The factory doors slid open with a mechanical whine, and three figures stepped through, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the dim, flickering light. The space beyond was cavernous—an endless sprawl of concrete and steel that smelled faintly of oil, rust, and something acrid. The air was thick with dust motes that swirled in the pale beams slicing down from malfunctioning overhead lights.
The trio hesitated, each of them instinctively scanning the room. To any casual observer, it was just another rundown industrial warehouse: rows of conveyor belts that hadn't seen movement in years, stacks of crates haphazardly piled like a child's forgotten toys, and old machines standing silent like sentinels. Yet, as they took in their surroundings, peculiar details cropped up—wires snaking from the ceiling like metal vines, a clock on the far wall with its hands frozen at an impossible hour, and, strangest of all, the occasional wet footprints that trailed off into shadows.
None of them registered these oddities as strange. They noted them in passing, like someone noting a cracked tile in a bathroom—odd, but not worth lingering on.
The tallest among them, who thought of himself as Hiroki, though he did not quite remember why, brushed a layer of grime off his jacket and glanced at the others. The silence between them stretched uncomfortably, until the one with short-cropped hair, who thought he might be called Abeni, broke it with a nervous chuckle.
"So, uh... new here?" he asked, shifting on his feet. His eyes darted between Hiroki and the third member of their group, who had been staring intently at a row of tools lined up on a rusted workbench.
"Yeah, I think so," Hiroki replied slowly, as if testing the words for truth. "Got the email last night. Weird timing, but hey... a job’s a job."
The other nodded absently, eyes distant. "Yeah, same. Came in around... three in the morning?" The one called Takeshi—the name fitting like a shirt that was two sizes too tight—finally turned to face them. "You know what they say, right? Early bird gets the worm."
Hiroki nodded, though he couldn’t remember who had ever said that, or if he had heard it at all. Takeshj’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile, but it was hard to tell in the half-light.
The conversation flowed like a stream finding its path—halting, hesitant, yet somehow necessary. They spoke of the emails they received, the vague promises of benefits and roles that were never clearly defined. Hiroki had been assigned to "maintenance," though he wasn’t quite sure what that entailed. Abeni was listed as "logistics," while Takeshi claimed he was in "inventory management."
“Honestly,” Abeni said with a strained laugh, “I was just looking for health benefits. You know how it is... gotta think long-term.” Her words sounded hollow, like an echo from a faraway place that he couldn’t quite grasp.
Takeshi nodded absently, his gaze flitting toward the ceiling where vents exhaled soft plumes of steam. "Yeah, gotta... think long-term," he echoed, though he couldn’t remember what "long-term" meant anymore, or why it mattered.
As they spoke, none of them noticed the absence of something they had once relied on—an emptiness that tugged at the edges of their consciousness like a half-forgotten dream. Their weapons, usually so close at hand, were conspicuously missing, though none of them registered this as odd. And then there were the wraiths... or, rather, the lack of them. Normally, they would feel those shadowy presences hovering just beyond sight—silent, ever-watchful. But now, there was only a vast, hollow silence where those whispers used to be.
The factory groaned, the sound reverberating through the steel beams like a giant exhaling in its sleep. Takeshj shifted uneasily, his fingers twitching as if reaching for a holster that was no longer there. But then, just as quickly, he dropped his hand, the gesture fading from his mind as if it had never happened.
“So,” Hiroki said, trying to keep the conversation going, “anyone actually know what we’re supposed to be doing here? I mean... maintenance of what, exactly?” He gestured vaguely toward the dormant machines and the shadows that pooled beneath them like spilled ink.
Takeshi shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out when the boss shows up,” he said, though he couldn’t remember if a boss had ever been mentioned. “They’re probably just running late or something.”
Abeni laughed again, though it came out more like a bark. “Yeah, I bet they’re stuck in traffic.” But there were no cars outside. There hadn’t been any signs of life at all when they approached the building, just a crumbling parking lot swallowed by weeds.
The factory hummed on, the dull throb of machinery providing a strange sort of rhythm to their conversation. Yet beneath that noise, there was another sound—a faint, almost imperceptible whisper, like wind sighing through cracks in the concrete. But when Hiroki turned to listen more closely, it vanished, leaving him wondering if he’d imagined it.
They continued their stilted conversation, speaking of benefits they couldn’t remember applying for, roles they couldn’t define, and lives they weren’t sure they still lived. And all the while, the factory seemed to listen, its walls tightening around them like the grip of an unseen hand.
