Morty walked with a limp. His back ached from carrying large boxes from truck to palette and from palette to truck. He’d been working as a loader, mover, builder, or anything involving transporting large objects from one place to another for his entire life. He hadn’t taken a sick day in 25 years. He took pride in his work, but he was getting up there in years. 60, has it really been that long? he thought to himself.

But it didn’t matter. His birthday was in two weeks. He looked down at the brand on his right wrist. It had the number one with a box around it. He sighed. Soon, it would all be over, and he’d be in Haven. He looked up to the towering skyscrapers. He couldn’t see to the top of them because of the plumes of smog still covering the lower city, but he knew somewhere up there was a shining white palace. A giant house awaited him, with a swimming pool and maybe he’d even find someone with whom it was worth growing old again. She’d have to be from Sector One though. Morty didn’t think he could deal with those spoiled Twos for too long. But he wouldn’t have to. He could live wherever and however he wanted.

“Hey Morty, what’s da hold up der?” came the voice of his foreman standing over the railing.

“Sorry, boss. I wandered off for a second.” He limped back over to the truck and took another box.

His foreman smiled. “I know der man, you only gots two more weeks left. But let’s make dems productive ones right? You don’t want to get up der and be missing an olive in your martini now do yas?

Morty laughed. His foreman was a good man and good at his job. That must’ve been why they appointed it to him. The genetic profiler was hardly ever wrong. But there were some cases. That’s why you had to go back every five years, to make sure you were in the position which was most optimal based on your genetic profile. Machines don’t lie, they calculate. And they run basically everything these days. They’re what allow the human population to be as productive as possible.

When Morty would go to Central Processing to update his genetic profile, he always had a lot of respect for the engineers that worked there. One of their great ancestors probably came up with the Ones and Twos System of Productivity which had allowed human beings to thrive for hundreds of years, all while living happy lives and reducing the Earth’s pollution.

He had heard that most scientists who grow up as Ones actually keep the same job when they become One-Twos because they enjoy it so much. Morty couldn’t understand that. He definitely didn’t enjoy moving stuff so much to do it for his second life, but it did suit him. He couldn’t see himself doing anything else. He knew he wasn’t a smart person, but he was a strong person. Well, he was before his bum leg. But none of that mattered anymore. He’d get a whole new life in two weeks and he knew exactly what he was going to do: nothin’. He sat another box down on the palette and looked at the label, “This side UP.” That’s right. Moving UP in the world.

*THAT’S ALL FOR NOW, THERE WILL BE A NEW CHAPTER EVERY WEEK*