Shooting Myself

'The beauty of life is like a life bar, pain reduces your appreciation of it and leaves scars on it.' - Steamy, known fucker.

Jacob is a weapon manufacturer in the city of Leibin, the capital of Driska. He leads an average life and is mostly short on time when he attempts anything interesting. He still remembers that one time when he wanted to become something more than just a common manufacturing worker.

Jacob, after all, just can't live up to anyone's expectations. He was simply crushed like many of his peers. He tried his best, yes, but that was far from enough. Every day he got up and did his best. But he sank lower and lower with no chance of improvement.

But that didn't matter to him, he was alive, safe, fed and he loved himself. It was everything he thought he required.

All dreams are passing and since life is the same, one can't bother to try and improve. This was Jacob's mentality before he contacted with his current mentor.

It happened when he went broke and realized he couldn't even get a job at MehDonlads. It's not that he couldn't even flip burgers, but he did not have the required certificates to work there, neither did he have the money to purchase them. But there was one opportunity left for him before he went destitute. He found a letter from within his fathers book that got him a job.

Long ago, before he moved out, his father entrusted him with this book. It contained all of his life experiences. He had hoped that his foolish son could learn a thing or two. Well, since the book had a contract letter that could get him a job when he was in dire straights it showed what his father thought of him.

The latter, as mentioned previously, was a recommendation. It got Jacob a job at Steam, a weapons workshop run by a crazed old weirdo called Steamy.

The moment he got to know the man was the moment he knew something was up... or down.

The man, Steamy, was so to speak a genius yet crazy inventor specialized in steam powered weaponry. But Jacob wasn't impressed, to him it was more like he was making depreciated toys.

'Nobody needs such trashy and faulty weaponry.'

That was quite true. In the modern age not one being wanted to waste their time refueling a weapon only for them to get steam shot in their face.

But that didn't really matter to Jacob. The only thing that he did was get a well paying job in which he could laze about.

Well that was what he though until he realized that Steamy was a one man army. That was fine if the old man only did things by himself but helping him were a few steam powered machines; their capability would be worthy of respect if it wasn't for all the bloody heat they produced. After a few days of getting acclimated to the 'Finnish heaven' he was micromanaged to the moon and back by the steamy old man.

By far the worst thing was when that old bugger threw him a part and it was covered in his sweat and water droplets from the steam. Thinking about it, how did he even survive in this condition and more importantly how could the machines work here?

Thankfully the old man had a bit of restraint and let him go after three hours of pure steamy torture. He could only thank the gods that the outside was nice and cool even if it looked like he was in a camp of a unscrupulous foreign power. Humph! Even his apartment didn't look as trashy as this dump.

Steam looked more like a decrepit storage house for coal then a workshop that made guns. It had to be known that it was very hard to get a license to produce guns and that they sold at a very high price, if you sold'em to the right people of course.

And not only did Steamy have a license, he was even well-known for his gadgets. In fact Jacob was sure that the old bastard made tons of money, alas, it was nowhere to be seen; neither on the equipment or on Steamy himself.

He got back to his apartment and laid down on the bed after closing his door.

"Fuck, that old bastard really does like his steam huh. But I wonder why? It doesn't make sense, I saw some of his old works when I got his coffe cup from his office. They looked even better than some of the contemporary weapons."

The most hateful thing was that he had to work every day since it was stipulated as such in the letter.

Upon thinking about it he couldn't help but grab the book from the night stand close to his bed. He flipped a few pages before tossing the book somewhere else. This was also the reason why he discovered the letter. Even if he didn't like the book he sure liked messing around with it.

'Never mind', he though 'Since father knows this wierdo well enough to get me a position over just a single letter, it should mean the old bastard won't be pushing me too hard. I guess I should just be happy that I don't have to do any paperwork.'