Murphy's Law
Murphy’s Law “BOP!” went the whizzing, whirring device. A bashing cymbal sounded, ringing out for the millionth time today. The conveyer scraped along the needlessly colourful wall. It was a museum of sound, with the extravagant pieces of modern art, and the constant symphony playing in the background. It mostly disguised the fact that this was a factory, especially one of the most important in the world. Every time he came in to work, Murphy gazed up at the well-lit pipes on the ceiling, absorbed in the mix of bright liquids sloshing towards their destination. He glanced towards the rooms where he worked, where the Dust was extracted from its owners. They were compensated richly, often with enough to buy back more Dust. “Hi Boss, have you seen the new laws?”, a co-worker greeted him. He spun around on the spot. “What new laws?”, he answered. “We’re moving out,” said the co-worker with glee. “It’s finally happened! Those idiotic humans will have to manage by themselves!”
