Nexal breathed out a sigh of euphoria. His blood pulsed the good feeling through his veins. His entire self tingled as the fire flowed through his body. Peace and satisfaction floated through his undisturbed thoughts. The world was perfect. A vibration shook him back to reality, and the good feeling began to ebb. The period was over.

Nexal opened his eyes. The other 499 men standing throughout the room did the same. The steel cage that imprisoned him released its hold on his wrists, and the metal rod retracted out of the small hole that had been drilled into the back of his skull. As the rod retreated back into the Machine, a metallic door slid open, and Nexal stepped off to the right of his small platform. Everyone else in the room followed suit.
Nexal was in the fourth to last row of 25 Machines. All 500 inhabitants began to march methodically towards the front of the room. The 20 rows each stayed the same distance apart and each individual walked in the center of his isle. The routine was known to all of them. No one stepped out of line. As Nexal walked out the giant doors of the metal room, he heard a grinding noise from behind. A second set of doors were opening in order to let in another group of 500 men, ready for their period of enjoyment. But he didn’t look back; he never did. It wasn’t that it was against the rules. In fact, there really weren’t any laws to rule over life in the expansive building that Nexal called home. Rather, just like every other aspect of his life, he felt a certain tug within himself whenever he made decisions, and this taught him right from wrong. Instinct told him never to step out of line. Instinct told him never to stay in bed after the vibrations had woken him up. Instinct told him to move on at the end of each period. So Nexal had become accustomed to listening to his gut feeling; it never steered him wrong.

As Nexal marched out of the Machine Room, he and the other men walked through a short corridor. The ceiling was only slightly taller than Nexal, and the bright light that emitted from it illuminated the entire passageway. The walls were reflective, and Nexal couldn’t resist taking a quick look at himself. He was rather tall, and his biceps bulged slightly from underneath his dark gray uniform. His shaggy brown hair hung like a sweaty mop on the top of his head. His brown eyes were bright against the dirt that covered the visible part of his tanned face. And just like every other person in Nexal’s little world, he wore a dull, steel mask that clasped to his neck and concealed the bottom half of his face.
Nexal didn’t actually know his real name. However, as his mask rose up to almost eye level, the letters NXL that had been engraved into the inside of the metal were visible. He had long ago expanded this sequence in his mind, and created the name which he now referred to himself as. Tattooed to the dorsal side of his wrists was the code number 417. This was observable to all the other men in his group. But since the mask never came off, no one ever saw the letter combination. He felt attached to the name; it was his only possession, and it was his and his alone.
In the distance of the shining corridor, a sleek railway became visible. Nexal and the rest of the inmates filed into the open sides of the transportation metro, and sat in their respectively numbered seats. The doors then closed soundlessly and the train quickly accelerated into a dark tunnel. Nexal leaned back against the ‘417’ that glowed lightly from the backrest of the chair, closed his eyes, and rested for the dark part of the journey. His exhausting 10 periods of work were through. Now that his period with the Machine was over, the group had a short amount of time to be made presentable before 2nd Sustain.
A light glow slowly illuminated from the front of the tunnel. The train decelerated quickly, and the side doors opened the instant it came to a stop. Nexal and the rest of the inmates all disembarked, and marched once again down a short hallway. This corridor amalgamated into a large rectangular room, the floor of which was grated steel. This metallic base was a checkerboard of squares, each of which rose up slightly on the edges and contained a dark opening in the north-right corner. Nexal and the other men in his group methodically unclothed, and dropped their gray garments down their respective holes. The only thing that didn’t come off was the mask, but the pale flesh underneath wasn’t dirty anyway; the metal was skintight. Nexal stood with his legs slightly spread and his arms hanging on either side of his body as silver poles began to descend from the ceiling. One of these poles came down behind each individual, and after coming to a stop, sprayed walls of a clear liquid at them. Nexal stood there calmly as the pole moved around his entire body, slowly and thoroughly dousing every inch of him with the cleansing fluid. The jet then stopped spraying liquid, and fired air at his dripping back. After the cleansing was finished, the poles ascended back into the ceiling of the room, and Nexal (now perfectly dry) walked forward in time with the others.
500 monotone, gray uniforms slowly arose from the ground on steel racks, and Nexal quickly climbed into his. His mask sparkled once more, and clean clothes felt good against his muscularly hardened body. Everyone was ready at the same time, and as soon as the wall at the front of the room ground open, the inmates once again marched forward.
A painful ache spread through Nexal’s stomach, and his eyes smiled in amusement. The timing of the system was impeccable. As soon as Nexal’s body told him that it was hungry, it was time for nourishment. The world was perfect. The chamber they were now entering was filled with tall, silver chairs. Nexal took his spot on a ridged seat and set his arms on the cold armrests. He positioned the small holes in the undersides of his wrists above the single, small protrusion on each armrest. Tubes synched into his wrists and began to pump a white substance into his veins. The nutrients flowed through his bloodstream to all of his vital organs. Nexal closed his eyes as the life-giving substances were forced through his body. He slowly felt himself liven up, and by the end of the segment was once again full of energy.
Then the pumps stopped, and the tubes detached themselves from Nexal’s arms. He took a deep breath but stayed in place, as the Sustain period was only half over. A mechanical arm reached up from the underside of the chair. This arm had a larger tube suctioned to it, and after a smaller, metal appendage lifted the hem of Nexal’s shirt, the tube inserted itself directly into the center of his abdomen. The tube first released a quick stream of process-speeding enzymes into Nexal’s body, and then began to suck inward. A sludgish substance slowly crawled out of the tube and disappeared into the chair. Nexal rested peacefully as all of the unwanted materials in his body drained out of the tube and into the ground.
Finally, after the second half of Sustain was finished, Nexal opened his eyes and the mechanical arm fell back into the chair. Once again, he rose in time with the rest of his group. Another corridor. Another train ride. Another long room. Six doors spread evenly apart were lined up against an extensive wall. The inmates filed through the third door from the left, and laid down on the bunks located inside. Nexal retired to the platform with 417 shining brightly at the front, made himself comfortable, and closed his eyes.









