The Unbroken Chain

5:48 - 16/09/1003 - Ursagrad, Chiropterra

Merzaal, amidst half a dozen other workers, stepped off the bus and onto the pavement. While he’d grown familiar with it, his hoof touching down onto the asphalt sent a jolt of discomfort through him. It was less the physical sensation, and more that signalled the end of his “free time” and the start of the labouring night.

The factory loomed over them all, a monolithic silhouette against the ever night sky. Even though it was still some distance away, it dominated the skyline.The words ’Perigee Chemical Additives’ glowered down on them, commanding the eyes to pay attention to it, as light was few and far between. No street lights and only a few office windows offered anything else. The building stood there in silence, the slumbering machines within yet to be activated.

Having Sunday (or Moonnight as it was officially called) off was nice, but the night was always tainted by the looming Monday (or Firstnight). It was hard to relax with the imminent work week at the forefront of your mind.

Regardless, he and the other workers set off down the street and through the open gates. The spacious yard was largely deserted. All the shutter doors closed, no parked lorries waiting to be loaded. A few parked cars belonging to the higher-ups who could afford them sat in a fenced off area of the yard, ever so slightly elevated. Merzaal took a quick look as he passed, noticing the spot reserved for Iceberg was empty.

Merzaal’s group weren’t the first to arrive. A few early arrivals, zebra and pony workers alike, were already loitering under a bright lamppost by the work entrance, waiting for the workday to begin. Just about everyone had a cigarette held in their hoof or lips.

That was, save for Abdaz.

Standing a head taller than most, Abdaz had a well-toned musculature, emphasised by the brown stripes that flowed across his body. His metallic bronze mane was trimmed into a buzzcut, his azure eyes popping against their brown surroundings. Little patches of colour marked his coat around and between the stripes, including a spot on the tip of his nose.

“Morning lads.” Merzaal waved to the gathered mass of workers. “Morning Daz,” he said just to Abdaz.

Over the years, both Merzaal and Abdaz had moved out of the company provided housing and moved into their own apartments. As much as they shared a bond, they spent ten hours a day alongside the others at work every day and very much wanted to live their own separate lives.

“Morning,” said Abdaz, greeting Merzaal with a smile. “How was your Moonnight?”

“Eh.” Merzaal shrugged and shook his head. “Spent most of it in bed. Did the week’s shopping. Met a mate over lunch. Not much else.”

“Didn’t attend any temple services?”

Letting a chuckle out, Merzaal shook his head. “No.”

“You should consider it.” Abdaz stood up straighter. “They know when you do. The government keeps track of who attends, and they take it into account when considering who they’re giving citizenship to.”

“There’s better ways to spend the one night off I get than being watched by government agents.” Merzaal plonked his flank on the end of a bench. “Doesn’t seem worth it to me. And we’re all being watched regardless, so it's even more a waste of time.”

“If it means I become a citizen sooner, of course it’s worth it,” said Abdaz. “Think it over. After all, it’s only an hour or two out of your night, right?”

Merzaal looked away, gazing up into the boundless darkness above. “I’d rather do things my way.”

A bell rattled through the yard, stealing everyone’s attention. That wasn’t the official start of the work day, it was a warning to be at their work stations in five minutes, so it might as well have been. Still, it flicked a switch in everyone’s heads, occupying the same space in their minds as the crack of a whip or the flash of an electric prod. Those sitting rose from their seats, those smoking took a last draw and stubbed their cigarettes out, and those chatting wrapped up their conversations.

“What do they talk about at temple sermons, anyway? Last time I checked, having your god descend to earth was usually the end of the story.” Merzaal asked as they walked through the main entrance. Merzaal already had an idea, but he wanted Abdaz’s perspective regardless.

“Last night, at least, it was something about Nightmare Moon being the embodiment of divine justice.” Abdaz cleared his throat, then shifted to fill his voice with dramatic flair. “The sword and shield of the downtrodden labouring classes, that her supremacy meant delivering true prosperity to those who built the world.”

Already Merzaal was rolling his eyes. No way he could tolerate listening to that for an hour. “Well I’m still waiting for my prosperity then. Unless by prosperity, she means a faceful of sulphur. That I have enough of, thank you.”

Merzaal and Abdaz walked into the factory and clocked in. Tossing their personal effects into their lockers, they moved to their assigned departments. The factory sat shrouded in darkness, its usual hum stilled as the two made their way in. Overhead, the lights were still off, casting the room in a shadowy silence, broken only by the distant flicker of workers on switches and control panels.

