a terminal illness can apply for assistance once their doctor signs off." He pressed the clicker, the screen now displaying an excerpt from the DWD act. "If an applicant is approved, they have Seventy-two hours to complete the end-of-life process; that is where you come in."

"Suicide Inc., our employer, has partnered with Richmond College, to provide you with the necessary training to attend to your charges. Sidebar here. We know it's a terrible name. A couple of brothers started the company. They were bought out but were known for getting the job done, so the name stuck. We are working on a rebrand."  

With a swift transition, Mr. Jade explained, "Within these boxes lay the tool that will soon become an extension of you." Assistants efficiently moved through the room and presented each recruit with a black box. "The box contains your sickle. Retrieve them. I will teach you how to calibrate it to your partner, load the sickle with the dose, and administer it." He paused. "It's not easy to swing that sickle." Mr. Jade admitted honestly, his voice tinged with a sense of weight. 

Listening intently, Dahlia's eyes focused as she pulled the lid from the box, recognizing the gravity of its contents. The corners of her lips lurched up, as she beheld the tool within. The sickle boasted a sleek titanium handle, adorned with two triggers, and a few lights, but its most intriguing feature was a stainless-steel tentacle, culminating in a menacing stinger. They want me to kill people with this, she thought. Cautiously she tested the weight, appreciating the natural curve, she brought it close to her arm, and the tentacle sprang to life, wrapping tightly around her wrist. Startled she instinctively jerked back, her heart pounding within her chest.  

"The little guys are quick," Mr. Jade smiled at her. Two other students raised their arms to show they were also entrapped with their own sickle’s. "Both triggers together to release."

The smile now gone, "If you listen and try, I can get you Ninety-nine percent of the way there." He flipped to a slide of a horse chained to an old man. Three demons, their claws, dug into the man, trying to keep the horse from pulling him from his pain. "I look at it this way. Your Charge is ready to pass. A mighty horse is there pulling them to their rest, while the demons of ignorance, cruelty, and fear try to hold the Charge in the world of suffering. The horse is not strong enough to overcome the demons alone; that last one percent is you and your partner."

"Do you always work with a partner?" Dahlia turned her gaze towards the source of the question, her head on a swivel, curious to hear Mr. Jade's response, her attention returned to her mentor. 

"Yes," he replied. "Anyone know why?"

A young woman with long black hair raised her hand, and Mr. Jade acknowledged her, "The two Dark Angels administer their sickles, each loaded with a dose from a packet of two. One real, one fake. That way, no one knows who the lethal dose came from."

"Very good. The lethal and placebo doses can only be administered when both triggers are pulled. It is a fail-safe mechanism designed to ensure that both Dark Angels are fully committed to the action," Mr. Jade flipped to another screen. 

The new slide displaying the cost to die per state. "Death with dignity is not cheap. Congress has set the tax on an assist at ten thousand dollars, and some states have added heavy local taxes to drive that price even higher, making death another luxury only the wealthy can afford. Luckily for us, private organizations often pay on behalf of the applicant once a request is approved. Groups like Angel Song, The BlueSky Union, and the Satanic Temple will cover some or all the cost to help the suffering pass."

"What about resistance?" The young man from earlier asked.

"Religious fanatics often camp out in front of the houses of people who have applied, and they may try to block your entry. You may have noticed them in front of the building across the street. Don't engage with them; don't touch them, even if they touch you." 

Graduation Day. Richmond, Virginia, March 3, 2033, 3:33 PM. Dahlia stood with her eight remaining classmates, who crossed the stage when their name was called. A woman in full body armor passed each of them a sheepskin, pulled the black hoods of the graduation robes over their heads, and gave them their Dark Angel name. "You are reborn as Destiny,” she told Dahlia. 

Once everyone returned to their seats Mr. Jade stood before the graduates, "Please rise, place your sickle over your heart." In unison, they recited the oath of the Dark Angels:

"I am a bringer of Death.

I do not pass judgment. 

Mine is to wield the sickle of mercy.

Relieve the suffering of my Charge.

For I am now and forever a Dark Angel

A hand of mercy, I am Death."

After graduation, Destiny embarked on her first working day at Suicide Inc. The journey to the office involved navigating through the elevator to B2 and then traversing a tunnel beneath the street. At roll call, she met her partner. A seasoned veteran, almost a foot taller than her, whose Dark Angel name was SoulDust.

SoulDust was waiting for her when she arrived at the offices, his tone made even deeper through the helmet’s voice modulator. "We already have a bounty, and need to leave, if you are fitted and your sickle calibrated, we should go." 

"The armor is a little tight, but I am ready. How far are we from the Charge?" Destiny tried to adjust the pants of her armor.

"About an hour. We have to beat the Thumpers there, or it will be a mess." SoulDust led Destiny to the garage level of the building and a matte-brown van with black trim. No company logo. They climbed in and passed through the security gate, where a group of protesters threw bottles of a yellow liquid that shattered on the van. "Don’t open the window, pretend it’s apple juice."

