When I o'clock in, the machine is old and archaic, covered in layers of dust. My opening

routine is simple. I enter the main gate. I ignore Dave, who's always standing outside

the premises when I enter. I make my way to the employee area and change into my uniform

at the lockers. It sounds rather mundane. But was the shift start? The craziness begins.

Back when there was a team, we'd call every day a snowflake shift, because no two days

were ever the same. There's a long list of duties, and almost never the same task. On top

of that, there's no set schedule for when something will need to be done, creating near

infinite possibilities of combinations a night. Most of the tasks are pretty simple, but

the issue is that one small slipper could cost you dearly. And there's no manual for

the job. Survival comes through a mixture of past and experiences, and done luck. And

since there's not always a set answer, the best I can do is recall some stories from

my time here. This way, any newcomer can calibrate their mode of thinking similar to mine,

since I've been the most successful employee to date.

Before learning about the shift, it's good to brush up on the area's history. The scenic

land was battered from locals many decades ago, and swallowed into the site's growth.

It used to be a small village, where there were a few water spots, with solid land for

foundations and robust roads. The issue was commerce. The sustainability of the village

was ever sinking, so some tycoons bowled up and swallowed the whole village with sweet

deals. The idea was simple. Own all the land, and develop it more than a pile of filthy

peasants could do. Only one stood in the way, a middle-aged local

born and raised on the land, and refused the budge. Sadly, the record's a shardy, so

no one knows what happened, but they eventually got all the land, so he was a settled and

...