Warhammer: Empire Reboot

The shift change bell rang four hours early.

The workers did not leave their workstations.

They looked up at the old brass clock.

The bell tolled in the factory, like some kind of alarm that had been accidentally triggered.

Foreman Mug was the first to react and rushed to the central platform.

Who rang the bell?

No one answered.

He turned around and yelled, "Are your ears welded shut? I'm asking who rang the bell!"

The cornerstone supervisor next to the production line looked up.

"The twelfth hour has ended. Class B is withdrawing. Class C is entering."

Mug looked at him, and the flesh on his face twitched.

"Class B has four hours left."

The old schedule has been abolished.

"Who crippled him?"

"Sectoral Civil Affairs and Wartime Reconstruction Nodes"

The riveting sounds in the factory gradually subsided.

Mug felt those gazes.

The workers' gaze.

In the past, they dared not look at him.

But people are watching today.

He suppressed his anger and pointed to his chest.

"I've been in charge of this place for twenty years."

The cornerstone supervisor flips through the data panel.

“Over the past 20 years, the factory has averaged 16.7 hours of work, with an accident rate 41 times higher than the new standards for the star sector, and 17 percent of material losses are untraceable.”

Moog immediately started cursing: "That's because the machines are old, the workers are lazy, and they're bastards from the bottom..."

The regulator raised his hand.

Two cornerstone suicide soldiers walked onto the platform.

Moog's second half of his sentence got stuck in his throat.

The supervisor continued, "You are suspected of withholding protective equipment, falsifying death records, illegally selling rivet steel, delaying shift changes, and buying and selling work injury quotas."

The workers looked at the platform.

No one dared to speak.

Mug's face turned pale.

But he quickly managed a smile.

"It's a misunderstanding. It's all old stuff. New rules have come, and I'll cooperate. I've always cooperated."

He took a step closer to the supervisor.

The two assassins slightly raised the muzzles of their guns.

Moog stopped immediately and raised his hands.

"Brother, don't be like that. I'm not one of those idiots from the Iron Throat Gang. I know about factories. If you want production, I can provide it. If you want accounting books, I'll provide them. If you want manpower, I'll provide that too."

The supervisor looked at him.

Moog lowered his voice, as if imparting some kind of survival experience.

“These workers can’t be let off the hook. If they slack off for even an hour, they’ll dare to tighten ten fewer rivets tomorrow. If you let them go back after twelve hours, what will they do there? Drink? Gamble? Have babies? Steal materials? You’re new here, you don’t understand the people of Chaodu.”

Below the platform, a young female worker's finger twitched.

Her name is Nawei.

Seventeen years old.

Two fingers are missing from his right hand.

Last year, when the machine jammed, she reached for a steel plate and her finger got caught. Moog said she had mishandled the machine and withheld her rations for three months.

She was gripping a wrench at that moment.

The cornerstone regulator paused for a second.

“Production has increased.”

Moog was stunned.

"what?"

"After we temporarily took over the three production lines, material theft stopped, workplace injuries decreased, and equipment maintenance resumed. Under the 12-hour shift, the actual output was 23% higher than the old schedule."

Some of the workers gasped.

Moog's expression finally changed.

"You've miscalculated."

"The data comes from your secret accounts."

Moog's lips twitched.

“I can explain.”

You will have a chance.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

The regulator finished the sentence.

"In the interrogation room."

When Moog was dragged off the platform, he finally panicked.

"Wait! I know where the noble warehouse is! I know who supplies the Iron Throat Gang with guns! I can help you!"

No one answered him.

"Navie!"

He suddenly shouted down.

The young female worker froze.

Mogg shouted as if he'd grabbed a lifeline: "Navi, say something! I was the one who had you dragged out of the machine last year! Say it!"

Navi held the wrench and looked up at him.

The entire factory was looking at her.

Navi said, "You withheld my rations for three months."

Mooger's smile vanished.

Navie added, "And let me thank you too."

Mug was dragged through the side door.

The door closed.

Below the central platform, Navi remained standing in the same spot.

Her old worker, Hoban, didn't move either.

He had worked in the riveting factory for forty-one years, his back bent like an old pipe. He stared at the exit, his voice hoarse.

"Is this a trap?"

Navie asked, "What kind of trap?"

“Let us go. Tomorrow we’ll be accused of shirking our work.”

Another worker nearby whispered, "I'd rather keep doing it. There's nothing wrong with continuing."

They stood beside the production line, like a herd of livestock that heard the cage door open but dared not leave.

The cornerstone supervisor stepped off the platform.

"Class B evacuates."

"Leave your workstation. Go home. Return to work in twelve hours."

Hoban swallowed hard.

"Go home...what for?"

When this question was asked, many people around looked at the cornerstone supervisor.

They did not provoke us intentionally.

They really didn't know.

Under the 16-hour workday, going home only provides enough time to sleep, eat, and treat wounds before crawling back to the factory.

The extra four hours felt like a strange piece of metal suddenly inserted into my life, and I didn't know where to put it.

The regulator replied:

"rest."

This word made the workers quieter.

Someone repeated it in a low voice.

"rest?"

Navi looked down at her hands.