Slum Enterprise - Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Constant smoke breaks were not a problem anymore, pocket screen usage went out of control. Enough money was saved by most workers that they started to import pocket screens from the web on the only computer in town that had internet access. The global satellites had gotten so good that they could get service and data to access the infinity of information on the pocket screens. The line workers were so helplessly addicted only after a few weeks, that they somehow managed to multitask by holding the pocket screen in makeshift contraptions built from old unused polymer tubing that could hold the phone at face level that attached to their pant belts.

Straight to the brain like a Japanese bullet train, it surrounds the neurons and chemical receptors. The line workers' brains were conditioned to only accept dopamine through screen viewing. The pocket screen offered a way out of the harsh reality they had to live through, no wonder the addiction potential was at the maximum.

If the pocket screens stopped, the workers would surely break. One by one they will snap into bipolar psychotic episodes. Full mass hysteria would dismantle the entire operation. 

The smoke breaks were one thing, Father Stemm could usually handle the production deadlines, but the pocket screen endemic was another, production quotes tanked. The Execs during the next weekly update meeting screamed and ranted about this to Father Stemm. All he could do was nod and sweat profusciously through the little camera. Something had to be done, to Father Stemm it was simple, ban pockets screens on plant grounds.

With nothing to ease the pain, the line workers started to find suitable alternatives for distractions against the dopamine withdrawals. Little by little, they scheme, and at a slow rate, they purposefully planted product defects into the finished assembly line bins ready to be packaged and shipped. 

Then, defects started to pop up in the tools and line machinery. Presses, CNC milling machines, lathes, sprayers, weld stations, hand power tool bays, plasma cutters, grind wheels, drill presses, metal 3D printers, all started to show signs of failure. Even the line roller bearings that moved the conveyor belts were slathered with wall plaster stopping production all together. The workers acted like they had no idea what the hell was happening. They start to attribute the freak occurrences with an old native spirit that haunted the lands the plant was built on. 

The domino effect has started. One by one, every single piece of equipment in the plant was doomed. Production stopped and massive alarms went off on Father Stemm's metric screen in his office. 

Extremely hungover, he covers his ears and clicks the ‘clear alarm’ button with his mouse. “What the fuck is going on.” he yells. The line workers hear the muffled scream from through the thin office walls. The plant had never been that silent before, not a single thing was moving. Father Stemm shot up and ran out the office door onto the guardrailed balcony. He stood and pondered the stillness, the silence, all the line workers had straight faces and sat on the ground staring right back at him. 

He scanned every corner of the plant from his viewing platform. Something caught his eye. There was a blinking red light on one of the structural I beam pillars. The blinking light black box had wires leading into a white brick material stuck to the pillar. Father Stemm looked at the adjacent pillar and saw the same thing, then he looked at every other pillar and saw that they all had the same contraption on it.

The plant was rigged to blow.

“Dont run, no use.” said one of the sitting line works in broken english. “30 seconds.”

Disorder broke out, it went from calm and collective to LA riot in a split second. The workers scattered and wanted to make the most of the last 25 seconds of life. 

Unbeknownst to Father Stemm, a suicide pack was established to pass the time and give purpose back into their meaningless lives. The pocket screen was the one thing they had to have, they needed it all hours of the day or they would prefer not living. The seconds felt like years to Father Stemm. The sudden sobering shock of inevitable death slingshotted his mind into nostalgic memories, memories he thought he lost after the head explosion accident.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

A massive bright flash blinds Father Stemm still frozen on the viewing platform. The energy from the C4 bricks lift him away and fling him towards the other end of the plant. The heat burns and melts away his skin, the shock wave explodes his head. Father Stemm died instantly while in the air.

The pocket screen addicts on the floor combust in colors of orange reddish mist in the fireballs. Some who survived the initial blast hid under large machinery equipment. The structural pillars crumble, the ceiling gives way and collapses in on itself. The few survivors who are clearly about to perish under webs of steel and piles of concrete scream in unison, “Llévame a las capas de droga de la eternidad!”

The Last thought to ever pass through Father Stemm's mind was, “All this, for what?”

The roof smashes into the plant floor with extreme force. The town gets hit with sounds of explosions and crumbling buildings. All the plant junkies and Father Stemm are encased in mangled steel and a concrete tomb, only to be unearthed for the coming FBI investigation.