From the Vast

Interlude II: Discharge

"One, two, up!"

I lift the steel cabinet on the count of three. Built to withstand anything, awfully heavy; enough so to require three human men to carry safely, even when emptied.

Three human men, or one me.

"Aight, same spot as before, Geiger."

All I can manage is a rough grunt as I slowly inch by towards the workshop's entrance, hoping I don't inadvertently bump into anything. Though, with how empty this place is by now, that's hardly a concern anymore.

The steps of thick boots on metal echo through the facility as I push on, the ambience eerily quiet. Without the reactor's hum, without the whirl of the turbines, it's reduced to little more than lost, confused stragglers stumbling blindly around a massive building of steel and concrete; once the largest power plant on this side of Unova.

Once, my home.

Technically, it still is. I just don't know for how long it'll remain so.

We got the news about immediate decommissioning a couple weeks ago; most everyone left taken aback, often with curses. That group didn't include me only by the technicality of my mouth being really unsuited to vocalizing the chorus of "fuck"s, "bastard"s, "motherfucker"s, and a myriad of other, more intense swears.

Electivire are good at many things, but that list doesn't extend to knowing how to enunciate our 'k's.

It didn't take long after that for the guys to start realizing that decommissioning ended up having much more severe implications for some of us than others. I couldn't ask directly, but I thought about writing my questions out and presenting them to the boss. I didn't even need to do so; the guys asked for me plenty of times.

Boss only answered with silence.

I try not to think about it all. Trying and succeeding are two vastly different things, and I know that fact well. I wish I could say I'm succeeding at not thinking about it.

I'm hardly unused to being left in the dark about everything; to things happening about me without my knowledge, but... guys here got better about this over the years. Substantially so. Much better than I thought some of them would ever be, growing up.

Guess even the crankiest of bastards start seeing you as a person if you bring them coffee enough times, ha.

Before I know it, I'm behind the building; standing idly in place with the piece of furniture still in my arms. The truck driver stares at me uncertainly, his expression one I've seen again and again. Confusion and intimidation in equal measure, the kind that leaves one's head blooming with questions without being able to vocalize any of them.

I just sigh to myself and put the cabinet down. I'll deal with it later.

Used to keep boss company most lunch breaks when he went out for a smoke, and returning to the building's comfort was always the best part of it. The air doesn't get any warmer as I step in; the familiar industrial warmth is absent. Expected, really.

Carcasses aren't known for being too warm.

Shaking the thought aside, I lumber over back into the workshop, eying out the next cabinet to haul out. Before I get more than a couple of steps in, though, a voice catches my attention.

"Geiger, boss wants to- to speak with you."

I've known this man for twenty years and never before have I heard his voice crack like this. My breath wavers as I turn towards him and nod, his gaze jumping back to me in concern a few times as he walks off to help with carrying furniture out.