The sizzling inferno of the furnace was barely bearable in this area of the factory. To Celia, the oppression never felt more magnified than in one of the most significant workspaces of them all. Representing this was the sweat and soot that further ruined the clothes she and many others were forced to wear while shovelling mountains of coal into the furnace.

A female worker, one with portions of crusted skin and reddened hands, tugged at some loose clothing of a guard for their undivided attention. “Can you please offer me some water?” She clasped her throat as she said this to cope with the hoarseness of her own voice. The enforcer wore specially-designated yellow, indicating his ability to serve water through a hydration pack with tubes. Taking advantage of such a role, he shoved her and drew a baton.

“You should have stayed where you were, beast.”

“But I really need some water at this point. Someone like me can only take so much in here.”

“Wait like everyone else.” He glared at her with such lifeless irritation it ravaged her mortal depths. The man was like a phantom taking a piece from within, causing immediate compliance.

The girl’s return to scooping coal became less swift than before. One couldn’t fault the protective heat-resistant boots to not have their toes or soles burnt; it was never one to impede them. Instead, the water deprivation was getting to her, and it got to people like Celia as well.

But despite this supposed defence, there were no socks or gloves to reduce blisters or sores as a way for the mega-corporation to save money. To have footwear was rare outside of work, for they were usually barefoot—leading to frequent foot ailments and random objects lodged in their feet.

Celia took note of how the guard eased his baton onto his side. It seemed so simple even when his palms looked to be pooling water itself. How he was able to hold it so well defied explanation. Maybe not rushing was the secret in doing it.

Guards such as him were different. Whether in yellow or the more security-focused brown, they did have vests and gloves like their more protected counterparts outside the furnace. But unlike those in black, they had on less of the tactical gear that defined their look.

Also, they had to dress in more regular security clothes made of a very breathable cotton to not roast within minutes of being in here. Even with the reduced clothing, their armpits and abdomens became moist like the workers they looked over.

Due to this, there were rags just for them to wipe their faces. They could not confuse theirs for the obvious white cloths the workers had to share alongside the tubes from the hydration packs to combat the high temperatures.

"Time for a water break, you scum!” This came at them with the ferocity of a jungle predator. As the assertive, toupee-headed guard again felt his longtime elbow stiffness, he gestured each worker to use their maximum eight seconds for the water they needed.

Celia would often get her water this way. She would ensure she would get her allocation before they began to ration it. The ‘spit-take’, as it was called, would have the water be gargled in the mouth of each guard in yellow to be spat on the tongues of workers.

With these manufactured discomforts, it did not help that Celia did not have much time to settle in before doing this. The normal procedure of at least cleaning themselves and eating were put on hold because of how late she and Jo arrived at the factory.

This had them scared to use the showers in the factory for concern that once they were done, their twelve-hour shift would begin from well after eleven in the morning to almost midnight. If they were hungry or needed something like juice to drink, they would have to wait until the first of several mandated breaks to do it. Going straight to work meant that afterwards they would be able to truly eat, bathe, change clothes, and leave and not labour into the early morning.

Celia fought through the heat-derived exhaustion in the space illuminated by flame until they were again sent on break. She wanted to put in some work before asking to go to the gynaecologist since she was late. The original orders from the doctor in allowing her to have more breaks outside the furnace had been denied, so she was desperate that an appeal to go straight to the clinic would be more effective.

But, as in other such instances, her pale male superior with foggy spectacles stated her female problems were not urgent or severe enough to be let off. No handwritten documentation from a doctor could change that about her supervisor when he had torn it up weeks ago.

A scene of her probably crying about how bad her yet to come cramps felt or staining much of her crotch with ketchup would convince him. Others have used such tactics with varying success. However, she was not confident in her ability to lie. She chose to let it go and prioritise her health when she had the opportunity.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Celia didn’t bother turning around, thinking it was the typical exclamations made when one put themselves under strain. However, their loud sounds persisted enough for her to tell them to pause their screams while raising substantive heaps of coal.

“Sorry, but not sorry. It’s just my way of coping with this place. Keeping all that hate in isn’t a good thing for anyone.” The person, a man in his early twenties with tough, decent-length arms and a stout face, was seen as a fabulous worker. His open rage somehow translated into completing his job faster than most—and you know what that got him? More work.

“You’re lucky it’s me who’s calling you out. Don’t you get how much of a disturbance you are?”

