As it is entry level, the fee is £1,000. I know it seems a lot, but these folks are leaving home one morning and never coming back. They can sell all their shit, because they aren’t going to need it. You can raise £1,000 easily if you hock everything you own.
Stop fucking judging.
Business class is probably the least popular package, because if you are going through with this, the poor are going to go economy, and the rich first class. It’s the middle-class, middle-of-the-road fuckers that probably need this the most, but they are content enough that their suburbia is almost back to pre-Breakout Day levels of mundaneness. They can’t wait to clean their Land Rover Sport in the driveway again but one day they’ll realise they’d be better off after a week here.
Business class offers a few more perks than economy, but even I will tell you that it’s probably not worth the £5,000 as opposed to economy class. It’s a middling option for middling people. You get seven days in the pit rather than three, and we guarantee that you will be shot in the head at the end of that period rather than become our property. There are other ways we can dispose of you. They aren’t much fun, even to a Zombie.
I don’t operate in the business class market, simply because of where most of my clients come from, but now I’m branching out onto the other end of the scale. My professional drug dealer knows as many rich scumbags who are done with this nonsense. The poor don’t have a monopoly on fucking hating themselves and the life that’s been created for them. No, sometimes it’s worth paying good money to know you don’t need to worry about anything for much longer.
I think first class is a truly attractive package even for a price of £10,000. In this scenario, you become an LTT, or Long-Term Turner. You make the payment to us in advance, and you select the date in the future that you wish to turn. It could be weeks, months, years even – I’ve got three on our register who aren’t due in for another 18 months – but just think of the freedom they enjoy. They don’t need to worry about their pension, or whether their families will grow up to be nice people. No, they can tell the city to fuck off and go and work in Burger King and enjoy all the fun and feigning of responsibility that a mid-life crisis brings, safe in the knowledge that they are actually rather close to the end of your life.
This represents a very particular group, I think. These are the men – and almost all my first-class clients have been men so far – who have never had the time to stand and rest at any point in their lives.
Flights, trains, trams, underground systems, cars, boats, more flights, connecting flights, fleeting meetings, whistle-stop tours, heads in books, computers, phones, never exchanging a meaningful glance, tickets, expense forms, counter women, coffee, croissant, hi honey I’ll be home soon, set the alarm I’m up early, kiss the kids on the forehead as they sleep, shave, shower, everything and nothing all over again. It’s a fucking shitty lifetime.
I found that what also drew the wealthy types was the ability to just eat. No figures needing processed. No meeting minutes to be digested. Just eat and if placed in a certain area, like our pen, just the ability to stand and take in the world around them. We installed a small window in the roof that allows the Zombies to see the clouds, the sun and the sky. And you know what, there’s a definite acknowledgement on their faces that they can recognise the difference. #46692 told me one day that when NZ-infected blood flows into the cerebellum section of the brain, the area that primarily automates our attention, emotion and the ability to form languages, it acts to shut down all those functions. This explains the ambivalence of the Zombies to the atrocities they are undertaking, their inability to speak and merely moan, and their desire to only search for food and not concern themselves with the presence of non-essential obstacles, such as protruding weapons like spikes or barbed wire, or indeed, other Zombies.