Chapter 37

Anya led the worker deeper into the alcove, the shadows swallowing them whole. The air was thick with the smell of dust and decay, a stark reminder of the Dome City's plight.

"Alright," she said, her voice low and urgent. "We need to do this quickly. The shift change is coming up soon."

The worker nodded, his eyes darting nervously around the alcove. "What do I do?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"Just stay calm," Anya replied, her voice reassuring. "And follow my lead. We'll be in and out before anyone notices."

She turned her back to him, unzipping her jacket. "Help me with this," she said, her fingers fumbling with the zipper.

The worker hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and assisting her. His hands were trembling as he pulled the zipper down, revealing the simple, utilitarian clothing she wore beneath.

"Okay," Anya said, shrugging off her jacket. "Now it's your turn."

The worker swallowed hard, his face pale. He reached for the buttons on his uniform, his fingers fumbling with them.

"Take your time," Anya said, her voice gentle. "There's no rush. Just breathe."

The worker took a deep breath and began to unbutton his uniform, his movements slow and deliberate. He slipped out of the uniform, revealing a thin, worn undershirt beneath.

Anya quickly exchanged her clothing with the worker's uniform, her movements efficient and practiced. She pulled on the drab, gray uniform, feeling the rough fabric against her skin.

"How do I look?" she asked, turning to face the worker.

The worker scrutinized Anya, his eyes narrowed in assessment. "It's… it's a start," he said, his voice hesitant. "But you need to do more than just wear the uniform. You need to be a worker."

Anya raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"It's all in the details," the worker explained, his voice gaining confidence. "The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you hold yourself. You can't just stroll in there like you own the place. You need to look tired, defeated. Like you've been working your fingers to the bone for the Overseer your whole life."

Anya nodded, absorbing his words. "Okay," she said. "Show me."

The worker stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. He hunched his shoulders, lowered his head, and shuffled his feet. His face took on a weary, resigned expression.

"Like this," he said, his voice flat and monotone. "Head down, eyes on the ground. Don't make eye contact with anyone. Just keep moving."

Anya mimicked his movements, trying to capture the essence of his demeanor. She hunched her shoulders, lowered her head, and shuffled her feet. She tried to erase the confidence from her face, replacing it with a look of exhaustion and resignation.

"Better," the worker said, his voice approving. "But you need to work on your voice. It's too strong, too confident. You need to sound… broken."

Anya took a deep breath and tried again, lowering her voice and speaking in a flat, monotone tone. "Is this better?" she asked.

The worker nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "That's… that's closer. But you also need to know the lingo. The code words. The inside jokes."

Anya's heart sank. She hadn't even considered that. "What kind of lingo?" she asked, her voice filled with apprehension.

The worker hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Well," he said, "there's the usual stuff. 'Praise the Overseer,' 'Work hard, stay loyal,' that kind of thing. But there's also the more subtle stuff. The nicknames for the enforcers, the jokes about the food rations, the complaints about the working conditions."

He paused, his eyes searching Anya's face. "Do you think you can handle it?" he asked, his voice filled with doubt.

Anya took a deep breath and nodded, her gaze unwavering. "I have to," she said, her voice firm. "The fate of the Dome City depends on it."

The worker sighed, his face resigned. "Alright," he said. "I'll teach you what I can. But you need to listen carefully. And you need to remember everything I say."

He spent the next few minutes drilling Anya on the worker lingo, the code words, the inside jokes. He taught her how to greet the enforcers, how to respond to their questions, how to blend in with the crowd.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice filled with a mixture of hope and trepidation. "I think you're ready. But remember, stay calm. Don't draw attention to yourself. And if you get caught… don't mention my name."

Anya nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. "I won't," she said. "I promise. And thank you… thank you for everything."

The worker smiled weakly, his face filled with a mixture of fear and gratitude. "Just… just be careful," he said. "And good luck."

Anya stepped out of the alcove, pulling the worker's cap low over her eyes. The shift change was in full swing, a throng of weary workers shuffling towards the entrance of Warehouse 12. The air buzzed with a tense energy, a mixture of exhaustion and apprehension.

"Alright, Anya, stay calm," she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible. "Just blend in. Don't make eye contact. You can do this."

She joined the flow of workers, hunching her shoulders and lowering her head, mimicking the weary gait she had observed. The rough fabric of the uniform scratched against her skin, a constant reminder of the risk she was taking.

As she neared the entrance, she could see the enforcers, their faces grim and impassive. They stood like statues, their eyes scanning the crowd, searching for any sign of dissent, any hint of rebellion.

"Praise the Overseer," one of the workers muttered as he passed the enforcers, his voice barely above a whisper.

