Ficlets

Hope (Invisible Challenge)

The conversation on the repair line was always the same: stories of Class Fivers being given a shot on the surface. It was never anyone we knew, of course, but at the same time no one wanted to give up on the dream. You couldn’t help but keep that kind of hope alive.

To be chosen. Picked from the hundreds of thousands of souls that toiled in anonymity beneath the cities.

To be elevated. Lifted from the depths, unburdoned from manual labour, and given a chance to become enlightened.

To be free. Surface free.

At least, those were the rumours…

I shook my head at it all. Look at me, crawling under the West Industry 2 Cooling Pumps, lubricating grease nipples and blowing out air filters. I’d be lucky if my supervisor could find me.

The drone of the machinery subtly changed. Or at least, it seemed to. Something interrupted the rythmic hum of air exchangers and hydropumps.

Footsteps.

The unmistakable cadence of footsteps.

I put my greaser down and stood up.

And that’s when I saw them coming right for me.

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