Just call the service (The End) [I Love Big Brother Ending]

"Well, we should just call the service and inform them that the van is in need of laundering and pick up." I replied brightly, pulling the cell phone from my pocket and notifying the van rental place that my car was in need of service and replacement at the designated holiday bonding annual reunification ceremony.

I was quite nervous when I noted that there was an extremely important reminder on my phone, which I immediately pushed. A large warning sign flashed up that I had been in recent contact with a potential carrier of NETA-22, and as such needed to immediately report for decontamination and treatment. In addition, there was a bright red warning flash that I had not taken my medication in an unacceptable amount of time, and might have engaged in pre-sentient behaviour while I was not thinking clearly.

I was of course shocked at that, and grabbed up my pill case, which was of course required to be attached to my mandatory supplies at all times. It seems that not only had I been not taking my medication properly, but in addition, I had been discussing in the earshot of others numerous thought crimes, all of which would require censure had they actually been transmitted in any medium. It was a good thing that the only person who had heard them were our respective handlers, who would send that information on to our psychiatrists for a long needed bit of thought reconstruction. After all, what WAS I doing in the women's quarters after all? This would absolutely not do, as it could lead to near **** for woman, as it had been explained to me time and time again for as long as I could remember.

I noted clearly that every other person in the cabin was also taking stock of things through their phone, as was right, and maintaining proper social distancing. I noted also that my messages had popped up along with several statement from Kaila. I didn't think much about this, as we didn't talk much since the masks got in the way. Oh dear, had I actually taken off my mask at one point? The chemicals were wiping away the memory of the unpleasant incidents that I was certain were just so much flotsam. Besides, I and the other three occupants of my shared living domicile had work details in approximately two standard time units.

I smiled at the camera, or at least let my mask do the smiling with its mandatory wide tooth grin which showed both my social status and safety. It was after all, what the high status folks dreamed of being, the phone always reminded me. Rich folks worked hard every single day of their lives, and their grim sad masks showed exactly how miserable they were in their towering prisons of glass. I on the other hand only had to work for six of seven days, and even got to turn off my phone occasionally and have a thought to myself. Of course those thoughts were monitored by the Rich folks, who envied every single moment of my life. I knew that because the phone told me so. I actually liked my phone, because it had a pretty girl's voice, and always gave me whatever I wanted whenever I asked.

Most people picked a voice for their personal assistant based off who they'd like to listen to. My other housemates were exactly like me in every way, and we knew it because we all had the same personal assistant. It was after all why we were assigned together. Since we all liked that voice, it had been much easier for us all to be moved together than for the hardware to be changed. That is why organic units exist. To take whatever shape the machine deems necessary. It was much harder before human beings were perfected, but now none of those pesky sociopathic or individualist tendencies are causing issues.

I took a moment to properly send a message of thanks to the Governx of West Coast Land Mass Two City Center Alpha One who replied to me personally and made me feel very loved. The immediate slight increase in my social credit score for the proper kowtow was of course all I really needed to get through the day as I munched on my food ration and paid no mind to the texture or the contents. It was good for me, and I knew it because it had been assigned to me. If I had needed anything more, I would have been assigned more, but a lowly worker like me didn't really need much more than this. After all, I barely spent any time here apart from sleeping and eating.

The sound of the bus pulling up outside reminded me that I needed to be onshift and that supervisor Bravo One was very unimpressed with my recent failures in workmanship. I would need to pull a double shift to make up for the substandard work that I had done on my maintenance task. I was of course not allowed to know what my error had been, as that would possibly expose the whistleblower to retaliation from me in my **** position of privilege, which the phone reminded me that as a worker I had. I had far more physical power than any of the much more **** and valuable members of society and thus needed to be self sacrificing, like I had in the Greater Good Prosperity Campaign of Land Mass One, where we had brought wisdom, enlightenment and proper health care to the ignorant and backwards savages, who were of course, in need of proper healing syringe application. I remembered fully how I had given life affirming micro syringes, fired from a fifty caliber vaccinator, to dozens of sick people needing treatment.

I love Big Brother. He always makes sure I do only good things.

Good Stories Do Not End. Ever. They Go on Forever and Are Always the Same And Always Happy.

Credit Music

Author's Note: I may have had a recent encounter with local government. Consider this a snarky pissed off parody of a local official, and ignore it. Unless you find it funny. In which case, spread it around because I hope they see it it... and it pisses them off.