"The most normal surroundings create the biggest psychopaths."
-Unknown
The alarm chimed at 04:00 a.m., the same soft metallic chime it used every morning, as if afraid of waking the dead the corporation had buried in the mines long before their bodies stopped moving.
Lewin Sommer opened his eyes.
Same ceiling. Same peeling vent. Same recycled air. Same life.
He swung his legs out of bed and opened the window blinds, as if following a choreographed dance. With a single click, the mechanical hum parted the window like a curtain revealing paradise.
But the view was far from paradise.
Fog clung to the road, heavy, as if under some unseen pressure. Massive carrier trucks hauled away the spoils of the day. The buildings loomed gigantic, as if they could reach the satellite itself. Ancient concrete, capable of standing for another billion years.
The moon of this planet hung above — the thing poets romanticized.
He thought, Is the moon pretty?
For him, it wasn't.
He went to the bathroom and picked up his toothbrush, worn and frayed from years of use. He brushed with mechanical precision, cleaning every crevice as if someone cared about them.
His morning routine was done.
"Home," he said flatly. "Brew coffee. The usual way. Black, with a little sugar."
The robot acknowledged without emotion and began brewing. Lewin didn't like black coffee, but it was the only thing that kept him alive at work.
It was time to go.
He dressed in pale-grey mining overalls, grabbed his ration pack, and stepped into the corridor of Block 11. Lights beamed overhead. The distant hum of drills vibrated through the floor. A mining truck swept past him. Other miners trudged by like ghosts wearing human skin — men who hadn't truly lived in years.
Normal.
Everything was normal.
Too normal.
And Lewin hated normal more than death.
He entered his workplace another concrete building though this one has a dome on top making it look different, it didn't reach the skies but it did reach the abyss. He entered the building and met his boss, an AI robot. He took out his ID card and said " My name is Lewin Sommer, Subfloor C". It immediately understood and gave him the elevator entrance key card. This AI didn't speak much unlike the other ones, it imitated the bossy attitude. He took the elevator down to Subfloor C, signed into the work roster, picked up his plasma pick, and descended into the tunnels for the rest of the shift. There was no sunlight on Cradle-3. The planet was a rock of iron dust and buried rare metals, owned by people who never saw the mines but owned the lives inside them.
The deeper he went, the more the ceiling pressed down on him. Some miners said they felt the planet breathing. Lewin never felt anything. Not breath. Not purpose. Not fear.
He only felt the monotony, crushing and endless.
Hours passed.
He mined. Minerals clattered into his collection pod, each gram converted into credits, each credit destined to disappear into rent, food and company "security fees." If he worked twice as hard, he could afford a decent dinner. Maybe once a week. Other days he was stuck with the slop the company provided. Enough to fill his stomach, never his heart.
But, lucky him. Today was one of those days where he could afford something better. He had hit a decent iron vein, maybe the gods were rewarding him for his work. He knew that the gods would reward him but the corpos never.
When his shift ended, Lewin walked up the ramp toward the surface lifts. His muscles burned. His back ached. His credits tallied higher than usual.
Enough for a real meal.
He was meant to be happy, so he smiled and remembered something.
He took a detour.
Into the alley.
Where the lights were broken. Where shadows swayed like drunken silhouettes. Where the walls smelled of synthetic euphoria and rot. Men and aliens alike crouched against the metal, eyes half-open, veins glowing faintly from the new substance circulating through the black market.
Nectar. They called it.
They said it felt like happiness. Happiness that Lewin absolutely needed.
Lewin stared at the dealer's stall. Stared at the stolen, glowing injections. Stared at the thing he'd been too afraid to try. The shopkeeper knew this guy was new, so he pushed him. " Hey kid, what you staring at, you going to buy it or not. Though, I wouldn't recommend it to twinks like you couldn't handle such strong stuff". This was a business tactic by the shopkeeper, he knew his stuff, this provocation always worked on the new guys. Lewin was no different, he fell for it, giving his decent dinner for a shot at happiness.
He bought one.
And his dinner from the company canteen, somehow this place managed to serve the same slop for years not even a single milligram of salt was different from last day. He thought maybe it's the robots' precision.
he left the place and started walking home. He was excited about this nectar or happiness in a bottle.
That's when he heard them — clicking footsteps, sloppy and soft. Three alien thugs emerged from the shadows, green sinewy bodies and insectoid mandibles clicking in irritation. They felt slimy and too alive, if one has to describe them. The bone structure looked gooey but still held its shape. But they didn't have good intentions Lewin knew that much for sure.
"Human," one hissed. "Hand it over. All of it."
Lewin thought first what they wanted but soon knew it was the nectar. He clutched the pack to his chest. It was his reward, an escape form this mundane life.
"No." He retaliated.
The alien tilted its head, amused. Another moved behind him. He felt the space close in.
They lunged.
He reacted before he thought.
He slammed the pouch of Nectar into the nearest face and dove sideways as claws tore through the air where his head had been. He hit the ground hard, pain shooting through his shoulder, but his hand closed around something cold and solid.
A metal pipe. Loose. Heavy.swaying on the side wall.The first alien rushed him.Lewin swung.The pipe connected with a dull crack. Bone — or something close to it — shattered. The alien screamed and fell, thrashing.
The second one grabbed the pipe mid-swing. Its grip was strong. Stronger than his.
He let go of the pipe and stepped forward instead.
The pipe slid from its grasp as he drove his knee up into its torso. Once. Twice. He felt something give. The alien staggered back, choking.
The third came from the side.
He picked up the pipe again, turned and swung hard.This time he aimed for the head.
The pipe caved it in.
The body collapsed like its strings had been cut.
Silence followed. Thick. Heavy.
Lewin stood there, breathing hard. His hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From something else.
He looked down.
Blood — dark, sticky, not his — coated his fingers. It dripped onto the concrete, pooling at his feet.
He waited for nausea.
It didn't come.
Instead, something bloomed in his chest. Warm. Electric. Alive.
The feeling was alien-yet unmistakably his.
One of the aliens was still moving, dragging itself away from him, making a wet, desperate sound.
Lewin raised the pipe.
And brought it down.
When it was over, he stood alone in the alley, chest heaving, heart pounding like it finally remembered what it was meant to do.
He looked at the pouch of Nectar lying in the dirt.
He picked it up, he had earned it now.
The thrill was still there.
Stronger than anything he could ever buy.
He ran towards his home with the pouch of nectar he so gracefully protected.
A thrill like electricity was still running through his spine.