When Destiny and SoulDust reached their destination in rural Virginia, they observed an eerie stillness surrounding the house. No signs of life or activity were visible from the outside. They approached the front door and rang the bell. Destiny stomach turned and her palms began to sweat. She took a deep breath; I need to manage my emotions. 

"Turn your cams on," SoulDust pressed a button on his bracer, a piece of armor that ran from his wrist almost to his elbow, that housed a phone like screen. 

"Is no one here?" she asked. Activating her helmet and primary camera.

"They're here. The bounty is only a few hours old." SoulDust's attention was drawn to a gathering of dark clouds in the sky. A gentle rain began to fall as if responding to the somber atmosphere.

A middle-aged man with red, puffy eyes answered the door wearing khakis and a blue sweater.  

"We are here for the Applicant," SoulDust said.

"I know what you are. Follow me. My father is this way."

"Sir, sometimes fanatics will storm the property, could you lock the door?" Destiny asked.

"Of course." the man said, locking the door and leading the two to a first-floor bedroom that faced the street. "He’s in here."

There, they saw an old man propped up in a hospital bed. 

"Do you need a minute?" Destiny asked.  

"No," the bed ridden man spoke. "We have said our goodbyes. I love you son."

"I love you too Dad." The son hugged the old man and kissed his head.

As Destiny observed the tender moment, her resolve began to waver. Cracks began to form in the walls she had built, fortified by months of classes and conditioning to detach herself emotionally from her work. That one percent was feeling like a much wider gap with every moment.  

Hidden beneath her helmet, tears streamed down Destiny's cheeks, her heart ached as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her, adding to her sense of vulnerability and doubt.

SoulDust processed the man's fingerprints and ran a DNA comparison, his actions were driven by the need to confirm the identity of the individual they were there to assist. Amid the emotional turmoil, the protocols and procedures of Suicide Inc. served as a grounding force, a reminder of the importance of ensuring accuracy and safeguarding the integrity of their mission. 

Waiting for confirmation, SoulDust approached the window and pulled aside the curtain, a disheartening sight unfolded before him. A van adorned with a church logo came to a stop in front of the house, and a swarm of Thumpers, driven by their own convictions, poured out and hastened towards the front door determined to enforce their will upon the dying man and his heartfelt desire to bid farewell to his son one last time. 

"We have Thumpers." The veteran Dark Angel crossed to the bedroom door, shut it, and locked it. "You should call the police now sir."

The sound of the front door smashing open and the mob scurrying through the house reached the room. 

The old man's resolve hardened his face, flickering with the memory of the strong person he had been in an earlier life. His tears stopped. "Do it now," he said to the Dark Angels. 

Destiny’s and SoulDust’s bracers glowed with the affirmative for prints and DNA. SoulDust opened a case from his belt to reveal two identical vials. Destiny deftly loaded a dose into her sickle, while the two Dark Angels positioned themselves on opposite sides of the bed. With their sickles in one hand and gently holding the old man’s hand in the other, the tentacles of each wrapped securely around his wrist. Suspended menacingly the stingers hovered just an eighth of an inch above the man’s skin.

Voices from the hall penetrated the room, and the bedroom door shattered into splinters, scattering debris throughout the room. Startled, Destiny was knocked off balance as two men and a woman forcefully burst into the room.

She heard SoulDust in her helmet. "Destiny, now!" he yelled. The lights on his sickle indicate he was committed. Time slowed. She watched as the two men moved toward SoulDust.

Destiny felt a hand pulling on her bracer. The woman was trying to pry her sickle from the Charge and struck Destiny with a book, the helmet easily taking the blow. 

"You have no right!" the woman screamed.

The son screamed at the Thumpers, "Get out of my house. We don’t want your thoughts and prayers! This is none of your business! Leave us alone!" He dropped his cell phone, the screen showing a completed call to nine-one-one.

Destiny struggled to hold on to her sickle but hold she did. Despite her vulnerability, Destiny recognized that her emotions were not a sign of weakness. They were a testament to her humanity, her capacity for empathy and compassion. The image from class appeared in her mind. She saw the horse pulling with everything she had. SoulDust, his hands wrapped around a chain, straining to pull the old man through the veil. The Thumpers twisted into the demons: Fear, Ignorance and Cruelty, and Destiny knew what she had to do. She pulled her trigger, and both sickles flashed for a moment, and the old man was gone. 

The son retrieved his phone, "We have had a break-in, send the police immediately." 

The Thumpers screamed and spat at Destiny and SoulDust as the son ushered them out the door. 

Once inside the van and the doors locked, “How are you holding up?” SoulDust started the van.

"Those people are horrible. It was awful." She wept. The voice modulator made her sound like a crying demon.

"You saved a man from enduring months if not years of suffering. You did what most cannot. In many ways, you are a hero; don’t forget that." 

"Hero, huh?" She sniffled, still choking on her words. The numbness passed, running low on tears. She sat up and wondered, Should I return? Could I willingly feel like this again, even to help another? She watched the trees go by as the rain picked up, a single drop slowly running down the window, catching her eye like a tear from a cloud. Suddenly, she understood the oath. Today, she was Death, but could she be Death tomorrow?