Bavaria. He joined the mobile janitors as a necessity, and climbed the ranks quickly due to his good work ethic and obedience. Exiled from his homeland and without a family, work was all he had. He brandished his mop in his wrinkled, stubborn hands. The mop’s strands were moist. It was soaked, drained and drained once more. Nagy and Hans continued to stare at each other, neither was willing to back down.
Nagy stepped forward quickly, and swung his mop at the German’s head. Hans ducked, and countered with his shovel, hitting Nagy’s right leg hard. Nagy gritted his teeth and backed away as Hans began swinging furiously. Closer, one foot closer. Nagy pointed the mop’s head at Hans, and activated the extender. Nothing. Shocked, Nagy desperately pressed the button several times before angrily swinging at Hans. Each strike hit with little force, as the wet mop cushioned Hans from each blow. Nagy had taken several hits to the chest, feeling each one connect with his ribcage. Nagy backed up once again, lamenting his useless weapon. No time to think. Nagy held his mob over his head and leapt, bringing the mop down on Hans. Hans grabbed the end handle of his showel, and with all his strength he pushed the sharpened end into his enemy’s belly. Nagy had missed, and his midsection was pierced by the shovel. His skin was torn open, and the inside of his stomach felt the outside air enter. He dropped the mop. Corporal Heinz put his boot on his foe’s shoulder, and pushed him away while pulling the shovel out. Nagy Weibewitz lied on the ground, no longer in shock. “I surrender. Help me. Help me, help me, help me.” Heinz raised his bloodstained shovel, still shimmering with the sun over his head, and brought it down on Nagy’s face. Each successive strike broke more pieces of the skull. After six times, with his opponent’s head reduced to a bloody mess, Hans stopped. The body was lifeless, motionless and unrecognizeable. The corporal walked away and pulled out his communicator. His deep voice was transcripted into a message to the mobile janitor’s union. “A mess has been made in Region 3 on the 448th floor.”
Reiner awoke to the sound of water rushing through loud pipes. The numbers 0300 glowed red on his cheap clock. Three hours until he had to get up for work, four more hours until he had achieved a healthy eight hours of sleep. Oh well, seven hours of sleep would suffice to keep him through the day, and it would exhaust him at the end of the day, letting him sleep again. He stopped thinking and fell back to sleep.
BZZRP BZZRP BZZRP, the alarm clock beckoned rapidly before being shut off. 0600, Tuesday. Four more days of work until he was off again. Five days until the bi-weekly meeting with his old friends. Fourteen hours until today’s shift was over. One or two more years depending on the availability of property, price fluctuations and wage inflation until he could buy an apartment with another room, or maybe one where he wouldn’t be woken up whenever someone above took a shit.
Reiner got out of bed, throwing the duvet back down so it formed a misshapen square over the mattress. He walked a foot away from his bed until he was face to face with his closet, opening the shutter and revealing a pile of clean clothes below a rack full of clean uniforms. He took one off and put his arms through both holes, and zipped it up until his naked chest was covered. He pinned his medal two inches above, and two inches left of his right nipple. He grabbed a pair of clean underwear from the pile and placed it so that it covered his genitals. A pair of blue jeans followed the underwear up his legs until they reached his waist, which were then locked in place with a purple utility belt. 0603.
Breakfast was next. Reiner thought he could get away with brushing his teeth for four minutes at the end of the day as opposed to the dentist’s recommended two minutes in the morning and two minutes before bed. Showers were taken after work so that he didn’t bring stink, dirt and grime into his apartment. Anyways, today’s breakfast was cereal and a few frozen sausages, with a glass of watered down wine to wake him up. It wouldn’t take more than five minutes for the sausages to cook over the stovetop, and the cereal would take about thirty seconds at most. Most people might adjust their schedules so that they might sleep in a little more, but Reiner used his extra time to browse the net. Beddit and Spacebook consumed thousands of hours of valuable time that could be spent on learning new things, developing skills or spending time with loved ones. Instead the only things learned were seduction techniques and angry, incoherent arguments about politics. Today, Reiner got two new messages on his Beddit profile.
- Personal Message to: REINMAKER69
NAGY IS DEAD. you're NEXT
- comment reply Why Anton will be the next Kaiser
dude that's fucked. Gustav is a tank commander and certainly not a bad fighter. anyone who even tries to assasinate him is going to be hit with a thousand tank rounds at once with the druid systems we have.
hleeman was thankfully downvoted and forced to delete his own comment, with dozens of people arguing with his idiotic logic. There are plenty of ways to kill someone who leads an army of tanks. Especially when you consider that they aren't always surrounded by their own panzers. Still, it was dissapointing that Reiner missed the shouting contest.
madolfstatler had 0 posts, and had only had an account for 6 hours. Most likely an immature attempt at shock humour. Still, it was creepy. Nagy, the old bastard was always friendly and knew the secret to making friends in a new country. He had bought beer for every single mobile janitor in the region. Whether it was a cheap attempt to make friends, or an easy way to look good it worked. His new young comrades would invite him to their parties, where he was always the oldest in the room. His older friends would buy him a beer during work, or take him to a local bar. The quiet ones would open up to this beer buying father figure, and the assholes would show the minimum amount of gratitude.