"The justice of the cause is conspicuous; for that war is just which is necessary, and those arms are sacred from which we derive our only hope."
Machiavelli (The Prince, 1513)
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On some bad days, the putrid smell of the underground pipelines made tears squirm within my eyes.
I held those tears back, though. It would've been a blow to my not-so-much pride to shed tears over such a meager thing.
But that day was different. It was unlike any other.
Underground, the only other vivid sight apart from the giant black pipes that I and the other workers could see was the narrow enclosure of black, moss-stained rocks that stretched toward a distance, most of which I had never explored.
Not like I had ever wanted to explore the vastness of this place. And even if I did, I never had the chance to. None of us did.
I just woke up every early morning, barely dragging myself to the underground pipelines to sign in for duty, else I wouldn't get my pay at the end of the day.
Then I picked my task of the day from the general taskboard. And that was it.
My tasks weren't like the others, and oh, I was so happy about that fact. The fact that I didn't perceive the poignant and utterly displeasing smell of excretion more than I already did.
I don't think I'd have been able to stomach it.
That's why I liked my task.
Well, not exactly 'like' it, but I preferred it over the other tasks. Because, when most of the others entered the pipes — bless their souls — to clean them from the inside, or did some other nasty tasks like patching the holes from the inside of the giant pipelines, all I did was simple.
I don't know why, maybe the spiffian gangster who oversaw the task selection always rigged it because he knew of my strength, or maybe I was just always lucky. Highly unlikely, the latter, though.
But whatever the reason, I just knew that my task was always the simple removal of rusted bolts from the pipes, and the hammering of new ones, and that was essentially fixing patches from the outside.
I was a screwer.
Not exactly a great title, I know. But it's not like I chose it. We never got to choose anything. Like most other things in life. It was just a godforsaken title that stuck with those of us unfortunate enough to work here.
Haa.
A screwer like me didn't have much freedom. I always had to hammer the bolts, fix the patches.
Hammer the bolts, fix the patches.
Did I forget to mention that I always had to hammer the bolts and fix the patches?
That was exactly what I was doing that day. Or.. moment.
Both of my palms were tightly wrapped around the wooden handle of the steel hammer. My biceps bulged, my body was brimming with pure, raw strength as I raised the hammer.
I had perfectly positioned the bolt for hammering, placing it on the spot where a metal plate lay over a small open hole on the pipe.
I swung the hammer.
Clang—!
It connected with the steel bolt, sending wild sparks flying around. But I ignored those sparks, even ignored the loud ringing sound that always echoed in my ears after every clang.
At that moment, the sweat that trailed from my forehead found its way toward my eyes.
Ah, damnit. Not again.
It was an itchy feeling, one that irritated me, making me blink continuously even as I continued hammering.
I couldn't stop now. If I did, I would lose the flow.
Flow my ass. I can't scratch my eyes because of this damn helmet.
That's right. The truth was that there was a white 'safety' helmet that rested over my head.
Every worker here wore it, courtesy of the Spiffian overseers. They said it was for our own good. But really, I knew it was just because a couple of guys got their skulls smashed by those unstable rocks that hung high up on the rocky roof.
Maybe the higher-ups told the overseers to take better care of their workers or something.
If my assumption was true, then these helmets were utterly useless. Because how the hell would it even protect one's head from falling rocks? It'll break. They were made of plastic.
But I guess the only bright side was that the helmet had a flashlight that I could toggle on and off. So it better aided my shaky vision as I squinted my eyes, my eyelids trembling as I continued hammering.
—"You're hitting it louder today, lad." A strained voice rang out, pulling me out of my semi-trance state of absolute hammering focus. The source of the voice wasn't far from me.
I paused my hammering, and my hands, which held the hammer, froze mid-air as I turned my neck right — the direction of the voice.
Hm?
He was a man of small stature. A short figure whose head barely reached my chest.
Bangs of grey hair spilled out of his imperfectly covered white helmet, outlining his wrinkly, squarish-shaped face.
The old man? What now?
His tiny hands were tucked behind his waist. He wore the same prison-like blue garment as the rest of us, only his garment seemed to… gleam strangely.
Maybe I was just seeing things because I hadn't smoked in a while, or maybe the new bronze badge that rested on the chest area of his outfit made his demeanor slightly different.
On his bronze badge — one that signified that a person had been working in this shit hole for thirty years — there was a name written on it.
I read that name. Barely, because I had just learned to read not too long ago.
Okay, I'll admit I didn't need to read it because I already knew what was written on it, as I knew the old man's name.
"Li-Song," I called out. My voice was a bit high, but not so high that it rose above the noise of clanging hammers in the distance, or the almost excessively loud voices of the other workers. "What is it this time?"
The moment he heard my question, a deep smile divided Li-Song's pale face, etched with deep wrinkles that made people know, even without looking at his bronze badge, that he had been cleaning shit underground for years.
Anytime I stared at his dark blue eyes, a cold feeling ran through various corners of my mind. That feeling was, without a doubt, fear. Or maybe realization. Or both.
