The clink of metal on stone filled the air with echoes much like the distant blasts, creating clouds of dust that never really settled. Three-sixteen hated being underground, but the mine was his home. It was the only home he ever knew anyway.

It wasn’t so bad though. Once he got used to moldy bread and the constant drone of machinery, he fit right in. He’d held just about every position in the years since he’d arrived. He’d worked every shaft, operated every machine, and now he had the unenviable task of supervising the newest arrivals.

He wasn’t truly a supervisor, just a glorified trainer which only meant he was responsible for every mistake his charges made.

Three-sixteen looked out over the pit that housed the main excavation and saw two-ten shoveling ore into a cart—the wrong cart.

Three-sixteen grumbled and shook his head. Two-ten was an idiot and it was tempting to let him find out what the magistrates did with idiots in the mine, but they wouldn’t stop with Two-ten and Three-sixteen wasn’t especially fond of the survival den.

Two-ten was already behind schedule and if Three-sixteen didn't say something, they'd both be in trouble.

He walked half way down the long wooden ramp that wound around the cavernous chamber, then jumped the rest of the way down, one layer at a time. “Where do we send ore, Two-ten?”

The boy, maybe twelve years old at best, tilted his head and gave Three-sixteen a dumb look.

“To the waste processor.” Three-sixteen didn’t have enough patience to let the boy figure it out himself.

Fortunately the cart was only half full, and it wouldn’t take long to fix the mistake. As he shoved Two-ten aside, Three-sixteen started shoveling the ore into a waste cart.

Two-ten was a skinny little thing. His ribs were probably showing beneath the thick leather apron and the shoddy gray uniform they all wore. It almost made Three-sixteen feel bad for him, except that Two-ten worked at half the pace as the other boys; that wouldn’t have been so bad, if he was at least more thorough.

But he wasn't.

“We want crystal deposits. The big shiny ones with pointy ends.” Three-sixteen said, pointing to a pile of glowing yellow rocks. “Especially the ones that glow. Those are worth three times the food. Remember that kid, or you won’t live long down here.”

Three-sixteen finished emptying the cart and rolled it twenty feet up the track, beside the pile of crystal rocks the miners had gathered.

The kid just stood there staring at him.

With a sigh, Three-sixteen grabbed the handle of the waste cart and pulled it up where the processing cart had been, beside the ore and Two-ten. “Well? Pick up the crystals and put ‘em in the processing cart, then send it down the rails. Ore goes in this cart here, the brown one that says “Waste Materials” The one that has ore in it now, okay? Or do you need me to do that for you too?”

Two-ten shook his head and Three-sixteen couldn't tell if the kid really understood or if he was just scared.

Two-ten did eventually move, so Three-sixteen left him to it.

He began the climb back up the ramp, but didn’t get far before he noticed Seven-thirty-one wasn't working. He was standing over Eight-six-six, trying to convince the other boy to take a rock.

Three-sixteen was almost afraid to ask why, he suspected the reason, but he hoped he was wrong.

Everyone wanted out of the mine, but stealing crystals only ever ended one way. Three-sixteen couldn’t ignore the exchange. He had to put a stop to it before a magistrate noticed.

Eight-six-six shoved Seven-thirty-one away.

Three-sixteen called out, “If that’s a fucking crystal, you’d better be trying to—”

“Are you their supervisor?”

“Fuck,” Three-sixteen whispered. He took a breath, then turned around to find magistrate Luck McCool looking at him.

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Magistrate Luck was a lean man with a crooked nose, slender arms and legs, and blue ink covering much of his body. His hair was black and his eyes as dark as his twisted heart.

“I believe you meant to say, yes Magistrate Luck, I am the supervisor for these children, and would be happy to answer any questions you may have.”

Three-sixteen clenched his jaw, but he managed to say, "Yes, Magistrate Luck, I am the supervisor for these children and would be happy to—”

“Good, then please explain to me why two of your charges are currently stashing crystals in their clothing instead of placing them in the carts or piles where they belong. Are they not aware that these actions are strictly prohibited and will result in immediate termination? Is that not part of the induction process? Because if it isn’t, that oversight will need to be corrected, and it will be my pleasure to reeducate you slowly in the survival den.”

