Finger poised over the paper tablet on his desk, pen prepared for work, he hesitated. The diagram before him was awful, filled with useless gadgetry and visual gore. These business types had no idea what they were doing, no idea of what they wanted; they gave him some two words on purpose, a list of desired features, a drawing that looked like it was made by an eight-year-old, then told him to get a final design before lunch break. Nobody here knows what they're doing, do they? Renblow thought to himself, crushing his temples with both hands, grinding his teeth, and on the very verge of tears.

Inhaling suddenly, the sharp intake creating a crisp echo in the plain white office (practically padded for his well-being). He promised himself he wouldn't cry, standing from his uncomfortable office chair to stretch his back, looking up at the ceiling vents that struggled to keep the stiff air fresh. Pulling his torso back into alignment, he leaned meekly against the pristine glass overlooking the assembly floor.

Hundreds of arms, belts, and well over several million pieces, at least ten stories deep. Renblow figured that if the glass suddenly broke, he'd fall just far enough to break his spine and all his ribs, but not enough to die. Shame, he mused lightly, forgetting his wife and kids for just a moment.

Sighing and clearing his face of rogue eye water, he turned on one heel to head as far from his office as possible. The door shut behind him and the entire building felt dreadfully alien, like the space he worked yesterday wasn't the place he was working the day before. Workers had been clearing out the office building for the last few months now, preparing for "Project Vacation." Such a thing was too hopeful for him. "Go now, pay later," he mumbled to himself as he trudged down the hall, "We'll clean up while you're away... Tons of space... up in space..." Renblow found himself sliding against the walls, stripped bare for resources last week, stumbling to the floor as his legs gave up beneath him.

On a fortunate note, a fellow worker, a bright-eyed and bright-haired young man, was on his way down the same hallway. He gasped to himself, kneeling and setting his laptop aside, rolling Renblow on his side.

One blink. Two blinks. Three. He finally seemed to register who he was looking at. "Oh... hey," the exhausted shadow of a man flubbed for a second, as if his tongue wouldn't work, eyes rolled up in his head, "Hey, Klepatsky, how fortuitous I meet you here... Wh- what brings you to my humble abode?"

Klepatsky stumbled for words himself a moment, more out of shock than anything else, "Renblow? Are you okay?"

"Hm..? Oh me? No, I'm fine, just a little tired, was going for a drink at... at the uh..." Renblow's head rolled to one side, struggling just barely to breathe, his deep silver hair making a light ruffling noise against the carpet.

"Here, let's get you somewhere nicer for that nap," Klepatsky murmured, looping an arm under the older man, then hefted him to a kneeling position. "Need that," he grabbed his laptop and stood up completely. Renblow struggled a little to stand on his own, but Klepatsky kept the man's arm over his shoulders with a tighter grip, "No, Renblow, you need to rest. Come on, work with me here."

They slowly began making their way down the flat, wooden hallway. Every step and creak of the floor set a small flutter of anxiety in Klepatsky's chest, as if the entire floor was ready to collapse underneath them and plunge their rag-doll bodies into the production floor. He shook the thought from his head, moving just a little bit faster towards the break room. Renblow struggled against the accelerating pace, but Klepatsky kept him on his legs. It was starting to become an active struggle down the hall, every few steps was a stumble, every other was a trip. By the time they did reach the break room, Klepatsky felt his legs burning and his back sweating under Renblow's almost-dead weight.

He nearly buckled against the counter with the coffee machine as he dropped the exhausted creature into a soft leather chair. The only chair in the room, now that he looked around properly. Damn those recyclers, never left anybody anything to work with anymore.

