Vending Machine Lunch by Roadbloc Page A

it filled in. Everyone from that
moment on was essentially a prisoner.”
    Jink stared at
the rambling man, unsure what to say and unsure what he was on
about. But he heard one word that made his ear prick up. Union. The
rumoured safe haven, the land of plenty. Jad had always slagged the
rumours off as nonsense. But he talked rubbish. Utter rubbish. Jad
knew nothing. He was dead and it was just Jink now. And Union
sounded like a place he wanted to be.
    “Union? Have
you been there?” asked Jink, beginning to get excited.
    “I’ve had my
fair share of residence there. Inherited this coat from there
actually from a strange man who supervised a pipe factory. Isn’t it
cool? Real beaver fur apparently. From the last ten beavers ever.
Why do you appear to be so thrilled about the thought of
Union?”
    Before Jink
could utter a word in reply, the buzz was heard again, machine
taken out and paper read.
    “It’s okay. We
know why you’re so thrilled,” chuckled the man, “You’re thrilled
because you are under the illusion that Union is Requiem free and
has plenty of food. This illusion was ignited by whispered rumours
and your acquaintance’s apparent refusal to talk about such
matters. Well, you’re right in thinking there is no Requiem or lack
of what they call ‘food’ over there... but your sort are not
allowed into Union. That aside, you wouldn’t be able to get your
fix for Requiem meat over there.”
    Jink wasn’t in
the mood for riddles, “Do you know how to get there?”
    “I do, but I’m
not telling you,” replied the man, adding to his pile of screwed up
paper, “You’re too caught up in the System here.”
    “Why won’t you
tell me!?” screamed Jink, his Requiem driven ego furious that it
was not getting its own way.
    “Because human
beings are not allowed into Union anymore,” replied the man, “They
slipped quietly into extinction many years ago.”
    The thought of
feasting over the Requiem re-entered Jink’s head. He hadn’t had his
fix yet.
    “I’m going
now,” said Jink, heading over to the ruin of the car, “Goodbye
now.”
    In one swoop of
the arm, the man prevented Jink from walking past him and threw him
back near the rail tracks.
    “What the-”
began Jink.
    “I’m sorry, but
I can’t let you do that.”
    “Why!?”
    “You’re part of
the System. And in a System, old parts need replacing with old
parts. That’s why you’re here. You’re going to be replaced. And
you’re going to be a new part at the very same time.”
    “You’re not
making any sense! Let me go you loon!”
    “Listen to me
Jink,” the man continued in his monotonous drone, “You were all
fooled. Even your supposed great land’s father was conned. We
conned them. We introduced the Ninety-Nine, and turned this sad
patch of land you call Elision City into a parts farm for Union.
Union won the war. And greater still, we won the war for Union. So
basically, we win. And you’re land’s father sits in his castle,
looking upon this mess every day and trying to convince the
surrounding cities that everything is A-Okay. And maybe the other
cities are convinced. But not Union. We created this paradise.”
    Jink still
didn’t understand, “What are you?”
    “Let me ask you
a question Jink,” said the man, “What did you dream?”
    Jink had no
intention of answering the question, but before he could even utter
a syllable of disgust, the buzzing had started again and the man
was reading another bit of paper.
    “It’s okay, we
told you what to dream! You dreamed of killing the acquaintance you
once held so dear to you. All triggered by your addiction to
Requiem. Don’t you see it yet Jink? Elision fell right into our
trap, just as Union had. We created this mess so we can repair
ourselves.”
    “What- Are-
You!?” screamed Jink.
    “We’re the next
generation of humans,” was the reply, “You’re version one. You’re
out-dated. You still rely on procreation. You are riddled with all
sorts of