732

*Sensitive content warning: the horrors of the 9 - 5... and a death along the way as well.*

He awoke that day with a spectacular pounding in his head, torturing his half-sleeping mind. Emitting a groan like an engine shifting to life, he threw himself from the bed. He was late, he knew, but it didn’t matter – not truly. He worked only to survive, rather than to reach some grand ambition – most everyone did these days; the latter was for the foolish or the filthy rich. Still stuck in some half-dream of a fair world, he made his way through his cluttered house to the center-most room whose name eluded him – some relic of the past from back when people sought companionship in each other. Into the adjoining kitchen he stumbled, and deciding he had little time but for a quick drink, he went to that infernal box of cold – the air from which always stung his fragile skin early in the morning. It was empty, of course, save for some curdled milk and old bread. His stomach attempting to beat itself into submission, he almost considered it until a sickening bubble popped in the milk – evidence of life, he figured.

With nothing to eat and nothing to do, he got dressed in the same dull clothes that he wore to work every day – company policy, they said, though that for some reason made his eye twitch – and eyed down the old perfumes that often smelled worse than nothing at all, and decided against it. He was ready now, physically if not mentally, and grabbed his briefcase, splashing some cold water on his face and refusing to catch even a glimpse of himself in the cruelly honest mirror.

Wiping the crust from his eyes, he tossed the battered suitcase to the ground and held it open, crawling pathetically like some foul rodent through to the other side. Emerging onto a large road, and nearly being flattened by a company carriage that didn’t so much as slow for him, he climbed out, and closed the briefcase, and took it along for the thrilling journey. Finding little reason to do anything else but join the death march of worker folk quietly trudging along without so much as a glance up to their coming fate – as if it would somehow stop it from coming – he did just that, mimicking by instinct their same defeated gait.

Following the worn path for quite some time, the Coal City came into view. A town for those workers who – through several generations of saving their money - had only just been able to afford homes nearer to the work district Though of course they were still subject to the same suffering as everyone else, they just earned another hour or so of sleep before the poorer workers came stomping through and they joined along or else risked losing even the small privileges they had.

Along the cobbled road, some young children tossed about a tattered ball. He despised seeing kids their age – kids their age were only ever a few short years or even months from being sent to work as well. Most never made it back. These ones wore on their little faces even littler smiles. Half smiles that is – no fool outright beamed unless it was part of their job. The villagers fell apace as the pack snaked its way through and out the town and further afield until stacks of smoke billowed on the horizon, a sign of that which was to come.

With the sounding of a loud roar from above, he gasped and held his breath and looked up for the source, though he knew already what it was. Soaring high over his head, great winged beasts of iron and smoke and death like towering cities flew past. It was best to not draw breath beneath their flapping wings; so powerful they were, they would steal the air straight from your lungs. His closest acquaintance, a man who often worked right beside him met their end that way, as he stood there uselessly with little to do but watch as their capillaries burst from the oxygen being forced from them. It would have scarred him forever had he not already seen far worse fates in the factories themselves. The titans finally passed, and he reluctantly let out that breath that he truthfully would have been content with holding until the blackness swallowed him.

A quick glance around made it quite evident that not everyone knew what he did. A rare spark of sorrow emerged from his usual apathy and he considered stopping to help them – but alas, he was late for work.

The bridge came into view, and a single line was formed to get through the security booth. Here was where time seemed to stand still as they all waited anxiously in place for the darkness of the factory to claim them. Taking one step at a time to fill the gap left by the person before him, he tried to think of some plausible reason for his untimely arrival, but his mind did not cooperate as it tried desperately to escape this reality into daydreams. For even the briefest moment, the edge of his mouth curled into something almost resembling a smile as he let his thoughts whisk him away, but this only made the line seem to go faster and his smile quickly faded as the guard came into view – a tall and gaunt man dressed in his all-black garb whose expressions never seemed to match anything else about him. The man inched closer, his addled brain clearly not telling the rest of him that he was smiling like a maniac.

“Ah, employee 732. You are late.” The scrawny giant instinctively dropped his hand to his baton, but the smile remained unfaltering.

“Jenkins.” Employee 732 nodded, but did not elaborate further.

“Ah well, I have news for you anyways,” Despite it seeming physically impossible, his smile slowly widened sickeningly further. “Employee 731 seems to have met with an… unfortunate accident. You will be working their shift as well tonight.” He seemed to be taking some sadistic pleasure in relaying this information. 732 stared straight through Jenkins and merely nodded like a thoughtless puppet.

“Come now, smile. After all...” Jenkins’ hand eagerly squeezed the hilt of his baton. “Company policy says we’re all a family here.” 732 stared at the beating stick being lovingly caressed and forced forth a smile that felt utterly repulsive to him. Jenkins said nothing but stepped aside and allowed him to pass. Afraid both to stay still and to move forward, 732 fought himself for a moment before walking on towards the looming industrial machinery, the overwhelming hellish assault on his senses causing his mind to reel and skin to crawl. For the briefest moment he pondered the edge of the bridge and the dark chasm below before a singular scream echoed from inside the facility, waking him from his shameful dream – and with all the energy of a man approaching his spot on the gallows, he punched his card in and walked through the open door.