70th Roalis 2720
Tobias fell silent and mulled Artful's proposal for work over in his head. Working in the wee hours was not an issue, he'd done nothing but wake up early when he'd worked at the factory and had been delighted when one of the bunk beds in the adjoining labor house had come available. One boy's passing was another's opportunity, or something of the like.
Memories of that dreadful place stirred, the wounds still fresh in mind and body. The murmured voices mixed with the metallic noise, the gurgling of the sewage, the sweat that trickled down the nape of his neck, it was all too familiar. His mind wandered down the dark and beaten path of the lost years spent toiling between machines and machine-like men.
The work had been exhausting, the hours long and the pay barely enough to survive, but he had gotten by. Day after day, bell by bell, until his fingers were black and sticky with the gooey wax he'd been tasked to coat Warren & Son's shoes with. He remembered the tar-like smell, mingled with dust and the cold sweat of his companions whenever the shadow of warden passed over them. Back then he would've given everything to take on another job, to work at a blacksmith's forge even if it meant sweating off the little meat that clung to his bones.
But now? Now things were different. The incident with Jon Serro had changed everything. The man his father had spoken of so highly was little more than a defeated, fragile old man and his replacement a faceless husk with no ambition to give the gollies their due. He was with the Wisp now, the real resistance, he owed her his loyalty.
"I want to, Artful," he said out of the blue. "I mean... I'd like to but..." his voice trailed off into nothingness. "I'll have to ask Wisp." He sounded distant, almost defeated as though he'd already passed up on the opportunity by merely mentioning her.
Firebrand's song did little to brighten his mood while he worked and tried to ward off the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. There were no wardens here, no overseers waiting to pounce on the poor soul that so much as breathed the wrong way, and yet he could not cast them out of his mind. It was too much, the sounds, the darkness, the cloying smell, the walls closing in on him.
His breathing quickened, his heart jumped to his throat. He'd been in this darkness before. Alone, beaten and aching all over. Dragged by his hair, scolded, cast out and thrown into that dark, cruel room where only the stench emanating from the sewers kept him company. The room were Warren & Sons disposed of all substances and persons it considered waste.
Without warning he dropped the tool he'd held in his hand. It clattered to the floor, maybe slipped and sunk into the sewage, he didn't check. He walked away, his pace brisk and hasty. He ripped off the mask covering his mouth and sucked in the putrid air.
Air.
He needed air.
He coughed, retched, covered his mouth with one hand and struggled to keep his breakfast inside. His nostrils flared wide as he tried to steady his breathing. Someone asked if he was alright but he waved the voice away. "I'm... fine..." he managed to force the words past his lips. "Just... need a moment to-"
He needed out. He needed air.
