The Harvest Floor (Chapter Three)

Chapter 3

Rachel Soto appears on his third week of night shift.

She’s in Pod 127, second floor, Profile 3, bandwidth 68%. Twenty-six years old, philosophy degree, $30,000 in student loans, working two jobs and still $400 short on rent every month. She signed up for donations three months ago.

Marcus notices her because she doesn’t cry or thrash or zone out like most donors. She sits perfectly still during extraction, eyes closed, breathing steady. When the session ends and her bandwidth reads 64%, she opens her eyes and looks directly at him.

“How much did you get?” she asks.

Marcus checks his tablet. “Seven hundred milliliters of processed emotional content. That’s standard for a two-hour session.”

“How much will they sell it for?”

“I don’t have access to pricing.”

“Guess.”

Marcus hesitates. “Maybe four thousand dollars.”

“And I get two hundred.” Rachel sits up, pulling the neural interface pad from her temple. There’s a small red mark where it attached. “That’s a 95% profit margin.”

“You agreed to the rate when you signed up.”

“Because I needed rent money. That’s not consent. That’s coercion.” She stands, steadier than most donors post-extraction. “You know what they’re doing here, right? This isn’t therapy. It’s not research. They’re strip-mining poor people and selling us to rich people who can’t feel anything anymore.”

Marcus has heard versions of this before. There’s always one donor per month who wants to debate the ethics. He’s learned not to engage.

“You’re cleared to leave. Next session is Wednesday if you want to schedule.”

“I’ll be here.” Rachel pulls on her jacket. “I need the money. But I’m not pretending this is okay.”

She walks out. Marcus watches her go, then moves to the next pod.

By his eighth week, Marcus has adjusted to the night shift rhythm. Sleep during the day, work midnight to dawn, see Simone every other weekend. His savings account hits $1,800. He pays off his truck. He buys new work boots that don’t hurt his feet.

The floor runs smooth most nights. Donors come in, hook up, zone out, leave. Bandwidth stays above threshold. The machines hum. The numbers tick up on his performance dashboard.

Sometimes, at 3 AM when the floor is quiet, Marcus walks to the window at the far end and looks out over the parking lot. The building has four floors. Three for extraction. One for storage.

He doesn’t think about the fourth floor.

Mostly.

Rachel Soto comes back every Wednesday and Saturday. She doesn’t talk to Marcus again until her eighth session, when her bandwidth drops to 61% and she sits in the chair afterward with her head in her hands.

“You okay?” Marcus asks.

“Define okay.”

“Can you stand? Any dizziness? Nausea?”

“I’m fine.” But she doesn’t move.

Marcus checks his tablet. Her extraction history shows a steady decline—68%, 66%, 64%, 63%, 61%. Not alarming yet, but trending wrong.

“You might want to take a break. Let your levels recover.”

“Can’t. I’m three months behind on loans. If I default, they garnish wages.”

“If you drop below 51%, you won’t have wages.”

Rachel looks up at him. “Then I better not drop below 51%.”

At the end of Marcus’s third month, Diane Foster calls him into her office.

“You’re doing excellent work,” she says. “Zero incidents, 99% efficiency, donor satisfaction is high. I want to bump you to $65,000 and give you oversight of all three extraction floors, not just nights.”

Marcus does the math. $65,000 is $2,500 per paycheck. That’s groceries and gas and maybe a savings account that actually grows.

“What about my schedule?”

“You’d stay nights, but you’d have full supervisory authority. Hire and fire. Protocol decisions. Budget allocation. And—” She slides a folder across the desk. “A company vehicle. Fully covered maintenance and insurance. No more driving your personal truck.”

Marcus opens the folder. It’s a lease agreement for a new SUV. $400 monthly value, zero cost to him.

“Why me?”

“Because you understand the numbers. You don’t get emotional about the donors. You run a tight operation.” Diane leans back. “We’re opening two more facilities next year. I want you to help design the training programs.”

Marcus thinks about Simone. About paying child support without checking his account first. About taking her to real restaurants without mentally calculating the tip.

“I’ll take it.”

Diane smiles. “Good. You start at the new salary Monday.”