Happy Life
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The great and terrible Treebeard had a never-ending, nightmarish dream about how hard he worked at the factory, casting useless iron ingots for a pittance.
He had already cast hundreds, or even thousands, of ingots, the lunch break was long gone, the idiotic colleagues were giggling in the smoking room next door, seemingly forgetting their duties and leaving the entire workshop in the hands of the only responsible person in the entire factory, while the conveyor belt kept moving, and moving, and moving...
Thoroughly fed up with this Sisyphean labor, Treebeard kicked the dashboard with all his might, breaking all the delicate automation, which put the conveyor belt into berserk mode - molten metal sprayed in all directions, and the smart machinery exploded, blowing half the smoking room to smithereens, scattering some colleagues across all surfaces of the room, and leaving others crippled, missing three limbs, half their torsos, and half their heads (which, however, would not affect their mental abilities if they were pumped back later).
Satisfied with the result of his impulse, Treebeard takes out his last cheap cigarette, takes a deep, deep drag, and with a smile, climbs onto the machine, after which he wakes up.
Despite the tiring nature of the dream, the last few minutes left a pleasant aftertaste, and the guard cheerfully jumps out of bed, whistling merrily.
With a spring in his step, he begins his duties, briskly walking to the captain's office.
He had already cast hundreds, or even thousands, of ingots, the lunch break was long gone, the idiotic colleagues were giggling in the smoking room next door, seemingly forgetting their duties and leaving the entire workshop in the hands of the only responsible person in the entire factory, while the conveyor belt kept moving, and moving, and moving...
Thoroughly fed up with this Sisyphean labor, Treebeard kicked the dashboard with all his might, breaking all the delicate automation, which put the conveyor belt into berserk mode - molten metal sprayed in all directions, and the smart machinery exploded, blowing half the smoking room to smithereens, scattering some colleagues across all surfaces of the room, and leaving others crippled, missing three limbs, half their torsos, and half their heads (which, however, would not affect their mental abilities if they were pumped back later).
Satisfied with the result of his impulse, Treebeard takes out his last cheap cigarette, takes a deep, deep drag, and with a smile, climbs onto the machine, after which he wakes up.
Despite the tiring nature of the dream, the last few minutes left a pleasant aftertaste, and the guard cheerfully jumps out of bed, whistling merrily.
With a spring in his step, he begins his duties, briskly walking to the captain's office.
My sword, my trusted ally, unphased by my aspect.
