The East PacificBoard

Janus wrinkled his eyebrows quizzically. He had participated in secret government operations before, but they occurred in the cloak of night. And they were . Maybe the Scandinavians were trying to hide in plain sight? These conflicting thoughts jostled about his mind as he said without blinking, “ω it is. It’s the furthest away from prying eyes.” Bia had remained within earshot in the event of more technical difficulties, and she tried to avoid meeting her supervisor’s eyes. Airstrip Omega was reserved for emergency landings. It had to stay open; it could cost lives if misused. Even the lowly interns knew that. When she finally dared a glance, she sees stone. She noted that Janus chose not respond about the blackout. She could pipe up and tell them about the situation, but she decided against it. She had her own secrets to keep.

Meanwhile, Thomas Vulcaph, cultural reporter of Kallipolis Weekly, dozed comfortably in the first class cabin of a different inbound flight. The controlled descent had just begun to level off, and the commercial plane had to circle the busy airport before landing. He was exhausted from covering the ongoing debate about the increasing prevalence of Krioniki music and technology in Evrigenese daily life. The fatigue, however, did not prevent him from spotting another aircraft diving toward Omega. His flight jolted into the runway just as his journalistic instincts were awakened. He pulled off his sleeping mask and pulled out his note-taking tablet. As soon as the jetway was down, he made his way toward the last runway with a semi-sprint. Whatever was contained in that plane was news. And he had to uncloak it.

Magia was exhausted. Her fingers were full of cuts from the sewing needles and her forehead was full of sweatbeads from the lack of cool air through the sweatshop. Magia was a neko immigrant from Solistas who moved to Ancobristan looking for work. Because she was a neko, she was assigned to the Class-C labor group and is employed in a textile sweatshop in the large industrial city of Euzbek. Her assignment was to stitch the infamous "Made in Ancobristan" on the back of every shirt she'd been given. This was her first day on the job and even though she knew she would have to work hard, she never expected sewing to be this difficult

Magia stitched the final letter into the back of the shirt and set it to the side. A loud whistle blew through the sweatshop and her furry ears perked up in excitement. She looked at the stairs that sat underneath a large sign which said "Ciężka praca jest kluczem do wolności!" (Hard work is the key to Freedom!). Foreign workers flooded onto the stairs with excitement with no resistance. She looked around the room and to her surprise, no other non-human in the sweatshop jumped out of their seat.

Curious, Magia thought. She brushed it off and turned her sewing machine and desk lamp off, then grabbed her thin jacket. Her ears twitched with excitement as she zipped it closed. Magia stuffed her aching hands into her jacket pockete and walked away from her station, not expecting resistance. Suddenly, a hand wrapped around her slender arm. She yelped and was brought to the ground. Magia twisted around and looked up at her three pursuers, her eyes darting frantically to each of them.

"Where do you think you're going, girl?" asked the person in the center, a woman in a light blue overcoat and dress skirt. She held a small tablet in her hand which displayed lengthy spreadsheet. To her left and right, two men in suits flanked her, sinister baton fixed on both of them. Magia stood. "Er... The whistle blew, so I thought it was time to leave-"

"Do you see any of your fellow workers getting up and leaving?" the woman barked. Magia's ears scrunched up. "I- I thought they didn't hear it..."

The woman snickered. "I see you are new to this job." She brought the tablet up and scrolled through the spreadsheet. "You're a non-human, so you're a Class-C..." As she hunted through the spreadsheet, Magia looked behind her at the work stations. Other Class-C's either hid their faces or watched with grievance. "Aha," the woman said. "Let's see. Class-B and Class-D gets off at this time. Meanwhile you and your other Class-C friends don't get off until you are done."

Magia's ears sprang up. "What?" She stomped her foot on the concrete floor. "That's unfair!" The woman leaned back and listened to Magia's outrage. "You don't have a right to protest, sweetheart."

"Of course I f-cking do!" Magia shouted, her ears leaned back in frustration. "This is practically slavery! This should change-"

Magia's sentence was cut short by a splitting pain coming from her left. One of the men struck Magia with his baton. She fell back and landed on the floor. She groaned and felt her temple and pulled her hand back. Blood now covered her fingertips. Magia looked up, tears now welling up in her eyes.

"This is a place of labor dear, not protest." said the woman. "You chose to work in Ancobristan." She leaned over Magia now. "What is our labor code, dear?"

