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Florence stepped into the DART wing—Design and Resource Team—her flats tapping softly against the sterile floor. WCKD had uniforms for different sectors, but certain supervisors were more relaxed with the rules than others. Florence's supervisor, Dr. Carter, was far more lenient about uniform regulations compared to the standard of work. It wasn't unusual for designers to wear their own clothes. While they still adhered to a general dress code, it wasn't the same as a mandatory uniform.
Florence wore a baby pink cable-knit sweater that draped comfortably over her frame. Her gray leggings were stretchy and form-fitting, flaring out slightly at the ankles. She accessorized with small gold hoops in her ears and a simple gold chain around her neck. Black flats, simple and practical, completed the look, with custom soles. They were a sickly, muted, neon green. Florence hated them, but at least they added a pop of color to the drab office.
WCKD had recently mandated the custom soles and shoes for the design wing after discovering a rising number of foot problems across other sectors. The constant walking and standing had begun to take a toll on their staff, causing issues like joint pain and blisters. The solution was to provide specially designed insoles that offered extra support and comfort, ensuring that their workers could last through the long, grueling hours without causing permanent damage to their feet. Florence, like everyone else, had been fitted with the new footwear, though she couldn't deny her frustration at the change—it felt more like another reminder of the control WCKD had over every detail of their lives. It wasn't even like she stood up much! Maybe it was to tease her, to remind her that she was forever bound to a chair, staring at a screen with no excitement in sight. At times, it felt as if a little voice inside her head was screaming for more, for something beyond the repetition. Was she meant for something greater? She didn't know, but sometimes she couldn't shake the feeling that she needed it.
The room was cold and still, the hum of machinery the only sound breaking the silence. She made her way over to her cubicle, often wishing she could decorate it. There weren't any specific rules prohibiting it, but she didn't want to draw any more attention to herself than she already did—what with being the youngest person in DART and the only one whose designs never quite agreed with the usual expectations. Florence placed her hands on her desk, feeling the chill of the surface as she powered on her computer. The glow of the screen reflected in her tired eyes, the light chasing away the lingering heaviness of sleep. She had only just woken up, but most of the time it felt like she never got enough rest, that her only purpose was to create.
Taking a seat as she always did, she stared at the screen as it began to buffer. Round and round and round, again and again and again. It was the same thing every day, every week for every year. She was probably going to spend the rest of her life here. Florence needed to make peace with that.
Down the hallway, muffled voices caught her attention. She paused, straining to hear fragments of their conversation—"pressure mounting," a male voice hissed. "Another trial failed," a young woman spat back. It was nothing new, but the weight in their voices made her stomach twist. She shook it off and refocused on the screen in front of her, her eyes glossing over the screen that had just activated. Florence went into her files and clicked open her most recent design. It flickered on the pixels as it loaded. The poster featured a striking red and black backdrop, with sharp gold accents framing the edges, almost like a laurel. In the corner, the WCKD logo was subtly placed, its usual clinical design softened by the surrounding colors. The text appeared bold and sharp: "Hope Lies in Our Hands," it read, with gold highlights to match the rest of the design. Behind the words, a silhouette of a man stood with his fist raised into the air. Unity, she thought it showed. Everyone needed to stand together in times like these, right? Florence didn't see how this was unconventional. It was just what felt right. While everyone else's designs were uninspired and rigid, hers seemed to pulse with something more—an energy she couldn't quite place.
