A table is a place to eat, to drink, to relax, or conduct business. It says much about the status of a man. What material is it made from? How many people can it dine? Is it plain or decorated? 

Their table was magnificent. Its smooth surface was made of a merlot colored timber that shined with gloss. It could likely fit 20 people, but only 10 currently sat there. Decorative metal snakes with golden gems for eyes slithered up its legs. This was a table for devils.

“Have you heard what the humans did most recently?” The man who spoke was named Elton. He loved to tell stories. In other words, there was nothing he loved more than to impress an attentive audience. 

“No, pray tell. I’m always curious what they get up to on their lonesome.” Ivan loved to listen to Elton's stories. More precisely, he loved to pretend to listen to them. In other words, he was a flatterer, an expert at fawning over botched jokes and boring stories.

“Something diabolical I assume?” Aleyna simply loved misery. 

“Oh quite so, it may be the worst thing they’ve done since they ravaged their planet with explosions, a few centuries ago.

As you may know, after the great explosions, the human population was a mere fraction of what it used to be.    

The humans needed more people, more laborers to rebuild what they had lost. But, they couldn’t reproduce quick enough, or as effectively as they did before.

They realized they needed an outside source of labor, and so they turned to the beasts around them.

With the use of their beloved science, they experimented and experimented, and eventually managed to actually transform the beasts around them into human shapes.

But of course, they were still beasts. With no mind for themselves, they could never even do the simplest of labor. 

So, the humans again experimented and experimented, and they eventually managed to actually give the beasts consciousness, the ability to think for themselves.

And what did they do after this?”

He paused for dramatic emphasis, just as he had practiced the day prior. 

“They enslaved them. 

That, my friends, is diabolical.”

“Hahahaha. My goodness, the humans never cease to amaze, do they? This will be an excellent choosing.” Ivan had only been listening to every third word, but this seemed an adequate response. Bringing up the choosing was a tactical choice, a way to assess the others' thoughts. As the saying went, a devil’s tongue is even looser than its undergarments.

“Indeed. Has any child caught your eye yet, Elton?”

“Oh, I have a few in mind. A politician's son, a mad scientist's daughter. I have high hopes.” Elton revealed his candidates freely; the choosing was a silly game, a way to make eternity go by quicker. It perplexed him how others still took it so seriously.

“What of you Dante? Surely there’s someone for you this choosing?” Ivan’s question was meant to mock, but he truly was curious. The fact that Dante had even shown up to their dinner was a surprise. 

 “No, none that I have seen. In fact..

I believe this may be the worst choosing we’ve had in quite some time.” Dante’s grin was a mix of sinister, charm, and madness. A smile that could convince you it was okay he had just bludgeoned your children to death.

“HAHAHAHAHA.” Laughter broke out at the table. 

“Oh goodness, Dante, you are always good for a laugh. Unfortunately, seeing as you have never taken part in the choosing, your judgment seems a bit preposterous.”

“Perhaps you are right. We shall see.” Dante rose from his chair and headed towards the door. 

 “I am glad I could give you a laugh Ivan, you always take yourself oh so seriously. I must leave now, many important matters to attend to. Have an excellent choosing everyone.” The rest of the guests continued to chat, unsurprised by Dante leaving first. 

Ivan wondered if he was the only one to notice. Something was different. There was no doubt in his mind. For the first time in eternity, Dante was going to participate in the choosing. 

.

.

.

“No, please, I'm really sorry. I can get them tomorrow! Please don't…” Julian’s cyber hand kept pulling, and pulling. Fingers weren't supposed to bend that way.

“AHHH!”

His finger was broken, it had to be broken. 

“We told you to have the cores today you stupid fucking creatch!” 

“If you don’t come back here tomorrow with 10 cores, every one of your fingers is gone. You understand that, creatch!?”

“YES, I’ll have them, I promise!” He didn't know how he was going to get so many, but he would say anything to get Julian and his friends to leave him alone. If he didn't get back to the factory soon, the Overseers would get suspicious, and that might lead to everyone getting punished. 

“You better. Ugh, let's get out of here. It smells like he shit himself.” That smell was actually a combination of sweat and lots of different chemicals from the assembly line, but they would never know that. 

After they left, he really would smell like shit though. He planned to open one of the waste pipes and blast himself with it to explain why he was late. 

Julian and his gang of bullies sauntered away, probably off to kill rats or some other defenseless animal with their new cyber-hands. He was going to get up, but noticed Leck still hasn't left yet. She smiled sweetly at him, and whispered in his ear.

“You’re friends with that old creatch in the factory, right? The one with the big floppy ears?”

He didn’t answer.

“You don’t have to answer, I know you are. If you don’t get me an extra 5 cores, I’m gonna say he raped me. You got that?”

His blood ran hot, and his claws scraped the ground silently. 

“...got it.” She was the worst of them all.

“Good boy.” She softly rubbed the fur on one of his ears like he was her pet. “Ya know, when I get married, I’ll need a creatch to do work around the house, someone to play with when I’m alone.” 

She yanked his ear. “I think I’ll take you.” 

She lightly skipped back to catch up with the others.

He wanted to cry so badly. He wanted to cry until he had nothing left. Licia had once told him about zombies. They were humans that had died and come back alive, with no more thoughts, just the need to eat brains. Obviously, because they weren’t real, it would never happen, but more than anything, he wanted to be a zombie. He wanted to not feel anything, to be so empty inside that the world could never hurt him. 

After drenching himself in waste, he ran all the way to the factory. He was a fast runner, and got there in minutes. 