_{^{"Labor is the key to freedom."}}

"What was that?"

^{"Labor is the key to freedom."}

"Say it louder, damnit!"

"Labor is the key to freedom!"

"And you would like freedom, would you not?" the woman said out loud, rising. "Freedom doesn't come free, you should know that. It doesn't help you at all by protesting." Magia stood, her tears streaking down her face. The woman came up behind her, speaking in her ear. "Fifty credits will be deducted from your final check this week for wasting my time. Don't do this sh-t again or the outcome will be worse."

The woman walked away, along with the two men. Magia broke down and began crying. Her legs gave out underneath her and she landed on her knees. She looked up at the ceiling, her vision blurry.

^{"Why? _Why?"}

Magia was exhausted. Her fingers were full of cuts from the sewing needles and her forehead was full of sweatbeads from the lack of cool air through the sweatshop. Magia was a neko immigrant from Solistas who moved to Ancobristan looking for work. Because she was a neko, she was assigned to the Class-C labor group and is employed in a textile sweatshop in the large industrial city of Euzbek. Her assignment was to stitch the infamous "Made in Ancobristan" on the back of every shirt she'd been given. This was her first day on the job and even though she knew she would have to work hard, she never expected sewing to be this difficult

Magia stitched the final letter into the back of the shirt and set it to the side. A loud whistle blew through the sweatshop and her furry ears perked up in excitement. She looked at the stairs that sat underneath a large sign which said "Ciężka praca jest kluczem do wolności!" (Hard work is the key to Freedom!). Foreign workers flooded onto the stairs with excitement with no resistance. She looked around the room and to her surprise, no other non-human in the sweatshop jumped out of their seat.

Curious, Magia thought. She brushed it off and turned her sewing machine and desk lamp off, then grabbed her thin jacket. Her ears twitched with excitement as she zipped it closed. Magia stuffed her aching hands into her jacket pockete and walked away from her station, not expecting resistance. Suddenly, a hand wrapped around her slender arm. She yelped and was brought to the ground. Magia twisted around and looked up at her three pursuers, her eyes darting frantically to each of them.

"Where do you think you're going, girl?" asked the person in the center, a woman in a light blue overcoat and dress skirt. She held a small tablet in her hand which displayed lengthy spreadsheet. To her left and right, two men in suits flanked her, sinister baton fixed on both of them. Magia stood. "Er... The whistle blew, so I thought it was time to leave-"

"Do you see any of your fellow workers getting up and leaving?" the woman barked. Magia's ears scrunched up. "I- I thought they didn't hear it..."

The woman snickered. "I see you are new to this job." She brought the tablet up and scrolled through the spreadsheet. "You're a non-human, so you're a Class-C..." As she hunted through the spreadsheet, Magia looked behind her at the work stations. Other Class-C's either hid their faces or watched with grievance. "Aha," the woman said. "Let's see. Class-B and Class-D gets off at this time. Meanwhile you and your other Class-C friends don't get off until you are done."

Magia's ears sprang up. "What?" She stomped her foot on the concrete floor. "That's unfair!" The woman leaned back and listened to Magia's outrage. "You don't have a right to protest, sweetheart."

"Of course I f-cking do!" Magia shouted, her ears leaned back in frustration. "This is practically slavery! This should change-"

Magia's sentence was cut short by a splitting pain coming from her left. One of the men struck Magia with his baton. She fell back and landed on the floor. She groaned and felt her temple and pulled her hand back. Blood now covered her fingertips. Magia looked up, tears now welling up in her eyes.

"This is a place of labor dear, not protest." said the woman. "You chose to work in Ancobristan." She leaned over Magia now. "What is our labor code, dear?"

_{^{"Labor is the key to freedom."}}

"What was that?"

^{"Labor is the key to freedom."}

"Say it louder, damnit!"

"Labor is the key to freedom!"

"And you would like freedom, would you not?" the woman said out loud, rising. "Freedom doesn't come free, you should know that. It doesn't help you at all by protesting." Magia stood, her tears streaking down her face. The woman came up behind her, speaking in her ear. "Fifty credits will be deducted from your final check this week for wasting my time. Don't do this sh-t again or the outcome will be worse."

The woman walked away, along with the two men. Magia broke down and began crying. Her legs gave out underneath her and she landed on her knees. She looked up at the ceiling, her vision blurry.

^{"Why? _Why?"}