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I've rarely been as exhausted as I am right now. How do they even find these jobs? The worst, most back-breaking, dangerous labor imaginable, and it just gets worse every time. The uniform isn't the best set of work clothes, either. Every time I come back here, I'm filthy.

The tunnel machines were relics, anyway. Probably fifty or more years old, and they break down every other time they start up. Every time they break down? We're the ones that have to fix them. They also overheat like you would not believe - and really, the underground exhaust ducts are already below capacity. They don't really need us to make any more.

I suppose that's petulant of me. Even in labor as a prisoner of war, I want to be doing something important.

There's a gash, from the machinery, on my left arm. They cleaned it up and bandaged it. The nurse didn't say a word to be the entire time, and the doctor treated me like a machine. Certain stimuli, certain responses, certain repairs.

She bandaged it too tight. I know how much it should hurt, and this isn't it.

I suppose there are many definitions of 'humane treatment' as agreed upon in the treaty.

He visited the work site today. He thinks I didn't see him.