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The Obsolete Labors Series: Subway

By Psion

All Rights Reserved

Obsolescence never meant the end of anything, it’s just the beginning. – Marshall McLuhan, Canadian Philosopher.

The empty subway car raced through the concrete arteries of the city as Marcus sat in the hard plastic seat with his back against the car window. Four weeks, four goddamn weeks now and not a damn word from anyone. He had gone to the Job Center multiple times, interviewed with every company the Center pointed him to, and spent more time in a suit over the past month then he ever did before in his entire working life.

Leaning forward, face pointed towards the steel and plastic flooring and a paper copy of his resume held firmly in his hand, he exhaled and shook his head. The only thing he could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other. There had to be someone that still needed a metal worker with twelve years of experience in the industry. And there was no doubting he was one of the best too, over a dozen people could back up what he put on his resume and they all agreed to be a reference if he was willing to vouch for them in their own search as well. Which of course he would, God knows they needed to have each other’s back thanks to those damn Helixes.

As if on cue, the subway car picked up a GenDyn commercial off the transit network’s WiFi as the train slowed down to stop at the next station. The happy commercial jingle that haunted Marcus’s nightmares echoed through the car as a translucent advertisement began to play on the smart glass windows. Marcus closed his eyes and did his best to mentally shut out the noise. It was no good, he had seen the commercial so many damn times between subway trips to the Job Center and job interviews that it was burned into his brain.

“GenDyn, pioneering the future of genetics with solutions to all your labor needs for when automation can’t cut it. GenDyn, the future is in our Helix.” The narrator spoke with a soft, soothing voice as he read off the company slogan then began rattling off the latest product developments available for sale. Or as Marcus looked at it, new industries they were indirectly taking over. Domestic jobs like housekeeping and cooking were the first to go, most factory jobs vanished as fast as the domestics did, and now it looked like Big Ag was going to get its biggest advantage over independent farmers since slavery was legal in the United States. Which meant Marcus was going to be competing for work with farmers blowing the last of their savings moving to the city sometime in the next few months. Another year of this and the medical, scientific, and entertainment sectors would be the only way a guy could get a job. And Marcus knew he wasn’t cut out for a gig in any of those fields.

Even without looking at the commercial playing in the background, Marcus could see it in his mind; images of the cloning facilities where GenDyn bred their little “rent-a-pets” by the hundreds filled his head followed by pictures of the Helixes themselves. Hybrids of human and animal DNA; a loyal, dependable, obedient worker with an appearance that looked like it was cooked up by some comicbook geek with a fetish for anthropomorphic animals and cartoon characters, Helixes allowed the genetics corporation to make an unimaginable fortune selling genetically engineering laborers to fill in the last few jobs that hadn’t been completely mechanized by machines designed in the second wave of automation.

Marcus’s mind turned back to the last day he was gainfully employed. The day management marched a dozen of those damn Frankenstein abominations into the metal shop and announced that the human workers were all being let go. Marcus and his coworkers had joked for years about what a dog lover the owner was. The jokes seemed a lot less funny when someone they trusted to have their back marched in twelve Helixes to replace them, each a different dog breed.

The sound of the commercial looping again caused the tired man to come back to the present with a simmering rage. Without thinking he picked up an empty plastic soda bottle some slob had left on the floor and flung it at the nearest speaker with all his might. Just in time for the car doors to open and the subway train to pick up additional passengers. Great, did any Puppets see his outburst?

“Hey Marcus, still pounding pavement?” A familiar voice called out from the platform behind him.

Marcus turned to see two of his old coworkers, Jackson and Rosetta, boarding the subway. Both of them were as dressed up as he was. Guess he wasn’t the only one living in a monkey suit for the past month.

“Yeah, on my way to the Job Center to find something that hasn’t been filled by a Helix or the thirty other guys that are competing for the same open position.” Marcus answered then looked at the two of them again as they sat down… “Where’s Bryan? Doesn’t he live in the same apartment block as you do Jackson?” Marcus asked, referring to Jackson’s neighbor, a former tree farmer that was in the same position as the three of them.

The muscular black man shook his head and suddenly found something interesting about the grimy floor. “He joined the League.”

Marcus leaned back into his seat and returned Jackson’s gesture. The Gladiatorial League of North America… “I see. Would have been one thing if the League were like the WWE of the old days. At least back then if you died it was because a stupid stunt went wrong. Hope they give him a good health plan.”

The next subway station took them downtown to the Job Center and the city library across the street. Exiting the subway and climbing onto the escalator that took them up to the street level; the trio ascended to a world of steel and concrete skyscrapers, roads clogged with morning commuters, and spherical drones studded with cameras and what looked suspiciously like weapons flying overhead. Each drone also proud bore the GenDyn corporate logo. They were to monitor the Helixes, GenDyn said. They were for people’s protection, GenDyn said. Marcus didn’t believe a word of it, why have drones to patrol for runaways if Helixes were supposed to be bred to be fawning and subservient to humans? There were several different ways a person could look at those contradicting statements and Marcus didn’t like a single damn one.

