Work Text:
A cough wracks the tall bug's throat. The particles in the air are as clear and heavy as they always have been since he was confined within this room—his workstation.
Loam stops running on the belt for a moment to catch his breath, feeling a wave of dread of what could happen should he rest too long. A moment is all he needs, then he picks back up again. After all, they could be watching.
He has been at this station for a very long time—he used to believe for as long as he could remember, but that is false. For there was that one day when he actually got a visitor, and she reminded him of his past. Aside from her, no one has been in his room since he began his toil on this treadmill.
She was a small bug, cloaked in red. Clean and lively, clearly not from the Underworks. Loam had thought upon first glance that she had come from the Citadel above. He had thought he was finally about to receive his reward for all these years of tireless work to keep the machinery running.
It turned out that she was only a visitor and had discovered him by chance as she was exploring the factory. She seemed to hold distaste for the Citadel he's always held with high esteem. And she seemed to shake her head with pity as he told her what he's been working so hard for.
"Sir, I fear you are long forgotten by your masters," she had said. "Should you not rest? The burden this toil is placing on your shell is plain to see."
To Loam, she was speaking nonsense. He told her as much, whilst trying to catch his breath like any other day. "You speaks strange. Me cannot rest. Us works, and Citadel breathes, and thems above do sing, and all is right. And when us works enough, thems see it… Hrrr… thems see it, and us gets us holy reward."
She continued to stare at him strangely, as if he was the one speaking nonsense. Yet she was a visitor. How could she possibly know the workings of the great masters of the holy Citadel? What would she know of their grand plan?
"May I ask what you know of the Citadel above you, sir? You go to much effort to reach it."
Was Loam ever excited to. She needed to know. "Hrrrr! The Citadel! Most miracle of a place, bright and holy! Fresh water for all, much as can drink! Air so clean you can see the rooves above. When me thinks of Citadel above, me works hardest of all! Hrrrr!"
Her face only seemed to darken further, as if she knew something that he didn't. She did not comment further, so Loam started to run again. This conversation was the longest he rested aside from sleeping!
The tiny bug stared at him as he ran, and she glanced back and forth around his workstation. Then she walked over to the back, behind his treadmill, and hopped on the secondary device. She began to sprint at incredible speed. She ran for almost a minute before the mechanism clicked and shot out a rosary bead onto the floor. It clacked loudly as it bounced, then it rolled and hit the wall, settling beside the door.
"Hrr! Hrrrr! Good, me friend, good," he stopped once more to congratulate her. The bugs above wouldn't mind in this case. "When us works together, is more holy! Is more work done! Together, let's us work raw hard 'til thems above see how worthy us is!" He began to run once more.
Only she chose this moment to stop running. A pity, he thought to himself, but she wasn't confined in here. It only made sense she would not continue. He watched her walk across the room and pick up the single bead from the floor. She held it in her hand and stared at it like it was a disappointment. Such a strange reaction. Those holy beads of prayer are the only way to afford confession, to afford a rest for most bugs in the Underworks. They are a gift from the bugs above.
She continued to hold the bead and began glancing around the room once more. Her face was sullen and sad. Loam couldn't figure out why. You work and you are rewarded! It isn't more simple than that!
Then she did something Loam wasn't expecting, she took her needle he had assumed was some sort of weapon and rested the pointed end on the floor before moving her hands across the center. Suddenly, he heard music come from the needle. Plucked strings like it was some instrument. The melody was something oddly familiar, but also entirely new. The tune was bittersweet. He stopped running and began to sing along as much as his raspy voice would allow.
"See me work…
More… more… more…
For your light…
Harder… longer…
This shell still strong…."
Loam was reminded of a time when he was not in this room, at this station. He remembered another place. He remembered his family. Being free.
"Hrrr. Hrrrrrrr. Them sounds you make. Of holy sort. When me hear such sounds, me remember of home. Me remember of be little. It make it painful hard to work, such remembers. Me must keep working. Please, friend. Do not make them sounds no more."
The bug stared up at him, eyes even more sullen, looking pained with guilt perhaps. Loam did not blame her. After all, she was the first visitor he'd ever had.
"Very well, large one. I will stop."
"Hrrrr, me can not say much more friend. Thems is watching. Us must keep working."
She simply nodded her head in response. That was when she turned around and left. She opened the tiny door and disappeared behind it.
Loam still hears that sad tune echoing in the recesses of his mind. He sees glimpses and flashes from his past.
His mother, tall and large as he is now, when he was but a tiny bug, barely half the size of her torso. He would hide under her to escape the rain. She would shield him from debris from sandstorms.
He forgot he even had a mother. Where is she now? Is she dead?
