The two estranged friends slept on the floor with their backs turned to each other. They were wearing freshly washed clothes, had brushed their teeth, placed deodorant below their arms, clipped their nails, combed their hair, and cleaned their bodies with a bounty of water and soap. All workers were allowed access to such things whether they arrived or left the factory, and like everyone else, they took advantage of it.

Without the provision of such products and facilities to perform basic hygiene, many more would fall sick and die. This, in part, was how they coerced many to come everyday despite the horrendous work conditions. Like many others, they were dependent on the factory for survival; it was, in essence, a focal point for everything that wasn't only slaving away for a pitiful salary.

Even with this despotic reality, neither currently thought of this.

For Jo, the scars of his past still lingered, preventing him from being close to his friend. He wanted them to go away, but they were unwilling to leave as they manifested themselves as nightmares that became increasingly traumatic.

The depraved levels of intercourse and violence meant he was afraid of sleep. And as a teenager, he had no means to stop them. He might have to go to counselling at the clinic to finally get rid of them once and for all.

Unlike before, Celia didn't cry her heart out in response to the wedge placed between them. Instead, she contemplated her own existence. There hadn't been such deep thoughts from her since before she met Jo. That was a hard time for a person like her.

The supposed smell from her genital area should be gone with the products offered to her, so there shouldn't be an issue now. Down there was neutral, if not pleasant and she confirmed that by taking some very strong sniffs when no one was around.

Despite this, the current rift between them had got her insecure about her body. For her to judge herself that way did little to aid her self-confidence.

Even when they were at work at places like the cafeteria or at the front of the factory where they waited for the bus, they were still rather distant. The times they did speak to each other, they were awkward with their words after saying their greetings.

In terms of their mannerisms, they either fidgeted their hands, had inconsistent eye contact, or clutched their clothes before cutting their conversation short with some flimsy excuse that both of them allowed for some reason.

At a certain point, it seemed their relationship had stagnated to where neither acted like they could form a coherent sentence without making it problematic. Because of this, both preferred to distract their thoughts with their jobs to avoid thinking about themselves or each other. With them working so hard, they would be too tired to talk.

Jo, in particular, was dealing with fatigue and sleep deprivation so bad, he was barred from driving his forklift until he gulped down multiple mugs of hot coffee from a country in the east. This nation had an unpronounceable name he wouldn't dare say because of its wild syllabic arrangement. It being bitter did well to make his body alert and his tongue recoil in disgust.

As he operated his forklift with red and baggy eyes, his superior, Martin, noticed the slowness of his work. The overweight, black-haired man approached Jo, his baggy pants and Morgston red shirt wobbled with each step.

Martin was willing to give him leeway for the other times he did this as long as their quotas were completed, but not today. He didn’t want to stay after hours to ensure he finished since he had to leave to prepare for his grandmother’s birthday party.

"Move faster!" yelled Martin, but Jo ignored him. The caffeine could only keep him energetic to the eight hour mark, and from there was a slow decline in almost all faculties.

At the start, Jo could manipulate the steering and levers like normally, but now all he could hear was the beating of his heart. Each thump drowned out the other sounds around him. This no longer spooked his very core like before; rather, he was numb to what felt like his heart in his throat.

With an authoritative stamp, Martin demanded Jo to get to work and stop daydreaming. The guards near them saw this and asked if they needed to subdue him for disobeying his orders.

"No. I can handle him. Don't worry about me." Martin did his best to fool them with a brave face.

They questioned his choice, but allowed him to do what he needed to do.

He was surprised they fell for it. Martin was free to approach him without fear to quietly ask him about his diminished state. Hey, kid. What's been happening to you lately? I'm honestly concerned about you.

Jo gave him a deadpan stare.

Maybe we're working you too hard. Too bad you're basically a wage slave, so it's hard for you to get time off. He became timid with each word out his mouth. Can I bring you more coffee so you can finish off the last of your work? That's the best I can do for someone under my pos—

The hands of Jo had gotten to his windpipe, commencing the squeeze of fat, bone and fleeting air. Therefore, the guards came to Martin's side to separate the two and pin Jo to the ground. His attempts to fight them were halted by the swings of their batons and steel-toed boots.

Martin had put his hands up and begged them to stop. They were quick to get off him but not without pressing a tazer into his neck to give him a sensational electric rush.

Once Jo was incapacitated, the guard closest to him pushed herself into his face to berate his carelessness by saying, "Hear this, fat—"

"My name is Martin, not 'fatass' as you all like to say."

"Sorry, Martin! My apologies!"

"You don't need to be so loud."

"Well then," She formed a crazed grin that accentuated her bushy eyebrows and bold facial outline as she pulled him in from his collar. "Just make sure you don't do the shit you just tried ever again. Remember that people like this kid are animals meant to be treated like the trash they are."

He felt offended by this statement well after she had let him go. Martin only did this job because it paid well. At best, he would sometimes insult the workers around his fellow supervisors so he would not be teased for being a bitch like in some of his prior jobs, but he would never dare hit them because of the fear of retaliation.

The guards then grabbed Jo by his arms to drag him to the health clinic. Once there, several doctors implored him to take off all his clothes except for his underwear to put on a medical gown. Sadly, the throbbing pain was too much, forcing them to do it themselves whilst being careful not to touch any areas that hurt. The beating they gave him was harsh enough to have him in the clinic for at least two weeks.

After they did this, he requested the company of his best friend once she was off work. However, hours had passed since then. It was now midnight, and his ability to stay awake became weakened. He didn't know how much more he could wait for her. Oh, well. Maybe she's taken the late shift.

As the clock on the wall ticked and tocked, he began to fall into the deep slumber he tried to stave off, and not even a few seconds after some stretches and yawns, Jo was sound asleep.