Silence follows; the workers closest to us just glance at one another but do not speak. The only sound is the whine of the motors and the thin, mechanical giggle of a doll testing its voice box.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Don’t apologize,” I respond flatly, opening my hand, motioning towards the belts. “Just work.”
With that, the man turns around, and I resume my walk down the line. No one dares to say a peep; everyone is working with frowns permanently on their faces.
No cheer.
I shrug off the discomfort. In the end, they will be thankful for the extra pay. The unlimited overtime I offer, what’s more to ask for if not a job that allows you to make enough to pay your bills. The back of the line is quiet, connecting to the camera room and a small lounge for them to use.
I step inside the room, observing the small couch and the small round table, but no real amenities, not even coffee. My father wouldn’t like it. But when you provide too much comfort, people tend to get lazy, unmotivated. Slowly, I make my way towards the small camera room and take a seat in the singular metal chair.
Four screens are mounted before me, each one showing a different angle of the assembly line. I lean into the small wooden desk, hearing it groan under my weight, carefully scanning.
When a camera feed blinks, turning into static, then resolves into a figure moving between pallets. What the fuck ?
The frame blinks again, and the figure is gone. Suddenly, all of them flash, turning off and then on as if practicing Morse code. The screen dances, two turn on then off. Just when it all goes silent, my heart hammers inside my chest.
My breathing becomes shallow before I hold it completely when the screen cuts on flashing static. I frown. Jumping to my feet, I push away from the desk when the feed returns to normal, moving conveyor belts and endless work. My gaze moves away from the screens just as my finger presses on the red call button for security.
“Security.”
Exhaling the breath I’m holding. “Check Sector B, and keep an eye on it.”
“Yes, Mr. Porter.”
With that, I remove my finger from the button and head back towards the catwalk right above the floor. From the top, it all looks endless, fluorescent lights illuminating my parents’ dream. Hands that, with ease, assemble a joy they will never afford. My hand tightens around the railing when I catch a glimpse of the banner that hangs across the far wall.
I force out a smile when the sound of footsteps draws closer. “Good morning, Mr. Porter,” they all mutter as they walk past me. I offer the small group a nod before disappearing into my office and pouring two fingers of scotch.
The liquid ember pours down my esophagus, the burn bringing a comforting warmth. My pulse quickens, and it feels like the heat has been turned up a notch, maybe two. I pull on my collar to loosen the pressure. I spin around in my office chair, the large windows showing me the snowy and grey streets. It almost looks peaceful with deathly stillness.
An eeriness that not even the cheer of the holidays can remove. Before I know it, my gaze falls on the banner moving with the wind, the red shimmering cloth dancing against its restraints.
In gold bold letters, it reads:
However, the crowd that refuses to break screams otherwise, their distant shouts becoming a melody uniting with the classical music that bleeds from the outside speakers. The words blur, leaving nothing but my reflection smiling back at me.
Not with pride or with joy…
But with emptiness, as my father’s words haunt my mind. “Soon this will all be yours, buddy.”
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
The loud knocks pull me from the trance, my brows knitting together. “Come in.”
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
The third rattles the paintings hanging around my office, “Do you want to play?” A mechanical girl's voice says, “Best friends forever.”
My head cranes to the direction of the ‘Best Friend Alice’ prototype doll, her head cocked to face me. Her green eyes narrowed, and I must be so sleep deprived that I’m conjuring it all up in my head. Something slides underneath the door, the motion soft, almost impossible to hear. I push away from the chair and walk over to the red envelope lying discarded on the floor.
