The nameless boy woke early, as he always did, to avoid running into one of the many gangs in the energite mine. He’d been “educated” so many times, he lost count months ago. He had learned to be careful, quiet, and avoid drawing attention to himself.

He got up from his rough bed, feeling less pain than usual in his crippled body, his misshapen joints protested as he went through his morning stretches. If he missed even a day, his joints might seize, and all his hard work would be reset. He allowed himself a small sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could meet his quota today, 3 months of carefully avoiding the gangs had paid off as he slowly recovered enough to work a full day. With a full quota he would earn enough merits to trade for full rations with some left over. If he could just get enough calories every day, his weak body might pull itself together and gain some muscle. As he grew stronger, he might even earn enough to pay the fee and join one of the gangs. Then he’d at least have prime mining zones and limited protection.

He threw on his tattered clothes, carefully wrapping his pickaxe, lantern, and shovel to muffle any sound. Setting the equipment in his worn, two-hand cart, he scurried out of his makeshift shelter trying to move as quietly, and quickly as possible. He had meticulously greased the wheels the night before using the leftover fat he’d borrowed from the cook fire.

He snuck past the guard station, avoiding the attention of the marksmen stationed against. He set out towards one of the least productive sections. The productive shafts were always heavily controlled by the gangs, and it was difficult to avoid them nearby. It was a risky move, some of the depleted sections wouldn’t have enough energite to meet his quota, but he had to try. He couldn't keep going like this, day after day. Anything below full quota earned half rations. Enough to keep you alive, but not enough to recover and build muscle.

He found a promising shaft, and worked hard all day, breaking rocks with his pickaxe, chasing the remnants of tapped out energite veins, and promising locations. His scrawny body was weak and tired, but he kept going. He couldn't afford to slow down, not even for a moment. After several months in the mine, he was determined to push on and make progress.

As the day wore on, he felt a growing sense of satisfaction. He was doing better than he had in a long time. At the current rate, he would make the quota by the end of the day.

He reached the end of another tapped out vein, when he took another swing, revealing the glimmer of a new vein. Pure elation gripped his heart, as he swung feverously, excavating the find one swing at a time.

He’d done it. He had finally met his quota. The thrill of success sent a surge of adrenaline through his diminutive frame as he whooped and hollered.

Tamping down his excitement, he quickly set about stowing his haul in the pull cart, mounding the energite within. He would turn in his quota, earning the full 100 merits, enough to trade for full rations with some leftover. With that much of a lead he could start saving for better equipment and get a head start on tomorrow.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

But fickle fate had other plans in store.

As he slowly rolled his cart back to the foreman, Skarn’s rotund form and beady eyes appeared from a side tunnel, with a slow clap. The rest of his gang slunk out of nowhere, like shadows in the dark, surrounding him, and cutting off his escape.

"Well, well, well," Skarn said, sneering at the boy. "Look who we have here. Our little misfit, trying to make a name for himself."

The boy tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. He was surrounded, outnumbered, and outmatched. He knew what was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Skarn's lackeys grabbed him, holding him down as Skarn walked up to him, a cruel smile on his face."Let's take a gander at what you've collected today, lad."

He examined the meager haul with a hint of amusement before shaking his head. "I'm afraid you've fallen short yet again. You do understand the taxes you owe, don't you? It's only fair, after all, you've been mining in our territory."

The boy's heart sank as he was kicked to his knees. "Nothing you do is fair, Skarn. Don't sugarcoat it, 'cause you'll eat that too," he muttered beneath his breath.

Skarn's face hardened as he continued, "What was that? You can't possibly think you can circumvent your dues, can you? You know what happens to those who try to cheat me."

The boy's eyes grew wide in mock reverence as he retorted, "Oh, of course not, Skarn. We all know you're a paragon of kindness and generosity, always looking out for your people." He rolled his eyes, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Skarn walked around the boy, throwing out his arms in a poor stage performance, for his dull-witted lackeys. "Indeed, my dear boy. I am a kind and benevolent man, providing for my men as best I can. The best food, the greatest quarters, and the latest equipment.”

He turned and crouched, locking eyes with the boy. “However, when you steal from me, you steal from all of us. And I’m afraid that just won’t do.” He stood up and held up a finger. “Examples must be made, boy. We can’t have people thinking I’ve gone soft. You understand? Hold him down, men."

The boy closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate. Arguing further, held no benefit. It only fueled the beatings. He knew what was coming, but it didn't make it any easier. The constant theft, insults, and beatings - it all weighed heavily on him, day after day, month after month. The good fortune today was his greatest opportunity, but losing it all left him broken and weary. He didn't know how much more he could take.

As the fists rained down like judgement from on high, he tried to hold on to his hope, or was that his consciousness?

As it started to lessen, he spat out some blood and croaked, “Is that all? You’re getting soft, I think you missed a spot on the left.”

He couldn't fathom why those words left his mouth. It was the furthest thing from a wise remark. He might as well have approached them this morning with a cheery, "G’day, gents! More thrashings, please!" Perhaps the desperation had finally caught up with him. Maybe the relentless barrage of blows to his brain box had rearranged his marbles. He’d never know now; he’d just given them ample encouragement to kill him.

Despite the agony, he clung to the remote possibility that somehow, someday, he would break free from this cursed mine. But that hope was fading fast, overtaken by an all-consuming, wave of darkness. As the beating resumed with greater intensity.