Chapter 4

Winter was the worst time of the year, the fumes and pollution of the manufactorums had both melted the snow as it reached the ground but had also discoloured it to a sickly grey. It was a common warning from parents to their children to not play or eat the snow, scared at the many ailments that would come from eating a handful of snow with an equivalent amount of harmful substances in it as a rod of uranium.

Trudging along the sleet-covered walkways, the man pulled the tattered cloak tightly around him, hoping to stave off the cold winds. Up ahead of him was The Aquila, the local bar that many of his fellow manufactorum workers went to after a very (very) hard day at work. Personally he'd never really liked going to the bar, always finding it too empty to have fun in but the man he'd been working with on the belt said the bar had become a lot more popular recently thanks to some speaker they had brought in. He'd asked if this was just another preacher but his coworker had said this new speaker was actually interesting, who had given him a lot to 'think over'. The man was nervous, normally something to 'think over' meant you probably shouldn't question it in the first place.

Coming up towards the bar, the man could see it was nearly fully packed, he wouldn't be able to find a seat if any more people arrived. He opened the door to feel a wave of hot air reach him, a welcome break from the cold outside and as he moved among the back row of seats looking for somewhere to sit he looked up and saw the man who was speaking and making a clear effect on his listeners. The man was confused, the figure on the stage was dressed strangely, a green coat over a shirt with a strange small scarf around his neck, dark glasses covering his eyes and a large beard. He'd never seen anyone dressed like that, maybe he was a noble, but what was a noble doing speaking to the rabble here?

As he leaned back into his chair, basking in the warmth as the numbness in his feet receded, he paid attention to the words this man was speaking to the packed room.

"- you work long hours doing hard labour and what do you get for it?" The bearded man pointed to someone in front and received an answer.

"Did you all hear what this man said? What does he gain from working for your nobles?" The crowd remained silent.

"The loss of a leg! This man lost his leg in one of the manufactorums and what support has he received?" The crowd remained silent but for one man on the left side of the pub to stand up and say "nothing!" The crowd murmured and and a strange tension began to fill the room, the occupants frightened at their newly found thoughts that strayed too close to treason.

The worker frowned, he knew the man who had lost his leg, Isaac had been a hard worker, he'd never complained but when the manufactorum took his leg he had been let go, without so much as a thanks from the supervisors. Now that he thought about it, it was a horrible way to treat the workers, but that was how it'd always been, his father's father had worked at the very same manufactorum, had died working there and as far as he was told, the family he left behind received no aid. The subject of discussion in the room, sat uneasily with the worker, just that day one of the overhead pipes had burst, spraying boiling fuel and thankfully, just missing him. He knew that the pipe would be fixed shoddily, stories of structural weaknesses reported by workers being ignored were plentiful among the residents of Sektor 12C.

The sound of clapping reached his ears and he broke from his earlier thoughts, seeing that the man had finished speaking, staying to converse with some of the audience that seemed especially taken with the bearded man. The worker got off his chair and hesitated but put away his face of indecision and walked towards the bearded man, the supervisors and higher nobility clearly didn't take care of their workers and he wanted to see what he could do about it, if there was anything possible but with the way speaker had spoken with such confidence and zeal, he would have some ideas.

The worker missed the mustached man in the corner of the room as he walked to El Presidente, Penultimo only smiled at the scene in front of him, a large number of the audience had stayed behind, forgoing home instead to speak to the orator. If they kept this up, they'd have a dedicated following throughout Sektor 12C and no movement is possible without followers. He'd shown skepticism at the plan but El Presidente seemed to be correct (when wasn't he?), the workers easily outnumbered the authorities, what better way to take control than via the clearly unheard, angry masses?

El Presidente looked over at Penultimo, both men smiled at each other, if this popularity carried on and grew, they'd be in charge in no time.