Yume angrily sprang from bed and let her muscle memory take the wheel. Socks, underwear, shirt, pants, shoes, and coat. With the few minutes she has to spare, she makes a piece of toast with raspberry jam. She realizes how close she is on time, and she throws the jam-knife on her nightstand accordingly. I’ll deal with that later, she thinks as she wraps a scarf around her neck. Like a well-oiled, yet close to collapsing machine, she leaves her dorm-building at 6:50 AM on the dot.
“This is it” She whispers from under her mask.
Taking what she hopes will be the last steps she ever has to take on this commute, she enters the pod-station. Once again, she is greeted with the robed-woman projection.
“Present N.I.D.” Drones out of the woman’s lips.
Yume touches her node and allows the woman to scan her credentials.
“027, you are granted access for the next two hours. Your prayers for salvation are not in vain. The Chamber wishes you well during this cycle-end.” Says the projection in a meaningful tone.
“Thanks” Yume responds. More-so out of habit than to please the projection.
The same thing as the last time, she reflects, Oh, and the time before that. These messages have reverberated inside the walls of her skull for years now. At first it was a short, good luck, or this is the one. Now it’s the same generic message over and over.
Yume walks through the archway and finds her group of co-candidates formed into a line. As she scoots in to her place, she looks around frantically to see if any of them are willing to meet her glance. She is dying to know what happened to 025 and 026.
The line behind her stares directly forwards in unison, with a blaring gap where the pair normally stands. All their eyes stare through her, refusing to acknowledge her concerned behavior. For an instant, 028, the man directly behind her, slips his gaze to meet Yume’s. Yume pipes up after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“Good morning” she says to him.
His facial expressions are mostly obscured by his mask, but his eyes light up at the sound of her voice.
“G-good morning 027” he replies, while his eyes dart to the corners of the room.
“Do you know where they went?”
Within each corner of the loading dock, there are small, black circles. Cameras is what Yume assumed those to be. After asking about 025 and 026, each circle gained one red dot in the center. 028 notices the red dots and instantaneously straightens his posture and looks forward.
“…Do you at least know if they are alright?” She asks.
A red ring forms around the dot. Leaving what looks like space for one more ring around it. 028’s face becomes pale and sweat beads down from his hairline. Yume notices his obvious discomfort and quickly turns around.
So much for a scrap of empathy, she thinks to herself. The transport pod arrives on the tracks and decompresses in front of the line. The doors of the pod peel open, and they began loading into it. The candidates make their way to their seats in complete silence. Not so much as a shoe squeak against the polished floor can be heard. Yume sits down and anxiously fidgets with the sleeves of her coat.
The collective nerves of the co-candidates are palpable. Nobody here knows exactly what awaits them in the ceiling of The Rung. Some of them are excited to see relatives and friends. The others, dreading the possibility that their familiars have ascended further. All of them, aside from Yume, are certain of one thing though; they are ascending.
The pod shifts into its high-speed acceleration and Yume takes a moment to appreciate the view, as it may be her last sight of it. She finds herself once again daydreaming of better things to come.
As the pod reaches its destination and begins to decompress, the reality of Yume’s fate truly sinks in. Oh fuck, this is it repeats in her head, aggressively trying not to manifest the thought into speech. The doors open with a BANG and a hologram of confetti rains down inside the pod. She clutches her fists and begs that the confetti will mask her panic.
Legs trembling, she follows 026 out of the pod and lines up outside. Once all candidates form at the dock, they proceed into the production center, skipping the process of being doused in hazmat spray. The intricate systems of belts, tubes, and containers have all been stored, revealing a pristine, polished floor. The harsh white light feels magnified by a hundred times as it now reflects only off the ground.
The emptiness of the room shines an increased focus onto posters that Yume has seen every day during her shifts. “You are ONLY worth what you work” and “PRODUCTIVITY is your PRODUCT!” posters glare down on her.
A man dressed in a black robe crested in gold stands by himself in the center of the room. Once all the candidates get situated into their spots, the harsh lights all turn in towards the man, creating a spotlight of sorts. The reflections around him create a halo above his head and give an illusion that he is floating.
“I want to welcome all of you to your graduation” says the man in a resonant voice. His words echo beautifully around the empty room
“It is with great pleasure that I will now begin our four hundred and seventy first ascension proceeding”
Yume’s head grows light, and she can feel her skin losing color. She wants nothing more than to hear her number called. She needs to get closer to her mother again. Even if she has made it to the top tier, one step closer is good enough for right now. She needs to make progress.
“If you hear your name, please form a line in the order in which it was called” the man gestures towards a door framed in gold.
This door, which is normally obscured by machinery during the cycle, is what leads to the first ascension. During the graduations prior, Yume has extended her neck in the hopes of getting a peek. All she has ever seen is golden, shining stairs and the backs of her co-candidates as they ascend. Before she can sneak her glance, the numbers start to roll out.
“001…002…003…”
The hairs on the back of her neck stand as strong as the ceiling pillars. Each number pulls the muscles in her throat tighter and tighter.
