Where did the world go?

"I don't understand how you do it." Peteren said. He sat on his bed, absentmindedly tossing the ball against his containment's door. Well, technically it was called a domus, but he thought the word "containment" sounded better and more fitting.

He looked over at his slave, Tunx, still catching the ball and tossing it again in a smooth rhythm. Tunx was one of the many prisoners-turned-servants. He wasn't sure what species he was, though it most likely a mix of two. Most slaves were. The decent purebreds were restricted for the dominas.

"You work all day and barely sleep at night. How do you keep going?" Peteren asked. He caught and tossed the ball. Tunx gave no acknowledgement he had talked. "Hey. HEY." He said, louder this time. "Look at me when I talk to you." Tunx stopped cleaning the small table and turned towards him. His big blue eyes looked at him, droopy and sad. "I asked how you do it." He repeated. Tunx blinked at him, silent. "How do you keep going?" Peteren thought if he could figure out how Tunx did it, he might be able to as well. Tunx made a low groaning sound, his only form of communication. He caught and tossed the ball.

"Didn't expect you to answer anyway." He muttered. "Not like you can talk." he turned his attention away from Tunx and back to the ball. He caught and tossed it again. "'Course." He sighed. "You don't know any better. Born and raised a slave." He caught and tossed the ball. "Born and raised a worker." Catch, toss. "Almost..." Catch, toss. "Like I..." Catch, toss. "Know..." Catch, toss. "How that..." Catch, toss. "FEELS." He spiked the ball against the door angrily. It rebounded off and whacked him directly in the face. "Ah!" he muttered, holding his nose. The ball rolled off the bed and stilled at Tunx's feet. He groaned and picked it up. "Tunx, get me a towel." Peteren said, frustrated. His nose was starting to bleed. "Crap." He muttered.

Tunx handed him a towel and the ball. "Don't give me that." Peteren said, swatting the ball away. It tumbled off, and Tunx went to get it again. "Leave it!" Peteren called. Tunx froze and turned to him. He groaned. "Useless." Peteren muttered, holding his nose with the towel.

He sat there on the bed, stewing in his emotions, until Tunx came up to him. "Go away." Peteren said. Tunx tapped his shoulder. "Go AWAY!" Peteren said louder. Tunx groaned and insistently patted his shoulder. He was pointing at the clock. Peteren had 15 minutes until he had to leave for work at 8. "Thank you so much, TUNX." Peteren said, his words laced with venom. "I had no idea that the job that I've been doing for 12 years started at the exact same time is does EVERY SINGLE DAY." At that, Tunx backed off, eyes growing wider. He softly groaned as if in apology.

"Shut up." Peteren muttered. He tucked his throbbing nose between his knees, pressing it against the towel. He didn't want Tunx to see how upset he was. He was 18 now, and he'd been stuck doing the same job since age 5. On everyone's 5th birthday, they were assigned a job based on what accomplishment's they'd gotten in grade school. He was unlucky enough to become an engineer. He was forced to study engineering for a year, then forced to become an engineer at age 6. Age 6. When he was younger, age 6-10, he worked in the gardens department. Maintenance of the automatic water and collection machinery was his primary job. Now, since then, he worked in the heating department. At age 20, if he managed to not die of either boredom or getting crushed by machinery, he'd get promoted to engine department. Age 40 is upgraded to "Personal workforce of elite domina personnel and subordinate command of machinery." What a load of bull.

He pushed himself off his bed and got dressed for work. He shed his brown pants and white sweater and put on his bright yellow work pants and jacket. Not-so-fun fact: the reason they were bright yellow is so that if you're in the way of machinery people can see and not blast you to bits. He hastily combed his hair in the mirror.

He had a thin face, not quite gaunt but nowhere near round or square. Dark brown hair framed his brown eyes, hanging shaggy and unkempt most of the time. He didn't have the money to get a haircut, and he didn't have any scissors. He had a cooking knife, but there was no way he was going to risk cutting his hair with that thing. His hair was just like his mothers had been, but her eyes were blue. His fathers eyes were brown, hazel brown. Peterens were darker. This all was a pretty rare combination, especially the fact his skin was a pasty white. Most people nowadays had a green or blue tint to their skin, from the brief period where humans had interbred with one alien species they had formed an alliance with. The dominas weren't happy about that, and so they abandoned the species. He didn't have any alien DNA in him, though. His skin was pure white.