At 7:30 the metro rounds the corner, Sam boards and is swallowed in a sea of brown work jumpsuits. The factories begin production at eight o clock sharp, creating the exact amount of needed provisions for the exact population in each district for each provisions distribution appointment. The ride to the factory yards takes fifteen minutes and with each stop, more familiar faces from his district join the mass on the metro.

The automated driver interrupts the din of classical music with announcements of factory stops. Sam Rittford and all the other twenty-five to thirty-year-old males pass the textiles, food packaging, and lumber factories before exiting the bus at the weaponry factory. Sam find the weaponry factory work monotonous and tedious, but according to the cybernetic super computer, his age group displays the sharpest minds to minimize errors in production of weapons where accuracy is crucial.

Today, the screen displays the target number of each weapon in the factory, Sam works on missiles. Each day Sam notices the numbers increasing, but the nightly news updates constantly report a reduction in deployed troops and boasts success in the nuclear war against the United States. Sam reports to the computer, scans his fingerprint, and retrieves his slip with his individual requirements for the work day and expected provisions available from his hours worked today. Since it’s Wednesday, the provisions today are laundry detergent, milk, and pork. At his work station, the production belt whirs by, stopping only briefly to allow him to screw in his part on the weapons.