It’s Wednesday, and Wednesdays only mean one thing: delivery day. You didn’t even need a calendar to know that deliveries were coming because you could hear and feel the rumbling of the huge armored trucks rolling through the city. The giant tires crunched along the streets, causing the windows to rattle in their panes. It was a similar effect to a small magnitude earthquake and, frankly, it was a bit unsettling. But you got used to it, like everything else. For me, though, delivery day meant that I went to work.
Every Wednesday, I’m up at 6:30 to get ready for the day, with all that entails. I also make sure to leave food and water out for my cat so that he’s all set when he comes in from stalking the city all night. I never see him when I’m off to work, but it’s all part of the arrangement we silently made when we found each other three years ago. I let him do his thing and he lets me do mine, and when he feels like I’ve earned it, he comes to me and lets me snuggle him a little. It’s disturbing the amount of myself I see in that damn cat. At 7:00 on the dot, I put my coffee mug in the sink, put the remnants of my breakfast back in the fridge, and leave my apartment. I have to operate like a machine because that’s what ends up surviving out there.
Within fifteen minutes, I’m going near top speed on my motorcycle and make it to The Forge. It’s about a dozen miles from my place, but I know how to work the bike and the roads to get me there on time. I roll my bike into the covered area I’ve created especially for it, and, after checking to see I have the list, I head inside the huge, grey building. There are no windows on this place and only a single door. No one comes in or out without being caught on the cameras placed in the various corners. I flash my badge at the armed guard and breeze past.
I don’t take my eyes off the floor as I make my way to the last room at the other end of the long hallway. I don’t need to greet any of the other people in this building. In fact, it’s best if one doesn’t inspect any particular face too closely. Doing otherwise may decrease one’s lifespan. My boots are clicking on the marble floor and it sounds oddly melodic to me. I chalk it up the acoustics in this place. As always, I’m absently fondling the list in my jacket pocket, trying to put some wear on the crisp white notebook paper. No luck. It would take a considerable amount of time to do that, and I only spend twenty-four hours with it.
When I get to the door, I wave my badge again, this time in front of the sensor located at eye level to the right of the door. I hear a familiar click and turn the doorknob to enter the space. The thing with this building is that it’s deceptively large. You walk down the hallway and you assume that behind each identical door is a small office or a closet. The truth is, depending on which door you open, you can find yourself standing in the middle of a warehouse space, ceilings over twenty feet high. That’s what Room 1031 is like.
I quickly make my way down the several steps to the lower level and walk to the office in the back. I know he’s already there, waiting, even though I’m always exactly eleven minutes early. Punctuality is important to him and I sensed that almost immediately after being introduced. I adjusted my habits accordingly because as they say, “A happy boss…” and all that. I use my badge to gain access to the back office and step into the room.
“Good morning, sir,” I say. I stand directly in front of his desk, my hands holding the list now.
“Aleksa.”
“Are there any additions to the list, sir?”
“None. You’ll be taking the Tank today. There are only twenty deliveries. Theo is waiting for you.” He spoke the words very carefully while his eyes studied me in their usual measured way. It used to be unsettling in the beginning.
I gave a curt nod and handed him the list. He signed it and folded it before handing it back to me.