The man in white is always right. He, in his usual attire being a white suit with a white tie and a large white top hat, has a smile like a cat from wonderland and has never been seen without that smile. Ear to ear with his stunning grin, he walks to an apartment building to introduce himself to a woman that is living there. The man in white has heard about this woman. She has been unemployed for a while, and he simply must get to know her. He walks up the thirteen flights of stairs to arrive on her doorstep. He knocks and waits for a response. He knew she was staying there. Rachel, was her name. As the door opens, he recognizes a woman in a clearly dirty hoodie and sweatpants. He also notices that it looks like she had only just woken up, despite it being well past noon. This is perfect for him. He patiently waits for her to collect herself.
“Whadya want?” She says ever presumptuously. He pokes his head through the doorway and examines living room, noticing that it looks fairly clean. He then introduces himself and asks where she lives as he knew it was not there.
“What? I don’t live here, not really. I’m… staying with a friend for a bit, why? You one of those timeshare ass hats trying to sell me a really expensive house or something?” He chuckles at the accusation and then proceeds to offer her a chance at redemption; He can tell that she has no idea what he’s talking about. He simply wants his new friend to reinvent her life. He explains that he knows she has been out of a job for a while and wants to help her get her back on her feet and contribute to society at large.
“I’m… good, thanks. I’ll get back on my feet in no time!” The man in white asks Rachel if she is sure about that seeing as it has been over three months since she has worked. As she tries to shut the door, he stops her by placing his foot in the doorway.
“Look I’m fine, ok? Go harass someone else! What do you want from me?” She asks with irritation in her tone. He asks her to take his hand and he will make all her troubles disappear. Even as the door gets slammed in his face, he continues to stand outside. He knocks, knocks again, and knocks again after that. He persists with the knocking, keeping that lovely smile of his. Knocking for an hour and even close to a second. The door flies open.
“Fine! Fine! I’ll listen to your stupid whatever the hell. What do you want?” He grabs her hand and starts walking. A mix of rage and fear casts over Rachel’s face.
“Hey! Watch the grip! Let go of me! Let… let go!” He doesn’t listen, for the man in white doesn’t want a fight.
“Your… your hurting me.” She managed to free her hand, only for him to quickly grab her wrist. The man in white knew he was right. He pulls harder on her arm whenever she drags her feet in attempts to escape. All her scratching and clawing is goes unnoticed as the man in white is unflinching. These fruitless efforts have no effect on him, almost like scratching at a machine.
“Help! Anyone! Help me!” She screamed helplessly, as he knows the back ally routes right back to where he needs to go, and knows that the only people who go there are people who he would have already met with.
She continues to scream helplessly, “There has to be someone! Help!” But no matter how loudly she beckoned, no one answered her call for help. The few passersby they saw didn’t take time to even take note of what they saw as The Man in White sprinted with the girl in his hold. He continues to drag her all the way back to his house or, to most people, an abandoned building. He walks in, ignoring her begging and pleas.
“T-this is bullshit! I haven’t done a thing! Why are you doing this to me! Let go!” He doesn’t listen for he knows what he must do. He drags Rachel into his “mannequin” room, and takes special note of her face. The mix of horror, dumbfoundment, and shock is all vivifying to him as they walk past all his mannequins. He is overcome with joy in that they matched his smile and attire. He turns to Rachel, as she is in tears passing the rows upon rows of mannequins. She looks at a couple of his mannequins longer than the others. One of them being a man, curly hair and dark skin, labeled “beggar”. Another one, a skinny woman with a sickly look on her face, labeled “drug addict”. He watches as the her eyes snap towards his.
With great trepidation, she asks,“How many people have you done this to?” He laughs and laughs, he explains that he had stopped counting after thirty or so. As he stops walking in the middle of the hallway, she bumps into him. He stares across the rows upon rows of people in the dimly lit room. He asks her if she knows what all these people have in common. She remains silent. He states that they all weren’t doing anything for anyone, and that they were all wastes of space. As he is talking, his smile turns into a grin and then slowly becomes something of pure anger. He rants about how all of these people weren’t contributing to anything with their lives. they were homeless, gangsters, drug addicts, all either taking away or not contributing to the world. He turns to Rachel and says that he just wants to watch the gears of society turn and turn with order and precision… and that people like her are just getting in the way.
“Look, I won’t tell anyone about this… I-I’ll find a job! I’ll stop being a couch hopper! Just let me go!” His smile returns as he laughs and laughs hearing this. He proceeds to shove her into a metal chamber with a window and a door that locks from the outside. He doesn’t pay any mind to her screams, as he flips the lever and watches as toxins fill the chamber and her lungs. The room stays fogged for around ten minutes, all the while handprints and attempts at breaking down the door can be vaguely be seen. The man in white simply stands in front of his chamber with his hands resting on his back. He eagerly awaits the gas to subside with an occasional chuckle. He opens the chamber clearly giddy, and his smile widens more as he sees Rachel with a smile from cheek to cheek with a glazed look on her face. He dresses up his new mannequin and gets her into place; afterwards, he asks her if she should have hesitated. In response, she says “The man in white is always right.” He feels chills down his spine and waves of pleasure as he is stunned from hearing those sickeningly sweet words.
He looks over a stack of files only to see one that catches his eye. It reads about a pickpocket in the neighborhood nearby. The man in white, with his large grin, simply must get to know him; he reads that his name is Tyler. As the man in white is preparing to leave, he turns to all of his mannequins and asks them how they feel all being part of the ever-turning gears again. As he stands at the doorway of the room. The rows upon rows of people dressed in the same outfit as his stare at him, all with the same tone of voice, sickeningly soft and robotic, chant in unison
“The Man in White is always right”.