Dib was handed a small manila folder filled with papers. He looked around and saw that everyone was receiving one. 'These must be our job folders' he thought to himself and opened up the folder. The first thing that fell out was a picture of his face followed by lab work and other papers like them. He turned all the way to the back and found a piece of paper that read 'The Rules'.
He rolled his eyes and mumbled, "I sure would have needed this before."
Reading through the list thoroughly he found himself thinking that he was in skool again. The rules were like the normal rules; no fighting, no horseplay, no eating outside of the dining room, no alcohol, no cigarettes, and absolutely no joking around. The other rules were interesting and were mostly deemed unnecessary by Dib. No talking about your job with others, no talking about the factory when released, no telling of the secret ingredient, no skipping work, and no running around the grinder.
What he couldn't understand was why he couldn't talk about the factory when he got out. In fact, he was looking forward to rubbing his experience in his classmates' faces. There was nothing really to hide anyways. It was like any other factory; loud and steamy. What about it did they not want outside people to know? Then he remembered the cloaked part of the factory. Maybe there was something back there they didn't want people to know about. He sure hoped he would be a part of the crew to see the mysterious facility.
Dib placed the sheet back in his folder and pulled out a packet labeled 'Butcher'. 'Oh great' he thought he would be chopping up pig guts and fish liver then. He grimaced at the thought and swallowed the vomit building up in his throat. A job is a job and besides, like the WINner said, he would have to "man" the machine. How bad could it be?
After everyone was assigned their job a bull horn blew and the factory came to life. The gears hanging above their heads were churning away and he could hear the grinder from all the way in the back.
Its continuous stomps echoed throughout the air.
Dib took out the map he received from the folder and followed it to his post. When he arrived he was upset to find it was no-where near the darkened portion of the factory. The Butcher post was an assembly line of 5 workers on each side hacking at a single piece of meat until it was in bite sized pieces. The hard part was that the meat, whatever it was, was stuffed inside a bag so only the crunch of bones breaking signaled they did their job right. Dib picked up the large, sharp blade and began chopping in a rhythm pace with the others. The work was tiring and messy because of the occasional splatter of blood from the animal. Dib was disturbed to find that the blood was still warm. By the end of the work day he came to a conclusion. Whatever was in that sack was still alive when they hacked at it. It was not a good realization to find out with his already sickened stomach.
Soon dinner came and the men and women were reported to meet at the dining hall for a full course meal with the WINner. It was their reward for working hard during the day. Dib, however, was not hungry in the least and not at all interested in eating. All he wanted to do was take off his dirty lab coat and curl up in bed but bedtime wasn't until after dinner and if you didn't eat dinner you didn't get to go to bed until everyone was already asleep. So Dib stuffed down as much as he could without bile rising up in his mouth and drank plenty of the water that was served with the meal. He didn't even touch the Poop cola in fear of it being too much for his gut. He was doing fine until the WINner called him out from across the table.
"Hey, Dib, why aren't you eating? We specially prepared this dish for you to eat. Aren't you hungry?" the WINner asked in a drawling voice.
"No, sorry, sir. I have a stomach-ache." Dib said as an excuse.
"Oh, we have medicine for that. Doctor, fetch this boy some Pyolilethrin. I don't want him to miss out." The WINner snapped to the doctor who was waiting by his side for an order. In a blink he was gone for the medicine. After a while the WINner settled down and continued eating his own food. He seemed to not enjoy it, Dib noticed, since he kept downing a container of what looked like cough syrup and breathing unevenly. Or maybe he was sick. But that couldn't be right, the WINner couldn't be sick, especially if the workers can't. He wished to ponder on this further but the doctor returned with a pill in a cup and a pitcher of water.
"Take one of these and soon you'll feel better around the end of dinner-time. Spare me by eating little by little a bit of your food please. I don't want WINner to be disappointed." The doctor whispered in Dib's ear.
Dib complied and swallowed the pill with a glass of water. Slowly he started picking at his food and listening to the WINner share stories about different accidents he's had with the machines and workers. It was not a very good topic for people who were stuffing their faces but those, unlike Dib, were unfazed.
The WINner was telling a story about how one worker named Genie had gotten his finger caught under the grinder and that his finger had to be amputated because the bone structure was completely messed up. He described in full detail how it went and what they did and what tools they used. The WINner didn't know it but he was telling a scary story. Some of the workers were caught up in every word he was speaking and other's tuned out to save their stomach.
A short high whistle sounded as the lights dimmed and the factory machines discontinued their work. The night guards went instantly to their posts on the high podiums looking below at the factory grounds. The search lights rotated around the building in a continuous pattern, looking out for any form of danger.
The WINner clapped his hands together and smiled crookedly at the group of workers, "I'm afraid to say that dinner time is up. Please take your trays to the garbage disposal and leave any silverware you used on the table for the cooks to pick up. Don't forget that lights go off at twelve and I will see you bunch in the morning. Oh, and Dib?"
Dib turned around to look at the WINner, "Yes, sir?"
"May I speak with you for a moment?" he gestured his hand to where he was standing.
Dib swallowed the lump in his throat and walked over to the WINner. He feared the worst.
"How is your stomach now, boy?" the WINner asked in his annoyingly high-pitched and raspy voice.
"It's fine, sir. I'm good now. Thank you for the medicine." Dib bowed slightly.
"No need for curtsies, Dib. We're all men here. How else would you have gotten into this place? Certainly not from being proper." The WINner took out a glass.
Dib looked at the glass and then at WINner. Suddenly the short figure took out a long bottle of liquid.
"I thought no alcohol was allowed, sir?" Dib grew more nervous.
"Oh this? Silly, Dib. This is just something that I made. Absolutely no horrible alcohol in it." The WINner smiled innocently.
"I want to give a toast to you, Dib. For being one of the first skool-aged kids to make it into the factory." He poured out a glass of the substance and handed it to Dib while pouring himself some.
Dib swirled the liquid in his glass in a circular motion, "Gee, I didn't think you celebrated these types of things."
"Of course I do. I celebrate all my workers. You are admittedly more special however." He grazed a single gloved finger over the rim of the glass.
Dib blushed under the darkness of the factory's dim lights, "Thank you sir."
" A toast to being so amazing!" the WINner declared loudly.
"Cheers." Dib said and they toasted, then drank the hazy liquid.
Dib felt a sudden rush and then felt lightheaded.
"Hey, WINner?" he slurred groggily.
The WINner chuckled darkly, "Yes?"
"Is it supposed to make you feel light-headed?" Dib asked.
"Let me check," he held the bottle up to his face and raised it above his head, "Yes."
Dib couldn't take a breath as the cold glass of the bottle collided with his head. Glass shattered around him and his vision blurred as he drifted from excruciating pain to no feeling at all.