Gemotions

The factory floor smelled of oil and metal, a smell that normally invigorated Ben, but now, it felt like a cage. His new role in quality control was a clear demotion, a deliberate attempt to keep him from advancing.

His knuckles were white as he examined the first batch of products. He'd find a fault. He had to. He knew the tolerances, the weaknesses.

The foreman, a man who always seemed to be smiling, stopped by his station, the smile never quite reaching his eyes. Ben gave a tight nod. He would carefully document every error, every deviation from the standard, making sure the blame fell squarely where it belonged.