The energon mines were dark, besides the strong glow of the blue crystals the other small amount of humans were excavating. It smelt strongly of sweat and rocks. The sentry robot smirked down at the newcomers, and began directing them into a small room that branched off from the mine. Inside, were many varieties of tools; pickaxes, drills, jackhammers, and boots. The robot spoke down to them, "Here, is where you'll gear up. You'll start off farther in the mines, starting with smaller pieces of energon," he pointed to the wall with his metal staff where the pickaxes were, "You'll start with those today."
Each person filed themselves in lines to grab the necessary tool with a dead look in their eyes. Afterwards they put on boots and followed a robot out, a different one this time. He lead them down the dimly lit cave, ordering the other humans to keep working as they stopped to look empathetically at the new workers. They quickly averted their tired eyes, continuing to lift the worn pickaxes with their malnourished, yet muscled, arms, covered in dirt and grime. They were skinny, hair filthy and lips chapped. It didn't seem that bad compared to worse conditions. It looked like they had some level of maintaining their personal hygiene.
Rosangela kept her eyes down, lowering them immediately after stealing a quick glance at something. She tightly gripped the tool in her hands to her chest listening to the clinking of pickaxes on rocks.
They went deeper into the mines, not too far where they couldn't see the entrance, but far enough that it seemed like they were miles away. More humans lined the walls, some pushing carts full of the crystals which Rosangela could only assume were energon. The robot split the group, "You will work until I say you can stop," he stated gruffly, "If you are injured, report to one of us. If you get tired, only - and I mean only - five minutes are given once per shift. The max time you work down here is four hours, eight hours if you combine both shifts. Be glad we're this generous. We've witnessed how weak you humans are."
He sent a stern look before turning away.
"Start working," a hand was waved as he walked away, "And don't even think of purposely harming yourself. We will leave you to bleed out if you do."
Rosangela frowned at the little glowing crystals sprouting from the rocky wall before heavily lifting her pickaxe and quickly bringing it back down on the rocks, some of the blue crystals falling to her boot-clad feet. It didn't seem so bad, that is, until she began feeling tired, thirsty and hungry.
"There were fifty-six of us, y'know," one middle-aged man stated, pausing to grunt as he brought down his pickaxe, "There's more of ya this time."
A couple people, including Rosangela, glanced at him. Immediately getting back to work at the sound of the sentry's staff hitting the floor warningly. The man smiled as he hit a large chunk of energon off the wall, "Name's Monty, kids. These robot guys? They're called the Decepticons. Needs us to be their dirty workers."
"How long have you been here?" A younger man with the numbers '245' etched onto his back asked.
Monty smiled again, "I'm the third group, the one before you all," he jabbed his thumb to his back. '98.' "The first group is long gone and dead, all the seconds have been promoted."
"Promoted...?"
"Yeah, means they gotta new job. They're more or less better than mining. As more groups come along, the conditions improve."
A robot pointed to Monty, "You there! Get back to work, 98!"
Each human continued chopping down the wall, other workers picking up the loose crystals and loading them in to their carts. They did so in silence.
It remained quiet in the mines, void of any conversation as the humans worked.
Rosangela wiped the sweat from her forehead, the perspiration beginning to bead up and annoyingly run down her temples. She wasn't tired enough to waste her break. It's only been about an hour, if her internal chronometer served her right. Her arms brought up the pickaxe again and again. She was going to be sore for a long while, that she knew. Maybe that's how everyone here is so muscled? Rosangela mused to herself, momentarily glancing around before getting back to picking out a stubborn crystal, they've worked down here for a long while it seems.
Were the Decepticons fair in nourishment? Some humans around here didn't look like they received the right nutritions. But like Monty had said, the treatment is better with each passing group.
"Hey, Monty?" the 245 boy looked up from his mining, continuing to speak when he had the man's attention, "What are the other jobs?"
The sentry nearby watched them closely, but seemed to allow this one conversation. Monty looked up in thought for a moment, "Well, there's energon miner. Then there are these guys," he gestured to the cart-pushing people, "They're the energon transporters. The next job is like... uh, a caretaker of a sort. Depending on if they're practiced in medicine or not, they'll either tend to our wounds or feed us at our meals. Lastly, there's the testies. They're lab rats; tested on, with something. I dunno much in it, but... Oh! There's one more, I don't think anyone's made it there yet. I think most die at the last job," he muttered the last part.
Some people stopped to gape at him, Rosangela broke that one stubborn crystal from the wall and frowned. They're killed?
"Not many have become test subjects. But the last job is becoming a personal assistant of a sort to a Decepticon," he lowered his voice and leaned towards the others, "We've all tried our hardest impressing the Decepticons to reach a better level of respect. Some of us have. Like me, I've worked in these mines since day one. And look how strong I am!"
He gestured to his body, which was, in fact, highly muscled. He then began comically flexing.
"Alright, 98, they get it. Back to work," the sentry watching them stated, pointing his staff at the burly man.
Monty waved him off, turning back to the wall and laughed, "Yeah, yeah, Crossframe," he said nonchalantly as he brought his pickaxe down on the wall. He only stopped to see some staring at him in awe. He shrugged, "What? I told you, they respect me to some degree. That one over there's Cross. The one who brought you down here, was Dagger. They're both tough guys, but real softies on the inside."
At that, Crossframe glared at the man, but said nothing.
