Assassination 2136

Chapter 4: From Guns to Shovels

Dovima and I both caught the train into work, which was considerably busier than before. People crammed into the carriage, elbow to elbow, and I felt I had to hold my breath to fit in. I did feel sorry for Dovima, however. While I was rather tall and able to have my head above most of the hustle and bustle, she was smack bang in the middle of it. Her forehead began to perspire, small beads of sweat forming at her temples from the humidity. She fanned her face with her hand rapidly, her fingers a blur.

Despite the train being full, each stop more people managed to cram in. It was a true feat of engineering, the amount of people we managed to fit into the train carriage. It groaned under the added weight, and I thought over the possibility of the carriage actually breaking apart from the rest of the train under the weight.

Public transport is kind of cool, if you think about it long and hard enough. Sure it smells bad and it's stuffy and crowded. You are surrounded by complete strangers. You may never see them again in your life. They could die today and you wouldn't even know. Yet, here we all were, jammed together in a carriage that was falling apart, sharing this part of our day together.

It was finally our stop, which was where most of the crowd needed to get off as well. We all swarmed out of the train, piling out onto the walkway before assuming neat lines to file into work. There were no streets here, no cars, no vehicles. Only a large footpath leading us to work. Our main job, for Dovima and I, was at the MASH factory. Yep, we made the crap that we all have to eat. The Government created the MASH factory, and it was where most of the jobs in LA were. So, we were part of a rather large, Government owned workforce.

The crowd stumbled along, a large mass of people making their way towards the factory. It was on the edge of the dome, and being so close to it you could see the individual panels that made up the large sphere. Large hexagons, with millions of pixels each joined one another to make a repeating pattern. It was almost blinding to be this close.

The warehouse itself was huge, the building sprawling outwards rather than up. A rarity in LA. And it had to be. From here, the entire population was fed from tax payer dollars.

Dovima and I moved with the line, chatting quietly amounst ourselves. We entered the huge warehouse with the crowd, which opened up the reception area. As far as receptions went, it wasn't very warm and welcoming. Just a large room, one desk in the middle, and two signs.

The sign to the left read MASH production. To the right, MASH packaging. We went left and made our way to the change rooms. They were huge, large hallways with small benches and lockers to store your clothes for the day.

When working with MASH, you have to wear a protective suit to avoid any contamination. It isn't the most flattering fit, but was still more fashionable than anything I'd seen on the catwalk lately.

After donning our gear, Dovima and I made our way to our workstation. We walked down a long, plain white hallway, our boots echoing against the bare walls. Both of us work in the carbohydrate lab, the area where carbs are added to the mixture to help the balance of macro nutrients. The hallway split into four corridors. Protein, Fats and Carbs were the main three, but then there was the fourth corridor.

Dovima and I passed by this fourth corridor, just as we did every day. It was a short hall that led to a barred door, it didn't look special in any way shape or form. But this one had a big red sign on the front.

"No entry!" It said. Out the front were two large burly men, standing guard with rifles cocked on their shoulders. They eyed us as we walked past, my eyes leveling with theirs, not wanting to admit defeat by looking away. Dovima looked too, but swiftly put her head down when the guards shot her a glance.