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The bed vibrated lightly after the 6 Sleep periods were over. Nexal arose quickly and marched off for his first period. Another Sustain. Then 10 more grueling periods of work. Nexal’s tired eyes lit up with relief when his group finally walked into the Machine Room. The large doors groaned open as usual, and Nexal began to walk forward towards his numbered cage. He watched absentmindedly as the previous group started making their way down the mirrored corridor. He marched with energy; gleeful eager for the time about to come. But as Nexal arrived at his cage, he abruptly stopped moving. There was a man standing on the platform for Nexal’s machine.
The rod had removed itself from the man’s skull, but he stood there like a rock; firm, steadfast, and unwavering. His eyes stared resolutely forward, and he made no inclination that he was going to move. Shocked into inaction, Nexal just stared at the man in disbelief. Nexal glanced around at the other inmates in his group. They had all already hooked up to their machines, and were off in their dreamlands. Nexal’s breath steamed, and he clenched his firsts. He would not allow anyone to interfere with the single, enjoyable aspect of his existence! He moved determinably in front of the man, and reached out to rip the man from the cage. As he reached forward to put this inconceivable wretch in his place, Nexal took a quick glance at the man’s face.
Recognition hit, and Nexal staggered backwards. The man’s hair was floppy and brown, and it hung low on his face, slightly covering his bright brown eyes. He was tall, rather tanned, and muscularly built. And inked into his wrists was the number 417. The man was Nexal.
His eyes wide in confusion, Nexal continued to stare with utter disbelief. The other men in his group looked nothing similar to him! On the rare occasion that he did observe his life partners, he took note of the differences in their hair, eye color, and skin tone. But looking at this man was like admiring himself in the reflective corridor. The perfect mirror image of Nexal continued to stare straight forward and made no indication that he had noticed Nexal at all. And then, interestingly, a curious liquid similar to that of the showers began to creep out of the corners of the man’s eyes. He began to shake, and took multiple deep, calming breathes.
Trying unsuccessfully to get over the fact that the man was a perfect rendition of himself, Nexal once again moved towards the man, with the intention of removing him from the Machine. But before he had taken more than a step, the man did something that shattered Nexal’s vision of life as he knew it. He put his hands on either side of his neck, and tightly grasped at his mask. Prying his fingers into the area where the metal fused into his skin, the man began to pull. His biceps bulged, and his face strained from pain and effort. But after a few tense seconds, the mask began to separate from the man’s neck with a revolting tearing noise. A moment later a terrifying SNAP rang out and the mask tore away and clattered on the ground.
Nexal jumped back at the sight of the man’s fully revealed face. The now-revealed section of his neck and face was red and oozing. A glance down at the discarded mask revealed pieces of skin still stuck to the edges of the metal. But that wasn’t even the most horrifying part. A triangular mass of flesh bulged from the area below the man’s eyes. And near the bottom of his face, the skin began to shift, creating a disgusting fissure. A bizarre croaking noise emitted from the enlarging gap. And then, standing as unfalteringly tall as ever, the man widened the hole, creating a sickeningly large gap, and screamed.

