"No need to use the Total Inhibitor on this one" the precisely calibrated voice intoned.
"The work we have at this production facility doesn't require much in the way of brains - just hook in the Partial Inhibitor. Hell, this worker is almost entirely used up, he'll cause no trouble."
The Partial Inhibitor was roughly inserted into the two nondescript holes at the base of Jim's skull by the supervisor of production. Once the central production system received a new signal from the Inhibitor it immediately began pumping Jim's scarred brain with electro-stimuli orders. Orders that took control over every thought and action that Jim would unknowingly execute with precision on the production line in machine efficiency.
Unfortunately, Jim wasn't a machine; he was a living breathing human being with feelings and a life that was being stolen incrementally in unknowing chunks of time that he'd never be able to replace. Jim, and those like him who make up this great army of working serfs had been transformed into huge gangs of "zombie workers" that were under the complete control of businesses searching for the next speck of profit to glean from the ultra-capitalist society.
Jim would work to the limits of endurance pushed to ever further lengths by an uncaring society invaded by the greedy cancer of extreme business; it would justify any and all actions in the pursuit of lining the pockets of a few well-placed wealthy elite power holders.
Religious zealots these business elites had latched a hold of government similar to how a tumor merges with the normal cells only to destroy them slowly until their all dead. What remains is this blob of gray-mattered puss emitting hunk of tissue that now longer functions. This was the course that government slid down taking with it individuals and the entire societal structure until all were corrupted beyond recognition.
No individual questioned the morality of today's actions against the dignity and self-determination of fellow human beings. They were all beyond questioning whether this or that task was right because everyone not just here at this remote production facility had long ago fallen into the trap of acceptance.
Over time any action against humanity could be justified with just the right amount of twisted, subverted, and deviant illogic spooned out ever so carefully. The important thing was to allow for just the right amount of 'fermenting' of the propaganda so that it would all be absorbed into the healthy society.
Fermenting was a delicate process that infused new values, mores, and attitudes like invading genetic helixes from a cancer integrating into the clean healthy genetic sequences - before you knew it: presto; the new societal structure would then emerge, entirely replacing the old. If done correctly all participants in this abomination of self-serving greed would have no memory of the prior 'clean' unadulterated societal values, mores, and attitude - they would have been effectively 'acid' washed from the societal framework.
In such a society based solely upon careless usage of others, those at the bottom rung of the ladder suffered greatly. Jim had never been able to progress much further than common laborer even though he had valiantly tried to advance his education passed his four-year stint at "Indoctrination High".
He'd been given just a year after graduation to prove to "The Department of Worker Placement" that he was worthy of maintaining his individuality. Studying practically day and night in preparation for the barrage of tests that would determine whether he'd remain marginally free or be enslaved in one of the many labor gulags that dotted the countryside, Jim feverishly studied.
After leaving the testing center in his home town of Arnold, Iowa some thirty years ago; at the time Jim knew at that point he'd end up in the refuse bin of a society that valued very little.
Perfection was the only criteria that mattered to those who controlled all the wealth, ideas, and thoughts of a nation geared towards expanding their income. No other alternate gauge of a person's worth would ever be considered in a world were very little resourced leaked down to those below the elite's exalted heights. There just wasn't much of anything left once it reached all who were attempting to survive on the scraps, and leftovers thrown down from above.
Therefore, there just wasn't any room for anyone but the best and brightest in the small space remaining way up top close to the elite business, government, and political power brokers. The rest, including Jim would form the backbone of a culture of greed that fed upon their sweat, pain, and wasting bodies.
So today unknown to Jim, he'd labor alongside all the other working serfs. All would be oblivious to the abuse they'd receive, and hazards they'd face on a production line. A line the hummed without interruption or break; for it was an inhuman electronic slave master that ruled over these helpless human beings turned into mere puppets of flesh. This computer mind expertly synced their movements in a controlled rhythm of unrelenting production that stopped for nothing not even chopped of fingers or hands.
For humanity had been extinct for approximately twenty years. What remained were just the animal desires; exercised decadently at the top. At the bottom only the survival instincts remained; un-softened by forgotten traits like kindness, compassion, and decency.
What resulted was a bipolar world with two centers of reality. The preeminent untouchable reality of the elites was modern, clean, and elegant. At the other pole, the reality of the working serfs was filled with decay, dirt, pain, and suffering. Regardless of their station in life among the bottom dwellers, all working serfs whether the privileged 'intelligent' or the lowly working robots like Jim were nothing more than 'widgets' in their respective production processes. For the production mindset permeated all work even work that by nature required an innate creativity and intellectual prowess.
All that mattered to the rulers at the top were the finished products that ended up in their sparkling cities. Cities far removed from the slave force that produced everything tangible and intangible. The only working serfs allowed entry into the exclusive dominion of the powerful elite were the totally brainless who arrived at this their final stop along a torturous road of service. These working serfs were the servants of the elite. The elite felt it was safer to have these complete zombies performing electro stimulated tasks under the direction of their home computer systems than to have a partially viable 'thinker' in the house.
These total 'sponge brains' were completely devoid of any conscious breaks in their puppet work; for they were damaged goods, one step from being exterminated. Even this final act, was to be carried out with their own hands, under the direction of their puppet master. In their complete vegetative state this last electronic order would be their last job; the cleaning up of another used up, worn out slave, to make way for the newer models.
Even now Jim's brain centers were failing under the constant assault of electro-stimulation bombarding neurons that just burnt out from overuse. His early recollections of working in complete lucidity at the beginning of his service had already been fried from his memory center. That portion of his brain was turning from gray to dead white with each month that Jim was under the yoke of electro computer servitude.
On the assembly line Jim moved in slow jerky motions a reflection of how worn out and damaged his brain had become under this latest surge of powerful electro pulses being pumped into his defenseless body.
The bulky metal components for the latest modern appliance demanded by the elite moved pasted his workstation. Jim's job was to put component A and component B together by using an air powered screw driver to tighten the screw that he placed over the protruding bolt. Only a predetermined limited amount of time was allotted for the completion of this task unfortunately Jim had fallen behind with two out of the thousands of these assemblies he'd fastened over the past week. If this variance in the production rhythm continued Jim might be torn from the production line to await reassignment as a servant.
Slipping further down the trash shoot of the disposable culture that valued nothing but the care and feeding of those at the top Jim in his mindless state of zombie servitude was on the verge of losing even his limited lapses into lucidity.
Those who'd 'raped' his mind for their own personal gain were close to trashing another human being all in the name of additional profit.