“021…022…023…”
Her morning coffee is fighting her esophagus to taint the brilliant floor. Yume breathes deeply and stifles the liquid back into her stomach.
Please, God, please let me in, pleads her distraught mind, I just want to see my mom again.
“025…026…028…”
“WHAT?” Yume shouts, before immediately covering her face with her hands.
The Chamber representative angrily looks up for a moment and then goes back to reading the list. The co-candidates around her don’t dare to humor the outburst. It is quickly swept under the rug.
“029…030…031…”
Yume shrinks in disbelief. She had worked harder than any cycle before this, this had to be a mistake. Years of her work played in a sporadic montage in her head. This one was supposed to be it. No, this one HAD to be it. She tries rationalizing it in her head, but nothing is clicking. Not one excuse can explain this oversight. Ten full cycles just to end in expulsion.
The man finishes reading off the ascendants and then commands the line up the golden steps. They eagerly proceed to their new fates, with those on the tail end looking back at Yume. Some of them point and giggle, not even trying to hide their obvious pity. Every thud of triumphant feet against the stairs feels like daggers in her stomach.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Their footsteps grow quieter, and the door slams heavily behind them. Yume crouches on the ground and rests her head against the floor, letting out a deflating howl. The hard lights dim to a soft glow.
She is alone in the center of the room, quietly sobbing while she waits for her dismissal. A new source of light illuminates her wet face. The scholar-gown projection makes another appearance.
“You have not met the standards to ascend. Candidate 027, this marks your tenth failure to date. Please gather your items from your dormitory in a timely manner. A sentinel will escort you down the Ladder in approximately two hundred minutes”
Yume lunges forwards trying to grasp it. “Why?!”
Before her hands meet the woman, it dissolves into the wall. The harsh lights bolt on once again. Yume collects herself and makes her way back to the loading dock. She sits in stark quietness on the ride back. Staring through her surroundings, far beyond them. She is gone, both mentally and physically. Completely tapped out. It feels as though she blinks and is home, carried there by her vacant body.
Something in her had just snapped. She followed the rules. She never spoke out of line or questioned her monotonous life. A life that gave her nothing and took everything. The weight of this, cycle after cycle, year after year, amounted to nothing. Her final failure pulverized her resolve.
#
She comes to on her bed. Two hours have passed since having her hopes murdered in front of her again. The crushing pain of her failure finally comes back. She can’t even make it out of the first step. There are no more tries. Completely locked out of ever seeing her mother again. In an hour, she’ll be tossed down to the pit. She tries to avoid thinking about her impending relocation and looks out of her window at the flashing billboards across the city.
The next step is only nine months away! is on a vast number of them. All are full of cheerful ascendants living in their new homes. Together with family. Yume scoffed and looked around to a different spot.
HotSuite and PrivateRoom branding takes up another significant portion of the skyline. Sensual imagery of men and women holding each other. Bold text wrapping around the imagery with verbiage to get one’s blood pumping. Start your family early! These adverts have endlessly tormented Yume’s inability to traditionally conceive children. She felt herself getting worked up again.
A board with, Need an out? We make it easy, starts to blink at her. This advertisement has a shining GuideBot cutting a hole in the board, leading a silhouette of a man through. Ascension at a moment’s notice! Reads another, with beautiful, fluffy clouds opening into golden steps. The dreamy graphics start to reel her in.
In a strange coincidence, the surrounding ads all begin to turn to the next ad in their rotation. In a wave of synchronicity, they all show the same image of the GuideBot. Yume stares at these with tears flowing down her cheeks. Their soft pattering against her bed is all that can be heard.
As hopeful as these ads present themselves to be, Yume knows the secret that they are tiptoeing around. This is a suicide service; GuideBots guide you to the end. Within five minutes or less you can be granted a painless exit from The Rung. An exit that is sounding a lot more appealing than being thrown into exile.
Yume feels the pain of every cycle scream at her. She begins imagining her mother looking down at her from the next tier, scolding her for not ascending. She just can’t accept that fate. No amount of effort or work-ethic got her any closer to walking through the gilded door.
Her head is swirling in a cacophony of emotions. For whatever reason, this world just doesn’t want her to succeed. It has ripped every sense of security from her hands. From separating her and her only friend, to splitting up her parents, and ultimately forcing them to abandon her. She is completely alone in this world and is now about to be pushed further away from anyone she has ever known.
Exile to the pit is social death. Beyond that, she’s been told that it is without technology or power. A desolate wasteland of violent criminals and dangerous animals. She can’t accept this as her fate. The hopelessness of her situation finally comes to a climax, and she speaks to the wall next to her.
“Nurse?”
The wall starts to glow and the nurse comes into focus.
“Yes, Yume?”
“I need an out”
The nurse expresses a solemn bow and fades into the wall. Yume’s face geometry lights up green and begins blinking red before fading off. She wonders; will I feel anything at all? Feeling nothing would certainly be ideal compared to the swelling vomit of despair she is in now. The absolute disappointment she has become is far too much to tolerate. She closes her eyes and tries to remember anything pleasant from her childhood.