Rosangela stared at the robot. They most certainly had emotions. At first, it seemed like they had captured the humans for ransom, torture or something. But their first impressions here have been nothing but generosity in giving the low-life humans something to do with their lives. Rosangela frowned, she had been working at a library previously. No one knew her, no one liked her.
She was a nobody, had no one, and dearly wanted something interesting in her life.
Well, it came.
Rosangela picked up her head from its previous hanging, her pickaxe leaned up on the rock she was sitting on. She was taking her break before a Decepticon barged through, it was Dagger, "Alright, humans! Shift's over. Since most of you are newbies here, I'll lead you down to the cafeteria. But only this once."
He turned and stood just outside the gear room, waiting as the humans put away their pickaxes. Monty smiled sympathetically at some of them, who had sat down to take off their boots, "There's no need to leave your boots here. They're yours to keep," the man put away his pickaxe, "And don't worry, you'll get your clothes after you wake up tomorrow."
The new ones followed the friendly man like lost puppies. He was the only one out of the thirty others who actually spoke to them. Maybe more of the third group will speak later on?
It was a long walk down the hall, the robot in front of them speaking, "This is the human corridor. If you are seen beyond this hall, you will be punished," he began pointing to all the rooms, starting with one on the left, "That is where the energon transporters go. Those crystals you've been mining are our fuel. We melt them down to a liquid we drink."
He continued on, pointing at two doors on the right, "Those are your living quarters. The first one is for males, the second, females. If any of you pitiful things are what you call... transgender? You will go into the gender you identify as, I suppose," he turned, "It doesn't seem like any of you are. But if I catch any of you attacking, or dominating, one another, there will be severe consequences."
After a warning gaze, he went on with the walk, "On your left here is where your wounds would be tended to. There are currently seventeen humans skilled in your medicine. If any of you are in the medical field, speak up now," he watched as only two raised their hands. He nodded and pointed to the room, "Tomorrow, you'll go into here.
"Ahead, is the cafeteria. That's where your meals will be. Breakfast, lunch, dinner," the door opened for them and he continued speaking as the humans walked in, "Only those three meals. And no complaining about the food! Be glad with what you have. The first group made all the mistakes that we are now preventing so we still have an adequate amount of workers."
With that, Dagger retreated into the other corridor.
Rosangela looked around the mess hall, it was nicely lit and looked moderately clean. The caretakers must get bored throughout their shifts outside of meals.
Monty waved over the new group of sixty-one to a stack of metal trays, which they all picked up and joined the line to gather their food. He smiled down at the large line, "Don't worry, all you peanut-allergied peoples. There aren't any nuts here."
He spoke very oddly, Rosangela noted. Must have been picked up where he grew as a child.
Once everyone had food, they all filled in the tables. Some sat alone, and others sat in groups. Rosangela didn't know where to go. She sat at the table benches where there was one person, but said nothing.
There were more men than women, but seemed to keep their heads down. Guess Dagger was pretty serious about the "dominating" part.
Rosangela looked at the other person who sat at the table. They both sat far from one another, but she could see the number on his back. 254. One number higher than hers.
His eye also trailed to her back momentarily as well. Names didn't seem to be much use if numbers were all that they would identify each other as.
"What did you do before this?" he glanced to her, picking at his pasta.
The menu seemed to consist mostly of nonperishable food, save for some of the drinks given, like milk and a couple options of juice. She looked down at her own pasta, spinning it into her spoon. She spoke quietly with a light Spanish accent, "I was a librarian. You?"
"Homeless," he sighed, "Walked the streets, got free water from McDonald's and stuff. Lived off scraps. Basic living. This place seems much better than having to survive through winter."
She stared sympathetically at the boy, who looked to be around his legal drinking age; a little younger than her. Rosangela had a roof over her head, in a small apartment. She had nothing valuable besides the necklace she wore around her neck. It seemed that most were allowed to keep that kind of jewelry. That, she was grateful for. It was her grandmother's necklace, bought when she lived in Spain.
"Think we'll be here for the rest of our lives?"
"Yeah," she glanced at him before returning to her food, taking a bite of the pasta.
Dinner lasted for an hour, they were told. All three meals were that long.
That added up to eleven hours. Three hours spent on food, eight on working. The rest was for retiring to their beds.
The women's quarters were filled with bunks, twenty in all. There were about thirty-five women, so they were fine for now. All their necessities were in place, including any feminine products. Guess the Decepticons learned that one the hard way.
"So," one woman began, running a brush through her long hair before beginning to braid it, "Any of you see any eye candy yet?"
Another gaped at her, "But we aren't allowed-"
"I'm just teasing," she giggled, "I'm Laura, one of the doctors here. Or, as they call me, 64. Part of the second group to come."
"That's pretty funny," an older lady piped up, "My name's Lauren. My number is... let's see... Right! 199."
A girl, a little younger than Rosangela with the markings 221, looked up at the lights, "Don't they waste power keeping those on?"
"Oh, don't worry about that," Laura smiled softly, "They have unlimited power. And we control whether or not we want the lights on or off here."
The first woman to speak to her crossed her arms, "Monty never said how long he's been here."
"Ah, right. Monty. He really likes getting himself injured. Usually scrapes his knees or splits his knuckles, that man is a wonder," she mused, "The Decepticons register a new group here every six months. He's in the third group, so he's been here for half a year. Me? A whole year. But it's really not that bad nowadays."
Rosangela lied down on the bottom bunk of a corner bed, curling up with her back facing the circle of women talking, some loitering around the room, others sitting and listening intently to each other.
With the voices becoming white noise, she closed her eyes and let sleep come to her.