“Birdie. Retreat.”
“But Sir.”
“That’s an order!”
“Sir…”
“NOW BIRDIE!”
…………
“NO!”
“Will you SHUT UP? It’s 4 in the morning, and SOME people are trying to sleep.”
Birdie glares towards the man, darkness hiding him from view. After a few minutes he hears the squeaking bed go silent and tries to settle down. He recites numbers quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping man again. One prime number after another, quickly reaching the thousands. As he approaches the ten thousands he stops, taking a deep breath and crawling out of bed.
The concrete floor is cracked, but spotless. There isn’t much to do when stuck in a cell twelve hours a day, so Birdie worked to keep the place as together as possible. On the floor Birdie started moving. Pushups, situps, chinups, squats. Each a thousand times.
The sun started to rise, and he stopped, walking into the small bathroom making up a quarter of his living space. It was nice. Most cells only had a toilet in the corner of the small rooms. He had previously paid for the switching of rooms, since he would likely spend the rest of his life sentence in the room. Waiting until the sparky robotic guards finally brought him to a shower had not been a pleasant experience.
There was no hot water, but he was fine with that. Exercise, and the hard labor he did every day warmed him up. Cold water cleared his head, and boy did he need a clear head. For 11 years he had been here, trapped in his cage, meeting new criminals every day. One of which he had woken up with another of his nightmares.
He would need to teach the man a lesson, but he was watched at all hours of the day. Losing his luxury because of a fight would not do. He was more patient than that.
He finished getting ready for the day of work, and when the cell finally opened he rushed to the common room. Work orders were first come first served, so he always got there early, picking out a relatively safe and easy job, then got his meal.
It was a simple device, rubber buttons could be pushed to denote which job you wanted. After being late getting a job 10 times a year, your head would explode. Simple, effective, and very good at keeping the number of prisoners at a reasonable amount. Injuries and sickness be damned, you needed a job.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Jobs
Lab
Pit
Field
Mines
1. Testing 0/20
2. Cleaning 0/20
1. Testing 0/100
2. Cleaning 2/20
1. Collection 0/20
2. Cleaning 0/20
1. Collection 0/50
2. Cleaning 0/50
Clicking the button for Pit Cleaning brought the amount of workers for that job up to 2, meaning there had been someone here before him. Looking around the common room, he spotted Beth, one of only two people who had survived here longer than he had. Most died early on, getting caught in the Pit and Lab testing jobs.
The ones who had survived over 5 years had become a closely knit group, rooting for their similarly long lasting members to last ever longer. It had become a sort of game, whoever lasted longest won, and so they lived.
More people quickly entered the common room, choosing the preferred jobs, then the jobs that were left over. Mac finally entered a bit later, smiling at us as he walked over to the job listings. The battle junky had no cares about what job he got, because he always did the deadliest job. Testing at the pit.
The 35 year old man loved to beat down our cell mates, and kept the door to cells closed until they would have to join him in the pit, the only place fighting was allowed.
Mac continued smiling as he walked over to our table, laughing a little bit as he sat down.
“I see that someone is pleased with himself.” Beth says.
“Yeah. I finally got him, the little snitch who got me into public housing.” Mac sneers.
“There’ll be some action in the Pit then?”
“Hell yeah there will. That punk made me lose my bathroom, and just because he didn’t like me holding the door closed.”
“Just don’t torture him TOO much.” Beth, Mac, and Birdie laugh.
“Hey Mac, I have another guy for you. Little scrawny, but he pissed me off.” The memory makes Birdie scowl, even in the cheery atmosphere.
“Yeah, point him out and I’ll have some fun. Gimme some of your meat at dinner and we’ll call it even.” Mac smiles at Birdy and they sit down to wait.
Three minutes before 8:00, the man from Birdy’s cell comes into the room. He looks unhappy, and seems to be shaking as he punches in for work.
“That’s him, I’m glad he’s upset, but make him wish he never saw my stuff.” Birdie continues to scowl over his now empty plate.
“Yes sir, I’ll clean your room out for you as many times as you like. Food for fun, just the way I like it.” Mac laughs.
The bell for 8:00 rings and the room starts to buzz. People start disappearing left and right, being sent to their job sites for the day. Birdie watched over the next few minutes as group after group vanished, eagerly awaiting his turn.