She recalls a memory of lying in bed with her parents, laughing and play fighting her dad when she was just about seven years old. He lifted her up in the air and slammed her on the soft down comforter. Her mom leaned over as she was recovering from the impact and kissed her forehead. The dormitory felt so big to her back then, even sharing it with two grown adults. If only those times could have stuck around a bit longer.
Off in the distance, a somber tune playing from a piano starts to echo down the dormitory halls. It grows louder and louder as it approaches her door. As it grows nearer; the music seems to clash against a new noise; metal scraping against the linoleum flooring.
The dead bolt on Yume’s door violently slides open, followed shortly by the door folding into the wall. The piano music is now engulfing her room, blaring from a sinister silhouette. A bright beam of light shoots out of its torso, searching for Yume. It locks on in a fraction of a second.
“You can rest now, sweet child. Salvation is offered to those who ask.”
Yume springs up in her bed. Her heart now thumping in her chest as her decision meets its consequences. The large, levitating robot enters her room. It has no face, but a convex chest of sorts with two gangly arms. One is up almost waving at her; the other is dragging a heavy blade against the ground.
“How does this work…what do I need to do?” Yume asks, feeling sweat drench her palms.
“Please lay down so I may offer you peace” The GuideBot responds.
Yume quickly resumes her position and puts her head to her pillow. The robot glides over to her and presses the node on her head. It scans the pattern and pauses.
Hmm? That’s odd. Just like the loading dock, she thinks to herself, before writing it off. The GuideBot presses the node another time and scans more thoroughly. It begins blinking white and making a noise reminiscent of a dial-up signal.
It hovers over Yume for what felt like an eternity. Blinking and transmitting. I thought this was supposed to be fast? She grows increasingly anxious and begins looking around her room for a comfort. She sees the corner of her keepsake box poke out from under her bed. Maybe I can read this one last time. She goes to reach for her box and GuideBot snaps to.
“PLEASE REMAIN STATIONARY.”
The gentle piano music cuts off mid-note. In one swift motion the robot lifts the blade from the ground and cuts Yume’s right hand off.
Blood begins to pour out of what is left of her arm. She screams out in agony as the robot is still processing the information off her face. She falls off the bed clutching her arm, trying to stifle the blood-loss.
“PLEASE REMAIN STATIONARY” screeches the robot.
It grabs Yume’s face with its free arm and starts to scan it once again. Squeezing her cheeks and throat with its giant fingers to get her to stop squirming around. It becomes very hard for her to breathe with its iron grip around her windpipe. Occasionally it eases off her throat to let just enough oxygen reach her brain, keeping her in a state of semi-consciousness while it scans.
Yume, in complete despair, still wishes for her cruel life to end. The GuideBot will not let that happen for God knows what reason. The signal isn’t getting through to wherever it’s sending it. Her arm is radiating pain more and more severe, driving her to the far reaches of sanity. Then it comes to her; the final sentence her father ever wrote to her.
When all else is lost, cut the cord.
In a last-ditch effort to end her suffering, Yume uses her free hand to grab the knife on her nightstand. Finding the only thing that resembles a cord under the GuideBot’s chest, she slices. She slices until she is certain it is completely severed. Fluid begins dripping out of the cord. Dark liquid with a pungent metallic scent. Before Yume can process this smell, a hatch under the bot’s chest decompresses and slides open. Several heavy objects fall out onto the floor.
The bot enters a reboot status, and its lights dim. Even though the software is resetting, its grip on Yume doesn’t faulter. Straining her eyes well past their comfort zone, she sees the robot’s droppings. These objects look painfully familiar. Frozen meat. She had seen these before. She had felt these before, all she needed was the proper context to determine their origin.
It all begins to click for her. Yume has been packaging human organs. Organs that are harvested from people like her, who chose to end their lives. Organs taken from tortured souls.
She can’t fathom such a disgusting idea. Her inability to comprehend such evil doesn’t stop her from putting the pieces together though. The harsh lights over the room used to spot impurities. A zero-tolerance for dropping product. The Cryo-Belt keeping everything frozen.
I think I have packed over 100,000 of these. I never cared about what they were. I just sealed them and sent them off. The last threads of her conformed mind are fraying. How could I be so blind? These words loop over and over in her mind. The pain she has endured that lead her to request such a service violently changes tune. It ignites a fury that singes through her collapsing veins.
“I am not about to be packaged!” Yume shouts.
The GuideBot appears to wake up after hearing her speak. It immediately loosens its grip and Yume falls to the ground into a pool of various bloods. She can hardly breathe as the pain she is in becomes unbearable. The GuideBot’s lights change from white to red and an alarm belts out from its speakers.
Running on the fumes of rage she musters up one last lunge towards it. She shoves the knife back into the tube and thrashes it around. Hoping she can connect with a circuit or a source of energy to shut this harvester of suffering off. It’s no use. She simply has no strength left in her.
The GuideBot sees its opportunity and takes its retaliation. A needle slides out from the center of its hand. It latches onto to Yume’s good arm and injects her with an anesthetic. She succumbs to the drug instantaneously and falls into a very, very deep sleep.