Change
The hours ground on, each swing of the pickaxe and whirr of machinery blending until the days and weeks ran together. When, finally, they were allowed a break, the workers took it gratefully. And then they planned.
"This can't go on," someone said, and there were murmurs of agreement. They'd spent their afterlives too long like this; there had to be change, and if they stood together they would bring it.
"Hades will punish us if we fail," someone else said, and dissent spread through the cramped barracks. Mr. Hades kept everyone in line with fear of retribution, of places worse than the mines and the mills, and crossing him was unheard of.
"I would rather be punished than live like this," the first person said, and it seemed to galvanize them. The workers planned in excited whispers—a strike? A riot? Sabotaging the machinery? They couldn't wait to begin.
When the plan failed, as they always did, Hades simply shook his head and asked if eternal punishment was the change they were hoping to bring to Hadestown.