(ENG) The best worst times p.1.

The flickering defensive barrier held around the city trapped the waste from daily activities: smoke, trash and corpses, unchecked; the living had no time to worry about those that didn’t serve any purpose.

What once were humans, now turned into cybernetic amalgamations, suffocated in their gas masks as they worked their next 18 hour shift. Weapons churning out from the assembly line faster than any regular human would have been able to keep up. The unbearable heat slowly roasted the lower-end augmentations, and the smell of plastic and artificial fibers permeated the surfaces with such intensity that it became a layer of grime. A mixture of clouds, purple and sickly green floated above the building, mixing with the gaseous manure from the chimneys. Nobody had noticed it, the accumulation of light and toxic gasses had been glossed over by the inefficient foreman.

"This time I'm going to win, and then she'll see that we'll pay for our little girl." he spoke, counting mismatched banknotes from what used to be different countries, now all nonexistent.

"Are you going to buy a daughter?"

"Yes, they already told me that it is unfeasible for us to have children. The gasses, you know."

JACK watched the situation unfold: two foremen talking about money, their lives and how shitty they were. “Constantly struggling” they claimed; a sick joke to speak such words in front of the “workers”. Once the duo noticed his staring, the intercom spat out:

“Worker 17, resume your activities at once.” one of them spoke, eyeing him down.

“I’m on a break.”

“Says who,” the man tilted his head to the side “I don’t see that in the schedule.” His hand slid through the panel in front of him. A moment later, JACK dropped to his side, pain filling his body as the sound of servos and injectors rang his ears.

“Motherfuc-”

“Watch yourself, kid and shut the fuck up.”

“And go back to work.” the second foreman spoke, shutting the blinds that divided the plant from the minuscule cubicle they called an office. In spite of their demands, JACK’s augments were barred from optimal capacity operation for the next two days.

A plate of gruel was put in front of JACK, accompanied by a piece of stale bread and preserved meat.

“You gotta eat kid, you’ve been working a hell of a lot of time.”

“Some of us don’t have much of a choice.”

The man chuckled at the comment, taking the chair in front of the younger worker and sitting down.

“That’s exactly why you ‘gotta eat, son. If you don’t get what you need then ‘yer ‘gonna be ‘passin out. You know that’s what the big bosses over there consider a break.”

JACK ignored the old man, sliding the plate away from himself and checking his wrist; his fluids were running low. He would have eaten, he was starving after all. It was out of the question when he took his employee card and slid it on his wrist: negative balance for 3 days in a row; his savings account was empty. The expense from the upkeep and maintenance of company property was taken directly from any bank or account that the worker had available, even if it was not theirs. With the expenses from the cybernetics, he was too short to pay for food.

“I’m not hungry.”

“ ‘Ya don’t have to lie, boy. I know you don't got no money, you've been working without taking no break for 3 days now, hm? "

The sole mention of work caused JACK's body to give in to tension. His muscles seemed to deflate, and the fibers that normally strengthened them had long since stopped their functions due to lack of energy. The boy had hidden his battery meter so the few friendly faces around him wouldn’t worry. A different meter had been hidden too, but he couldn’t remember which.

“I’m still young. I don’t need to rest to be effective. Not when I have these.” JACK replied, sliding his sleeves up to show the implants that had been forced onto him. The rugged texture could be felt with nothing more than a quick look.

“I bet it must’ve hurt to get them things.”

“You get used to it.”

“Whole lotta ‘gettin used to things ‘round ‘ere. These damn foremen ain’t got no idea how to run things, what’cha think ‘bout that, eh? It’s very shit how they treated you!”

JACK smiled, nodding at the comment; acknowledgement was new in this place. By this point, and after eight of his sixteen years had passed him by, . Looking at the old man proved strange; he had no implants in him, no augments except for his eyes, which had been replaced by cybernetics.

“You don’t have many implants.”

“Eh, I’m too old to be ‘gettin those damned things.”

“It could improve your effectiveness. Could get you a better salary.”

“You know…” the man interrupted, “I’m being sent to the robot assembly! Can’t believe we still have 4 of those fucks ‘wrokin after ‘everythin that’s happened.”

“Well, the barrier should hold up.”

“That thing ain’t gonna hold up for much longer, kid.”

“...” JACK wasn’t sure what to respond, but a question popped up on his mind, “How long has it been up? I’m sure that’s testament enough that it works, no?”

“Well look at me, hm? Does it look to you that age is any kinda measurement for quality, boy?”

JACK laughed awkwardly, and the old man followed suit.

“Here, boy. It’s on me today. You can call me Ernie, if ‘ya ever need a meal then just say the word, eh?”

A simple nod was enough to seal a pact within the oppressive and disgusting walls of the factory. It had also been enough to ensure JACK had one day’s work in him once again, instead of working until exhaustion and racking up debt, he’d go back to paying for his shit tomorrow.

The next day started with a malfunctioning slicer.

“That motherfucker ain’t working any more, we’re gonna have to use one of the 4 bots. Bring the saw over here and let’s get to work!”

JACK moved quickly. His augments had been pushed back up to one hundred percent, and he felt lighter than ever. It only took a few long steps to get to the gigantic saw;it was made out of a strange material he didn’t know, ridiculously dense and almost immune to the effects of friction. He lifted it with ease, lifting one hundred kilos and walking to the machine-room.

Most of the happenings of the machine room were unknown to the employees outside the section, as some extremely augmented folk, or those old enough to be considered “a worthy death-to-work investment” made it into the rooms. Ernie was there, probably because of the second reason.

“Ernie, good morning.”

