The Industrialist

Chapter 75: Prick

Kranian Industries, Northern Sector, Axe Central City

***

Saner minds prevailed.

Flanegan had no choice but to cascade everything on the list. However, his snobbish treatment towards Lance had made it more difficult for the former to elucidate the details.

"co-TOR? What the heck! Is there such a thing?" Flanegan continued to protest.

"Have you been to any factories before?" The Electrical Tier 3 Scientist took him to an elevator. He placed his palm on the scanner and the elevator took them three levels down.

"Underground?" Lance asked.

"Can't you read? It's Level negative 3..." Flanegan cursed indistinctly, "...of course, we are going underground."

Lance let it slide, maintaining a composed and calm professional demeanor.

'He might be testing me of some sort. Testing my patience. Or maybe such an act was directed by Doctor Zee, observing if I am fit to handle such a specialized position,' He convinced himself.

As the elevator hissed open, unkempt high-technology factory equipment and disorganized operators despite the cleanliness of the environment greeted them.

'Far from what I witnessed from other production lines,' Lance thought.

"This is your production line of your invention, RoFlo," Flanegan started sauntering inside the disorder. The people inside still setting up the equipment and production had not started yet.

"If this is your first time and you haven't had any pre-masters degree yet, I will enlighten you a bit of the functions of TOR," Flanegan said as he checked on the first item in the checklist in his digital tablet that he carried with him.

Lance nodded.

"Braise yourself, Mr. Berkley, being a TOR is not easy. And Doctor Zee is not always present to rescue you." Flanegan teased, bringing his face near to Lance's and uttered the words almost to a whisper.

"Firstly," he retracted and raised his voice, "a TOR or the Toll Operations Representative is the overseer of the product specs compliance."

"Why Toll?" Lance asked, just testing Flanegan's seemingly self-declared expertise.

"Toll? You don't know?" he chuckled with the menacing smile of a bully. "Well, Kranian is the Toller and the Corporation is the owner of the product. It means that Kranian Industries will only produce the product but the Corporation will pay for the raw materials and will buy out all output that the Toller produced.

Well, I represent Kranian and its production team, on the other hand, you, represent the Corporation."

"This right here, are they ready to go production?" Lance asked.

Seeing the operators still connecting cables, modifying settings, and calibrating devices, had made Lance worry.

"Yeah, they are good to go. TOR, it is time for work," Flanegan tapped his shoulder hard.

"Wait! Is that it? What about the checklist?" Lance asked, his voice emanating annoyance.

"How old are ya? Nineteen?" The man asked.

"Nope, sixteen."

"Even worse. But, it's good for ya, kid. You are a TOR now even with that age. Wow! That's something."

"Yeah. It would surprise you that I live in Steelpoint," Lance said.

"Wait, what? You are a commoner too? I live in BrassLot, near the Eastwall. Near Eastern Scrapyards. Marcus right there, lived in Steelpoint." The man pointed to his colleague pushing the large Factory Equipment to the corner.

"I don't know really what I'm doing. That prick, Flanegan, is not actually of great help. He should be the one who will put me up to speed."

"Ha! Ha! Ha!. Yeah, prick he is. Ok. I have been here for five years now and I have been with several TORs like you, but not like you, actually.

You are different. Way younger, a commoner, and a Mech Tier 1. What the hell, kid? Complete package, aren't ya? Yeah, I heard from the others, gossiping of the new TOR. I thought ya were just like them."

Lance's strategy hopefully worked – finding common ground with the rank-and-files, and achieving sympathy from them to make this production a success.

"Yeah, what the hell. I can't just slip past an opportunity like this. I need some units, too. Ya know our situation as commoners, we need the money. Hustle to the point of exhaustion." Lance said, speaking as commoners do.

"Where exactly in Steelpoint are ya?"

Now, Lance knew that the man was testing him if he declared the truth.

"Cabins for years, near Scraps 1, along storm drains. You know the smell, right?"

Commoners knew about the storm drains - wide and deep canals, and constructed a concrete riprap on both sides. The stench of those drains that came from the inland wastewater and stretched towards the external parts beyond the walls was appalling for the neighboring residential zones of Commoner sectors.

No Inlanders knew about the horrendous smell that came from the storm drains.

"Know the stench, kid? We are damn lucky. Well, am I going to call you Mister?"

Then, Lance knew that he passed the man's test.

"You can call me anything you want, Mister...?"

"Brigz. Gab Brigz."

"Mister Brigz."

They shook hands, and Lance initiated by offering his hand first. He saw Brigz's hostility had faded. High and Middle classers do not shake hands with commoners. This had solidified his roots, a Commoner.

"Ya don't need to be formal around here, boss. Just act normal, all right, you'll be fine."

"What should we do? The first raw material Transport is already at our doorstep." Lance asked.

"Don't worry, boss. I know Flanegan is setting you up for failure. But we, won't let that happen."

Brigz said as he called the crew to gather around.