“I don’t think people here are worried about me. Whenever the furnace starts to act out, that’s when I make those noises as to not disturb others since it drowns out so much.”

Celia could hear the sudden bellows of fire and aged iron from the furnace’s early industrial form. Being a ravenous pit as large as it was permitted rises in production when required. One could infer that with its unintelligible ramblings likened to a cult leader, that they were now kicking it into high gear.

“It’s as clear as ever, isn’t it?”

“The furnace?”

“Not just that, but the fact that we’re stuck here forever. You, me and everyone else are going to work here until we die. And because of that, I have no problem with being exploited.” He had to grin having understood this sad reality. “When that happens, they could say that I was always a good worker.”

The supposed end of their discussion had Celia put more effort into what she did. To be reminded of their fate was sobering, and this had her obey the commands of her guards and supervisor with a similar understanding of their doom.

This enhanced their cycle of work and break until the end of their twelve hour day. Celia then rushed to the health clinic attached to the factory before it closed where next to it was a section that functioned as a daycare, kindergarten, and middle school for the children of the workers.

On the outside, there were letters, numbers, animals, and shapes painted on a blue background. What ruined this sight were the guards of Ironside; each a blight obstructing the touching scene behind them with their harrowing forms. There was a large rectangular pane of glass to the left of the entrance that revealed not just the basic education they were given and the security inside keeping watch, but most importantly, feeding them corporate propaganda to prepare the next generation for exploitation.

Any impact of such schooling on Celia was multifaceted, but her present bodily realities meant not even a quip from her time there as she entered the automatic sliding doors of a place so distinct in their treatment.

Unlike the inhumane conditions experienced in the factory, the health clinic was welcoming, clean and modern with its polished granite countertops, white tile flooring covered with dark mineral specks, the drywall ceiling adorned with fluorescent lights and subsequent walls with informative posters about hand washing and other health tips. This kind of environment clearly drove many through its doors, whether near death, or more frequently, through deception.

She was escorted to the gynaecologist's office by two of the guards and a bald female nurse with dangle earrings, pink medical scrubs and crocs stationed at the front. When they arrived inside the room with its many relevant pamphlets and diagrams, the bald nurse allowed the two guards to enter, who were very much feminine in height and shape.

“Seems like we have another patient, don’t we?” The gynaecologist was never a person to take off her mask while in the clinic. However, she was a nice lady with the maiden name of Phendew and had big, rough hands that were noticeable through her medical gloves.

Celia was offered to sit next to her to feel comfortable in explaining what was wrong. “Over the last few days, I’ve been having a weird smell down south. It’s been bothering me and I think I needed to come here to deal with it.”

“You look familiar…” The gynaecologist weaved her fingers together while in thought. “I’m sure I helped you with the same issue some time back. Is it a re-occuring problem, I presume?”

“I tried telling my supervisor that I should be given more time outside the furnace as you said, but even with a written and signed note from you, he couldn’t care less.”

“It’s a shame I expected anything different. Being naïve in hoping they would be considerate was just too optimistic.” This got her to have the nurse prepare something for her patient.

Prior to coming here, Celia anticipated being naked from the waist down with her legs spread open on the exam table. Instead, she held onto the thick brown strings from a paper bag. In it, there was both soap and a pack of wipes tailored to manage acidity. Before walking out the clinic, the doctor reminded her that if she still had issues that she should come back as soon as possible.

After some walking, she came upon the section Jo worked in. He was getting off the forklift he used to place finished steel goods into trucks behind garage doors for delivery throughout the nation. There were very few people around at this time, but regardless of who else might be here or not, she approached him to get a genuine answer on why he avoided her the past night.

Jo preferred not to talk about his feelings in this instance, making Celia self-conscious. She would not think that way about anyone else, for she truly cared about the opinion of her friend.

"Why you don't want to be near me?" Celia noting this got his demeanour to twist into one of fear, making her feel worse with how he behaved.

"It's about my family." He bowed his head in shame. "I feel horrible just thinking about it. That's all I can say."

She now had some understanding of his actions, but there were doubts considering he never acted like this even when it came to his family. Celia could only come to the conclusion that both her vaginal odour and physical appearance were the problem. This caused her to question the future of their relationship. Despite this, she didn't want what they had to disappear.

Celia couldn't let go of him—at least not yet.