I knew that I was probably going to become like Li-Song. Living and rotting in the backlands. Cleaning shit and fixing the pipes that lead to every single house in the backlands just to afford a daily meal for the rest of my life.
Ah, the horror of that wretched thought.
But then again, it was most likely what was going to happen. There was nowhere else I could work. Not as long as I was a connectionless, nameless fool.
"I'm sure you know why I'm here. I always come to you for the same reason." Li-Song spoke with that same strained voice that always somehow stirred a feeling akin to pity deep within me.
I let out a soft, resigned sigh, taking my gaze away from him and toward the bolt. And I continued hammering.
"Aren't you tired of doing this, old man? You're wasting your 'break time.' The other workers are spending their time chatting leisurely." I managed to voice out in between the loud clangs. Although I was unsure whether he heard me.
"Haha, what do you take me for, lad?" He asked. That strained voice of his was a bit louder. I could have sworn old people didn't have the strength to raise their voice that loud. But then again, no normal old man would work here at this age.
The man is just a different, perhaps stronger breed of the 'stubbornlyclingingontolife' species.
My hammering never stopped, but even still, I watched him calmly from the corner of my right eye.
His warm smile never faded. It was honestly surprising how one could work here for years and still have a smile as wide as his. Every other worker had that same gloomy, 'I hate my life' expression on their face. And I was probably the same, although I didn't look in the mirror much these days.
He just took his gaze away from my figure, sweeping it over the various workers. He stared at the ones carrying heavy metals to replace bad parts of the pipe, the ones hammering, and the other ones gathered at a corner, slacking off and discussing because the overseers weren't here.
And honestly, almost everyone except the people as strong-headed as me was slacking off. But I didn't blame them.
That small moment of quiet conversation and cheap laughter with someone who shared the same struggle as them might have been the only warmth they had in their lives.
"I was once like them all. But not anymore. I have no reason to waste my time on matters that wouldn't be of any benefit to me after about thirty minutes." He said, his tone was now a bit more sharpened. Like he meant business. He flicked his head immediately, blue eyes finding mine. "But, I do want to hear more about what you've been telling me these past few days. I want to make my decision because you see, my end is near."
Decision? How does any decision he has to make have anything to do with the questions he keeps asking me?
What a weird old man.
"Li, I've told you time without number. What you ask of me is.. It's impossible. I can't even imagine it." As I said this, a dry, almost wry smile stretched on my lips.
I clenched the hammer tighter. This time, my hands quivered.
It was like the hammer had suddenly become heavier. Not because I suddenly lost strength, but because the weight of what this man was asking of me was too much.
Rebellion?
Haa–
Many people have tried that against the four major gangs of the backlands. But where are they now? Gone. They're dead.
And this is just the backlands. An island better called an insignificant dumpster of rejects, no one can even unite it. But he's asking me not just about the backlands, but about the entire world? About the Spiffian King?
Ha.. where would I even begin? It is..
"I asked you a question two days ago which you have yet to answer, lad." He interrupted my spiraling stream of thoughts.
I dropped my hammer, and I just stood. Not looking at him or anybody. I just... looked down, until I eventually sat down on the ground.
I didn't want to slack off, because I heard the overseers had been targeting slackers, but.. the weight of this question was way too much for me to remain standing under.
"You asked me...."
"I'll repeat. What do you think about this world?"
My heartbeat spiked, hitting against my ribs in a feral way.
Again?
"Not the backlands?" I asked.
"Not the backlands. The world."
"To be honest, Li. I know nothing of this world. I have not experienced it for myself. I have been in the backlands for as long as I can remember, and I can only 'judge' what I've experienced. I can't speak about the world when I don't know it." I replied; my words were hot. They burned my throat. Not literally, though, it just felt like a hot, uncomfortable lump that I forced out. Things that I had never said in my life.
"I see," He replied, putting a hand on his beardless chin as he nodded. "That makes perfect sense. Then, let me ask a different question. What do you think about the backlands?"
"The backl–"
My eyes widened at that moment as I looked up at his strangely gleaming eyes that slowly dissolved into a blur of soft shimmering hue that subtly expanded until they covered his entire face.
My mouth opened wide, words, yells, or an exclamation perhaps, those were what I expected to come out of my mouth. But none of them did. Instead, my mouth remained hanging.
And, as if the universe had been waiting for that exact moment, a loud thud echoed. The sound of the general spiffian overseer's footsteps followed.
—"Gun the slackers down now! Kill them all! They knew the consequences of the contract!!"—
The overseer's voice erupted, and behind him, through the opening that led to the surface, multiple Spiffian gunners flooded the entire underground pipelines.
—"Shi–"
Everything that occurred after that, the muffled screams, the cries — they all dissolved into an expansive blur. But amid the blur and the chaos, I still felt it. Li-Song's warm palm on my forehead. And with it, a flash burned white behind my eyelids.
Then, nothing.
My mind went blank.