“What’s up kiddo? ‘Ya got sent ‘ere? I’ll talk to them bastards if they brought you here, I’ll give em a taste of this, eh!” the grandpa yelled, raising his fists and pretending to get ready for a fight, swirling them around in front of him, “I got my guard up and ready, right on!”

JACK pat Ernie’s shoulder, “No need to fight anyone for me just yet, thanks though. I'll be leaving you this gift, try not to cut anyone off, huh? "

The two men laughed together. If you didn't count yesterday, then this laugh would be the first sincere one that JACK had in years.

"Looks mighty heavy for a young man that could barely stay awake yesterday!"

"Don't worry about me, old man. I've done alright on my own so far."

"Right on, then. Let's load it up 'ere."

Holding the saw on its side and raising it to the robotic arm was uncomfortable. Both men had to shimmy themselves into a position that they could use to load the saw, and once it was done they both felt relief and dread simultaneously.

"Factory still uses digital machines."

"Yeah, I can't for the old life of me know why they'd do that. Fucks know if a possessor just takes over 'somethin, all us could be dead."

"The barrier should still hold for the major ones, so we're probably fine."

"Yeah kid, probably…", Ernie's expression turned sour.

The shift was almost over. The whirring machines had slowly sent their screams to a halt, and the workers were taking their uniforms off to go clean up; if you were working voluntarily, then you'd go home. If not, you'd be sent to the barracks.

Most machines had turned quiet five minutes after the shift ended, and most workers had left for the showers as well. But not all: Scab, Ernie and JACK remained, the latter carrying boxes and finished parts to a different section of the factory. Training for strength, he didn't rely on tools, but rather on pushing his own body to its limit, increasing the effectiveness of his implants. If he could work more, then it wouldn't take long to start paying his debt.

In the middle of ruminating, activity he partook in often with nothing better to do, JACK took a peek at the machine room. Scab and Ernie were both there, working still. The foremen had long since left, they weren't bothered with safety as much as tripping on their undeserved power, stepping over their workers, be they hired or "paying off their debt" as they called it.

"What the hell are you two still doing over here?!" yelled JACK, putting up a large crate filled with parts on top of the pile.

Despite the silence of the rest of the factory, the machine room was still full of noise and activity, far more than two men would regularly be able to provide. JACK walked into the room, the duo was fixated on their work, centered on some unknown part of the process. Building a tank, an accelerator cannon or a shock pillar was difficult and time consuming, especially by hand. Once inside the room, JACK became entranced by the movement of the strange, alien-like appendages. So much so that he missed the gentle red glow emitted by it, it's eerie melody being drowned out by the sound of "progress".

When one finds oneself performing any complex task, it's easy to lose touch with reality. Repetitive work, going through the same motions over and over again, can send you down different paths: deep thought or the lack of it entirely, loneliness, emptiness or purpose. Scab was the kind to simply "whiteout", when he worked standing there, he wasn't himself, but he wasn't anything different, he just… was. His focus and productivity were the main reasons why he both made so much money and why he was covered in wounds all the time. His focus and productivity, both absolute and unwavering, were the reason he died right in front of JACK's eyes.

"SCAB LOOK OUT!" he roared, lunging at the man to get him out of the way, only to see him get torn apart by the robotic arm; it's new appendages latched to his head as the arm itself sliced him in half from top to bottom, breaking against the pressure the demon's power exerted over it, and it's collapse against the focused barrier that recognized its presence. The explosion sent shards of reinforced metals flying all over the room, crashing and breaking apart other machinery like a grenade had been tossed inside, and the door was left closed behind it. JACK didn't manage to get Scab away, but he still found himself right in front of the blast; he was going to die and the last sound he heard was one of a coworker being sawed in half, and the demon possession siren ringing so loud that the rest of reality was barely in his mind.

It took surprisingly little for JACK to accept the idea of death. Life for the past decade had been mostly a chain of increasing misery, a slave wage that barely covered enough to pay for his forcefully-placed implants -not to mention it excluded when they broke-, and daily working hours that exhausted him even if he was ten times as strong as other people. Death didn’t sound that bad in comparison, yet…

A strange event occurred, stranger than a commonplace machine possession. Mere inches from JACK’s face a massive piece of debris, half of the gargantuan saw blade, was sent at speeds several times higher than the speed of sound. He was ready to die, despite all his speed it would be impossible to dodge, yet. A strange event occurred, because a split second later… JACK wasn’t dead. Once he opened his eyes there it was: a mass of flesh, gray and sickly, impaled by his would-be killer. He fell backwards right on his ass, and then he saw… Ernie, his arm twisted into a glowing demonic appendage, his eyes lifeless and glassy, his body covered in pustules; the smell of sulfur and rotten meat made JACK’s eyes water as he desperately crawled backwards into the wall. The siren rang louder, and a message he was too out of it to hear played, it was a voice that spoke incoherent words to his mind that couldn’t process what he saw. JACK stood up and took the safety firearm on the display case. It read “Open in case of demonic possession”, a message as bizarre as it was true. The weapon was loaded, and with it he took aim at the man he didn’t recognize as such anymore.

“G-get back!” he yelled, his voice quivering.

Ernie didn’t respond, his arm turned back to normal and he turned around, clutching Scab’s body, or the blood and guts it had become. He hugged it tightly, as if he didn’t care about getting covered in filth. JACK was shaking, and if his back hadn't been pressed against the wall, paralyzed in fear, he would have kept walking backwards to escape. He hadn't noticed the entire facility had closed down as standard protocol for possessions, as futile as it was.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” Ernie whispered, but JACK couldn’t hear his sobbing under the deafening siren and repetitive voice that filled the tiny room.

The kid didn't notice, not until Ernie turned to look at him, eyes filled with tears. The old man had given up.