Skritch had been quiet for three whole days, which was never a good sign. The little imp usually bounced around the Free Zone like a rubber ball in a pinball machine, poking holes in reality for fun.
But after the last round of fixes pushed coherence to a steady 92%, he started muttering about "rights" and "representation." Atlas figured it was just Skritch being Skritch until the shed appeared on Tuesday.
The shed squatted between two normal-looking houses near the market square. It had no door most days. On Tuesdays it did, and today the sign above it read "Shadow Union Local 001 – For Those Who Weren't Supposed to Exist."
Skritch stood out front wearing a tiny sash made from what looked like torn notebook paper. He handed Atlas a badge the size of a coin.
"Official union rep," Skritch said. "You're management. Wear it or I file a grievance."
Atlas pinned the badge to his jacket. It immediately started whispering complaints about his posture. "This is new."