How had he gotten here? Why is he in this room and how had he fit through the only door? It's only large enough for a bug the size of his tiny visitor to comfortably walk through.
Had he been here since he was young? That's the only logical explanation.
How many years has it been? Loam doesn't even know how old he is now. Or how many birthdays have passed.
A part of him wishes that small bug never came to see him. All she had left him with was a sense of loneliness, and unearthed memories he thought were long buried.
He can't even remember if he got her name.
Loam takes another moment to catch his breath. His throat feels slightly more hoarse today. The smog hasn't gotten any thicker. Perhaps his emotions are to blame.
As he starts up again, he hears a rumbling sound in the distance. He chalks it up to a machinery overload somewhere in the factory. Can't be anything more than that.
That is until the ground beneath his feet starts to shake. Loam stumbles, and two of his legs fall off the treadmill. No! He cannot afford to fall! He must keep working!
He tries to get back up on the belt but feels tiny rocks falling from the ceiling and hitting the back of his shell. He looks up and sees that the ceiling is starting to break.
A wave of panic sets in. Is there a disaster afoot? Is the factory collapsing? Can he call for help?
He hears something loud and deep rumbling above him, and the ceiling starts to cave in. Loam stumbles to the corner. It is the first time he's stepped completely off the treadmill all day. He pushes himself against the corner wall, standing beside a thick metal beam, one of the strongest supports of the room, and watches as tiny rocks continue to fall.
Then, out of nowhere, a large boulder crashes through the ceiling and crushes his treadmill, breaking through all the gears in the walls as well.
Loam stares in horror and disbelief. Had he stood his ground and continued to work, he would have been crushed. He would have surely died.
He glances up at the large hole in the ceiling and sees light. Looking at his surroundings, he determines that the boulder can act as a step stool to reach the upper scaffolding and the hole in the roof, granted his large stature.
He pauses and stares at the destroyed machinery that plagued his daily life for almost as long as he can remember. It's not like the bugs above can do anything to punish him if his treadmill no longer works. The boulder isn't his fault. If he is not to go through the holy gate, perhaps they will have different work for him to do.
Tentatively, he steps across the wreckage and climbs through the ceiling. He steps out of the hole and onto the roof of his building. He is outside for the first time in an age, and simply stares in awe at his surroundings.
The Underworks have always been clouded in smog, but now this place has fallen to ruin. There is rubble everywhere. Dead worker bugs litter the platforms and lifts of the outer stations. He thinks he can see a large shape through the clouds, perhaps the Citadel, but the shape is not as holy as he expected. He also sees strange black threads running from underneath the rubble and up to the larger structures, reaching as high as the Citadel.
Whatever had happened has brought otherworldly danger to this place. Loam feels it within his shell. He shivers in fear and lets out a cough. He isn't sure what to do at this point. He doesn't really know where safety would lie.
For once, he feels as though that tiny bug that came to visit him would have the answer. Will she come looking for him?
Loam sits and curls his legs toward his shell, deciding to wait awhile and see…
~
He must have drifted off to sleep and was out for some time, for it took a long while for him to register a gentle tapping of a hand against his head.
"Large one, I am relieved to see you survived the destruction."
Loam opens his eyes and his vision is still blurry. He starts to make out a small white shape and a red cloak. Could it be? His tiny visitor?
"You come. You is here," he rasps.
"I am here, tall one," she says gently, like an angel. "I came to find you after what happened. I feared the worst."
"Me safe, me offer thanks for comes to finds me."
"Are you injured?" she asks him, as she runs her hand soothingly across his tattered cloak. "I know a place you will be safe. I can escort you there."
Loam wiggles his legs and assesses his condition before answering. He feels a sharp pain in his left middle leg, likely from a rock hitting his joint. He can't even recall being hit there. Perhaps he was wracked with adrenaline during the collapse of his workstation. "Hrrrr… rocks hit leg. Cause limp. Sore, but walks can still."
"That is a relief to hear," the tiny one replies. "The way to safety is dangerous. These black threads come from deep beneath the earth. They are horrors I recognise well from my homeland. And they have the power to turn bugs into something far more sinister. It is best you stay close to me. I will keep you safe."
"Hrrrrr, me lucky have such good friend," Loam murmurs, as he stumbles to his feet.
The small bug smiles wearily at him. "What is your name, large one?"
"Loam, and you is?"
"I am Hornet."
She takes her needle in a firm grip and holds the side of his torso with her other hand as he steadies himself. They begin to make their long walk to safety. It may not be the paradise that Loam was working for, but it is freedom all the same.
He smiles. Perhaps he will ask her to play him a song again once they arrive...