Finally the lunch whistle droned, as always it seemed hours past due to Ven. Removing his thick leather gloves, smoked glasses, and heat shielded apron he stepped back from the smelter controls and joined the shuffling mass of other workers. Leaving the stifling heat of the mill floor Ven filed past stacks of still cooling refined ore ingots waiting to be moved to the finishing rooms. Moving with the press of bodies he exited the work rooms and entered the echoing mess hall.
This close to the equator the ambient temperature only seemed bearable after leaving the smelting room floor. The oppressive humidity was a constant of Wanax Secondus that its inhabitants had long learned to ignore. Better off then the damn fool miners, thought Ven as he stiffly took a seat at the long tables that stretched the length of the room built to accomadate the over 3000 laborers.
At 26 standard, Ven didn't feel old, but seeing the young dirt smeared boys pushing the serving carts down the isles he had to stop and wonder if he was ever that young. He knew he felt older then he did when he took this job 2 years ago. Remembering the constant pain of the first few months he absentminded rubbed his thickly muscled arms. A much different texture then the sickly, bony addict that took this job originally. He was proud of his hard work, and took his pains as badges of honor for the honest work he put in.
Taking a bowl of tasteless stew he thought to the pains he had felt before the mills. His arm stopped halfway to his mouth to stare fixedly at the solid 3 inch black square tattooed on his right inner forearm. The inking had hurt, but it was that or cut out the 3 headed serpent tattoo he earned with the Tripents.
When you left the Tripents they made sure you knew it. He was lucky enough to be alive to have to get his ink covered. Most members who left were buried with their markings and a few broken bones down the nearest volcanic vent or in the massive slag dumps to the north. No, he'd been lucky alright, surviving an street gang initiation was tough enough, but the group beating was nothing compared to the all out assault he got when he wanted left. Only after beating him to a bloody smudge on the ground, did Keagen tell him "you're free to go". Keagen, the averaged sized, wild eyed leader of the Tripents, has assumed he would die there in the forgotten allies in the oldest part of Wanax Secondus.
Luckily his bruised and battered body was found by a local and dragged to a near by community medicae's ward. He spent the next few weeks clinging to life while trying to fight off a bad case of withdraw. Most users who started shooting "drill" died within a few months, but the rest became life long users. Even the thought of it still made his muscles shudder and sweat beads prick out on his forehead. But something in Ven kept him going and pulled him through the 2 months stuck in the scrubbed filth that was the aging clinics trauma ward.
No his luck had gotten him through all that pain and suffering and now Ven Oypic wouldn't complain about a little stiffness from hard work.