Celia had managed to rouse herself from a night that lacked empathy from either of them. It impacted her in ways she loathed, but she wasn’t crying anymore. To her, that was okay. Girls were always in war with their emotions, yet this was but a battle. And after giving herself time to hear the cracks in her back and soothe their origin with gentle rubs, she was primed to go to her job.

However, doing so without the alarm clock was unsettling. For it to be silent, something had to be wrong. Celia wasn’t informed on the peculiars of their potentially faulty analogue object with its rough outside and third-rate legs, leading to times she had to push them back in. Such a worry would be for another date, one where her friend had actually gotten prepared for the factory.

“Wake up, Jo. We’re late for work.” Saying this while rocking his body did nothing while other successive attempts to have him rise were no better. She was certainly not the lightest sleeper, but Jo was very much a different breed whenever it was time for bed.

To have the shifting gears of an armoured bus drive past their trailer got to her a fair bit. That was one they could have been in at that exact moment, but there was no desire for Jo to get himself awake and in the state for work.

Neither removing his pillow nor pinching his face led to an actual result. He just stayed there, just with a bit of pain from no cushioning for his head or neck and from her fingers of considerable length having gripped those same body parts.

Celia didn’t want to go to work alone for doing such a thing was abnormal to her. And she preferred to not have to explain why Jo didn’t come alongside her, so he had to either wake up soon or she had to find a way of doing it.

There was the option of using some of his dirty clothes to get him out of being a theoretical living corpse. But this got her feeling awkward since she had internalised having a problem with poor crotch odour, so maybe making a ton of noise would have the more ideal effect without badly shaping her psyche.

Of course, she would never consider doing that with his gun. Hitting against some area of the trailer loud enough should have Jo standing, but his weapon was intriguing to look at and it got her to hold it.

Jo had his firearm beside him with a weak grip. Unlike him, she had her palms over this fascinating piece of metal. From the hammer, front and rear sights, muzzle and trigger guard, it got her thinking why she couldn’t have one of her own. Such protection would be invaluable in keeping her and them both safe. One could never be too careful in a place like Bale, with threats known and unknown lurking about.

Celia… Her friend took his time to not only in how he moved, but in each spoken sound.

“Yes, Jo.”

“What are you doing with my gun?” Jo’s elbows propped his entire upper body as he talked. “One moment it was in my hand, and the next moment, it wasn’t. I honestly hoped it was you who had it. Because if not, an intruder would have us at gunpoint and that would be horrible for us.”

“That’s partially why I’m holding it. Maybe someone like me should have a gun.”

“Getting a gun is hard enough as it is, Celia. A person like you is plenty tall. Also, with your long limbs and masculine looks, you should be fine without one.”

She put the revolver below her mid-section and gazed at it. “Masculine? So that’s how you see me?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

Celia resented being so-called manly in appearance. She would rather be a girly girl like almost everyone else. Seeing young females with their petite bodies and lovely faces made people like her jealous.

“If I did say something that hurt you, then that was never my intention.”

“It’s not a problem, Jo. We’re already late for our jobs anyway.” She did what she could to not let it get to her too much. Her body type was undesired, and hearing any of that from him didn’t help.

To him, he found it hard to bear the sting of still being home with it being well after their work’s start time, much less someone’s big, balled knuckles smashing his face into shards of fine china. In becoming finally sober to her words, Jo realised the severity of the error Celia emphasised. This had him stuff his firearm somewhere and had his calves pump the force to run out of their trailer home.

Celia had to atone for her friend’s mistake by taking out the door wedge from inside that had the same material and shade as the door itself. These features, with it also being quite thin, meant it would be inconspicuous when she slid it at the bottom outside portion of the door to truly keep it shut. “Don’t leave me behind, Jo!”

His frenetic gasping meant he couldn’t respond while Celia’s words were but babbles until she quickly caught him. Their trailer being unattended during the day wasn’t that worrisome since they believed to have nothing worth stealing and most people were not in Bale to target them in the first place. His revolver was in a very safe and private section that most would never find even if they got in.

Therefore, for Jo, he was more concerned on how staying up till morning had them sleeping in. Them doing that came with an automatic pay deduction based on how often they failed to come on time or didn't arrive at work and not provide a genuine reason for their absenteeism. In more extreme cases of perceived disobedience, the punishments would get physical, but the nature of those who ran the facility meant the administration of discipline was based on a whim.

Knowing this had them at the bus stop alone to catch a bus as it drove around to pick people up. Being of brick and mortar with chips and cracks, the bus stop attracted those from other streets to the stretch it occupied. Any grass or weeds on the dirt roads were removed using hoes and their hands for a smooth ride amongst ugly trailers.

