March 9, 2072 happened to be a bleak Tuesday. The picturesque skyscrapers of New York City were shrouded in dark, gloomy clouds, while the pedestrians typically scrambling through the streets had become scarce due to the rain. Among the tall figures that characterized New York’s skyline was a bank, its towering presence felt even in the midst of the concrete jungle. Inside this bank, on that particularly dreary Tuesday, sat a banker waiting patiently for his next appointment. He remained still at his desk, occasionally picking up the phone to call someone, and then deciding it could wait for a brighter day. How the banker knew the state of the weather was unknown. His office contained no windows, only a pale wall filled with diplomas and certificates. There were no pictures to be seen; the banker hadn’t taken any photos with family or friends in years. He hadn’t spent any time with family or friends in years. The banker liked his room bare anyways. He felt that the plainness of his office created a sense of professionalism as well as anonymity for him. As far as anyone knew, he was simply a banker, nobody more.

At 12:05, a knock came at the office door. Realizing it must be his 12:00 meeting, the banker beckoned the individual to enter. A woman, about the age of sixty, appeared with her face cast down to the floor. An umbrella at her side, she stood near the doorway until she was motioned to take a seat across from the banker. He began,

“Well Ms. Eden…that is your name, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“I understand that you’re seeking a loan in order to finance your small business?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I own a small flower stand a couple blocks from 2nd Street.”

The banker bit his tongue. Purchasing flowers seemed as ancient as time itself. Nobody asked for them anymore. Cash was always the preferred gift, and when opting to send something more personal, most just purchased technology. You could hardly ever find a flower anywhere, even in the remaining forests and fields. It seemed that nature herself had given up on the plant, but not Ms. Eden. The banker continued, 

“You do realize that with your current financial situation, a loan from this bank will be accompanied by an expensive down payment?” 

“I do.”

“I would go so far as to say it would cost you an arm and a leg with your credit.”

“I understand, and I am willing to provide whatever collateral is needed.”

At this, the banker reached into a drawer and procured a stack of papers. He slid them over carefully to Ms. Eden. 

“If that’s the case, then I think we have a deal.”

As the banker was speaking, Ms. Eden took a moment to look over the documents. Her eyes seemed to grow slightly wide while her skin became pale, as if she had seen a phantom. With a quiet sigh, she nodded. The banker grabbed a pen and rolled it to Ms. Eden. Taking it, she signed and returned the documents.

“Ms. Eden, let me show you to our Department for Special Payments. It’s just down this hall. They should be able to complete your transaction in no time.”

The pair exited the office and took a right towards another plain, windowless area. While walking, the lights above their heads flickered, and the banker could tell that Ms. Eden was uneasy.

“Don’t worry. It will be over soon.”

When they arrived at the Department for Special Payments, Ms. Eden thanked the banker and bid farewell with a realistic looking smile painted across her face. The banker, in turn, headed out to the street to take his lunch break. At first he was hesitant to eat his meal outside due to the persistent downpour, but he decided that the smell of wet pavement would be enjoyable compared to the smoky aroma that usually traveled throughout New York City. As he looked around the gray landscape, the banker had a fleeting moment in which he longed to see the bright pinks, purples, blues, and yellows of a flower. But even the immovable plants that used to grow within the cracks of concrete had ceased to exist in the city, or anywhere for that matter. 

After returning to his office, the banker received a phone call notifying him that Ms. Eden’s transaction had been successful and he was free to pick up and store the needed assets. When he arrived at Special Payments, a large duffel bag had already been placed outside the door. On top of it a piece of paper read, LISA EDEN, in large, black letters. Then began the banker’s least favorite part of his job. Trudging the heavy bag down multiple flights of stairs, pushing the large metal door that opened into the basement, and emptying the bag of its contents always created an aching sensation in his arms. Walking towards a large, mechanical beast that was the bank’s furnace, Ms. Eden’s collateral in hand, the banker thrust the objects into the fire. A sudden sizzle rose up from the flames, along with a few dancing sparks. The banker had to cover his face in order to prevent breathing in the rotten stench, one that smelt like burning flesh. Here the banker waited for five minutes, staring at the fire until he could no longer identify one arm and one leg.

