Mya headed out for her day soon after Sky had left. Opening the door, she ducked into the small alcove and climbed the stone stairs to the alleyway. Walking out of the alley, she reached Kelthorn Street and turned north. Overhead, dark buildings loomed, casting shadows over the street in the dawn glow. Trash littered the ground: bits of broken glass, garbage, and rubble mixed here and there with the unmistakable scent of human refuse.
Grimacing at the familiar scent, she hurried past other alleyways like hers and a few intersections. Reaching the one she was headed for, she turned down the road. A long shadow extended from her feet to the west in the morning sun. Her eyes followed it down the street until they reached the neck pierced by a light beam.
Following this, her eyes settled on an open door. Already outside, a line of around ten women who appeared to be aged twelve to forty stood; near the back was an older man who looked to be in his forties.
“Go to the docks and find work there.” One of the women shouted at the man.
“If we can’t work there, you can work here.” Another added.
Quickly, all the older women joined in heckling the man, with a few even swatting at him with their hands until he eventually slunk off, disappearing into a dark alley. The younger women just watched the scene play out until the oldest of the women turned her wrath on them.
“You may all be young now, but if you let them take our jobs when you're old and your looks fade, you won't find work anywhere.” She schooled them.
They all hung their heads and silently waited in the line. Mya joined them quietly from behind. Her tattered clothing didn't seem so out of place among these women, as almost all wore dirty, patched, torn dresses or slacks. As she waited, the shadows grew shorter and the line longer until over fifty women joined it—after driving off a few more men.
TWEET! A whistle cut through the air, and the wall moved beside the ornate door with a large glass window. With a rumble, it slid on a track, the wheels behind rolling with a squeak, revealing its true nature as a massive door. Behind the door was a man in a suit standing there; without wasting any time, the first woman walked forward, and he grabbed her hands, looked at them, flipped them over, checked again and dropped them. The woman then went and stood behind him. This repeated until the line was almost gone.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“NO MORE!” The man hollered at the remaining woman, and they slunk off like the men they had chased away mere minutes earlier. He then turned to those gathered behind him, and Mya and the others looked back. Pointing at the right half of the group where she was, he told them
“You're on machines. Figure out the rest amongst yourselves.” He split the group again and pointed to a side, “This half is on sorting. The rest will unjam, get to work.”
After finishing his directions, he went out the large door and into the smaller one that held the offices. After he left, another man, this one with a scruffy beard and overalls, came out and walked over to them. As he did so, Mya and her group moved towards the production line.
The giant mechanical contraptions that lined it were examples of the Western High Kingdom’s technological might; around three hundred years ago, these warring states were brought under the rule of the High Queen. After she created the council of monarchs and brought peace to the continent, the formerly warring kingdoms began to share their tech and adapt it for purposes other than war, and as a result, fantastical machines were born.
The machine Mya ended up running was like so many others, hers would burn the company logo onto the cans they were producing, powered by ruin beast cores all she had to do was line the can up and then pull a lever, and the small laser produced by the first core shot trough a lens and would burn the logo into the can. Then she pressed a button, and the second core activated, starting a belt and moving the can down to the end and into a basket where the next woman on the line grabbed it and continued the creation process.
After use, each core needed to wait around thirty seconds to recharge, so during this time, Mya would walk around, grab the next can from the end of the last machine, and place it into her slot. She then walked back over, waited for the chime, and once again pulled the lever.
As the day wore on and Mya repeated her tasks, the monotony of her job was suddenly broken by a shrill wail.
“AGHHHHHH!” A woman screamed out in pain. She was one of the ones in charge of unjamming the machines.
Mya thought to herself; her hand must have gotten caught. These machines are very delicate. They can go off if there is a single bump in the wrong spot. A few moments later, her prediction turned out to be correct.
“Let me see it,” A gruff voice said; the foreman from earlier grabbed the wrist she was cradling and held it up. The woman let out another wail of pain as it was jerked and it quickly became apparent why. The bones were smashed, and the fingers bent the wrong way; already, the joints had become purple and swollen. The man, however, was uncaring. Upon seeing the ruined state of his hand, he reached into a pouch by his waist and pulled out two copper shields, the old coins, not the new bills, dumping them into her mangled hand, he told her.
“You can’t work with that, so half-day wage for a half day's work; now scram.”
The woman looked down at her hand, slipped the coins into a pocket and slowly retreated past the large door and down the street.