Anya followed suit, mumbling the phrase under her breath. "Praise the Overseer," she repeated, the words feeling like a curse on her tongue.

As she approached the checkpoint, her heart pounded in her chest. She could feel the enforcers' eyes on her, scrutinizing her every move.

"ID card," one of the enforcers barked, his voice cold and impersonal.

Anya fumbled in her pocket, pulling out the worker's ID card. She handed it to the enforcer, her hand trembling slightly.

The enforcer examined the card, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He glanced at the photo on the card, then back at Anya.

"Name?" he asked, his voice sharp and demanding.

Anya swallowed hard, trying to remember the worker's name. "J… Jorgen," she stammered, her voice barely audible.

The enforcer raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering. "Jorgen what?" he pressed, his voice laced with skepticism.

Anya's mind raced, trying to recall the worker's full name. "Jorgen… Jorgen… Olsen," she blurted out, her voice trembling.

The enforcer continued to stare at her, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity.

Finally, he sighed, handing the ID card back to Anya. "Move along, Olsen," he said, his voice dismissive. "And try to keep up. We don't have all day."

Anya snatched the ID card from the enforcer's hand, her fingers trembling slightly. "Thank you, sir," she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

She hurried past the checkpoint, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the enforcer's eyes on her back, watching her every move.

"Just keep moving, Anya," she told herself, her voice a silent mantra. "Don't look back. Don't draw attention to yourself."

She entered the warehouse, a cavernous space filled with rows upon rows of crates and boxes. The air was thick with the smell of dust and machinery, a cacophony of clanking metal and rumbling engines filling her ears.

Workers scurried about, their faces grim and determined. They loaded and unloaded crates, their bodies straining under the weight.

Anya joined the throng of workers, trying to blend in with the crowd. She kept her head down, her eyes on the ground, mimicking the weary gait she had observed.

"Hey, Jorgen," a voice called out.

Anya froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She slowly turned her head, her eyes scanning the crowd, trying to locate the source of the voice.

"Hey, Jorgen, you alright?" the voice repeated, closer this time. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Anya spotted a worker approaching her, his face etched with concern. He was a young man, no older than herself, with kind eyes and a friendly smile.

"Blast it all," Anya thought, her mind racing. "What do I do now? I can't let him know who I really am."

She forced a weak smile, trying to appear nonchalant. "Hey, Lars," she said, using the name the worker had used earlier. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired, you know?"

The worker, Lars, raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Tired? You look like you're about to pass out. What's wrong?"

Anya hesitated for a moment, trying to come up with a plausible explanation. "Oh, you know," she said, her voice casual. "Just been working a lot of extra shifts lately. Trying to earn some extra rations for my family."

Lars nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, I know how that is," he said. "Things are tough all over. But you gotta take care of yourself, Jorgen. You can't work yourself to death."

Anya smiled gratefully. "I know, I know," she said. "I'll try to take it easy. But hey, what can you do, right? Gotta do what you gotta do."

Lars chuckled, his face relaxing. "Yeah, tell me about it," he said. "So, what are you working on today? Another shipment of Overseer's finest?"

Anya's mind raced, desperately searching for a way to answer Lars' question without revealing her ignorance. "Uh… you know," she stammered, trying to sound casual. "The usual. Moving crates, stacking boxes, the whole shebang."

Lars frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The usual, huh? But I thought you were assigned to the south wing today. With the new shipment of nutrient paste."

Anya's heart skipped a beat. She had no idea there was a new shipment of nutrient paste, let alone that Jorgen was supposed to be working in the south wing. "Oh, right," she said, trying to recover. "The nutrient paste. Yeah, that's me. But… uh… they reassigned me. Said they needed me over here for something more important."

Lars looked at her skeptically, his eyes filled with doubt. "Reassigned? Just like that? That's not like Foreman Grigorov. He usually sticks to the schedule."

Anya forced a laugh, trying to brush off his suspicion. "Yeah, well, you know how it is," she said. "The Overseer's always changing things around. Gotta keep us on our toes, right?"

Lars didn't laugh. He continued to stare at her, his eyes searching her face. "What's so important that they needed you over here?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Anya swallowed hard, her mind racing. She needed to come up with a convincing answer, and fast. "Uh… well… I can't really say," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's… classified. Top secret. Overseer's orders."

Lars' eyes widened, his expression shifting from suspicion to curiosity. "Top secret, huh?" he said, his voice filled with awe. "What is it? Some kind of new weapon? A secret project for the Overseer?"

Anya shrugged, trying to appear mysterious. "I can't say," she repeated, her voice firm. "But let's just say it's something big. Something that could change everything."