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It turns out the invasive V.A.M.P application was only the tip of the iceberg. Eternal Life's questions are on a whole other level.
It starts off with general information, which is easy. Name and date of birth, sex, and race. As much ancestry information as you can provide. Where were you born? And where was your great, great grandfather on your mother's side born?
It all goes downhill from there.
There are dozens of pages of questions pertaining to possible hidden abilities and the answers require more than just checking a box, yes or no. No, they want three to five sentence responses.
The committee Jane speaks so fondly of has created this application to help them decide whether you're worth further testing before your change. Having a special power that would benefit the world could land you in a more cushy job for your fifty-year stint than your human career.
I for one, would love to do something that isn't accounting once I'm an immortal, but I'm sure I don't have some special talent hidden deep in the recesses of my mind that will pop up after I suffer the three-day burn.
Bella mentioned she could pull strings so the girls and I wouldn't have to sign away the beginning of our second lives, but after Gianna's accusations, I'd like to do things by the book. It would be unethical to take advantage of her government ties just to benefit our private lives. We don't need to bring unnecessary problems, and in retrospect, fifty-years of servitude isn't all that bad of a trade. If I had to work for V.C. for a century, it would be worth it if it means I'd get forever with Bella.
My hand cramps up while I'm providing a statement that I do not, nor have I ever experienced telekinetic abilities. I explain that I've never moved something with just a thought while under duress or stressful situations. As the questions get more bizarre, I find myself wishing I did have something that would get flagged.
I go into long detail explaining that I don't see dead people or hear voices, and I'm starting to get a headache.
The girls are still working quietly and don't even look up when I close my binder and cross the room. I check out with the secretary. While she flags my progress, she asks me if I'm willing to fill out a five-question survey on the process. Apparently, it's done after the end of every session, so V.C. can take into consideration any worries or concerns.
My brain is already numb, and the survey is anonymous, so I just check random boxes and hand it in before Tyler gives me my phone back and puts me on the elevator.