The bell has rung. Your work period is over. It's time to finish plowing the spores in your row, and get back to your home.
For three years now you've been of working age, and how you got assigned this thankless occupation escapes you. You feel certain that you could have been a factory worker, police officer, or even a scientist, but it seems that enough of those postitions are already filled. So here you are, working the fields, drowning in monotony among your co-workers.
Still, the pay isn't bad, and you can't beat the job security.
Persidians aren't likely to stop eating anytime soon. Speaking of
which, you're hungry. Famished. Better stop at old Sid's store for
some canned rations on the way home. You grab your field scythe and
begin the journey back.
You enter the store with a little uneasiness, because the door has been left wide open. Strange. Sid would never leave anything in disarray.
You freeze in your tracks as you gaze upon the main register. Two black-uniformed members' of Xerxes special police are talking to Sid. Sid raises his arms above his head, and comes out from behind the counter. Oh boy, you think. Don't tell me that old fool didn't pay his protection tax this month. He's nuts!
You instinctively step out of the way as the police lead Sid toward the door. Sid had said he was going to protest the high price of running a business in this land, but you didn't think he was serious...
Wait! The old guy is a little kooky; maybe the police will believe he's semile and give him more time to pay if you plead his case. On the other hand, speaking to on-duty officers without legal reason is considered a crime against the state. Still, you've never been a troublemaker. They've got to listen to you, right?