One by one, harsh fluorescent lights buzzed to life, their brightness stabbing through the gloom with a cold, clinical glare. The once empty space began to stir as workers moved to their stations, machines groaning awake and shaking off their silence. The sharp mechanical whirr filled the air, growing louder, swallowing up the quiet with a steady, grinding hum. The air was still clear for the moment. But Merzaal knew it wouldn’t last. Soon the factory’s lungs would fill with a cloud of chemical ash, coating everything in its inevitable, choking grime. The day was only just beginning, but already the noise, the dust, and the grind of routine was pressing into his skull.

When they got closer to their department, Merzall noticed that the lights there were already on, with the sound of the machines already stirring to life. Strange, as when they arrived on Monday mornings, they were always the ones who had to turn everything on. Merzaal and Abdaz stopped, shared a look, then continued with a newly gained curiosity.

They entered their department and found everything ready to start. Precursor materials were standing by the mixer, empty bags sat by the dispenser, a stack of empty pallets sat in wait. Even fresh rolls of thread for the sewing machine were set nearby. They looked up at the mixer, seeing a zebra practically climbing into the mixer with a towel in his hooves wiping down the interior.

Usually the first to see them at the start of a work day, outside pleasantries in the locker room, was Iceberg, who’d issue his orders for the day and then stand back to observe. But there was no sign of him anywhere so far.

The zebra popped his head out of the mixer, noticing they had arrived. “Merzaal, Abdaz!” The zebra grinned, getting away from the machine and trotting down the mezzanine to greet them. “Good morning!”

The zebra’s name was Zalid, if Merzaal remembered correctly. He’d worked in a different part of the factory for the past eighteen years, having been born a labourer and sent wherever his masters had wanted him for all his life.

Zalid had a build that seemed pudgy at a glance, but a closer inspection revealed sturdy muscles, built for sustained work. His coat could more accurately be described as black with white stripes than the other way round. If he had a mane it couldn’t be seen, as a grey beanie covered the top of his round head. He wore the same sort of safety goggles as everyone else, but they did nothing to dim the brightness in his emerald eyes. He moved with a slight spring in his step and a jolly smile that never left his lips.

“Morning, Zalid!” Abdaz called out, waving a cheer that lightened the air around him.

“Morning,” Merzaal echoed, though his tone was more terse. His eyes scanned the room before landing on Zalid. “Where’s Iceberg?”

“Iceberg…” Zalid slouched over on the platform above, his boots making a dull thud as he jumped down, landing before Merzaal and Abdaz with a soft grunt. “...works in the office now. I’m your new manager.”

Merzaal blinked. “Oh, huh, what?”

Zalid tilted his head, clearly amused by Merzaal's confusion. “Didn’t he tell you? He was given the promotion nearly a week ago. He didn't mention it once in all that time?” His voice carried a note of incredulity.

“No, he didn’t,” Merzaal replied flatly.

Zalid shrugged, nonchalant. “Hm, figures.” He gave a nearly imperceptible eye roll.

“You got everything ready for us,” Abdaz chimed in. “Thank you, sir.”

Zalid chuckled, the sound deep and easy. “No, no need for sirs, just call me Zalid. And don’t mention it. My job is to help you do yours.”

“Um, okay, si-Zalid!” Abdaz replied with a smile, his face lighting up at the exchange.

“Right, first things first. Over here.” Zalid skipped off to the corner of the room, where assorted tools and equipment were kept on a shelf. Zalid picked up a box cutter and opened up a box wrapped up on the table, pulling out a fresh new dust mask. Its straps dangled loosely as he held it out to Merzaal and Abdaz, with heavy modern filters attached to either side. “From now on, I’m going to have to ask you to wear dust masks while you're here. Just a health and safety measure.”

Merzaal reached out and Zalid gave him the mask. Zalid took another mask out the box for Abdaz, too.

“Those are yours to keep,” Zalid added. “I suggest you keep them in your lockers. Might also want to write your names on them.”

As Merzaal lifted the mask to his face and pulled the straps over his head, he found the feeling distressingly familiar. At least now it was his own hoof performing the action. The material around the edge pressed gently against his skin, forming a seal around his snout, so at least a remarkable improvement from before. He caught the plastic smell of the new mask itself, isolated from the surrounding air for a moment.

Then he sucked in a breath, and it felt wholly dissimilar.

No dust filling his mouth and throat. No chemical tang flooding his nose. No taste of bitter powder. It was clear air. Stale with the smell of the artificiality of the mask, but still clearer than the air outside. A breath of clean air in the factory walls was almost disorienting, like his eyes and ears were on a different planet to his mouth and nose.

