Heartwreck

The house was a blight on the suit’s lovely cornfield horizon. He raised a cigar to his lips, drinking in the expensive smoke— bad for one’s health, of course, but that didn’t matter much since his power didn’t come from his heart. No, his power had been inherited from his father and his grandfather before him, along with the green crops rolling through the hills.

In only a few short days, he would reduce the house to glass shards on yellow grass and an uninterrupted view of his land. The family who lived there would have to work more often— run harder, faster, to buy a new one for their children— but that was okay. Their extra work would make life easier for him, and the monitors would beep anyway.

Perhaps he should have cared more about the family living in that house. Each second brought them closer to the Flatline— the moment when they would arrest and seize and the lights would flicker as the power banks lost a source of energy. Like today, for example.

The monitors’ steady beeping had suddenly held in a sustained whine. A woman collapsed, the safety key clattered against the floor. He had tsked at her weak heart and opened the doors for the body to be carted out and replaced with the next qualified candidate.

The Flatline was just a blip. Barely worth noticing.

They would keep running anyway, because stopping would mean they didn’t meet their daily quota, their output wouldn’t be high enough, and they couldn’t afford to lose their pay. Their lives— their children— the dream of food, education, a better life —depended on it.

The suit puffed a breath of smoke as he gazed apathetically at the house in the field. It would have to go, but that was okay. It didn’t affect him.