Eventually Flipsey came to the cubicle on the end of the row. This cubicle belonged to a devout religious woman named Sam. Sam had always seen the rebel movement as a crusade and believed herself to be acting on the will of God to oppose the police state. Every morning at 10am on the dot and following every mission she would visit each and every cubicle and invite the other rebels to join her in prayer. Prayer was one of the most intimate experiences two people could share these days. She didn't get many takers. Those that did agree to take part in the prayer would often do so out of pity or would have been unable to find an excuse not to go. The rise of the police state and the Pax Plague had convinced many people to forsake religion. There had even been murmurings that prayer was next on the chopping board in the police state agenda. Flipsey had always tried to avoid going to the prayers as even before the rise of the police state, he had not been a religious man. As such, he avoided Sam as best he could to prevent that awkward confrontation. On those occasions that he had spoken to Sam, she had seemed nice enough, almost normal if you got past the religious aspects of her personality. Unfortunately, Sam had gone missing, presumed dead, 6 weeks ago.
Flipsey moved into Sam's cubicle and looked around.
Most of Sam's room was immaculate. The cubicle was much better kept by Sam than even Amelia's. On the wall, a cross had been firmly screwed into position, its brass frame covered in a fine layer of dust. On the desk, placed perfectly central along the wall, the computer layer square in the middle, the mouse to one side and the keyboard aligned perfectly straight in front. A line of 4 pencils had been placed to the left of it, each pencil perfectly sharpened, each to the exact same length and spaced an equal distance from each other. Next to the pencils, a pad of paper sat proudly open, eagerly waiting new ideas, it too perfectly aligned with the edge of the desk. Even the computer chair was tucked neatly under the desk.
The only part of remote untidiness in the entire room was the wire bin in the corner that had been filled with paper and bits of electronics, clearly discarded from one of the desk drawers and the fine layer of dust that seemed to cover everything.
Pulling the chair out, Flipsey moved to sit in it. He noticed as he eased himself down onto it that it warmly cushioned him and was in much better condition than his own chair. The leather cover was plush and glossy, giving a sleek black, almost shiny appearance. Flipsey's own chair was in much worse condition, what remained of the leather cover had been bleached white, the foam inside poked out through the many gaps in the leather and would shed across the floor whenever the chair moved. Even the wooden boards inside showed through in some areas.