Pain and heat were the first things I felt when I regained consciousness. I felt the scorching rays of the sun on my face, which seemed to burn my entire face, mixed with the unpleasant sensation of dust sticking to my body and the smell of rusty metal. I was lying in a pile of scrap metal, my body aching and my head spinning. The anguish of not knowing where I was was recurrent.
I stood up carefully, looking around. Ship pieces, broken parts, and old wiring were everywhere. The sky was a dull, dry blue, with nothing to provide shade, and a bunch of small creatures were moving around me, completely ignoring me as they seemed to be removing pieces of the surrounding scrap to carry them toward a strange container in the center.
With more time to analyze, I realized they were children, but not all of them were human; there were aliens among them that also seemed to be infants. Some of them resembled creatures I had seen somewhere. Tsk, the headache still persisted.
Next to me was a human boy who, while working, had fallen while carrying scrap metal, looking exhausted. No one seemed interested in helping him as they continued with their work.
An older man, with a stern face and oil-stained hands, walked toward us with a metal rod in his hand. Without saying a word, he struck the fallen boy sharply. The boy didn't move or complain, protecting himself only from the blows on the parts he considered important.
My eyes flew open. I knew if I didn't move like the others, I'd end up the same.
"Get up," the man said, pointing to a pile of pieces. "There's no time to cry or complain. You're new, so I'll be patient. But any more fainting spells and you'll end up in the drain."
I struggled to stand. My legs weren't responding well, as if my body had forgotten how to walk. But there was no choice. The man crossed his arms and looked at me, waiting.
With trembling hands, I grabbed a rusty piece of metal and began to carry it. Dust entered my lungs with every breath, and the sun was relentless. Everything smelled of rust, heat, and neglect.
As I worked, uncertainty gnawed at my throat. I didn't understand where I was, or why, or what had happened before I woke up there. Everything was confusing, as if my memory were in tatters. But thinking about answers only further discouraged my body, which I'd noticed wasn't my own either. It was now younger and weaker, perhaps even malnourished.
Along the way I understood what it was, a simple loading chain and not just any one, I had heard the constant complaints around me, and the container was nothing more than that, which when it was full was replaced by another in seconds, while some were in charge of dismantling the piece that was brought by a kind of crane that I could not recognize.
"Faster. The quota will be met soon." The man, whom I had also learned was called Krann, continued giving orders. His job was simple: keep everyone moving. He didn't seem comfortable with his position either, though, as he anxiously watched each load we carried, fearing it would explode while someone fainted from exhaustion.
I didn't know how long I'd been there, or how much longer I'd have to endure. But something inside me told me I had to keep going.
Time didn't pass in minutes or hours. Only in charges. Every time the ammunition container filled, a low hum announced it. Two large figures, covered in dark suits and helmets that obscured their faces, arrived with what appeared to be mechanical arms and withdrew them with a screech. Then they replaced it, and it all started again.
No one said "break." No one said "stop." There were only Krann's shouts:
—Next container! Move!
My legs ached, my arms trembled. I had a cut on my palm that no longer bled but burned with every piece I picked up. The other kids wrapped their hands in rags, bandages made of dirty cloth, or even pieces of thin wire. I had nothing.
In the dust and heat, a shove from behind nearly knocked me off my feet. I stumbled, nearly dropping the piece, and spun around awkwardly, but was too tired to bother. A long-faced girl, her skin covered in fine brown fur, looked at me with a hard expression. Her eyes were reddish, and an old scar ran across her neck.
"Don't stand there, newbie," he said in a gruff voice.
I wanted to answer, but I could only nod. My throat was dry, and my tongue felt swollen. I moved again before Krann noticed.
I could already make out a few faces among the dust. Not names, because I was sure this wasn't my world for some time now; the alien races and technology I'd never seen before had made that clear to me. The human boy who had fallen at the beginning didn't speak, but his steps were slow, and his shoulder drooped. They looked at him with pity or annoyance, depending on who it was, but all of them were too busy to bother doing anything.
One of the older ones, with bony protrusions on his head and yellow eyes, seemed to rule over a small group of young people. Something that seemed to be common, the more I looked around me: everyone was in a group, others more organized or larger, but they all shared one thing in common: the older ones were barely teenagers.
It was easy to recognize those who were truly in charge here: all the older men roaming the premises, with what appeared to be weapons in their hands.
Amidst so many repetitive movements, a pale-skinned girl with large eyes approached me. She looked at me silently and offered me a loosely rolled piece of cloth.
"Stop your hands," he said softly. "Or the metal will eat them away."
