The heat hit Gareth first. An oppressive, physical wall. The air in the Steelweave Factory tasted of molten metal and old sweat.
Machinery roared all around him. Constant, deafening thunder that left no room for thought.
This is progress. This is power.
His Guild Operating System floated in his vision. Cold, clean data streams cut through the chaotic reality.
[STEELWEAVE FACTORY - STATUS: OPTIMAL]
[PRODUCTION: +23% SINCE CONSOLIDATION]
[GUILD REVENUE: +18%]
[EFFICIENCY COMPLIANCE: 94%]
The numbers were perfect. The factory owners had been ecstatic. His model was working.
His guide, a foreman named Evard, beamed with pride. "The new quotas are ambitious, but the system keeps everyone on track."
Gareth nodded. Watched the workers move in sync with the machines. They were cogs. But they were well-paid, protected cogs.
That was the deal.
He stopped by a workstation. A woman in her forties operating a fabric-stamping press. Her movements were precise. Efficient.
Her Guild OS tag glowed in his vision.
[WORKER: DARA]
[EFFICIENCY RATING: 102%]
[STATUS: EXCEEDING QUOTA]
"Your numbers are impressive," Gareth said, raising his voice over the din.
Dara looked up, wiping sweat from her brow with a sleeve. She recognized him.
"The pay is better," she said simply. "The hours are predictable. I can afford my daughter's apprenticeship now. She's learning bookkeeping."
She said it without fanfare. A simple statement of fact.
But to Gareth, it was everything. This was why he did it. This was the entire point.
Dara's daughter wouldn't end up on a factory line. She would have a future.
This is real. This is impact.
He gave her a rare, genuine smile. "Keep up the excellent work."
They continued the tour. The Guild OS flagged everything. A machine running 2% below optimal temperature. A worker taking 4.3 seconds longer than the average on a task.
Evard made notes on a data-slate. "We'll schedule maintenance and efficiency coaching."
Efficiency coaching. The term was clean. Professional.
It was the bedrock of the system. Identify weakness. Correct it. Improve the whole.
They passed the break room. A stark, utilitarian space.
Through the open door, he saw a woman sitting alone at a table. Her shoulders were shaking.
The machinery roar muffled the sound, but Gareth had sharp ears. He heard it. The quiet, hitching sobs of someone trying not to be heard.
His interface automatically tagged her.
[WORKER: LENA]
[EFFICIENCY RATING: 78%]
[STATUS: UNDERPERFORMING - SCHEDULED FOR COACHING]
Evard followed his gaze. "Ah, yes. Lena. She's struggling to adapt to the new pace. We'll get her sorted."
Sorted. Another clean word.
Gareth stood frozen in the doorway.
He looked back toward Dara's station. He could almost see the phantom of her daughter, a young girl with a bright future, thanks to the stability his system provided.
Then he looked at Lena. A woman being quietly crushed by that same system.
His mind began the calculation. It was a habit now. A defense mechanism.
This is the cost. Dara's daughter gets an apprenticeship. This woman gets coached. Net positive.
The numbers supported it. The greater good was served. The system was designed to lift the many, even if a few stumbled.
Net positive.
He watched Lena's shoulders shake. She looked exhausted. Defeated.
Net—
He couldn't finish the thought.
The cold data in his vision suddenly felt brittle. The triumphant +23% production figure seemed to mock him.
He had built a machine that created success stories like Dara. But it also had a predetermined failure rate. It was engineered that way.
And he had just looked one of those failures in the face.
"Sir?" Evard prompted. "The managers are waiting in the office to discuss the next quarter's targets."
Gareth took a last look at the crying woman.
But he didn't turn away immediately. Instead, he pulled out his data-slate and made a note: Review coaching protocols. Hardship accommodations?
It was a small thing. Probably futile. But he wrote it anyway.
"Lead the way," he said finally, voice flat.
That evening, back in his office, Gareth couldn't shake the image of Lena's shaking shoulders.
He pulled up the Guild's founding documents—something he hadn't looked at in years. Started reading the old charters, the original bylaws.
"The purpose of this Guild is not to consolidate power, but to build each other up..."
The words felt alien. Like they were written in a language he'd forgotten how to speak.
He closed the file. Opened the drawer where he kept the old photograph of himself at the Aethelgard strike.
Stared at it for a long time.
Then, almost without thinking, he began drafting a message. Not to anyone in particular. Just... writing.
"What if we could have both? Structure and soul. Efficiency and humanity. What if the choice itself is the mistake?"
He didn't send it. Just saved it as a draft and closed his slate.
The heat of the factory felt different now. It wasn't just oppressive. It was suffocating.