The sun shined through a rare break in the cloud outside the Filantropo complex. Sage Vidal was working on ad copy. Se needed a slogan for the new line of Filantropo Ready Pasta. Something to make the postapocalyptic masses outside smile. Something iconic. And preferably something original. Se stared out of the window transfixed by the sun, waiting for a slogan to come relegated to the back of ses mind. Se needed one to come quick so se could clock off for the day.
“Okay, I’ll just write ‘Fasta Pasta’. Probably not original but who’s gonna notice?” Se got up and clocked off.
Sage’s neutral expression turned into a smile as se left the office. Tonight was the night se quit. The oppressive boredom was all se’d ever known- for four generations the Vidals had been loyal, if low-ranking, employees of the Leader. Se had been born and raised to work as had ses parents, ses grandparents and ses great-grandparents. Ses discontent was so extreme that the half-dead, likely radioactive landscape outside seemed a utopia. But the Leader considered it so horrifying that se banned people coming in from the outside from talking about it and, more to Sage’s concern, escape was made near impossible and punished by serving as “enhancement talent” in the Filantropo Gladiator Games.
Se returned to ses quarters and admired semself in the mirror as se prepared to leave.
“Well guys,” se said to ses toiletries, “I’m gonna miss you. Filantropo Face Balm- you’re a lifesaver. Filantropo Ultra White Toothpaste- thanks for keeping the dentist away.” Se turned to look through the bathroom door. “Filantropo Three-Way Molecular Shower and Filantropo Hyper Toilet- I’m gonna miss you guys the most. Crapping in some dead bushes and going weeks without finding a decent spring to wash myself in is going to be hard, but I have to do it. So long.”