Nik sat on his bed, trying to refasten the "Band-aids" he got from the medical tent. They were nothing more than scraps torn from old prisoner clothes. Nik’s bloody hands had already steeped the fabric in dark red. The medical examiner, who was just another prisoner and former ambulance driver, told him prisoners were often flagged and punished for too much medical facility use. They claimed that it needed to stay open so others could use it. Nik had to make these bloody rags last as long as possible.

  It had only been a couple months, but Nik felt like he had aged a decade. His body ached all over, a lens in his glasses was cracked, and the clothes kept making him itch. He was always cold, always hungry, and always afraid of what the guards might do.

  Nik couldn't shake off the paranoia. The guards tended to pick out prisoners randomly, dishing out brutal punishments for invented 'crimes.’ One man had his nose broken because he snored in his sleep. Another was beaten until he vomited for not eating his food fast enough.

  "You, number 39!" A guard’s voice carried across the bunks. Nik looked over, realizing that he was the one the guard had called. He bolted from his bed and ran over to the guard as fast as possible. The guard looked him over, apparently satisfied with Nik's timely response. "You are to report to the mine for an extra half-shift to compensate the cluster for your use of its medical facilities.” Nik's face dropped. "You have fifteen minutes to report to the shaft. Dismissed," he finished unapologetically.

  Nik shuffled back to his bunk. Slowly, he began to pull his shoes over his blistered feet. He could feel despair rising in his stomach. Fifteen minutes later, Nik stood on the rickety shaft. The metallic clang of the lock echoed in his ears as the platform descended once more into the pitch-black mines.

  Nik edged past the guard with a wary eye. He'd recently learned the man's name was Emery, a fact almost as intriguing as his penchant for carrying a shotgun like a third arm. Emery was like a character straight out of a backwoods tale — a volatile temper simmering beneath a rough exterior and undying loyalty to his jug of hooch, always within easy reach.

  The situation might have struck Nik as comical if he hadn't been on the receiving end of Emery's jibes. 'Nerd-face' and 'four-eyes' were just the start; Emery's latest twist was insisting Nik be called "Poindexter" and talk about himself in the third person. It turned every exchange into an absurd performance, with Nik as the reluctant clown in Emery's backwater circus.

  After successfully evading Emery, Nik poked his way deep into the tunnels, looking for the spot he had been chipping on recently. His hands stung while gripping the pickaxe. He felt lightning shoot through his arms every time he swung it down.

  "I am looking for men and women with technical STM experience," a familiar voice rang out. Everyone paused momentarily. Nik looked back to see Warden Maks in his usual trench coat. The orange glow of the tunnels cast him in an evil light. "If you can prove you have sufficient knowledge, you will be given additional accommodations equivalent to your level of expertise." Most people slumped back to their work. Knowledge of the STM was still a rarity among people.

  Nik heard a young boy next to him crying. "It's not fair," he mumbled through tears. The Warden lingered a moment longer, his cold gaze sweeping the laboring prisoners before proceeding down the tunnel to broadcast his hollow offer again.

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  All Nik had to do was tell them who he was, and he would most likely be taken out of the prisoner's area entirely. After all, Nik had more knowledge of STMs than anyone on the planet. That is, except for Ari, if he were still alive.

  Despite the tempting opportunity that dangled tantalizingly within his reach, Nik found himself rooted in place, unable to step forward. Given how everything had turned out, Nik knew that extra accommodation meant something different than the Warden’s promise. Nik knew what everyone hungry for power pursued in this day and age. STM weapons research.

  After the Warden left, Nik felt the telltale warmth of tears cutting tracks in the dirt on his cheeks. After all the years he had spent trying to improve the world, all he managed to do was build the deadliest weapon in history and ensure the destruction of society.

  He wanted nothing more than to disappear into whatever hell the devil had handmade just for him. After another minute, Nik dried his tears and lumbered back up the tunnel to Watchguard Emery.

  "I need to use the chutes," he said. The chutes were old abandoned mining holes. Prisoners and guards would use them to relieve themselves. Thankfully, they were deep enough that the smells were minimal most of the time. Whenever one filled up, the prisoners were ordered to bury it.

  Emery nodded slowly. Apparently, he had been indulging in his jug and was trying to hide his stupor after the Warden had come through. Nik set his pickaxe down next to the tottering guard. They weren't allowed to have any tools out of sight.

  Nik stalked into one of the pitch-black tunnels where the nearest chutes were. He had to walk carefully. Otherwise, he would stumble and fall straight into one. On more than one occasion, a fellow prisoner would accidentally or intentionally fall into a shoot and die. His hands felt along the walls as he searched for the notches made to show where the chutes were.

  Eventually, he found one. Nik could feel his feet on the stinking precipice. After the Warden's announcement, Nik stood before the chute with a renewed longing to jump. It would be what he deserved. It felt like he had stood at that edge for an eternity contemplating himself. Suddenly, he returned to existence when Emery hiccuped loudly.

  "Not today," Nik said. He pulled down his trousers and positioned himself over where he thought the angled hole might be. As he did, Nik heard the shuffling of another person drawing near.

  "On your left," Nik said. The person carefully shuffled around Nik until he apparently found his own shoot not far away. Through the pitch blackness, Nik suddenly heard a woman's voice.

  "Why didn't you tell him?" she whispered quietly. Nik froze, unsure of what to say.

  "I know who you are," she added. Nik's heart began to race. He kept quiet and listened for any of the patrolling guards. After another moment, the woman whispered again.

  "For what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't give that bastard what he wanted, Dr. Krylov." Her voice lowered, carrying an unspoken promise. "This isn't the end for us."

  By now, Nik could feel the hairs rising on his neck. Whoever this woman was, she had recognized Nik. He didn't know if he had met her when working on the Bilocation Network or if she had seen him on TV before the Trinity Attack. A wave of vulnerability washed over Nik. The thought of being recognized by the guards, his identity exposed, stirred a cold fear within him.

  In the wake of the disturbing revelation in the chutes, Nik was trapped in a spiral of anxious vigilance, his every moment shadowed by dread and uncertainty. He tried his damndest to avoid the guards' gazes everywhere he went.

  Eventually, he began to relax when he realized that none of them knew who he was. He did his best, but Nik couldn't uncover the woman's identity in the chutes. Sometimes, he wondered whether he had imagined her.

  Soon, Nik's paranoia settled, and he allowed the days to quietly slip by into weeks. Slowly, the weeks began to stretch into months. Eventually, Nik lost track of the passing time altogether. His blisters healed. Calluses formed. The agony wracking his body from mining slowly subsided into a dull, continuous pain. The cold didn't seem to affect him as much anymore. The itch from his clothes faded. Muscle and fat were slowly eaten off his bones, and his days were boiled down to the same monotonous sound.

  Ka-chink…

  Ka-chink…

  Ka-chink...