Outside

The man with the black tattoo lettering on each side of his neck reading 24731-JAM, known to his small circle of friends simply as “Jam”, awoke at the same time that he did every day. The clock on the wall read 06:00 but that was a purely arbitrary number that simply signified when the strobing fluorescent overhead lighting and the piercing audible alarm would simultaneously activate, ending his all-too-brief daily respite from the sweat and the toil and the tedium of his waking hours.

He sat up, cleared his throat slightly, took a sip of bottled water and then rolled off the padded sleep platform onto his feet and took the two short steps necessary to smack the red button on the wall directly below the clock to deactivate the morning alarm and set the overhead lighting into the solid and slightly dimmed mode that didn’t hurt his head quite so much.

After a minute or two he began to change into his dark blue coveralls and readied himself for First Meal before the start of the new workday. He stood with the tips of his boots right on the yellow line painted on the floor directly before the door to his narrow sleeping quarters, hands at his hips, and stared into the optical scanner until the double-beep sounded and the door opened.

Once it did he joined the crowds of others dressed exactly like himself and quickly made his way down to the Cafeteria to consume First Meal before reporting for duty at Work Bay 73-J14 no later than 06:40, another purely arbitrary number as far as Jam was concerned. He only knew that if he did not report for duty by then his Second Meal portion size would be halved. Further acts of “intentional dereliction of duty” would only result in greater levels of protein deprivation. Starvation, or rather the avoidance thereof, was the central motivating factor that kept this facility running day in and day out it seemed.

After consuming First Meal, Jam reported for duty at Work Bay 73-J14 and was handed the small white paper chit containing his work instructions for the day, the details of which varied only slightly from the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, and so on. There were occasional breaks from this routine, such as Revolution Day and Heavenly Grace Day, celebratory occasions which came around once a year, but that was about it. Occasionally there were also power outages that brought work efforts at the facility to a temporary halt but they were always accompanied by a halt in meal services as well. Not particularly enjoyable. Last year one had lasted several days and things started to become highly volatile towards the end.

Jam put on his mask and gloves and then took up the welding tools and began his work and soon the daily routine overtook his thoughts of other matters and the hours began to pass by as they always did. After a time he felt the need to discharge his bladder so he signaled to his Unit Supervisor that he wanted to use one of his three daily-allowed work relief breaks to visit the nearest latrine and was granted permission to do so.

Exiting the double doorways from the floor of Work Bay 73-J14 to the outer hallway leading to the latrine Jam found himself surrounded by a flock of visiting dignitaries from Corporate, all dressed similarly in dark suits and ties with their temporary security badges clipped onto lanyards or lapels. These groups came through the facility every so often, taking notes, making observations and passing judgements on the facility's work efficiency and production output and other such matters. He fell in line with the group, kept his head down, and made his way along the hall and around the corner before entering the nearest latrine.

Inside the large bathroom he was surprised to find himself completely alone as he made his way to the nearest urinal and relieved himself. Just as he finished he heard the sound of a toilet flushing in one of the stalls behind him and realized that he was not alone after all. As he walked to the sink to wash up, another Corporate Man wearing a dark suit and tie with a security badge clipped to his lapel exited the stall and walked up to the sink next to him and began washing his hands.

Their eyes met in the mirror and they both stopped what they were doing at the same time, staring at one another in a state of disbelief or awe or whatever one might like to call it. They were identical. They seemed perfectly identical right down to the smallest details, like two twins separated at birth. Even their haircuts were almost the same.

They broke off their mutual stare through the mirror and turned to look at one another directly. Their eyes scanned the landscape of each other’s faces for a few moments and then the man from Corporate broke out into a broad, fraternal smile. Jam smiled back at him a moment later, and then pulled a claw hammer from his work belt and buried it in the man’s left temple with all his might. The man dropped to the floor and Jam quickly hit him twice more in the same spot with the hammer and then dragged him by his waist belt and one knee into the large bathroom stall at the end of the row - the one marked “Handicapped Only” - carefully ensuring that none of the blood flowing from the man’s forehead reached his clothing.

Once inside the large bathroom stall, Jam quickly stripped out of his work coveralls and boots and donned all the clothing of the man from Corporate, listening intently for the sound of others entering the latrine and not knowing what to do if that occurred. His mind raced to come up with potential explanations - "I just came in and found him like this..." - but he was fortunate and no one else arrived during that time.

The man from Corporate's name was Andre Hawthorne according to the security badge pinned to his jacket. That was Jam’s name now. He was now Andre Hawthorne, and he carefully lifted up his doppelganger's nearly naked body and draped it atop the toilet in such a way that it couldn’t be easily seen by anyone looking under the bottom of the stall. Then he locked the door, squirmed out from under the bottom of the stall and cleaned up the bloodstain on the bathroom floor. With this done, he stuffed his work boots and coveralls into one of the trash receptacles and then washed his hands, looked at himself in the mirror and confirmed that the starched white collar of his new shirt was blocking the identification tattoos on his neck. Then he exited the restroom and walked briskly down the hall. Soon he caught up with the tail-end of a smaller group of visitors from Corporate and followed them out towards one of the exits from the work facility, his heart pounding in his ears the whole time.

And that was how it went. It was as easy as that, mostly thanks to the security badge dangling from his lapel. The man who was now named Andre Hawthorne, previously known as 24731-JAM (or simply “Jam” by his small circle of friends), and who had never taken a single breath of fresh air or seen the open sky or smelled the fragrance of newly cut grass simply walked out of the work facility where he had lived all 29 years of his life and then blended in with another group of Corporate overseers of various types and designations where he fortuitously received an offer of a ride back to “The Hotel” from a passerby with a smile. (Jam had no idea what a Hotel was or what might be expected of him once he got there but he happily accepted the opportunity to make his escape from the grounds of the work facility.) He kept taking short, brief breaths of air at first while watching the behavior of the others around him to monitor their preventative breathing measures or usage of ventilation equipment - there were none - as he waited for the toxicity of the open air to overwhelm him, but it never did.

The sky was mostly blue with a few scattered clouds, not red-gray with a thick cover of dark smog, and the air outside of the massive facility seemed no different from the toxin-filtered air inside. The woman seated next to Jam in the backseat of "the rental car” talked into a small electronic device held to her ear the whole time but at one point she pressed a button on the door next to her and the window dropped. After a minute or so Jam did the same and felt the cool air rushing through his hair.

He breathed in deeply for the first time and it felt so, so good. He didn’t know what would happen next or where he might find Second Meal or Third Meal that day, but he didn’t care very much either. If he could just breathe the free air and gaze at the open blue sky and the clouds above until they arrived at their destination he could live with anything that might happen next. It was already worth it.

Andre Hawthorne closed his eyes, felt the rush of fresh air running over his face, and smiled the first true smile of his new life.