In the evening, when most students were heading home from school and adults from work, Randolph stepped off of the bus. Stepping out into a fairly wide street, centered near a large highway, he surveyed the large building that stood in front of him.
Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, the young man continued on towards the entrance of the building.
This building was a newspaper factory. It couldn't be called one among many, as the newspaper was a dying trade, but it could be called a fairly generic factory. It was the place where Randolph had been working at for over half a decade, from when he was a kid until now.
He worked here because, as a kid, he wasn't able to fit the legal hiring age for any normal jobs. For those that he did fit, they wouldn't pay him as much as he needed. Only relatively small factories like these would be willing to hire children under the law to work for them. They paid minimum wage, and that was all the attraction that he had needed back then to join.
Randolph had come here for only one reason, to take his own matter into his own hands.
It had taken him a while to get back up from the mental blow that was the church, but as the saying goes, life goes on.
Now, there was only one option left for the young man. Put simply, he was going to abandon the city and change names.
This was an option that had always been on the table, but Randolph was unable to capitalize on it due to having a stable job, along with the massive amount of funds that it would take to put the plan in motion. But now, he no longer had a choice.
Upon entering the factory's glass doors, the thick smell of freshly minted paper entered Randolph's nose.
He was greeted with the sight of a grey factory. The ground was rough and coarse, not even paved, and multiple machines lined the interior of the factory. Many people were standing at the machines working tirelessly.
They were both young and old, of many different ethnicities and groups. The youngest was even a mere 13 years old, while men and women with completely white hair could be seen as well. Occasionally, one could hear shouts in the air as the workers communicated with each other for work. Some of the voices were even of different languages. It was a very lively sight, even though the atmosphere was dull.
What could one expect?
If the company was willing to hire child laborers, of course they would be willing to hire immigrants and the elderly who should have been in retirement. All the tasks delegated to them were incredibly simple jobs. Like tying a newspaper into a bundle, stamping them with holes, or bagging them.
But Randolph didn't know whether or not to call them evil. After all, the workers and managers alike would call it a win-win, even despite the clear disparity in treatment. The workers gained work with pay they usually wouldn't be qualified for, while the managers gained cheap labor. He couldn't even complain as the company had indeed been a saving grace for him when his father had disappeared, taking him in despite his age.
"Randolph!"
A voice called out to him as he walked through the company, causing him to let out a sigh.
"Huh? Randolphsu! Selam!"
"Chào bạn, Randolf!"
"Dude, where have you been?"
Multiple voices sounded out to him upon hearing the voice call out to him. The atmosphere in the factory immediately brightened up, with many smiling faces calling out to him in different languages.
The ones that were able to abandoned their work for the moment, coming over to pat him on the back or greet him. If there was one thing in common with all of them, they treated Randolph amiably.
After working in the factory for so long, Randolph had long been promoted past his initial grade into a supervisor. He had worked hard, believing that he had needed to repay the company for hiring him in his dire straits. Because of this, it wasn't long after until a higher up in the factory had taken notice, promoting him.
After becoming a supervisor, he had doubled his efforts. Though he had been working at the factory for over half a decade, he wasn't even considered one of the veterans, but his efforts had paid off in getting everyone to accept him.
He spared no effort in helping newcomers integrate with their new jobs, and mediated conflicts between the old members. This had given the following generations of workers a good view on him, and he had slowly become one of the core and central pillars of the factory. This was also one of the main reasons he was promoted.
"Oi! What's all the fuss about out here?! Get back to your posts!" Upon hearing the commotion, a good-looking middle-aged man with greying hair came out from an office room in the back.
"What the hell do you think the factory is paying you for?"
His voice was loud but not overly rough as he scolded the workers, and they slowly shuffled back in line. A few of them still discreetly waved to Randolph, or made funny faces towards him outside of the man's view.
"Huh? Randolph? Where the hell have you been for the past two weeks? You're finally back!" The man broke out into a grin upon noticing Randolph, waving to him wildly from the back of the factory. "Come! Let's talk in my office!"
After seeing Randolph give a thumbs up from afar, the man went back into his room.
This man was Ryan Wilks, the general manager of the factory and Randolph's direct higher-up. He was basically Randolph's boss, and it was he who Randolph had come to see this time.
"Yo Randolph, wait!"
Before Randolph could continue, a loud voice called out to him from the side. Turning his head, several people could be seen walking towards him.
"Where the hell have you been man?"
At the forefront of the small group was an energetic-looking young man with spiky hair. Seeing him, Randolph's initially stern face softened up slightly.
This man was named Felix, and he was someone who Randolph could even call a friend. Randolph had helped him when he had come into the factory as a worker, and not to be outdone, he had helped Randolph through several large problems in turn. He was a man with a strong moral compass, and was somebody Randolph trusted.
"I haven't seen you in two damn weeks. You wouldn't even answer your calls either, you know how worried I was?" Walking up to Randolph, Felix patted him on the shoulder. "Wait, what the fuck happened to your face?"
"Sorry. I couldn't pick up or talk, and I still can't and shouldn't be talking to you. Don't worry about me, Felix. I will tell you that this is probably the last time I'll ever be coming back here though."
"You…" Felix gave Randolph a deep look. "Are you in any sort of trouble? Do you need my help? Just say the word brother, I'll do what I can. You need to borrow some cash?"
Felix's words warmed Randolph's heart. He knew that the man didn't have that much to spare. Nobody working in such a company did, yet he still offered to share.
"I'd be careful if I were you Felix. If you give him an inch, who knows whether or not he'll take a mile! You'll probably be drained dry, and he'll run off to god-knows-where with your hard earned money." Before Randolph could respond, a high pitched voice interrupted from the side.