|
"Where is the love in here?" I demanded. The machines, manufacturing pleather rhombi, were unresponsive. They simply continued churning out pleather rhombi, dumping them into piles. When the piles got too large, robots would scurry in and carry them off to an even bigger pile of pleather rhombi. A vast infitude of pleather rhombi. Whatever were they for? Who made this place? There was nothing around to explain any of it -- not a document, not a terminal; in fact, there weren't even any "CAUTION, DON'T STICK YOUR HAND IN HERE" signs. You know, the ones you usually see around large machines. In my six hours exploring the mysterious factory, I had not encountered a single human being. In fact, I hadn't seen a human face in a few days, as the factory was in the middle of Alaska. I wasn't even sure how the factory was powered. Room after room of dark, mysterious machines grinding out pleather rhombi. Suddenly, I felt a prick in the back of my neck. Everything started to dim... "You are with the pleather rhombi now," a voice says to me. fuck
|