Shaking these thoughts out of his head, the harried metalworker followed his friends into the Job Center, a block of offices and cubical farms that occupied the bottom floor of a parking garage that serviced a trio of office buildings. No sense worrying about things he couldn’t do a thing about at the moment, right now he needed to find another job before his unemployment ran out and that meant speaking to Rita, their contact at the job center. If Rita had nothing for them at the Center, Marcus was probably going to go across the street and do some reading. Ever since the Helixes started becoming a public fixture, the history section had been calling to him; particularly the rise and the fall of the ancient Roman Empire….

The audience roared with bloodthirsty adoration as Bryan stepped into the League fighting pit within the heart of the city. Spotlights shone on the ring as the rest of the arena was cast in darkness. Stereos blared the chorus of a popular heavy metal song from before the Second American Civil War. Bryan followed behind Annabel, waving to his cheering fans as his mascot waved his banner high over her head and wiggled her hips, getting the crowd fired up before the match began.

Bryan couldn’t deny that the crowd definitely loved Annabel. They loved that chunky bovine Helix that Bryan’s manager slathered with blue body dye. Blue body dye… the brawler knew that with jet-black hair, a full beard, and being a roughly six-foot-one mountain of muscle, he’d be stupid if he didn’t expect his manager to run with a Paul Bunyan gimmick but getting a Helix just to play the role of Bunyan’s faithful oxen Babe Blue? Bryan had his doubts at first but the audience clearly loved it and gradually Annabel started to grow on him as well…

The audience’s cry climbed to a deafening roar as Bryan finished descending into the fighting pit. Beneath his feet, arena attendants forced his opponents into pods that will bring them up into the ring one at a time. As he waited and continued to play up the crowd as Annabel had retreated to the safety of outside of the ring, he recounted the “rules.” Try to avoid killing his opponent as finding replacements that could give a decent show was expensive, and make sure the fight lasted long enough for the audience to sate their bloodlust. Those were the only two rules any gladiator had to follow in the League.

The first opponent couldn’t have been more of a stereotype if he tried, Caucasian male, lanky, and with blue eyes, blond hair, bad teeth, and a mosaic of tattoos brandishing slogans advertising white power. Bryan’s face acquired a slight twitch as the inbred hick raised his hand up in greeting then up above his head in a salute the brawler saw countless times in historical documentaries. The worst part was that his body language was completely unironic, this guy wasn’t playing with a gimmick for laughs or shocking the crowd; he was the real deal. Another damn Puppet distracting the masses from what really mattered.

Bryan grabbed the other man’s arm by the wrist before Bad Teeth finished returning it to his side, yanking Bad Teeth forward and punching him squarely in the face with his free hand. Blood shown on the gladiator’s knuckles as he threw his opponent into the ropes. The elastic ropes stretched and flung Bad Teeth back into Bryan’s waiting fist. As the force of the blow knocked the smaller man off of his feet; the black-haired man quickly followed up with a haymaker, clasping his hands together before slamming them into his opponent’s chest with all of his might. Bad Teeth was left gasping for breath as his body slammed into the floor with an audible thud.

Walking away to allow his opponent to get his second wind, Bryan leaned against one of the corner posts waiting for a comeback that never came. The audience booed as Bad Teeth continued to lie on the floor, breathing normally but apparently not expecting to be hit so hard. Apparently facing proper opposition wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“And why are we the master race again?” The brawler asked to no one in particular, shaking his head as the audience laughed at his joke.

Arena attendants quickly carried the trailer trash out of the ring to make way for the next fighter. “Make this one actually last Bryan.” The flannel-clad brawler’s manager admonished through a radio tucked away in the man’s ear.

The second opponent came up through the floor and frantically looked around like she almost couldn’t believe she was here. The moment Bryan saw her; his frown grew sterner as his displeasure showed in his stance. Looks like it was two for one day at the Puppet store. Jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, hair dyed hot pink, and a face that said “college-educated liberal arts major.” The other major participant of the Second American Civil War may have never had an official uniform, but that hair and that facial expression broadcasted her allegiance to the world just as well. Trigger looked like she was going to be a garbage opponent just like Bad Teeth before her. How did his manager expect these fights to last if this was all that the roster had?

Sighing, he switched his footing around and put up his fists in a classic brawler stance. His opponent continued to stare at him, unable to believe this was happening, apparently still hopped up on her own self-righteousness that it didn’t occur to her that maybe, just maybe, the only “hero” in the room was standing on the other side of the ring from her….