Outside, the sky had turned a shade of gray that might have been dawn or dusk; none of them could be sure. But here, in the cold belly of the factory, time had lost all meaning.
As they stood amidst the maze of steel and shadows, the trio turned to the sound of approaching footsteps. A figure emerged from the dimness—a wiry man with a broad smile that seemed permanently etched onto his face. He wore the same standard-issue jumpsuit as the rest of the workers, though his carried a slight sheen of oil and the faded insignia of a company whose name refused to settle in the mind, like a word on the tip of the tongue.
“Hey there!” he called, raising a hand in a gesture that was somehow both friendly and mechanical. “You must be the new recruits.” He gave them an appraising look, his eyes flickering with a spark of recognition—or was it calculation?
They nodded uncertainly, sharing quick glances among themselves. Each tried to recall what they had been called, but found their minds blank. It was as if the notion of their names had been plucked away, leaving only a vague, nameless sense of self.
“I’m X-194,” the man continued, tapping a laminated badge pinned to his chest. “I know, I know—it’s a mouthful. But, hey, around here, we get used to it.” He laughed, a sound that was hollow yet oddly cheerful, like the echo of laughter heard from the bottom of a well.
Abeni—though she didn’t know that name anymore—opened her mouth to introduce herself, but the words faltered. The others tried as well, but all they found was silence where their names should have been. They exchanged confused looks, mouths opening and closing like fish gasping for air.
X-194's smile widened as he watched their struggle. “Oh, don’t worry about that!” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Names are company-issued. Saves everyone the trouble of coming up with one themselves. I’ve got yours right here.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded slip of paper that looked impossibly pristine.
“Alright, let’s see...” he said, squinting at the paper with exaggerated focus. “You’re T-109,” he pointed to Hiroki, “T-110,” he gestured to Abeni, “and T-111,” he finished, nodding at Takeshi. “Simple, right? Easy to remember. And don’t worry—you’ll get used to it. Everyone does.”
The three nodded, as if this explanation made perfect sense. They felt a strange relief wash over them as if the company had taken a burden off their shoulders. Names were complicated, after all. This was simpler.
X-194 clapped his hands together with a loud slap, the sound echoing off the factory walls. “Now that we’ve got that sorted out, let’s get to the fun part—the tour!”
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The factory seemed endless as X-194 led them deeper inside, weaving between towering stacks of crates, hissing machinery, and conveyor belts that rolled on with a monotonous clatter. Workers in identical jumpsuits moved in silence, their faces blank, their hands busy with tasks that seemed vaguely purposeful but strangely pointless. Each station was dedicated to some form of production—assembling objects that, once complete, were immediately disassembled and fed back into the assembly line. No one spoke; the only sound was the relentless hum of machinery, punctuated by the occasional hiss of steam or the clang of metal.
X-194’s voice cut through the din like a cheerful blade. “So, you’ll all be assigned to your own sections soon. T-109, you’ll handle maintenance on the conveyor systems—pretty straightforward, just keep them running. T-110, you’re in logistics, so you’ll make sure the inventory flows smoothly from one point to another. And T-111, you’re on inventory management. Easy stuff, just keep count and report any discrepancies.”
As he spoke, they passed by workers who seemed perpetually engaged in their duties—assembling, disassembling, stacking, and sorting with mechanical precision. But something was wrong. The tasks they performed appeared to have no final product or goal. One man polished a metal cylinder until it gleamed, only to toss it into a bin where another worker pulled it out and started polishing it again.
The trio couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong exactly, but there was an undercurrent, a sense that the entire operation was... circular. They couldn’t quite put it into words, and every time their thoughts began to drift toward that realization, X-194 would point out some new feature, distracting them with a bright grin.
“And here,” X-194 announced as they reached a set of double doors, “is where you’ll clock in every day. Efficient, right? The system’s automated, so you don’t even need to think about it!” His grin widened, as though he had just delivered a punchline.
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They continued to follow him, their steps heavy, their minds oddly sluggish. They reached a staircase that spiraled upward into a steel tower, the only structure rising above the flat expanse of the factory floor. As they climbed, X-194's cheerful monologue continued unabated, describing their duties, safety protocols, and benefits they would never remember needing.
Finally, they emerged into his office—a circular room walled with glass that overlooked the entire factory. The sight that greeted them was disorienting. From this height, they could see the entire layout of the warehouse floor, and it was clear now that the design wasn’t accidental. The factory was arranged in concentric circles, with X-194’s office as the central point. Workers scurried in continuous loops, their movements guided by invisible lines of purpose only they seemed to understand.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” X-194 asked, his voice tinged with pride. “The efficiency... the order. It’s like a perfectly tuned machine. Everything right where it needs to be.”