I didn't have time to say thank you. He was already walking away, merging back into the crowd. Why had he done it? No one seemed to have the time or the desire to help. Maybe he saw me as worse than everyone else, or rather, it was clear that I was. Even the kid who'd gotten beaten up seemed to be able to handle it better. Maybe that's why Krann hadn't hit me. Maybe I couldn't take it.
I kept working. Each piece grew heavier. The heat was worse than any punishment, and when the floor beneath your feet and everything around you was metal, I could only describe the sensation as being baked alive.
And then I saw the one in charge of my bandages, another group that seemed to have a high cohesiveness, although I hadn't noticed it, they were clearly helping each other, and the strongest were in charge of leaving the small pieces to the weakest.
She seemed to be the center of the group. Tall for her age, with yellow skin marked by white lines running from her cheeks down. Her golden gaze swept the area as if she were watching everyone.
Their group was efficient. They didn't talk much, but they understood each other through gestures and glances. While other groups functioned like broken packs, pushing and shoving each other, they moved as if they shared a common pulse. When someone faltered, another took their place without saying a word.
teamwork was something that could not define them.
Someone shouted behind me. I turned around, only to see a boy collapse. He wasn't from her group, but one of the younger ones. The container hummed: it was almost full, and no one wanted to delay it. The boy fell on top of his load and didn't move.
Krann didn't take long. He walked with long, heavy strides, dragging his shadow across the dust. His small eyes searched for a reaction, an excuse. He had the staff in his hand, the same one he had used before.
"Up!" he roared.
The boy didn't respond. He didn't even seem to be breathing properly. A murmur rose among those closest to him, but no one dared to say anything.
I saw the silhouette of the girl from the group approaching. Quickly. She moved forward, but not toward Krann or the boy. Instead, she pushed two of her own toward the container. They understood. They ran, picked up the fallen boy's cargo, and set it down. The whirring sound changed pitch: the container had filled.
Krann looked at the prone boy, then back at her. His hand tightened on the staff, but he didn't lift it. He turned away with a snort and shouted for the next container to be prepared.
The boy didn't move again. Someone dragged him away, and the work continued as if nothing had happened. As if he'd never been there.
Fortunately, it was all over soon, with the last container filling up and no sign of another one arriving. The others quickly understood as they sat down among the few shadows they could find.
I sank down where I could, between two large, twisted sheets that offered little respite from the scorching light. Sweat soaked my back, and my hands trembled, red and dirty from constantly rubbing against the metal. I looked down at them. The rag they'd given me earlier was already soaked and torn at the edges. My fingertips were burning.
No one spoke. Only the shared panting, the labored breathing of bodies pushed to their limits. Some closed their eyes for a moment, others watched in silence, as if any words were too costly or dangerous.
I saw the boy who had fallen being dragged away by two larger ones. They weren't hurrying, as if they knew there was no point. One of them looked toward Krann, who had disappeared behind a taller structure, probably smoking, shouting, or simply not seeing us. The injured boy lay in a distant shadow, motionless. There didn't seem to be any medical supervision. I didn't expect it, either, but everyone seemed to say he'd been lucky.
The sound of footsteps made me look up. It was her, the one from the group helping each other. She was walking with a small, dented metal container in her hands. She offered it to me without saying anything.
I looked at her. I hesitated. But thirst burned more than pride. I accepted the container and drank. The water was lukewarm, it tasted of rust… but it was water. And in that moment, nothing had been more precious.
"Don't drink it all," he said in a low voice.
"Sorry," I quickly handed the container back. She smiled, and Solo nodded as she left. She sat down with her group. The same blue boy who had given me the rag was with her.
I watched as they shared what appeared to be energy bars, broken into equal parts: they shared the load, the food, the water. They protected each other. As if, amidst all this rot, they'd decided they could still behave like people.
Part of me envied him. Another part understood that the help they provided would only go so far; an environment like this didn't forgive excessive kindness.
I lay down carefully, letting my back touch the less-hot metal, and closed my eyes. But I didn't fall asleep; I just let exhaustion do its work. Everyone seemed to avoid me.
The dry sound of a short siren pierced the air, different from the one announcing the arrival of a new container, or so I hoped. This one was deeper, heavier, and judging by how cheerful everyone seemed as they stood, it seemed to be the end of the shift. I stood still, hesitating. Not because of the signal, but out of habit: in many hellish places, what sounds like a break is usually accompanied by a trap.
But no. The side gates of the labor camp opened, and several men who appeared to be supervisors walked through. One of them carried a rusty tablet in his hand, another a metal box with compartments. The third had a visual counter hanging from his neck.