“Can you breathe okay?” Zalid asked.

“Yeah,” Merzaal said, voice muffled by the mask.

Huh, he could talk, too. He moved his jaw up and down, and left to right, finding he could move it a fair bit. Moving it too much made gaps in the seal, giving him little tastes of unfiltered air. Probably best to avoid that.

“Sorry?” Zalid asked again.

“Yes, I can breathe alright,” Merzaal said, raising his voice without shouting.

Zalid smiled and gave a nod. “Brilliant. How about you, Abdaz?”

Abdaz adjusted the straps on his mask, fitting it securely onto his head. “It’s great, sir- erm, Zalid. Thanks.”

“Great!” Zalid smiled. He then brought a mask over his own mouth, muffling his voice. “The filters should last the next few months, but if you need anything, just give me a shout! Now, just do this for me real quick…”

Unlike Iceberg, Zalid didn’t immediately leave the factory floor to Za’al knows where. If the machine ever clogged up, Zalid was there immediately to unclog it. If a backlog was built up, Zalid came to ease it. If the precursor material ran out, Zalid went out into the warehouse to bring more. And if a pallet was fully packed and ready to go, Zalid took it to dispatch. At no point did Zalid leave them for any longer than half an hour. He probably spent more time working on the factory floor today than Iceberg did in the past two years Merzaal had been at the factory altogether.

At day’s end, Merzaal could feel his back aching and his eyelids growing heavy, as was the case every day.

Zalid was up on the mixer, pushing the last dregs of chemical powder through the dispenser while Merzaal and Abdaz packed what they could. Every machine had to be empty before they started the next morning, and it was rapidly approaching four o’clock.

With the last bag sewn shut, Merzaal went to lean against a table. The day would end any moment now. He was ready to go home and probably go straight to bed.

“Merz, Daz!”

“Yeah?” Abdaz called back.

“Do a quick favour for me, could you bring tomorrow’s precursor into here? It’s the ZBEC stuff, you know where that is?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Great.” Zalid nodded. “I need two pallets of it, so it’d be quicker if you both went. I’m closing up here.”

“On it,” said Abdaz, instantly hopping to work.

“Sure thing,” Merzaal said, following after Abdaz.

The two set off down the familiar path to the warehouse. All around machines were winding down as the factory at large prepared to close for the night. It was a short walk, the sort that didn’t need conversation. Merzaal's mind drifted, his movements automatic.

Once at the warehouse, they scanned row upon row until they spotted the marked pallets resting on the ground floor, featuring the ZBEC logo stencilled in heavy letters. Abdaz slipped one of the pallet jacks into position, the clatter and squeak of the metal frame cutting through the stillness as they worked in tandem to secure the loads.

Pallets secured, they made their way back to their department with the added load. With the pallets’ heft and their own weariness, it stretched out like the final mile of a marathon.

Finally back inside their department, Zalid was still hard at work methodically cleaning out the industrial mixer. He had set a large bin beneath the dispenser, ready to catch the last remnants of the day’s mix.

He heard their arrival. “Just put them over there for me,” he called, pointing a gloved hoof to one end of the department, his attention still on the mixer.

When Abdaz and Merzaal dropped the pallets off, Merzaal blew out a breath and a yawn heavy enough to nearly blow his mask loose. He’d actually stopped noticing he was wearing it.

“Huh, would you look at that, it’s ten-past,” Abdaz noted.

That knocked Merzaal awake. “Crap, really?” He looked up at the clock. Sure enough, ten-past-four. “Ugh, we’re gonna miss the first bus.”

Abdaz shrugged. “Oh well. There’s another one in, what? Fifteen minutes?”

Speedily undoing the mask on his head to let it dangle from his neck, Merzaal wondered why he’d stayed so long. He’d never been in the department as late as ten-past. Eleven-past now. Usually he was right out the door at the first chance, clocking out at exactly four o’clock, aiming to get the very first bus home. What kept him?

Zalid seemed to be done with the machine, he came up to Merzaal and Abdaz. “Good work, lads. You two have been stellar today.”

Abdaz seemed flustered for a moment. “Oho, thanks boss”

“See you two tomorrow.” Zalid gave a smirk, and made his way to the exit.

Hm. That was it, wasn’t it. A “quick favour” for Zalid. A quick favour for his manager. Or another way of seeing it, a quick favour for the company.

Now why’d he done that?