X1. That's what they call me, but it's not my name. I am a prisoner. A worker in the dark. We work all day in the heat and the dust and the darkness. We eat after they wake us and hose us off. I couldn't tell you what time of day that was, because I haven't seen daylight in a very long time. I couldn't tell you how long either, for much the same reason. We live out our lives (if you can call it life) in the tunnels beneath the ground. We are beneath your feet right now. If this ever makes it out of this place then that will be the day that the rest of humanity learns of our existence. We inhabit this dark space, thousands of us, trapped in the suffocating black, we mine the rock and forge the metals, we pack it and wrap it and ship it to the surface on a pulley, but only once our masters (gaolers would be a better word) have siphoned off what takes their fancy. If they take too much of a 'bonus', we get flogged or go hungry for our 'poor work ethic'. We are strong in number, but weak in body and in spirit. We have been here so long that we are willing to greet death with open arms, or we are new to this world that is not seen but felt and tasted in the heat and the dirt and the blood, sweat and tears; contemplating the rest of our lives in the dark. There is no escape. The new are doomed to this life, and the old are begging for death. These are the mining tunnels, I am X1, and one day, not too far away now, someone else will inherit my name. I am X1 and my name is yours. Any day now, any minute, my name is yours.