The factory was a huge black building. It was very…square. That was really the only way to describe it. The building was square, the huge metal doors were square, the small windows made to let out the chemicals were square, the sleek black tiles that covered it, everything was square. Darvin, the smartest and wisest of them, said that they did this on purpose. Squares were made from four straight, equal lines. They were all basically the same, which is what they wanted creatches to think about themselves. It was also why the Overseers only referred to them by numbers. They had to come up with their own names. 

He pushed the heavy metal doors open and, as always, was met with the smell of rancid sweat and chemicals. Everyone was hard at work, laboring in their section of the long winding assembly line.

The two Overseers for the factory today began to briskly walk towards him. Every day, the Overseers would rotate out so that a new pair were responsible for watching over the factory. Most were mean and brutal, but a few were decent enough that he could get through the day without worrying about a beating. Today's Overseers, Max and Lance, were known for using their pain sticks the most. 

“What took you so fucking long, Creatch 17?! Waste maintenance takes 15 minutes. Not 30.” Max shouted, even though he and Lance were only standing a meter away. 

He tried to look meek and apologetic. They reacted better when they thought you were broken.

“Sorry, the pipes got backed up.”

“Eugh, you do smell like shit.” Lance pinched his nose with disgust.

“Go hose yourself off outside. Then get back to fucking work! If you creatches don’t do 1,000 cores today you're gonna get beat, bad. Understand?”

“Understood.”

The water from the hose outside was freezing cold, but it felt good to be clean, or, at least not covered in shit. 

The factory used an assembly line to make cores, the power source for cyber arms and legs. Everyone at the assembly line had different roles. At the beginning were the mixers; they had the unfortunate job of mixing together the poisonous chemicals which gave the cores their power. They often got sick and had to be replaced. After them were the freezers. They had to put the mixed chemicals in the hyper-freezer and take them out once they were totally solid. He tried to give a warm smile to the workers here as they shivered next to the freezer. Beyond this point were metal workers, creating various sections of the shell for the core. He walked past them to the end of the assembly line. He had the final job, assembling the metal shell parts around the cores and putting them away in their container to be counted. 

Horton was a metal worker, and just a few meters from his station. He must’ve smelled him, because he turned quickly to glance in his direction.

“What happened?” Horton’s droopy ears tensed upwards. 

“Pipes got backed up, that’s all.” He got to his station and started to assemble the pieces they had left for him. He had to use a special glue to stick each section together.

“Backed up pipes gave you those bruises?” Horton always knew. 

“Just tell me the truth, Cin.”

“You can’t do anything, Horton, none of us can. There’s no point.” He had come back with bruises many times, and they had had this conversation often enough that it was like reading a script. 

“You're not going to be here forever, you know that, right? I’m gonna die here, but you’re gonna get out of this, I knew that the second I saw you pop out of your momma.”

“You know why I call you Ci…”

“YES, I know, you’ve already told me a hundred times Horton.” Horton just smiled his easy smile and kept talking.

“It’s ‘cause that first time I held you, you were burnin’ up. Like a piece of cinder. You have more life in you than anyone here. Never forget that, Cin.”

He sighed, but couldn’t stop the half-smile from forming on his face. 

“Thanks, Horton.”

“Anytime, Cin. You gonna tell me who did that to ya now?”

“Nope, I can handle it.” He was actually handling it as they spoke, and dearly hoped nobody noticed. If an Overseer saw what he was doing…

Red lights beamed all around the factory.

“CORE COUNT! CORE COUNT! STOP WORK IMMEDIATELY CREATCHES!” The announcement blared from the walls and the Overseers rapidly approached Cin’s station.

Horton whispered to him. “You think we got 1,000?”

“I really hope so.”

Overseer Max took out his key and inserted it into the core container. 

“You creatches better pray to whatever devil you worship that you hit the quota.” 

Veins of cool blue lighting glowed on the container and a tiny screen beside the keyhole said one word: Counting.

The blue veins from the container connected through the walls of the factory to a gigantic screen placed on the back wall, where every creatch could see it. 

In black writing, the word ‘Count:’ popped up on the huge screen.

A number 1 popped onto the screen.

Many of the creatches silently mumbled prayers to themselves. 

10

100

Finally, one more number appeared on the screen.

1001

“YES!” He jumped high into the air in excitement. They had made it, barely. 

Max’s face twisted into a dark rage. The rest of the creatches were utterly silent.

“Sorry, I, uhm, I got over-excited. It won’t happen again.” 

Max flipped on the switch of his pain stick, and a white current of lightning crackled over it.

Horton spoke quickly. “Please, he…he didn’t mean any harm.”

“Didn’t mean any harm?”

One second Max was beside the container, and the next he had tackled Cin to the ground.

“DIDN'T MEAN ANY HARM?”

“ANYTHING YOU DISGUSTING CREATCHES DO IS A FUCKING HARM!”

He jabbed the pain stick into his ribs. 

“ESPECIALLY BEING EXCITED…

He did it again.

“…FOR BARELY…”

And again.

“…HITTING…”

And again.

“…THE QUOTA!”

Max spit on his face and stood up.

“I’ll be alerting the Factorymaster of your transgression here.”

“...sorry.”

“Every creatch better be out of the factory in 10 minutes.”

Horton hurried over to help him up. 

“Oh Cin, I’m so sorry. I shoulda done something. I’m so sorry. Can you walk?” 

His heart was beating so fast he felt like it would explode. The effects of the pain stick always lingered. He really couldn’t walk, but he’d have to.

“It’s..okay, Horton. Just help…me…up”.

And strangely, in a sense, it was okay. The pain stick usually hurt a lot more, but his anxiety had distracted him. When Max had jumped on top of him he thought for sure that he would notice the cores he had glued to the bottom of his workstation. The first part of his plan was complete.