The air tasted of copper.

We lived in the Spire. It was a tower of black iron. It pierced the gray sky. We did not go out. We did not see the sun. We only worked.

I was young. I was small. My hands were steady. This was good. Steady hands were required.

My name was Thomas. I do not recall who named me. It did not matter. Names were labels. Labels were for the dead. We were the living. We were the machine.

My friend was Silas.

Silas was tall. He had kind eyes. He smiled often. I trusted him. I trusted him with my life. I trusted him with my breath.

We worked on the Ventilation Deck. Level Forty. The air here was thick. It was heavy. It pressed against our lungs. We wore masks. The filters were white. They turned gray. Then they turned black. We changed them daily.

Silas sat beside me. We did not speak much. Words were inefficient. Work was efficient.

One day, Silas stopped. He looked at me. His eyes were wide.

"Thomas," he said.

I looked at my hands. I did not look at him.

"Thomas," he said again.

I looked up.

"There is something wrong," Silas said.

I felt a coldness in my chest. I ignored it.

"What is wrong?" I asked.

"The air," Silas said. "It is not being filtered."

I looked at the vents. The metal hummed. The hum was constant. The hum was normal.

"It is working," I said.

"It is not," Silas said. "Look."

He pointed to a gauge. The needle was red. It was trembling. It was in the danger zone.

I looked at the gauge. I looked at Silas. I looked at the gauge again.

The needle was red.

I felt fear. It was a sharp spike. It went into my spine. I pushed it down. I did not let it out.

"I will report it," I said.

Silas nodded. He looked relieved. He looked at me. He smiled.

I walked away. I walked to the supervisor’s booth.

The supervisor was Mr. Halloway. He was old. His face was pale. He wore a white coat. The coat was spotless.

I stood before him. I waited.

Mr. Halloway looked at me. He did not speak. He looked at the gauge on my wrist. He looked at the gauge on the wall.

He saw the red needle.

He did not move.

"Sir," I said. "The filter is failing."

Mr. Halloway turned in his chair. He looked at the window. The window showed the dark. The dark was endless.

"Sit down, Thomas," he said.

His voice was soft. It was like silk. It was cold.

I sat.

"Sit down," he said again.

I sat.

"Do you know what happens if we stop?" he asked.

I did not answer.

"The Spire stands on pressure," he said. "If the pressure drops, the Spire falls. If the Spire falls, we die. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"We cannot stop," he said. "We must continue. The filter is a false alarm. It is a glitch. We will ignore it."

I looked at him. I waited for him to laugh. I waited for him to say it was a joke.

He did not laugh.

"Go back to work," he said.

I stood up. My legs were weak. I walked back to my station.

Silas was waiting.

He looked at me. His eyes were bright.

"Did you report it?" he asked.

I looked at the gauge. It was still red.

"No," I said.

Silas’s face fell. The light went out of his eyes.

"Thomas," he whispered. "Why?"

I did not answer. I looked at my hands. They were shaking.

"It is a glitch," I said.

Silas stared at me. He looked at the gauge. He looked at the vents. He looked at me.

"You are lying," he said.

"I am not," I said.

"You are," Silas said. "He is lying. You are lying. We are all lying."

I felt a rage. It was hot. It burned in my throat.

"Shut up," I said.

Silas did not shut up.

He stood up. He walked to the vent. He pulled his mask off.

The air hit his face. It was foul. It was sweet. It was rotten.

He coughed. It was a wet sound. It was deep.

"Silas," I said.

He looked at me. Blood was on his lips.

"It is poison," he said. "It has been poison for months. We are dying. Slowly. Quietly. We are dying, and we are working."

I looked at him. I looked at the others. They were working. They were breathing. They were silent.

I looked at the gauge. The needle was red.

I looked at Silas. He was leaning against the metal. He was slipping.

I did not help him.

I did not move.

I watched him fall.

He hit the floor. He did not get up.

The supervisor, Mr. Halloway, walked over. He looked at Silas. He looked at me.

"Clean up," he said.

I picked up Silas. He was light. He was cold.

I carried him to the chute. The chute went down. Into the dark.

I pushed him.

He disappeared.

I washed my hands. I put on a new mask. I sat at my station.

I worked.

The air was thick. The air was heavy.

I did not breathe.

I was alone.

Days passed. Weeks passed. Months passed.

I was efficient. I was quiet. I was good.

The other workers died. One by one. They coughed. They fell. They were put in the chute.

I did not cough. I did not fall.

I was strong.

I was the best.

Mr. Halloway promoted me.

I was the new supervisor.

I sat in the booth. I wore the white coat.

I looked at the gauges. They were all red.

I ignored them.

I watched the workers. They worked. They breathed. They died.

I was in charge.

I had the power.

I had the truth.

I knew what was in the air. I knew it was poison. I knew it was killing us.

I did not care.

I cared about the Spire. I cared about the order. I cared about the silence.

I was the machine.

One night, I stayed late. The others were gone. The Spire was empty.

I walked to the top. Level Fifty. The Observation Deck.

There was a window. It was large. It was clean.

I looked out.

I expected to see the dark. I expected to see the void.

I saw the light.

It was bright. It was blue. It was the sky.

It was real.

I touched the glass. It was cold.

Below me, I saw the ground. I saw trees. I saw water. I saw people.

They were outside. They were free.

The Spire was a lie.

The air was not poison. The air was clean. The filters were not broken. The filters were new.

We were not dying. We were being kept.

I looked at my hands. They were clean. They were white.

I looked at the reflection in the glass.

I saw my face. It was pale. It was hollow. It was old.

I was not young. I was not small.

I was the monster.

I remembered Silas. I remembered his eyes. I remembered his blood.

I remembered the lie.

I walked back to the booth. I sat down.

I looked at the red gauges.

I could fix them. I could open the doors. I could let them out.

I could save them.

I looked at the control panel. The button was red. It was large. It was simple.

I reached for it.

My hand shook.

I thought of the Spire. I thought of the order. I thought of the silence.

I thought of my own comfort.

I pulled my hand back.

I did not press it.

I stayed in the chair. I watched the red needles. I watched the workers return.

They walked in. They put on their masks. They sat at their stations.

They did not know. They could not know.

They looked at me. They saw their leader. They saw their savior. They saw the man who kept them safe.

They trusted me.

I trusted myself.

I was safe.

The air was sweet. The air was heavy.

I breathed.

I was alive.

I was the only one who was alive.

I was the only one who was real.

The Spire hummed. The Spire stood.

I was the king.

I was the prisoner.

I was the jailer.

I was the key.

I did not turn it.

I sat in the dark. I sat in the light.

I was alone.

I was complete.

The gauge on my wrist beeped. It was red.

I did not look.

I closed my eyes.

I breathed.

I was home.