I stood, holding my hand to my mouth, flabbergasted. A guard entered the room.
"Open the security gate," he ordered. I did as instructed.
"The day can't continue," he said with blood splattered on his face.
"Is she ok?" I couldn't help but ask.
"She was hit in the face with gun! She might have broken nose. She will be thrown in jail and left there," he said," keep uniform and be back tomorrow."
That being said, he left. I grabbed my things and briskly left the area.
30 minutes later...
I opened the door to my class eight lodgings. It was a fairly sized apartment with four rooms, one bathroom, medium kitchen, and six people living in it.
"Daddy," shouted my son and daughter.
"Hello Nickolai, hello Alexia," I exclaimed taking off the hat.
"Your uniform is soooo cool, Daddy," exclaimed my son.
"You look scary," my daughter said, tugging at where my pants were tucked into my boots.
"I'm still your Daddy, little prinzessin, (Princess in German)" I said before clearing my throat, "Now, go wash up for dinner!"
The next day...
I walked to the checkpoint in complete uniform. Snow slowly drifted down from above, coating all of Artstoska in a thick sheet of snow. This caused visibility to be very low; however, there is no mistaking the dark blue of the soldier's uniforms or the deeply rooted determination seeded in their eyes. I entered my booth and took off my heavy jacket. A new packet lay on my desk. It read:
Inspector,
Due to yesterday's "disruption" we have updated our standards. The new standards are as follows:
•Inspectors must process at least three people a day. Failure to do so will result in a deduction of payment
•All foreigners must have passport ready
Remember: The safety of Artstoska rests in your hands.
Glory to Artstoska!
"Next," said into the intercom.
A short fat man entered. He passed through without causing trouble.
"Next," I said again.
Next, arrived two cute little girls. One presented the two's passports, the other presented a small purple slip of paper. A confused expression flowed over my face. Flipping the card, I examined the print. It was a card to a strip club! I tossed the card to the side, my face a hot red. I let both through.
*RICKET! RICKET! RICKET!*
A pink slip was being printed from a small crack in the wall. It read:
Citation!
Invalid expiration date.
First warning.
I leaned back in my chair and sighed. A citation is my version of a no-no. Three citations results in a deduction of five credits out of my meager ten credit check. Well, if it puts food on the table, I thought.
"Next!"
Three others passed without confrontation.
"Next!"
A woman entered the booth. She had an uneasy smile drawn across her face. Just like the the first woman.
"Papers, Please."
Slowly, she slid the papers under the glass. Then, slid a crumpled piece of paper. I looked at her through the glass, I could feel her eyes pleading for me to read it. Without taking my eyes off her, I uncrumpled the slip. The text inside were rushed and sloppy at best.
It read:
There is a man following me. Don't let him through that gate! He is here to kill me, my family, and the security officer you work for! If you let him through he will hunt me down, hang me, and kill my daughters! Please, no matter how much he gives you, no matter how much he prods, don't let him pass.
I looked up, there were tears running down the woman's face. I let her through. I took a second before calling in the next foreigner. "...hang me, and kill my daughters..." The words echoed throughout brain. My thoughts were interrupted when a guard's boots clicked outside the glass. It was the same burly man as before, partially ducking to get in the door.
"I am ordered to remind you that you're personal 'morals' are not to cloud you perception in this job. Even I realise that her papers weren't valid."
Just as he said that another citation slip was dispensed onto my desk.
"Glory to Artstoska, brother." He left.
"Next."
A man in a heavy trench coat, black fedora, and black leather gloves entered. He looked professional, sounded professional and acted very professional. He slid his passport under the glass.
"Aren't you," I paused, he gave me a sinister glare that cut my sentence off.
"Let's go Mr. Arbliski. Your kids want to see their daddy."
His smirk was accompanied by the buzzing, meaning my shift was over.
Again he spoke,"or are you going to get home to a empty household and bloody carpets?"