“Jo, can you tell me when the next bus is coming?” Next to them was a sign in blue with dents, curled corners on a white border, and text in an identical white that stated the times of each run. There was also a truncated version in the bus stop itself where rivets held it in place to their right. Using the larger was when they realised the bus for after ten was running late.

Because of this, there was belief among them that they were short on vehicles once again. The usual surplus of buses for each district of Bale was hampered by crashes caused by poor maintenance. This meant that going to work was at times as dangerous as working there despite these vehicles having ballistic plating, shatterproof and projectile-resistant glass, and guards inside to handle emergencies.

“Looks like we have to wait.” Jo got his butt planted on the available seating while Celia stared at the sign within the bus stop. They did prattle about some minor stuff, with Celia avoiding much of last night to keep their interaction ordinary.

The topics drifted from how the roads could be better maintained despite their relative cleanliness to how there were some bits of meat stuck between Jo’s teeth that was bothering him.

This went on even as their bus arrived fifteen minutes past its projected time, where they rushed into the bus determined to reach the factory at a reasonable period as latecomers. And while on their way to the factory, they went past the same sedan that would wake up everyone with its megaphones be targeted by some workers with stones, mud, and pieces of shit as projectiles.

The driver of this vehicle had scant facial hair, was slightly buff, and wore a red shirt with the black lettered logo of Morgston on his chest. Each word, from top to bottom, had an indentation that became greater as you read it in sequence and a curved line of black wrapped around the left and bottom. He turned on the windshield wipers to wipe away the mess so he could see what was ahead of him.

However, an old man who had limited use of his right leg got a bucket full of his latest round of chunky diarrhoea and threw it against the windscreen. The bucket bounced off the car with its contents being too thick for the wiper blades to remove, obstructing the driver’s sight and veering him off the road and into someone’s trailer.

The bus erupted into joyous cheers and sneers. Yet, their lightheartedness imploded after a man with blackened gums grazed a much bigger man during his celebratory fist pumps.

“No one gets to touch me without my permission, punk!” The man who was crossed had head stitches and a glass eye, radiating his propensity for violence. He retaliated to ensure the one who touched him would not walk from this misdeed. Their fight became infectious as they unknowingly hit other passengers, turning the bus into an enclosed battle arena.

For Jo and Celia, they hid below their peeled seats to avoid the punches, throws, and pushes to the floor and windows, head bashing into discoloured poles, and nut kicking that soon took over everyone.

Their own people had no problem destroying each other, but not their oppressors whose swift and brutal retaliation haunted many considered tougher than nails, thereby negating a real uprising. That was why the guy who drove the sedan was allowed to call for a tow truck to drag him out of what was often described as a hellhole.

Such reluctance allowed for the alternative of breaking machinery or chucking tools into the dumpster to frustrate Morgston. But they had the funds to replace almost anything within twenty-four hours because of their partnership with Mailpost—a delivery company renowned for their speed, variety and good prices.

Even so, they were beholden to some standards, which included their workers being barred from punishment over any harm against inanimate objects. These types of policies came from upper management, who had the seldom-followed request of restraint for Ironside Protection Limited, the security company they hired, unless pushed to the brink.

But the mole-chinned, potbellied driver of the bus had little care about being weary when he was protected by wrought iron bars that separated him from his violent passengers. Beside him were two security guards from Ironside that passed through the door welded at the centre of the bars to settle them down with appropriate force. These kinds of burly guards sat next to every driver and were draped in body armour, tactical gloves, helmets, and boots. Their tazers and batons brought them to submission, and after taming everyone, one of them noticed that a pair of seats were unoccupied.

“Jo, do you hear anything?”

“Not one thing, Celi—ahhhhhhhhh!”

“Jo? Jo? Jo, where did you goooooo?!”

The guards had dragged Celia and Jo out to sit. There was nowhere to hide once they peeked into their limited spot of stealth. The pair of forceful authority was happy to have the workers straightened out before the bus drove into the multi-lane street connecting their place of work to Bale Trailer Park.

When they were at the end of the drive, they were examined by guards stationed at a light grey security booth that had a thick perimeter along its flat concrete roof. Once completed with their search, they were let into the spiked fence that surrounded the facility.

Within this encircling deterrent was a structure of menacing black with columns of smoke that usually blew opposite from where they lived. That, alongside its top section being rows of zig-zags covered with corrugated sheets in addition to its length being many times its width, formed a place that existed to exploit and drain their strength for profit.

For Celia, this was a palace of evil that highlighted the worst of man. The injustices committed here were untold, and this would have her silently dread being gobbled into its existence within this ever-devolving world.
 
Damn this place… These few words were her final and most filled with disdain as her busload of workers were properly grouped up and forced into the corporate sanctum like the sacrificial pawns they were.