By the time Wednesday the tenth had arrived, the banker had already discarded three, fresh appendages into the flames. He could not recall when the company had begun accepting those kinds of payments, but in the years since it had been implemented, they had become the main form of collateral used by his clients. It was a good thing too, the banker reasoned, because the materials that went into the furnace helped provide energy for the bank. Within the country, resources had become scarce. Wars for suitable drinking water, food, and other necessities had broken out all over the world. It was difficult to find any more fossil fuels, however using solar power and other renewable energy sources was out of the question for the bank. Some of their most prominent clients profited from the acquisition of fossil fuels, so switching to renewable energy would be unloyal. The bank did, unfortunately, need access to more power, so Special Payments had been created.

At 1:00, the banker’s next appointment arrived. He was a stout man, around the same age as the banker. His name was Mr. Blue, one that matched the color of his skin when he went into one of his regular coughing fits. The banker welcomed him in.

“Hello Mr. Blue, have a seat.”

“Thank you kind sir.”

“I take it that you are looking to use this loan as a way to pay off your medical expenses?”

“Yes sir. I’ve had myself a sickness of the lungs the past few years. You know how it goes. Now, I’m not sayin’ I believe in it, but I reckon that that free health care thing woulda been real handy to me while I was under treatment. Course, yer a banker. You don’t wanna hear me complain about my darn expenses. You just wanna know if I got the needed goods. Ain’t I right?”

“Yes of course, let’s establish the terms of your deal. Unfortunately the only thing I would be able to accept from you is the highest amount that we discussed previously over the phone. You have too much debt for it to be fiscally responsible to the bank any other way.”

“That’s reasonable. I do have one tiny question though. Does the payment have to be from my own pocket, or could it be from that of someone else?”

“Due to legislation, the payment would need to be made from either you or a relative, whether related by marriage or blood. However, this would require additional paperwork.”

Mr. Blue reached into a huge bag that he had brought with him. Pausing for a moment to cover his mouth during a series of coughs, he retrieved a couple of documents which he gave to the banker.

“I believe these are what yer after. I’ve got ‘em all signed and everythin’. I’ve even got my collateral all set if you’d like it.”

The banker glanced over the papers casually and signed where needed. 

“Yes, I think you’re all set. I would like to inspect your collateral first before we officially complete the transaction.”

“That seems fair,” Mr. Blue agreed before heaving his bag onto the desk.

The banker peered into the contents of Mr. Blue’s payment. His stomach turned. He was forced to look away from the life-less head that lay within. It was an unusual thing for the banker to be taken aback by such a sight. After years of working at the bank, he had developed nerves of steel when it came to similar views.

“You’re free to go, Mr. Blue. This will work. You should receive a confirmation of your loan by email next week.” The banker kept his head facing far from the bag as he explained the next procedures to his client. Afterwards, Mr. Blue turned to leave, but not before expressing his gratitude,

“Thank you so much Mr, have a blessed hump-day!”

Once the man left, the banker began studying over Mr. Blue’s documents more carefully. At the bottom, in tiny, scrawled writing was the signed name, Macy Blue-Adams. Choosing to try to squeeze in his lunch before the next meeting, the banker took Mr. Blue’s bag and swiftly headed down to the furnace. Before turning down the hall, he closed his office door, with a nameplate becoming viewable upon its wooden frame: A. Adams - Loan Officer. 

With each step that he took towards the basement, pain went through Mr. Adams’s heart. Was it guilt? Was it grief over his sister’s death? Or was it his human instinct that the planet was not as it should be? He tried not to dwell on those feelings. Once inside the basement, he hurried to throw the contents of Mr. Blue’s bag into the monster that was the furnace and returned upstairs as if nothing happened. After his lunch break, Mr. Adams welcomed a new client and organized their transaction. Wednesday continued like any other business day, but for one moment, the banker had felt wrong about trimming people of their dignity, limb by limb.