TIME IS MONEY (BASTARD)

Start it up...

The engine roars to life. Its gears give a piercing shriek as they grind on each other. The pistons hiss, groan, and rattle against the metal frames that hold them.

Stand by the conveyor...

My ears are ringing. They ring all day long, though I can't hear it right now. The machines are too loud. They pound on our heads all day long. A giant chorus of sharp drums that play non-stop. We sit next to them and nurse them to keep running.

A loud horn blares, signaling the start of our shift. Everypony bends over their station and gets to work.

Bend, flatten, round off, screw in, next.

Bend, flatten, round off, screw in, next.

Bend, flatten, round off, screw in, next.

Bend, flatten, round off, screw in, next.

Check oil gauges.

Check temperature.

Bend, flatten, round off, screw in, next.

Bend...

I'm sure my hearing is damaged. I can barely sleep at night. The ringing never stops. A thick and corrosive smell floods my nose once the invisible smog fills the room. It seeps into my mouth and burns everything all the way down to my lungs and stomach.

Bend, flatten, round off, screw in, next.

Bend, flatten, round off, screw in, next.

Bend...

I don't want to be here. What am I doing here? I've been here longer than I can remember living. It never ends. The same thing every day. I should have amounted to better things.

Bend, flatten, round off, screw in, next.

Bend, flatten, round off, screw in, next.

Bend...

There you are again.

I see you step inside and wave at us. I hear your cheerful voice. I can smell the expensive things you've used on yourself, like this place was some high-class joint.

My grip on the tool in my hoof tightens. My whole body is trembling. I see your clean white shirt, your bright red tie and expensive suit, and that smug fucking grin on your face, full of pearly teeth.

You smile and say hello and talk to us and pat us on the back and eat with us and meet us at the bar like we were all one happy family. It's a lie. You act like you don't know we all fucking hate you more than anything in the world. Just to amuse yourself. That makes it worse. I'd rather have you beat me with a whip than pretend to be my friend.

I imagine throwing you against the wall. I see me beating your face to a pulp with the hammer. I see me breaking all of your perfect teeth and shoving them down your throat. Every single cell in my body wants you dead. They want you to suffer. To stuff you into these loud fucking pieces of trash so you'll be mauled and crushed to death...

"Back to work!"

The baton prods me in the back. I yelp and jerk away, slamming my forehead against the metal frame. I realize I've been staring daggers into your back the whole time, my hooves not moving an inch.

My head throbs. I dare not turn around. That will just earn me another.

The guard waits until I return my attention to my machine and slowly walks away. Seconds later, I hear somepony cry out in pain. He's poked one of my friends in his temple. That's their favorite spot for a "wake up call."

I hate this place. I go home with bruises every day. I'm going to be deaf before I get the first wrinkles on my face. The smallest bones in my body will make me a cripple, and it's all thanks to you. The machines we cradle spew foul smog. The place doesn't let in enough air. My doctor hears my breathing and thinks I'm a heavy smoker. Everypony will have to treat me like a crazy old stallion who spent his whole life ruining his body. One who can barely breathe, let alone hear.

All thanks to you.

I glance at you again. You're in your office, flipping through pages on your desk. You're still smiling.

I want to bend you over that desk and nail your dick to it. I want that wimpy kid who cleans your room to stick his whole hoof up your ass. That would be a laugh. He can't even get a filly as a date, but he'd get the chance to destroy your flank.

But he's not alone. We all want a piece of the action. I'd watch him rut your worthless ass. Maybe I'd even get off on it. But he's just going to be the appetizer.

I want to rape you. Not because I'd enjoy it. Not that way. I'd rather stick my dick into the waste disposal. I'd only do it because I could, and you couldn't stop me. I could hear you scream for help and only get laughed at in response.

You stand up and walk up to the window. Yes, of course you had to get a window on that office. Just so you could watch us toil away for twelve hours and mock us with your grin. We sweat and bleed so you can make all that fucking money. You're filth, and yet you're rich. It's even in your name. How appropriate.

How fucking unfair.

I'd take all that money and use it to pay every single twisted creature in the world to come along and violate you.

There's a scream, followed by one of the engines hissing. The horn blares, this time in short bursts. All of us wince, but few dare to look. We're not allowed to.

I steal a glance. The machine at the far end of the chamber groans and hisses. There's a sickening crunch, and the engine returns to its normal drone. The gears on its side are stained red. The conveyor belt turns into a deep red carpet, running back to an opening that spews forth hooffuls of mangled flesh and bone.

Spare parts. Nopony could never assemble them back into my friends.

"Occupational hazard," it is called. That's what the paper said. We signed on the dotted line. The company takes no responsibility. There is no compensation.

A guard nonchalantly walks up to a small sign next to the entrance. He flips the number cards back to zero. It might as well read "zero days since the factory produced another batch of orphans." And we were about to break our record too...

The horn goes silent once more. We bend over our stations and keep working. There's nothing we can do. No work means the rest of us won't even leave orphans. We are doomed to toil away for crumbs and dream of destroying you, while you keep raping us and looting our corpses.

Bend, flatten, round off, screw in, next.

Bend, flatten, round off, screw in, next.

Bend, flatten, round off, screw in, next.

Bend...

Don't you worry. I'll wait. I have time. I'll make the money I need. And before I become weak enough and get "decommissioned," I'll see to it that you get what you deserve.

Author's Note

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