The presentation hit like a hammer to the skull — sharp, brutal, and impossible to forget.
On the giant screen, a sprawling map of Basement Level 2 came alive.The first zoom-in: the Central Factory, vast and rumbling like a beast shackled in chains.
"The heart of Basement Level 2 is the Central Factory," the guide's voice echoed, smooth and mechanical."The factory is divided into production levels, from Level 1 through Level 10."
"Level 1 — transport machinery: trains, trucks, flame tanks, and their endless parts."
"Level 2 — home appliances: refrigerators, washers, air purifiers, vacuums."
"Level 3 — televisions."
"Level 4 — radios and communication devices."
"Level 5 — furniture: beds, tables, sofas."
"Level 6 — clothing and garments."
"Levels 7 and 8 — various food production."
"Level 9 — daily necessities."
"Level 10 — special weapons... reserved for executives."
"Levels 1 through 3 can be reached by external trains.From Level 4 onwards, only internal staff trains are authorized."
The guide's voice was relentless, pinning us down like bugs under glass.
"Each level is divided into nine blocks.Production flows endlessly along conveyor belts — except the central block, where cafeterias, convenience stores, and lounges are located."
"From the central block, internal trains connect to every outer block."
"Your workday will run from 7 AM to 7 PM.Twelve straight hours.Only one hour for lunch, one for dinner."
"You can eat inside your assigned block cafeteria.Or — if you think you can outrun the clock — try the central food court."
"But don't bet on free time.The trip alone will chew it all up."
"Unless there's an emergency surge in orders, there's no overtime.After your shift, you are to board the train and return to the Dormitory District immediately."
The screen zoomed out.Another map unfolded — the Dormitory District, somehow even bigger than the factory.
"And once you exit the factory, take the train at the platform to your right.It's about an hour's ride to the dormitories."
"There are 10,000 high-rise towers, each stretching up 25 floors.Each floor holds about 500 rooms."
"Most rooms are four-person units.Two-person and single rooms are reserved for executives and elites."
"Each room comes equipped with bunk beds, a TV, air conditioning, desks, chairs, and wardrobes.Cooking is strictly forbidden."
"Shared facilities on every floor include showers, toilets, convenience stores, laundromats, lounges, clinics, and fitness centers."
"Convenience stores offer snacks, drinks, and beer — but no cigarettes."
"The lounges have giant TVs, soft sofas, pool tables, and karaoke rooms — all free."
"For laundry, leave your clothes outside your door for pickup.Or, if you're impatient, hit the laundromat yourself."
"The clinics are staffed 24/7 with nurses and basic emergency supplies."
"Fitness centers include indoor basketball courts, baseball fields, soccer fields, badminton courts, even a track field."
"Because the Dormitory District spans nearly fifty kilometers, always confirm your building number before boarding the dormitory train."
"Buildings are numbered from 1 to 9,999."
"Miss your train... and you'll be walking for hours."
"There's a curfew.At 11 PM, all dorm entrances lock down."
"From 10 PM to 5 AM, all trains stop running."
"After 10 PM, you stay indoors.No exceptions."
"But the convenience stores, laundromats, clinics, and lounges run 24 hours."
"Factory grounds go under patrol starting 8 PM.Anyone caught wandering without cause will face trial and punishment."
The guide's voice dropped lower.Colder.
"The goods you produce — vehicles, food, clothing, machines — are transported through bridges linking the factory's rooftop and ground floor."
"They're distributed across every level of Hell."
"The Central Factory of Basement Level 2 is the beating heart of Hell."
"And you — you are its blood."
"Take pride.Carry Hell on your shoulders."
"Because you are the most important souls in this damned place."
The final words crashed down like a funeral bell.The presentation ended, brutal and sudden.
For a heartbeat, nobody moved.
Then Justin's sneer broke the silence like a crack in a frozen lake.
"Twelve-hour shifts?Me?"
He barked a laugh, bitter as bile.
"I used to look down on factory workers like they were ants."
"And now you expect me to be one?"
He threw up his arms, a spoiled prince thrown into the mud.
"And four-person rooms?What am I, a refugee?"
"I haven't shared a room since I was five.Even the women I slept with — I kicked them out before dawn."
"This is insanity."
Jack's chuckle rumbled up from the front.Low. Dangerous.
"Must've been a real easy life you had, rich boy."
"But that life's dead now."
"If you end up bunking with me, don't worry.I'll beat the silver spoon out of you before breakfast."
Justin snapped back.
"You think I'm scared, old man?I'm a third-degree black belt in Taekwondo.Four years of boxing."
"I'll drop you in two hits — one to knock you down, one to put you out."
Jack snorted.
"I've crushed tougher kids in my sleep.Your fancy belts won't save you."
"One headbutt, and you'll be dreaming before you can blink."
Their childish bickering echoed off the sterile walls.I tuned them out.
My mind was somewhere else.Doing real math.
Twelve hours of work.Two hours commuting.Ten hours left.
Ten whole hours.
Back when I was alive, I barely slept four.Here, I could live like a king.
The screen flickered again.
"Now, we will assign your work blocks.Please pay attention."
I scanned the glowing chart.
Level 1, Block B.
Transport sector.Trains and trucks.
The heaviest, roughest work.
Perfect.
Meanwhile, Jack and Justin — lucky bastards — landed in home appliances and food production.Already clinking imaginary beer mugs.
Idiots.
The guide pressed on.
"Now, your dormitory assignments."
Another list.
Building 4999.Room 40-444.
Fortieth floor.Room 444.
Too many damn fours.
Then my gut dropped lower.
Jack.Justin.
Both assigned to my room.
Fantastic.My first roommates in Hell: a thug and a trust fund brat.
As I stared at the cursed number flashing on the screen, a voice cut through the noise.
"You're 444 too, right?"
I turned.
A tall guy with a tan like old leather stood there.The one who'd silenced Jack with nothing but his eyes.
"How'd you know?" I asked.
He smirked.
"Easy.Everyone else looked relieved.You looked like you just swallowed a ghost."
He clapped my shoulder.Solid. Unshakable.
"If they give you trouble, don't worry.I'll take care of it."
He studied me for a second.
"How old are you?"
"Thirty-one," I said.
He nodded.
"Thirty-three.Name's Eden."
"And you?"
"Eric."
And just like that —the dark didn't feel quite so lonely anymore.
Maybe I wasn't entirely alone in this endless night.