At a glance

In a place where the rain does not fall, where the Government holds little sway, where the concept of God is inexplicable. . . not a lawless place but one with a law of its own; is great suffering. In this place, the currency is not money but blood and bullets. That place is Karamoja.
The Centre is differentiated from Karamoja in a couple of respects. The currency here is hopes, youth and one's humanity.
And at the Centre, the sky weeps along with you. For she has paid witness to the horror before and can only render her tears in pity.

The Centre champions the ‘divide and conquer' strategy. Victims are thrown into work camps known as firms. The grouping is said to be random but the god of chance would plead innocence in regard to this penance.
It's a sleight of hand. Played to break the human spirit and plague the mind. For these firms are uncharacteristic. No one firm can be said to have the prettiest females nor the most debonair of brutes.
And yet there is melancholy to this grouping. Each camp is tied by a contract of blood, in legal terms a partnership deed, granting trust to other twenty something strangers who become your partners. The sense of a pending knife in one's back is the only clear cut emotion universally felt.

In these work camps, there are drill sergeants known as PA's. . . no, not that kind. These are professional advisors. Much has been said about these people. The last advocators of the draconian system. The most loyal of all the vampires. The ones that seek out the prodigy vampires and train them. Key pieces on the board of despair and used in that regard.

A strict eye is kept on the camp dwellers through roll calls entrusted upon the snitch in the firm that is your firm leader/managing partner. Technically whips and floggings are illegal so they can't happen, not physically anyway. These gargoyles known as PAs are abreast with diction that would make Mourinho doubt himself. The kind of people that have chats with opposition members to have them switch back to yellow related fashions, Mahogany or not.

To the casual observer, there is order. But the victims are well in the know of the chaos that reigns. Perpetuated through what they refer to as timetables. Also referred to, in  hushed whispers, as torture schedules(TS). Made “serendipitous" by their unreliability. A new TS for each LC each week. Surprise is half the fun, they said.
These TS's, to pick on a random analogy, are that scream a prisoner hears as they await their turn in the interrogation chamber. By your TS you can tell that you have a  torture session between 2-4pm, carried out by PA. . . And it's inevitability is that scream. It has to happen.

Why put up with it all? Because we agreed to. The shackles with which we are bound are the rules and regulations. The mirror document of Abraham Lincoln's declaration against slavery. So tight are the rules that a Boa constrictor would be envious. Nooses have been knotted looser! And speaking of nooses. . .ties. The gentlemen have to wear suits, definitely not of the Adam variety. With that, a tie. Or a little noose. And should it escalate to a point where a female might have use for said noose, it helps that most firms have a lot more male partners. Chivalry is a quality of all gentlemen at the Centre.

My favour, the odds. . . forever be.