I was trying to find a quiet moment to lament my existence when she approached the customer service desk. She had the flat, vacant stare of someone who has spent too much time watching daytime television—eyes that weren't just empty, but hollowed out.

She placed a greasy, half-eaten rotisserie chicken on the counter. "I'd like a refund," she said, her voice a monotone hum.

The stench of cold, congealed poultry fat filled the air. I wanted to tell her to get out, to take her carcass and her dead-eyed stare with her. But procedure is procedure. I picked up the chicken by a corner of its plastic container, my fingers recoiling from the cold, damp surface.

That's when I saw it.

Nestled deep within the shredded breast meat, almost perfectly centered in the carcass, was a small, metallic cog. It was no bigger than a dime, made of a dark, non-reflective metal, and it was humming. I could feel the vibration through the cheap plastic, a low, steady pulse that seemed to thrum in time with the flickering fluorescent lights above.

The woman just stared, her expression unchanged. She didn't seem surprised or angry. She seemed to be waiting for me to complete a transaction.

I froze, the humming cog a tiny, impossible artifact of some vast, incomprehensible system. I did the only thing I could do: I called Tabitha in HR on her extension. After three rings, she picked up, her voice thick with the effort of breathing.

"What is it, Evan?"

I explained the situation in a hushed, frantic whisper. The chicken. The blank-faced woman. The humming metal gear.

There was a long, wet chewing sound on the other end of the line, followed by a sigh. "Oh, that again?" Tabitha said, her voice dripping with profound indifference. "Just process the refund. Log the object under 'Foreign Contaminant, Non-Biological.' The procedure is in the manual, it's covered by Clause 7.6."

She hung up.

The woman took her refund and left without another word, melting back into the rain. I was left alone with the cold chicken and the quiet, insistent hum of the Mahchine's lost part. I logged it, just as I was told. The system accepted my entry without error.

I stood there for a long time, the cog buzzing softly on the counter, a quiet testament to the gears that grind us all down.

This is fine.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5773693&forum_id=2),#49262576)