The drill felt like a boulder in his hands, trembling muscles in his arms melting away from the grueling work.
If the tunnel were to collapse, N-602 couldn't hope to be saved. So he had to be extra careful where he struck, or else his dreams would crumble like this ore he's spent most of his life mining.
N-602 would mutter to himself often, out of motivation or rage, it didn't matter. He would lose his voice as soon as he spoke.
"I really hate this, when I get the chance I'll surely-" a sharp, writhing pain pierced him. Every pore in his body, pricked by thorns.
A voice buzzed in the mind of the young slave.
[You are not allowed to resist, any word, thought and or-]
"Yeah, yeah, I get it, now leave me alone." N-602 grumbled and got back to work, trying not to think of the pain.
The tunnels on Orion-7 were seldom lit, night vision along with other headgear features were most common.
An exorbitant amount of Credit had to be spent on gear though, so at the end of the day, barely any money was left over.
Miners often worked together to carve out large caverns, install tracks and elevators to optimize production.
Working with others, sharing credit to pay higher prices, forming a community.
All the things a solitary bum like N-602 refused to do.
Ever since his deployment, N-602 dug this same tunnel through the earth. Not caring in the slightest about its pros or cons.
N-602 didn't want to feel comfortable in a system that rid him of his free thought.
The other miners found it a fruitless effort, his silent rebellion.
"That is exactly how they want you to think." N-602 began to mutter again.
This solitary tunnel left him with little to no social interaction, N-602 often pretended a narrative voice dictated his life, much like the story books he read before his deployment.
"Not a very hero-ish name though, N-602 doesn't roll- roll… what's the saying?"
Back to yapping about slavery, uneducated miner boy.
"Right, the way life is here on Orion-7…"
A mining planet for gold and the like, it had a population consisting of just 2 classes.
The slaves and the guards. The miners and the masters. The dogs and the leashes.
Brainchips beneath the skin behind the ear prevented any form of infraction, so there was no risk of an uprising any time soon. Yet the monochrome-clad soldiers still existed.
Was it out of a lack of faith in the chips? Or foolproofing an already solid system?
Why did Center-W station such an overwhelming amount of force on a planet of measly mining slaves?
"I like to believe… it is the nature of a person like me to…" N-602 halted in his speech, bracing himself for the pain.
"...me to- to attempt…" eyes squinted, his fingers wrapped so tightly around the drill's handle that the knuckles turned white.
"To attempt freedom…" he crouched and heaved in a heavy breath, anticipating his regular punishment.
If he took deep breaths, N-602 would empty his 'Fresh-air 9000' filter faster than he could afford with his pay. So he slowly lowered the pace of his lungs before continuing.
"Freedom… freedom? Freedom. Free~" this word is 'flagged', any thought or sentence containing it results in minor punishment, if you continue your streak of flags larger doses of pain will be dished out.
"freefreefreefreefreeeeee… FREEDOM?!" N-602 dropped his drill and fell to his knees.
No longer did he care about wasting breath, this was a moment to breathe for.
Attempting to wrap his head around the situation, N-602 backtracked, trying to find the source of this surprising but welcome glitch in the system.
"Kill my slaver, break my chains, destroy Center-W, stop Generation-0… What?!" Flagged sentences, the lot of them. It wasn't just sentences or words, thoughts and schemes flooded the poor boy's mind almost immediately.
N-602 scrambled to his feet, he needed to leave, if the system ever stumbled upon his malicious intent, or his 'bug' it would be the end of his worthless, nameless life.
Yet life's opportunity seldom presents itself on a silver platter.
His knees failed him, the exhaustion returned from just moments prior, how could N-602 forget?
That didn't stop him from falling face first into the hard, rocky ground. His headgear smashed to bits upon contact.
"No! Please, why? Why me?" N-602 cradled his prized possession, now with its glasses cracked and pipes damaged.
He lay on the cold, dusty floor. Too tired to move, too energetic to cry over measly equipment.
"It's not measly equipment! It's my pride and joy! It's worth so much Credit, I could have bought a planet with that money!" N-602 has lost his grip on reality.
Letting go of the broken equipment, N-602 spread his arms and legs out, staring at the ceiling that he carved in himself.
"Man, I would have fantasized about a day like this, free thought and all that, if those fantasies weren't blocked though."
Before he ran out of the tunnel to get better air and not dust-ridden, damp and musty air, N-602 plotted his future.
"Man, does it feel good to think freely, I should come down here more often."