The municipal sewer processing plant of Cogwheel-Prime was not a glamorous workplace.
Located seven levels below the city surface, the vast cavern echoed with the sloshing of gray runoff and fermented compost. Giant iron cooling cranks, each thirty meters in diameter, required continuous manual rotation to keep the bio-filter bacteria alive.
Two men stood on the rusted iron catwalk, their faces pale with misery.
Both wore oversized, fluorescent yellow debtor vests. Across the back of each vest, glowing orange letters spelled out: CERTIFIED PREDATORY DEBTOR — PUBLIC RESTITUTION DIVISION.
Drakon groaned as he reached for the cold iron crank with his three remaining arms. His hydraulic joints squealed in protest. Every turn of the giant wheel sent greasy water splashing across his stained boots.
Beside him, Professor Greed was weeping softly into his yellow sleeve.
“My hands...” Professor Greed sniffled, staring at his blistered fingers. “I hold three advanced doctorates in micro-plasma resonance! I am supposed to be sitting in a velvet armchair, sipping imported star-brandy! Why am I turning a sewage paddle?”
“Shut up and push, Greed,” Drakon hissed between gritted teeth. His cybernetic eye-visors flickered with low-battery warnings. “If the bio-filters stall, the bailiff docks our bread ration!”
