Destined to the Dredges

Mark wandered around the port area, going to a few more factories and docks but being equally unsuccessful. It was about noon when he finally stopped. Everything was closed and already in motion, so with no openings, there was no reason to continue. 

He bit his lip. 

'Ok, this is looking pretty bad. Everyone around here is like double my size and there is no way those damned factory managers are going to give me any work.' 

Blaming himself for having slacked off the past few months, he had lost some of his mass while being pampered. This shouldn't have been so much of a surprise, after having learned in the streets not to rely on others, he eventually started doing exactly that. He must have become soft to be willingly put in such a vulnerable state.

Pulling out his wallet, he flipped through the bills. Thankfully, the brunette had given himself some money so that he could last for a few days and find a job. Yet what help was it when there was no opportunity to be seen?

The central district was likely filled with those damned Spheks and these factory bastards aren't helping at all! With the way things are, that extra money will simply prolong his death. 

Mark ruffled his hair and let out an ireful groan. Everything was going to the ground. This rotting world is going to squeeze the life out of him slowly. 

Continuing to traverse the coast, it took a while of listless roaming before he finally slowed.

Where was he even going? 

'Alright, alright. Let's take a second Mark. How many people will let me work for them? Zero! How much money will I make? Zero! How will I get some food in my mouth after the wallet dries out? I won't! How, is walking around like a brainless idiot helping my situation? It doesn't do a goddamn thing!' 

Stressed beyond his own belief, the young man took a seat on a decently-made bench. It's almost as if people created these benches so that the factory managers could comfortably watch the common folk suffer; or, it was a trap for the vagrants with nothing to do so that the army could easily pick them out for the drafts. 

Both thoughts made Mark shiver while sitting on the modestly furnished wood. He quickly rose and walked away. 

Where he was going, that didn't really matter. 

Maybe it was anxiety, but staying still simply wouldn't work anymore. 

The sun was slapping his face with summer heat, though luckily it would soon rise beyond the clouds. 

Along the irradiant streets, some stragglers hopelessly strolled by, in the same situation as Mark, but with further progressed symptoms. It was like looking at his future. The sight filled him with dread.

'Heh, everywhere I go the scent of depravity follows. Maybe this place will soon become the slums, or the war will end and everything will have flowers and rainbows, and everyone will be happy. But seriously, how can someone think so positively when feeling their stomach claw for food? It's such a stupid and naïve way of looking at things- oh what's that?' 

A crowd appeared on the horizon. It was big enough to be seen from such a distance, which was already impressive enough. With nothing else to do, Mark became captivated by the oddly invigorating sight. He wasted no time and approached the ever-widening cluster.

Weaving through the amalgamation of workers, he found himself amidst a protest. There were signs, leaders, and a horrid amount of shouting. A whole orchestra of cacophonous yells and shrieks assaulted his poor ears. They were all gathered outside a factory building.

From the signs, and by what could barely made out from the dissonance of cries, the people wanted higher pay. It was pretty bold considering that many people were unable to even get a job. In fact, these protesters were probably able to have a standard life if they could spare some time for this organized message. It was people like Mark who truly suffered out here! 

He silently grumbled while enduring the ceaseless shouts. It seemed like something interesting was going to happen, so staying was the best option. 

Over the next few hours, many things changed. The sun rose above the clouds and bathed the world in a silvery light, Mark nearly lost his hearing, and the crowd grew. 

What didn't change is that these people were still shouting their lungs out. Even their lungs were tougher than the normal person. Truly fitting for factory and dock workers. 

And suddenly, a blanket of silence fell. 

Looking up, Mark saw someone appear on a balcony of the factory. A pompously shaped man looked at the tide of workers with blatant revulsion. 

'This guy must eat three full-course meals every day. Ah, how I want to beat his haughty face.' 

Facing the disgruntled crowd, the pompous man tried to dramatically cough but ended up suffering an uncontrolled fit. 

"So you all want me to raise the pay, isn't that right? Ok, fine. I can raise it- hell, I will even double it. In return, you all will work for double the time. Sounds fair right? You have to earn these things after all." 

The crowd erupted into booing and threats. Mark could feel it seethe and swell, approaching the doors to the factors. Surging in movement and pressing itself closer like a pack of wolves. 

Then, everyone backed up. 

Right in front of the factory, a line of people formed. They each carried a carbine gun. 

Mark looked back. 

In the distance, personnel from the army oversaw the protest, ready to jump in if anything went wrong. 

His expression turned sour. 

He looked at the gang, then glanced at the army, and finally returned to the armed band of scoundrels. 

'This place is horrible! Screw working at the factory, I'll die before I even get a job!' 

Well, not exactly. 

If there was one job that he could get at the factory, seeing the armed guards had just reminded him. 

He made his way out of the frightened crowd, heading back home. 

His real home.