The noise was deafening. Such a shrill and ugly sound Nexal had never heard. It seemed to go on forever, and yet the man still stood there, with his face formed into this grotesquely unnatural position, and cried that hellish noise. Nexal clapped his hands over his ears. As the sound stretched on he fell to his knees. He scrunched his eyes closed and curled into a ball on the floor in a feeble attempt to block out the perverse noise. But still it droned on, and Nexal feared that this was how he was destined to live for the rest of his miserable life.
He had barely thought this when a loud grinding noise came from the ceiling above. Nexal looked up as a large portion of the ceiling slid backwards, revealing a dark void. From this opening, a small black probe descended from the ceiling. The probe zoomed toward the grid of Machines, and stopped when it was level with the man. Before Nexal could react, the probe fired a barrage of metallic shrapnel into the man’s chest. The man stood there, eyes wide with pain, and shook from the beating of hundreds of tiny particles piercing his vulnerable body. After a painfully long period of time, the probe stopped shooting, and the shredded remains of the man’s body fell to the floor, motionless. Two long, spindly arms emerged from the probe and grabbed the corpse. Then, misting the Machine with a gaseous substance, it flew back up into its hole. A glance at the Machine showed that the mist had removed the pieces of flesh and crimson stains that had been painted all over the cage just a moment ago.

The gap in the ceiling ground to a close, and Nexal slowly stood up while breathing deeply under his mask. After glancing up at the ceiling once more to make sure the probe would not come back, Nexal walked over to the cage. But just as he stepped onto his platform, he felt a crunch from underneath him. He lifted his foot to see the broken pieces of the man’s mask; the probe had neglected to remove it with the body. Nexal was about to disregard the destroyed steel remnants, when an etching on the inside caught his eye. He knelt down to get a closer look, and then immediately stumbled back into the side of his cage. The letters NXL were carved into the upper section of the mask. The same liquid he had seen on the man’s face before was now leaking out of his eyes and rolling down the metal that shielded his face. He hugged his arms close to his chest and started to shake violently.
After a short while, the liquid stopped trickling down his cheeks, and the trembles that racked his body alleviated. He retreated into the comfort of his cage, and his distress slowly dissipated as the Machine’s rod reentered the back of his skull. As he disappeared into himself, he forced the thought of the inscription from his mind. By the time the Machine had put him under, he had forgotten the encounter with the man entirely.










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The probe continued its journey out the roof of the box. After ascending into the ceiling, it waited for the large opening to shut. As soon as the doors had sealed shut, a second opening appeared in the roof. This new opening flooded the probe with natural light. It flew out of the building, and into a colorful, organic world. The sky was bright blue, and every inch of the ground was covered with an expanse of greenery. The only break from the lush colors of nature was the building that the probe had just emerged from. The structure was cube-like in design and gleamed bright silver. It was unblemished, except for three letters carved into the top side. NXL.
As the probe flew upward with the body, it rose far above the box and soared forward. During the length of its journey, it flew over a seemingly infinite number of metallic boxes, all scattered randomly throughout the jungle, and each categorized by a different three letter combination. The probe glided on and on, fleeting above thousands of boxes, until an enormous black spire started to become visible. The spire protruded violently from the earth and reached high into the atmosphere. As the probe approached the spire, it inserted a needle into the cold, blood-soaked body. After removing a dark red sample, it dropped the corpse into the expanse of the jungle below. The probe would inject the sample into an empty specimen, and speed up the growth process. Box NXL would have a new inhabitant by morning.