The Centre for Mind Control
Peter Clutchworthy exited the monorail at Town Hall Station and made his way to the escalator. All around him large video screens displayed ads, in both English and Japanese, that seemed to be directed solely at him. He stopped briefly at a netstand, downloaded all of the Gunbridge Bells newspapers to his iPhone and then left the ultra modern Town Hall complex at Mount Pleasant Road.
He crossed the road, noticing one of the bar staff—a nice Nihon kid—from the Opera House crossing in the opposite direction. Clutchworthy was familiar with bar personnel at many pubs in Gunbridge Bells, and prided himself on this fact. It was always good to have reliable contacts in places of public congregation. You never knew when they might come in handy.
He approached the ugly 1970s building on the corner of Dudley Road and went in. This was the Centre for Mind Control (CMC), where Clutchworthy had been training for the past eight months. Imelda, the receptionist, was of course on the phone. Imelda was always on the phone. In fact Clutchworthy doubted he had ever encountered her without a phone to her ear and deep in conversation. Nevertheless the two always managed to flirt outrageously without really needing any words. She threw him a smile and a wink and buzzed him in the door at the back of reception.
As he mounted the stairs, Clutchworthy mentally went over his plan to mind control the Bumbridges and steal their fortune, as he did many times every day. Soon he would develop the power to do this, and his days as a butler would be over. In the meantime he would have to remember to pick up his lordship’s hat at the Institutional Club next door after his session.
