The rear of the slaughterhouse was a labyrinth of disused holding pens for livestock. They snaked through a series of gates and pens - covered with rusting corrugated iron roofing. Through the middle of the pens ran an access road which went to a loading bay at the rear of the red brick building.

A white van with a Victory Brand Fresh Foods vinyl sticker on the rear drove slowly down the access road and pulled up by the loading bay. The driver who was wearing blue work overalls, a yellow high visibility vest, and a white helmet climbed out of the driver’s side door.

He was smoking a cigarette - which he puffed on and then flicked away.

The man in the overalls walked over to the loading bay and banged on the shutter door. He leaned on the door and lit another cigarette.

After a while, a latch could be heard being unlocked. The man in the blue overalls moved away from the shutter doors and walked towards the back of the van. The high shutter doors slid up and two men walked out into the daylight.

‘What you got?’ - One of the men asked.

‘Four warm packages - from Operations’ - the man in the blue overalls said, finishing his cigarette and flicking it away.

The man in the blue overalls pulled some keys out of his pocket and unlocked the back of the van. He pulled both doors open and inside were four bodies lined up on the floor. They were all inside brown burlap sacks fitted with a hood. Their arms were secured around their bodies in a hugging fashion, and their feet were secured with nylon restraints. They smelled of vomit, sweat, urine, and feces.

One of the men walked back into the loading bay and came back with a large trolley that was once used to move the carcasses of the slaughtered livestock around the slaughterhouse.

‘Let’s pile them up on here’ - said the man.

The three men pulled - by the ankles - the bagged bodies out of the van and moved them onto the trolley. The bodies groaned and whimpered. Once the bodies were on the trolley the man in the blue overalls closed the van doors and locked them - ‘Nice one’ - he said.

The man in the blue overalls walked round to the driver’s side door, climbed in the van, started the engine and drove off.

The men wheeled the trolley with the bodies into the loading bay, and then pulled the chain and the shutter door dropped and closed.

The men continued to wheel the trolley through the loading bay. At the rear of the loading bay was a clear plastic curtain barrier over a doorway. The sign above the doorway read - 'REFRIGERATED WAREHOUSE - AUTHORIZED ENTRY ONLY’.

The men passed through the plastic curtain, bumping over a raised lip and the bodies groaned and whimpered. A muffled voice inside one of the bags - a woman’s voice - could be heard, and she was sobbing - ‘Hello?...hello?...There has been a mistake...hello?’.

On the other side of the plastic curtain were rows of stainless steel refrigerator doors. Number Four was walking down the hallway towards the two men.

‘How long have they been bagged?’ - Asked Number Four.

‘Don’t know’ - said one of the men.

‘Alright - Put each of them in a locker. Let them sweat for another night’ - Number Four said as he turned and walked away.

One of the men opened the door of the first fridge. The room inside was small - about 3 meters long and two meters wide.

‘Up you get’ - one of the men said to the first body as he pulled it off the trolley. The other man joined him and they pulled the body up, lifting it over the threshold of the fridge. Once inside, they pushed the body over and it fell onto the floor, giving a scream and a groan. They closed the fridge door, and the room was plunged into darkness.

They repeated this process three more times - and then closed the final fridge door.

‘I need to wash my fucking hands’ - said one of the men in disgust.

‘I know’ - said the other man - ‘they’re fucking nauseating!’

They wheeled the trolley back to the loading bay.

Number Four wandered through the building until he came to the area where the secret service had set up their offices. Their offices were in the middle of the huge killing floor. Running across the floor were sluices and drains with stainless steel covers. In the middle of the killing floor a number of porta-cabins had been placed and used as offices. Number One’s office was the largest porta-cabin - but nowhere near as majestic as the Superintendent’s office at the People’s Ministry. Number Two and Number Three had porta-cabins of about the same size, but Number Four didn’t have a porta-cabin - he had a desk and a chair amongst the intelligence officers.

The command room was a smaller porta-cabin - with hundreds of wires dangling from the ceiling high above that were connected to the room. The largest porta cabin was the conference room, and it was rarely used. People tended to avoid coming to the slaughterhouse. Most of the people who came to the slaughterhouse came against their own will - in a bag. Those that came in a bag wouldn’t be having a cup of tea in the conference room.

High above the killing floor were abandoned gantries, electric winches, and pulleys - once used to maneuver the slaughtered animals from the killing floor to the meat processing line.

Number Four walked up to the open door of Number Three - ‘Knock knock!’

‘Are our guests tucked in for the night?’ - Asked Number Three, without looking up from his desk.

‘Yes - comfortable and resting’ - Number Four replied.

‘It’s tomorrow - you, the Inspector, and the assistant deputy-minister. 6 AM, small meeting room, 16th floor.’

‘Excellent’ - said Number Four.

‘Are you going to call the Inspector to have a chat? - Number Three asked.

‘Yes - I will do that right now.’

‘Once you get back from the ministry tomorrow, we can start work on our guests.’

‘Oh yeah - speaking of guests. What do you want to do with the rest of the targets from Operation Greater Good? - Number Four asked.

Number Three sat up and put his hands behind his head, stretching. He thought for a moment.

‘Get the lads to give them a bit of a beating - nothing too crazy - just rough them up a bit. Give them a warning, tell them we are watching them, bag them up, and then get waste management to drop them off at different locations a few miles out of town.’

‘Roger that’ - said Number Four, and he wandered off to his desk.