East Wing, Part III

The guards wear uniforms the same color as concrete and pace the hallways, peering into the cells, watching. They are as much a part of East Wing as the blank walls. They control where we go, when, every move we make. They are the bars and locks of this prison. Machines can be outsmarted easily enough. But human beings--they're harder to trick. They know the prison as well as we do, and they carry guns.

Best of all, they're expendable. Machines are expensive to make, what with coal restrictions and China's nasty habit of shooting rockets at passing freighters. But people are plentiful. Cheap.

I almost don't notice them anymore. Don't notice them until they're gone.

There are no guards today. The doors stand alone, unflanked by those familiar gray-clothed figures. The catwalks do not echo with their heavy footsteps; their gruff greetings. Mornin'.

Silence.

On any other day, I would've rejoiced. I would've rushed the doors, the walls, the windows. Would've found a gas tank and blown a hole in the wall. Stolen a crowbar and smashed my window out. Figured out a way to escape.

But today the world appears to be ending, so I'm a bit preoccupied.