AU Month, Day 25: Circus

A clatter of sounds comes pouring out of the machine, now that I've removed the obstruction.
Pitter.
Patter.
A lot of "clang clang clang clang clang clang."
Nothing but hundreds of little brass cylinders clattering on the tile floor under my feet.  Quite a lot of money wasted.
On my part.  Entirely my fault.
I stare at them as they stop rolling at my feet, a pile like little coins scattered everywhere, silently.

I adjust my mask.  The skin on my cheek feels rougher.  Rawer.  There must be a hole there.
I very gently put it in place, so it doesn't block my vision.
I'm very careful so nothing else falls off.
That was one problem fixed.
One to go.

The machine is familiar.  I've fixed it a few times before.
It usually wasn't this bad beforehand.  It never was scratched like this.  The eyes are crossed out more than they usually are.
A white face on the front.  Smiling.  A lot happier than most people nowadays.
I didn't think that something like this would be friendlier than my neighbors.
Nobody respects my work.

There are people who work on the building around me.  They can't do this.
Their fingers are too big.  They can't fit inside a vending machine.
I think that was a bad idea, giving them big gloves like that.
How will people get what they want if our vending machines die?
What a nightmare.

My iron runs deep into its veins.
A little heated piece of metal, poking at its heart.  Or is it the brain?  I can't tell.
I figure I'll figure out soon enough.  I know what I'm fixing, and what I'm poking at...
but it's hard to understand what this is anymore.  Things don't make a lot of sense nowadays.  The world's a strange place.
I wonder if I'm going to receive overtime.

I think I poke at the right wire.  Something stirs.  A light comes on inside.
I smile beneath my mask.  Just a little celebration of victory.
Both for me, and the machine, who made it through tough times.
The white face on the front lights up.  It seems to share our enthusiasm.
It booms, in the happiest voice to be had in these depths,

"WEEELLCOME TO THE CIRCUS OF VAAAAALUUUUUUUES!"

The welcome echoes through the steel bulkhead.
Down the plaza, up around the thick glass windows that let us see into the natural world.
The world we didn't create, only decided to sit next to.
It echoes deep in the heart of Rapture.  I bet someone heard it.
That doesn't matter that much.  Maybe it means whoever hears it will know its fixed.

I pack my tools.
Very, very carefully.  I can't lose anything.
One time I dropped a flathead into the ocean.  I didn't see another one for weeks.
That's what I'm dealing with here.
I really should receive overtime.

This toolbox is heavy.  I feel a little weaker now.
Or maybe its heavier than before.  Did I add anything to it?
Nah.  I look down at the lost ammunition on the ground.  I consider how useful that'd be.
But that's not mine.  I didn't pay for it.  That's stealing.
I'll leave it be.  I'm not a criminal.

I hear the sound of metal screeching on metal.
Down the hall is someone else.
His face is all wrong.  He has a tooth growing out of his cheek.
His foot is bent to the right.  He's walking towards me.  He's mumbling.
Very loudly, he's mumbling.  The knife in his hands drags on the railing.  I wish he wasn't so loud.  Someone might wake up early.  Maybe they'd blame me.

He stops mumbling, and starts talking.
"Hello, dearie", with all the words dragged out.
"I heard you were in the neighborhood, and I just wanted to drop by."
"My, your skin looks good."
I don't say anything.  He's stopped moving.

"I can see it from here.  Your skin's almost perfect."
"Just a little spot here and there where it's peeled off."
"I'd like that for my own."
His voice is hoarse.
He's probably thirsty, too.

I guess he might want mine.  His skin's not looking good.
He walks under a light.  There's too many fingers on his hand.
He's grasping at me.  Or maybe the machine.  This one's got some good deals on it.
I'll probably come back here later.  I'd like a bag of chips.
That salty taste is nice, I'd just need a few dollars...

He starts running towards me.  Really, really fast.
Dragging the knife against the wall, he's making too much noise.
"I'M GONNA SKIN YOU, YOU WHORE!  I'M GONNA--"
I pull out my pistol and shoot him.
He's trying to murder me and he's bothering everyone else.

The bullet lands in his head.  His head's got a divet in it now.
His body falls to the ground.
It stops moving quickly.  I hear him moan.
I didn't like this man, but I don't think I'll remember him in a few weeks.
That's how things end up going nowadays.

I walk past him.  My toolbox swings as I take each step.
When I shot him, my mask fell off a little.
It's hanging off the side of my face.
I very, very gingerly shift it back up.  I feel something come back up with it.
I was hoping that wouldn't happen.

Soon, the end of my shift's coming.  It feels like I've been working for weeks.
6:54.  Six more minutes and I can go back to the office.
My boss is there.
He hasn't moved out of his desk or spoken to me in months.
He must be very busy coordinating repairs.

I wonder if he'll give me overtime if I ask for it.
I haven't seen or heard anyone else come in, and it's still New Years Day apparently.  Holiday pay's a thing, right?
I hope it is.
I was kind of hoping that I'd get to go see a movie or something today.
If I got the day off.

I listen closely.
Something isn't right.
Something's missing.
My heart steps up the tempo.
What's wrong with everything?

I spend a while fretting over this.  Soon I find the answer.
There's no ticking.
I look down, and my watch has stopped.  It's going to be 6:54 until I fix it.
I pull off the watch, and a little flap of skin comes off with it.
It's red underneath.

I figure that means I should go try and fix it.
I'm a repairwoman, but that doesn't mean I can't figure this out.  It's just a little, smaller machine.
There should be a watch store a few floors up.
I hope it hasn't flooded.
I hope I'll get some overtime pay for this.