The trio nodded numbly, their eyes drawn to the way the lines of machinery and workers radiated outward like spokes on a wheel, all directed inward toward this single, watchful hub. The design was like a panopticon, with X-194 standing cheerily at its center, surveying everything below.
“Go on in,” he said, gesturing to the open door behind him. “This is where we’ll finalize your orientation. Don’t worry, it’s just a formality.”
The room beyond was starkly lit, empty except for a long, metal table bolted to the floor and three chairs positioned neatly around it. Takeshi—T-111 now, he supposed—felt a cold shiver run down his spine, but he couldn’t quite grasp why.
X-194’s grin remained unwavering as they hesitated. “After you,” he insisted. His cheerfulness, which had been almost comforting at first, now felt like a mask stretched too tightly over something else—something waiting just beneath the surface.
The door clicked shut behind them as they entered the harshly lit room. X-194’s cheerful demeanor dimmed slightly as he gestured for them to take a seat. The metal chairs scraped against the floor as they sat down, unease prickling at the back of their minds, though none of them could quite place why.
X-194 settled himself across from them, his smile slowly returning as he leaned back in his chair. “Alright,” he said, clapping his hands lightly. “Now, before we go any further, I need you all to smile.” His tone was light, but there was a weight behind it—a sharpness that cut through the air.
The three exchanged confused glances. There was no reason not to comply, yet the request felt oddly disconcerting. Hiroki—now T-109—shifted in his seat, forcing his lips into what he hoped was a passable smile. Takeshi and Abeni hesitated for a moment longer, but X-194’s encouraging nod pushed them over the edge. Reluctantly, they too pulled their mouths into smiles that felt stiff, unfamiliar.
“Good,” X-194 said, his own grin widening. Then, abruptly, his expression flattened into something cold, almost stern. “Because, let me tell you—failing to smile in front of senior staff could get you fired. And you don’t want to be fired.”
The way he said it sent a chill through them, though none of them quite knew why. Fired. The word hung in the air like the tolling of a distant bell, a threat with no clear consequence, yet utterly terrifying. They nodded, tightening their forced smiles.
X-194’s grin returned, like a light being switched back on. He surveyed them with a pleased, almost paternal gaze. “Good, good. I knew you’d be quick learners. I can tell you’ll fit right in.” He stood, turning his back to them as he walked toward a large chart hanging on the far wall. With a practiced flourish, he yanked it down, revealing a brightly colored illustration.
The chart displayed the image of a smiling man in work overalls, his posture straight, his eyes gleaming with fervor. Above the illustration, bold letters proclaimed: “The Perfect Worker.”
“Now,” X-194 said, turning to face them again, “I want you to read those words out loud after me.” He pointed to the banner.
“The Perfect Worker,” they recited in unison, their voices flat and hollow.
X-194 beamed, clapping his hands together as if they had just passed some secret test. “Excellent! Now let’s review what it takes to be the perfect worker here.” He began to read from the list beneath the image, each point punctuated with a sharp tap of his finger.
“1. The Perfect Worker is in constant good health. Sick days are a thing of the past.”
“2. He is strong and mentally fit to handle any task, no matter how demanding.”
“3. He is vigilant and alert, always aware of potential dangers to the company’s wellbeing.”
“4. He is punctual. Time is money, after all. Lateness is unacceptable.”
“5. He enforces company guidelines without hesitation, ensuring all rules are followed.”
“6. He does not slack off, take unauthorized breaks, or waste company time. Productivity is key.”
X-194 paused, his eyes flickering over their faces, gauging their reactions. Their smiles had grown strained, but they held fast. It was like a reflex now, a response ingrained deeper than thought.
He continued, tapping the chart again. “7. The Perfect Worker never questions orders. Obedience is the foundation of trust.”
“8. He maintains a positive attitude at all times. Morale is infectious—spread it!”
The trio nodded along, their forced smiles beginning to feel like masks glued to their faces. The words sank into them, heavy and leaden, yet somehow they felt... right. The rules made sense. Didn’t they?
X-194 stepped back, surveying them one last time with an appraising eye. “You understand now, don’t you?” His voice was soft, almost coaxing. “Follow these guidelines, and you’ll do just fine here. Fail, and... well, we don’t want to talk about that, do we?”
He flashed that too-wide grin once more, and this time, they found themselves smiling back, their faces aching with the effort.