Aleksandra Renblow gazed out the window, expression slack at the dystopian landscape that stretched for miles before her. Not long ago, this house was purchased at great expense for the final stretch of land without a landfill. The great Siberian Tundra, once clean enough to live outside without a mask; now a shifting, lukewarm plain of the decomposing corpses of industrial progress. She found her hand cold against the plexiglass window, the same place it always seemed to want to be. Where there once was a river, settled right between her index and thumb, there was now a stinking pile of rot and sewage. Where there used to be a fox den between her index and middle finger, a pile of machine parts. Between her middle and ring finger, the very crux of an industrial complex on the horizon, well over a hundred miles east on what used to be an unobstructed view. And worst of all, between her ring and pinky, the shallow graves of three children, now covered by degrading paper and aluminum.

She looked at her expression again, no longer slack, but tight with emotions as her heart beat wildly and it felt like her entire body would suddenly explode. Yet, when her mouth creaked open and her head dropped to stare at the floor, nothing but a pathetic wheeze escaped her body. Tears rained like the once-flowing river, body shook like the earth itself were grasping her, but she made no noise.

And here she was, rocking back on forth on her knees, sobbing weakly into the air.

Aleksandra did not leave this spot for many hours and that is where she was...

... when they found her dead.

"We're looking for a Mister Warner Renblow? Is he here?"

Klepatsky blinked at the man in a suit from his awkward position against the far wall, sitting with his laptop on one knee. Eventually, his eyes shifted down to the children cowering behind the suit's legs, holding onto each other like their lives depended on it. One of them had to be no older than thirteen years old. They were heavily distressed, clearly.

"Sir? We're looking for Renblow, where is he?"

Shaking his head clear of dust, Klepatsky pointed at the man in the chair, snoring with his chin on his chest. The suit responded by looking into the doorway, craning his thick neck, then pulling it back and stepping aside. He ushered the children behind him into the room and then followed behind them as they crowded the graphic designer.

Renblow woke with a small start, eyes snapping open and sitting up like a zombie risen from the grave. The whites of his eyes were startlingly clear as he bored down straight to Klepatsky, "How long have I been-" Then he took in more of the room, seeing first his children, then the tall suited man with the BnL badge. Bringing his anguished children close, kneeling to the floor to surround them as he looked up at the apparent manager, "Uh... yes? This is Renblow, what's wrong? Where's Aleksandra?"

Audibly gulping, the manager adjusted his suit collar, "Your boy there called the hospital, but it was too late." He looked extremely uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, not meeting Warner's eyes.

"Tell it to me straight," Renblow begged him, lurching gawkily to his legs. He already knew, his eyes dry just a moment ago now filling to bursting with tears. His hands reached out, grabbed the manager by his shoulders, shaking him lightly, "Tell me what happened to her."

"She was found dead, her heart gave up on her, she died at the window..." he paused before adding, "Mister Renblow."

All Warner could do was sink to the floor, face frozen in mourning, surrounded by two already crying children. Where once he was showing his warmth to them, they were showing warmth to him. It was heartbreaking, making the room feel almost just a little colder. Compared to the lukewarm world, it was almost refreshing, if not unbearably depressing.

Klepatsky stared at the scene, snapping his eyes down as the manager approached him, "I don't want to speak with you. No bad news for me, thank you." His teeth grit involuntarily and he had to force himself to relax it a little bit.

The suit pushed the screen of the laptop down a little bit, "Then be glad: you and Renblow have work off for the rest of the day and for the next month, too. You two are the last ones in the building, so we're moving you west, aboard offices on the Starliner Puteshestvennik." He held two distinctly colored cards to Klepatsky, bright numbers in gold on their surface; an 8 and a 70. "You, in particular, Mister Klepatsky, have a very important job onboard. All information is enclosed on the card."

Gingerly, gently, the programmer took the cards, setting them slowly into the breast pocket of his polo shirt. "Excuse me if I don't look right away, I'll wait until Renblow is in a good state of mind."

"Of course," the man said, standing back up, and turning to leave. "Have a... good day." And with that, he was gone, leaving the room with nothing but the quiet sobs of the remaining Renblow family.

Haha authors note.
Less haha.
I'm actually suffering from this next chapter.
The story will be bumped up to rated M.
Pray for me.