Rotten Souls

Leaking pipes dulled the sounds of drills in the distance. Washington, a low-level picker at Nu Yu Corp., could only hear the noise from the lifts and the footsteps of those around him as he seized the required part from the bay. He glanced down at his checklist and checked the item off.

Nu York, where he lived, was formerly known as "Manhattan," but since the Fall of the Americas, the Nu Yu Corporation purchased the island, leveled all of Alphabet City to Chinatown, and built a factory and industrial complex. Those who remained after the Fall, suddenly had jobs and prospects within Nu York. Most of the Americas burned, but Nu York was, for the most part, spared.

Life was different now, but Nu Yu offered opportunity in the midst of the wasteland – an opportunity for you to be better. Nu Yu had configured a process to download your consciousness into a new body once you had naturally passed away. Something that had started as a means for the politicians to live on was rebranded as endless life for anyone who could afford it. Those who had something to live for jumped at the opportunity to continue on with thinner waists and prettier faces.

When faced with backlash over altering genetics, Nu Yu's CEO, Plato Mondale, scoffed at accusations. "Every Nu Yu contract includes a morality clause. Anyone who commits suicide to obtain their Nu Self is immediately disqualified, and their consciousness will not be continued."

It was a strange thing to do, picking someone's future body. Washington looked at the next location on his list and walked down the warehouse to the corresponding bay. He retrieved the part, checked the corresponding line item, and repeated the process. Each location contained a boxed item. The boxes were sealed, but they were meticulously tagged with identification markers.

It was his third build of the day. Each build takes a minimum of an hour to collect their parts, but some builds require much more time. Depending on the needs and preferences of the clients, he could be hunting for rare parts for hours at a time.

At the end of the list, Washington strolled over to the Return Counter and pushed the box over to the clerk.

"It all here?" She asked without looking at him.

"Yes," he nodded.

She looked at him and looked at the box. He slid over his checklist, and she quickly went through it – tapping an item with one hand and the line item with the other.

"Good job, Picker. Go take a break for a few minutes before the next checklist prints out."

Washington turned and then looked back.

"Did the last clerk get transferred? I forgot the name, but we talked about music sometimes."

The clerk blinked a few times before she coughed.

"Um, no. The clerk hasn't changed. I'm still me, but I go by Penelope now. Also, I still like Poets of Warfare."

Washington thought about what she said for a minute before smiling and giving her a high-five.

"Penelope. I like it! I'll see you after I finish my next assignment."

"Double check your list," Penelope added with a smirk as he walked away.

Washington made it to the break room on the next floor. He walked over to the meal and beverage kiosks and punched buttons. A slow hum vibrated on the other side of the wall.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Washington reached down and grabbed a Fizz and a sandwich. He took a seat at an empty table and enjoyed his breakfast. It was a slow day at the Warehouse. Washington had taken off a couple of days, and it was his first day back. Amazingly enough, he had missed his job while he was home. He missed the consistency. He missed the monotony. When he was home, he had to think about things other than work, and Washington did not like to think about the world outside of work.