It's been 2 years or more since the man's been here. He doesn't know his name, where he was before he turned 18, or what happened to bring him here; all he knows is that he needs to type on what looks like a 90s computer, with dust and grime all over the table it's on. 'Hey, at least they give me a table. Honestly, I can't remember the last time I got cleaning supplies, probably cause I didn't get any.'
It never went dark in his room at night and was always shining bright on every speck of dust here and there. His clothes were a mix of a suit and tie on the upper half of his body, and grubby little shorts on the bottom for comfort, making him look like the average overtime worker. He had black straight hair that hadn't been cut in a couple of months and sandals with a broken sole, got up at 6, and went to sleep at 10. If he didn't, then he would have no breakfast or dinner that day.
He had longed for the screams beyond the tall wall because at least then he could be free within whatever desolate halls remained outside. He would often ruminate over whether he should beat his hands against the tall wall today or not while sitting comfortably in front of the wall.
"Is there an outside anyway?"
"Probably not."
"Why am I talking to myself?"
Maybe it was loneliness driving him, or pure curiosity, but today he wanted a peek outside the wall. He had grown tired of his room, a bed with thin covers and a stained mattress. A rug that had grown uncomfortable do to crumbs all over it, a bathroom that's just a hole in the floor that never fills, and a sink that spews water from time to time, and to top it off, his room had cobwebs but no spiders, as if the world's just playing with him.
The tall wall was made of pure concrete, surrounded by stone on its frame, and probably rose higher than his room. Which was intimidating on its own, but paired with screams, he didn't even want to know what happened on the other side. But he's 20 now, he should know what he wants, and it's his birthday, he can't just not sleep knowing he's stuck till the 21st.
'Man, what kind of shitty life did I live to get here?'
Since he's lived here for 2 years, he's picked up on a few tips here and there, for example, how whenever food somehow appears whenever it's time to eat, you shouldn't question it or you'll end up thinking of it the next few days.
The work he does is simply managing the market price of weapons, and hope you don't get it wrong, you won't have dinner.
'Come to think of it, why do I manage weapons? What could be behind that tall wall to require... an axe? Why would anyone need the axe of a fallen soldier to survive behind that wall?'
'Come to think of it, there had been many books of fantastical spells to be marketed, but most I managed were low-priced spells, such as protection of slow projectiles or a spell called Spark.'
He ruminated on this for quite a while; he couldn't simply accept that he was in a fantasy world doing work for a company he didn't know, but then.
He looked towards the computer, reading where a spell was addressed to, Vinivia?
The man was baffled; didn't he live on earth, but the planet it was addressed to was Vinivia?
He didn't think much of it for now, since his main goal was to escape this dreaded workspace.
He approached the wall, the warm air bursting through his nostrils, and he mustered up the motivation to escape this sweatshop. 2 whole years of suffocation and boredom, whatever waits on the other side, he can probably face... hopefully.
Then he noticed it.
"A crack?"