"Line up," one shouted. "Pay by group."
Krann wasn't there. Maybe he was resting in some distant office. Or maybe he just left the collections to the others, more methodical ones. The man running the counter scanned a list while the one with the tablet read names aloud, or the closest thing to names we could get. Many were just numbers or physical descriptions.
I got in line. No one was talking. Everyone seemed to know how it worked, and I just went along with it: what each person had carried, what they hadn't broken, whether they had obeyed or not, or so they seemed to say as they handed it out.
In front of me, the yellow-skinned girl's group was gathered. She was talking to one of her own in a low voice, but I couldn't hear. She looked tired, but her eyes remained alert, taking in everything around her. She missed nothing.
When my turn came, the guy with the tablet looked at me, then at the accountant.
"Is this new?" he asked.
—First day —answered the other.
He typed something. He checked my record.
"Fourteen credits," he muttered disdainfully. He took a small chip from the compartment and tossed it to me. It was thin, worn metal, with the Company logo barely visible on the side. Some kind of voucher.
"They only serve them from the dispensers," he clarified without looking at me. "Food, water. Nothing else."
I caught it on reflex. It didn't weigh anything. But the edge was jagged. It was old and recycled, like everything else.
-Following.
For now, it seemed like we were done. Although no one was celebrating, which was understandable, this wasn't a job you'd be happy about if you knew it would be the same tomorrow. They were just walking, all heading in the same direction, and for obvious reasons, I just followed them. Some kind of shuttle was waiting for us, something resembling a freight train.
The shuttle had no seats. Only metal platforms, stained with rust and oil. We boarded haphazardly, some crammed into corners, others plopping down wherever they could. There were no words. Only the sound of the engine starting up with a deep whine, as if it too was tired.
We advanced through dark tunnels where barely any light filtered through the vents. Sometimes the ground shook beneath us, as if other machines were passing over or under us. No one reacted. Some closed their eyes, trying to steal minutes from their exhaustion. Others just stared into space.
I didn't know how much time had passed. Or how far we traveled. I only felt relief when the vehicle stopped with a final screech. The hatches opened, and a blast of hot, stale air hit us.
The exterior was barely different. Another section of the complex, though this one seemed lower, was more sunken into the structure. The walls oozed moisture, and the air smelled of rancid grease and metal dust.
They guided us without speaking, only with gestures. We arrived at a series of shacks: square, single-story structures built with different-colored plates, recycled from who knows how many sources. Each one had its number, its sliding door, and a small vent vibrating with a constant hum.
Each group seemed to have divided the place into their own little territories, and fortunately, there was still only one bunk left, deliberately left as a point between two groups.
There wasn't much. A bunk bed without a mattress, a metal box serving as a closet, and a light on the ceiling that flickered as if it were regretting being on.
I sat down. For a second, just one, and let my body relax, allowing me to finally take a real break without feeling in constant danger.
But my stomach protested. I remembered the chip. I took it out of my pocket and looked at it again. So insignificant, and yet, it was all I had.
I had lost everything I had fought for in my pathetic life in a matter of moments. Not only did it seem like I would have to start from scratch, but in worse situations and without an advantage or knowledge that could help me in this unknown world.
I pushed my thoughts aside again when hunger struck again. I went outside and found the vending machines at the end of the aisle, lined up against a wall. There was a short line. Some were already eating, sitting on the floor with plastic trays that looked like they'd been through many hands.
When it was my turn, I inserted the chip into the slot.
A whirring noise. A tray fell. Hot. A thick, gray liquid filled half of it, with a shapeless mass floating in the center. The smell was pungent, salty, chemical. But it was food. Or at least something that pretended to be.
I sat against the wall. The first bite was mushy, barely warm in the center. But I swallowed it. Then another. And another. Not because I wanted to, but because I knew tomorrow would be worse if I didn't.
like the others. Quiet. Quick. With his eyes lowered.
For the first time since I had woken up in this place, my body stopped shaking, allowing sadness and anger to permeate throughout my body. I would die in this disgusting, unknown world without knowing how I had arrived or what had happened to me.
As the metal tray revealed my pathetic, blurred reflection and fatigue settled into every muscle, something invisible seemed to activate.
An internal, alien light lit up for a moment on the periphery of my mind.
[Achievement Unlocked]
"You didn't die today."
Against the heat, the weight, the hunger, and the indifference... You stood firm.
First step taken in an unforgiving world.
Rewards:
+1 Willpower
+1 Fortress
The message faded away soundlessly, as if it had never been there.
But I felt it, and along with it a smile that seemed to come out of my lips.