Dirk paused.
"There are no students here."
Umbridge tilted her head and smiled.
"That's exactly what I was hoping for."
The first metal door slid open silently.
The second door lit up red.
Beyond the third door was an elevated corridor of blast-resistant glass.
Below the corridor, the workshops ran continuously.
Incandescent lights bleached every inch of the floor white.
Gray-blue work uniforms formed orderly lines.
Machines swallowed fabric.
Spat out stitching.
Then swallowed plastic parts.
Spat out gears.
Electronic countdowns kept ticking.
Red and green lights flashed alternately at the workstations.
Squib guards walked down the middle of the aisles, holding black control panels.
No one spoke.
Only the sounds of machinery piled up in layers.
Dirk began his introduction.
"Every prisoner has an individual file."
"Daily records cover piece counts, violations, meal grades, medical expenditure, and rehabilitation scores."
"A performance review is generated automatically at the end of each month."
"Inefficient workers enter the retraining area."
"Those who fight over supplies undergo electric-shock punishment."
The corners of Umbridge's mouth, originally taut, slowly relaxed.
She took a step forward.
The glass reflected her face.
The cloying sweetness on that face was gone.
In its place was an almost serene concentration.
"What about complaints?"
Dirk said, "There's a registration box."
"The supervisor's office compiles them."
Umbridge's eyes brightened slightly.
"Through the supervisor's office first?"
"Yes."
"Good."
She spoke softly.
"Very good."
Dirk continued leafing through the documents.
"Prisoners are currently assigned to areas by type of work."
"Sewing, assembly, packing, cleaning, and maintenance assistance."
"We group them solely by output and violation rates."
Umbridge suddenly stopped.
"Only those?"
Dirk looked up.
"That's enough to keep things running for now."
Umbridge looked at the rows of workstations below.
"Not enough."
Dirk did not respond.
Umbridge's voice softened.
"Output only shows that