When they left X-194's office, the door clanging shut behind them, they found themselves standing on the narrow metal balcony that overlooked the factory floor. Their smiles—those strained, artificial grins—were still plastered on their faces, muscles locked as if by some unseen force. It was only when Hiroki, now T-109, forced himself to relax that the others followed suit. Slowly, hesitantly, their smiles melted away.
Abeni—T-110—let out a sharp breath as her cheeks twitched with pain, the muscles aching as though they had been clenched for hours. Takeshi—T-111—rubbed at his jaw, trying to work out the stiffness. The relief was immediate, but there was also a lingering sense of loss, like something vital had been stripped away.
Leaning against the railing, they surveyed the warehouse below. From this height, it stretched out like an endless, labyrinthine maze. Conveyor belts twisted and intersected, machines groaned and hissed, and workers moved with mechanical precision, their movements synchronized as though they were cogs in some vast, incomprehensible machine. The scene made no sense, and yet... it fit together somehow, a puzzle whose logic eluded them but held a strange, maddening order.
For a moment, they looked at each other. There was something there—a flicker of recognition, a thought bubbling up like air trapped under ice. The absurdity of it all, the strangeness of the factory’s relentless efficiency, the meaningless tasks they were supposed to perform. But before they could grasp the thought, shape it into words, a burst of static crackled from the loudspeaker above X-194’s office.
“Attention, T-109, T-110, T-111,” the voice came through, monotone and cold. “Do not dawdle. Return to your stations immediately.”
The message ended with a harsh click, leaving behind a ringing silence. The three of them exchanged quick, uneasy glances. Stations? None of them had been given specifics about their roles beyond vague titles. Yet the order was clear. They had to move.
Without another word, they hurried down the metal staircase. Their footsteps clanged against the grating, each echo swallowed by the endless hum of machinery below. Abeni’s eyes darted around, scanning the factory floor for any sign of a senior worker, though she had no idea what distinguished one from the rest. The workers below paid them no mind, eyes fixed on their repetitive tasks.
The trio hit the ground running, their steps quickening as if to outrun the unseen gaze they all felt bearing down on them. They headed toward their supposed workstations, though none of them knew where they were supposed to be. It didn’t matter. The need to obey was a chain around their throats, tightening with each second they hesitated.
The factory floor swallowed them whole, the noise, the heat, and the oppressive sense of purpose pressing in on all sides.
The vast warehouse floor seemed to stretch on forever, a labyrinth of machinery, conveyor belts, and stacks of crates piled high like silent sentinels. The trio moved through it with purpose, their eyes scanning the endless rows until they stumbled upon three doors set side by side—each marked with their new designations: T-109, T-110, T-111.
Hiroki’s—now T-109’s—face lit up with an unexpected grin. “Guess we’re work neighbors,” he said, trying to infuse his voice with cheer. The words sounded hollow, even to him, but it was something to cling to.
Abeni—T-110—allowed herself a small, weary smile. “Honestly, today’s been... a bit much,” she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “But knowing I’ll be working next to people I, uh... know? That takes the edge off.”
Takeshi—T-111—nodded, a faint smile twitching at the corners of his mouth before slipping away. “Yeah... I’m not usually the talkative type, I think,” he said slowly, as if testing the thought for truth. “But... I don’t mind the company. I’ve been feeling... off. Strained, since we got here.”
Abeni and Hiroki both opened their mouths to agree, the words already forming—but something, some deep-rooted instinct, made them stop short. The wrongness of it all slithered into their minds again, a creeping sensation like ice water down their spines. Instead, they glanced at each other, eyes wide with unspoken understanding.
Their gazes drifted upward, almost involuntarily, toward the raised platform at the center of the factory. X-194’s office loomed above like a watchtower, its clouded glass windows impenetrable. Yet, through the haze, they could make out his shadow—a dark silhouette that was a cutout of deeper dark standing perfectly still. He could have been watching anyone or anything in the massive warehouse, but somehow, they knew. They felt it. His eyes were on them.
Don't notice, something whispered in their minds. Don't react.
For a moment, none of them spoke, their breaths shallow, their bodies tense. The sensation of being observed was suffocating, a pressure bearing down on them that made their skin crawl. Takeshi’s hand twitched at his side, as if reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Abeni’s fingers tightened into fists, knuckles white.
Hiroki forced himself to laugh, though it came out more like a strangled cough. “Well, let’s... uh, get to work, right?” he said, his voice louder than he intended, the words echoing in the cavernous space.
The others nodded stiffly, tearing their eyes away from that oppressive shadow. But as they turned toward their respective doors, the feeling lingered—the feeling that they were and were always being watched