Three-sixteen felt the blood drain from his face, but he forced himself to smile. He needed to make this right, but if he didn't tread lightly, he could end up in the survival den along with those kids.

With a forced laugh he said, “My apologies Magistrate Luck. As you know, these children come to us with little or no education. It is a difficult task to train them to follow the rules and I'm afraid I have failed to instruct them properly, but I was just coming to—”

“Coming to…”

Three-sixteen swallowed his frustration then continued. “I was coming to set them straight, sir.”

Magistrate Luck smiled. The sight made Three-sixteen's stomach turn, but he ignored his disgust and said, “Let me take care of them, then I can answer any questions you have about their progress, or that of the others.”

The magistrate’s lips pressed flat and he shook his head. “No, I think it’ll be best if you, let me. You said yourself they come daft and it seems to me these boys need a special sort of education. One only a magistrate can provide.”

Three-sixteen nodded, stepping aside. Magistrate Luck strode on to teach the boys a lesson, a lesson Three-sixteen knew would be their last.

He wanted to help, but it was useless. There was nothing he could do to stop a magistrate once their mind was made up.

It was just as well, Three-sixteen thought, at least now he wouldn’t have to worry about any other crystals they may have stashed. He only hoped the boys would die quickly. It would be a mercy to them. That’s what he told himself as he hurried back up the ramp, again.

Once he reached the top he heard a siren blare.

The warning came too late. Boulders burst apart, giving way to a beast the size of a small building. Whiskers, like thick braided wire, jutted out from a triangular snout. Four tiny eyes glared at the men and boys scurrying around the pit, and the creature hissed through rows of teeth sharp as blades.

It was a sifter and as Three-sixteen watched the miners flee before its approach, he felt the ground shake with each massive step.

Three-sixteen knew he should run. He should have fled while he still had time, but he didn’t see a magistrate. If he left now everyone in the pit would die.

There was a blast spear in every pit, three in a pit this size. The one he could reach quickest would be at the bottom of the ramp, but Three-sixteen didn’t want to go down there. Not with that monster.

He glanced up. There was another blast spear near the roof of the cavern, but it would be dangerous to try and climb up there, especially with a sifter in the pit below.

That left only the spear in magistrate Luck’s office. That would be safe. He was sure of it.

Three-sixteen turned to make a run for the office, but a blast of air threw him into the wall. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs and sent an intense burning pain through his chest.

The pain was enough to keep him down, but the sound of terrified screams motivated him to try and get back up.

He rolled onto his stomach and forced himself onto his hands and knees. Then he looked down.

The sifter dove after a group of miners trying to escape the pit. They weren’t fast enough. As the sifter tore into them, a spray of blood splattered the walls and ceiling. The miners screamed, but the sounds died quickly.

Three-sixteen couldn't look away. He tried to get up again, but a wave of nausea dropped him back to the floor. His head throbbed and his vision blurred.

The sifter roared, sending a disorienting sound wave through the whole cavern.

Three-sixteen felt dizzy, but he forced himself up, managing to find his feet this time, but before he could move a mighty rumble shook him to the ground and sent him sliding towards the pit below.

He reached out, desperately grabbing for anything he could latch on to. His hand closed around something hard and he held on.

A sharp crack rang through the air. The object, the handle of an explosives case, slid free of the wood framing. He was falling along with a crate of expansion charges.

The box fell open, releasing its contents over a large area. Most of them probably wouldn’t explode, but Three-sixteen dreaded the thought of landing near any of the bombs. He also felt guilt at the thought he might have just made things worse when he was trying to help those stuck in the pit.

Three-sixteen didn’t have time to cry out.

He fell into the pit, but before he hit the ground he crashed against the sifter's tail.

The air exploded from his lungs and his ribs cracked. He tumbled to the ground and as he lay there, staring up at the monster, he thought it was probably better that way.

Better to die quickly than slowly, alone in a dark cell. Or perhaps if he stayed still, the beast would think him dead and move on.

The sifter turned, sniffing the air as its whiskers danced around. Its eyes found Three-sixteen and he saw his death in their crimson glow.

The beast charged, sending shockwaves through the ground, each one a little closer than the last.