Edan was almost three minutes late.

  He sprinted to the staircase and flew downwards. He opened the very next door. The floor was larger than the previous, though it didn’t seem it. It was crushed under the floors above, the ever increasing folds mashed into each wall panel the only reminder. For the amount of people walking through – for the amount of machinery – the height was ridiculous. Edan himself could reach the roof without the aid of a single crate. The height was partially why Edan knew what big trouble he was in.

  He followed the hallways onward. It was like the residential floors. A maze. Made by idiots wanting to fool a foe they did not know the weaknesses of. He grumbled his way through. The oppressive heat pooled at his neck. He spread it in the hopes of some relief. Five minutes made such a difference. It was suspicious to be out of residential before the bell. Practically negligent to still be inside a second later. Edan found it strange that he was late. He could have sworn he left as much time as he did the day before. He mustn’t have. The halls were crowded. Already warmed as waning furnaces were rekindled. That was proof of his carelessness.

  A trolley hurtled through an open door. Edan leapt out of the way, chest heaving as Pat’s face met him. Pat was a newbie and therefore gullible beyond saving.

  “You’re late.” Pat said.

  “I’m aware.”

  “No. Not that.” She clarified, pointing down at her ruined shirt. “You haven’t given me my new one.”

  “Then pay me.” Edan said.

  “You owe me. I gave you soap last summer.”

  “I don’t owe you anything.” He tried to wave her away. She was wasting precious seconds.

  “I can get you fabric. Anything you need.” Pat tried, blocking any hope of escape with her large trolley of flame cores. She wasn’t just blocking his way, but that of everyone in the near vicinity. Flame cores were needed everywhere, and the train only brought a couple thousand each day. She was wasting everyone’s time.

  “A couple extra cores and I might say yes…” Edan began.

  He wedged his right foot into one of the trolley wheel’s hubcaps. Relief crossed her face. He took her distraction as a signal. He vaulted across the trolley, grabbing a core as he passed. He’d forgotten to grab his core slip in his rush to leave the apartment. He tried to use his left foot to push himself farther. He failed, almost crumpling as he half fell to the trolley’s other side. He stood, smiling back at Pat and the small crowd her blockage had formed.

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  “…but I want it by Friday.”

  Edan nodded his head at her, eyebrow partially raised. Pat inclined her head a fraction. He spun on his right heel, making sure to limp quickly so no one would spot his limp. He felt bad for her. Everyone knew that stealing cores was grounds to get you fired. Movers like her wouldn’t even get a hearing if a single one went missing. He rounded the corner, tossing the core in the air before catching it. He did what he had to do. It wasn’t like anyone else had been any kinder to him when he was left at the gates.

  Edan reached his lift in due time. It was crammed into a corner. Crates were waiting for him. They filled the space, towering. Only a few workers had remained to help load them. They all glared daggers at him. He was sure some of them were happy he was late. They didn’t want him fired, but they didn’t want him promoted either. Not that he really could be. The lifts were important, and he had training.

  Edan walked slowly to the metal box. It was inset into the wall, but still a large safety hazard. The moment the lift rose a hole was left leading straight from the top to the bottom of the facility. He’d climbed it a few times. It was too wide for the lift. He could climb it easily as long as he was careful. The moment he tried to move faster, his limp resurfaced, making him trip over himself. He wouldn’t be able to climb it in this state. The position needed to shimmy up it would do more harm to his busted foot than climbing the shaft was fun.

  Edan stepped over the gap between building and box. He was acutely aware of the eyes on his back. They wouldn’t move in until the elevator was started. He lined the core up with its hole. It was a small wooden cylinder. Edan had no clue what was inside. Only that it made fires burn and elevators move for only a few precious hours. He jammed it in and the elevator groaned to life. He closed his eyes, smiling. He loved his stupid machine. Others found the things to be unnerving. The workers outside obviously didn’t. The moment the boxes’ glass veins began flowing with orange life, boxes were flung in. Edan flinched as glass clinked against glass. He didn’t want ink spilling all over the floor. The ink collectors wouldn’t either. They had to stand there for hours waiting for ink to drip into their glasses. The faucets were located on the ceiling, and almost consistently faulty. It didn’t help the collectors had to stand right beside the furnaces. No one had thought to place them apart. He’d been yelled at enough times to know they took broken bottles seriously enough to call management. Edan opened his mouth to remind the workers of that very fact. He closed it as another couple of boxes were thrown in, successfully blocking his view and filling his lift.

  Edan pushed the lever – a rusty thing located next to the power core – and waited for the lift to rise. With one hand still on the lever, he leant against the wall. It brought little solace from the burning pain in his foot. He didn’t change positions for another seven hours.