Yunhai City, a quarter past two in the morning.
The ground above his head was experiencing a heavy rainstorm. Even through the reinforced concrete tens of meters deep, Jiang Jin could hear the dull rumbling sound that seemed to completely crush the entire city. The wind coming in from the old ventilation ducts carried a strong earthy smell, as well as the stench coming from the sewers.
Jiang Jin was wearing gray-blue overalls stained with black oil, holding an unlit low-quality cigarette in his mouth. He was holding a heavy-duty insulated wrench in his hand, and half of his body was in the deepest distribution box in the southern section of Line 3.
"Damn, this shabby line was just reported for repair last month, and today I'm on strike again." Jiang Jin spat, and groped with his rough fingers in the intricate cables. The fingertips were covered in a mixture of engine oil and rust, and it was so sticky that it made one's heart burn.
As a low-level maintenance worker on Yunhai City Subway Line 3, he has been doing this kind of bad butt-wiping job for almost five years. Line 3 is the oldest line in the entire Yunhai City. When it was built, it was done for speed and left a mess. Today the distribution box is short-circuited, and tomorrow the signal lights are flashing. The leaders above will only sit in the air-conditioned room and issue death orders. But the only people working in this dark and humid tunnel that even rats despise are low-level workers who are paid dead wages.
Click.
