It felt like a thousand degrees outside. Dry, hot air sucked the life out of anything worth getting excited over.

Killer lay stretched out on an old wooden deck of a large office, staring out into the desert with a deadpan gaze.

One leg dangled off the edge of the deck, swaying back and forth every once in a while.

In the forefront of his vision was a large surrounding fence confining what were thousands of sweaty workers trudging through the dust, hauling flimsy crates, shovels and pickaxes.

Most of them were digging. Some dug for days, some dug for months and some dug for years.

Killer had only dug for about two weeks and was thoroughly convinced that he was in a prison camp, although popular authority believed otherwise.

To make it all the more frustrating, it’s not like they were digging for gold or some forgotten treasure deep beneath the earth’s crust. They were digging for potatoes.

Potatoes.

The thought alone made Killer want to go on a killing spree.

Potatoes were everywhere. Hives of them slumbered deep within the desert sands, pulled and hacked off of gnarly roots then stored into large containers or piled up to create obscene mounds where some of the diggers would hide in to avoid work.

Nobody knew why the ugly things were growing out here in this barren place of no rainfall. All they knew was that they had to dig ‘em and pick ‘em until they were promoted, the time of which was a complete mystery.

Furthermore, most of the people bound to the plantation weren’t convicted criminals of any kind. They’d done nothing wrong. Their only mistake was that they failed a crucial examination test that would’ve allowed them to serve in the country’s famous military, Ultimate Soldier. Thus they wore the sad title of A.I.G.E., an acronym that stood for Almost Isn’t Good Enough.

The examination team in Baveoma, informed that since the candidates had merely attempted to join Soldier they were now, by default, the property of the organization. With that being clarified, the draftees were whisked off to whichever compound deemed fit for them, made to undergo fruitless objectives until further notice.

Escape was possible but some considered it desertion and would probably vie for death by firing squad or public hanging.

Even if neither punishment awaited, escapees had to face the harsh desert world thriving with all kinds of monsters, savages and bandits waiting to tear them apart.

Impervious to the threats, Killer plotted his escape in silence and had been doing so ever since he got here. There were enough humvees parked around to hijack and enough fuel to keep them running. Soldiers came by the compound every so often to do a check up or just hang out until their next assignment and they were usually well equipped.

A good portion of their armory and supplies could be found in their vehicles as well.

Killer just needed the right opportunity.

Somewhere in his dwellings, he overheard the conversation between two soldiers seated at a table in front of the office playing a game of cards. Reportedly, their task was to make sure guys like Killer weren’t up to any funny stuff.

“Man…” Wilson chewed on tobacco, “Lt. Shinobu is like the most dangerous dude in his position.

I was with the squadron last week when we was rolling through them canyons on the way back from Mudrat where the towns was gettin’ terrorized by them Hagimoras. Boy, I seen this man backhand one of them suckers when it came at him and that thing dropped to the ground and ain’t get up after that. We all thought we was gonna get roasted like chicken rotisserie. There were like ten of them things. I saw the sergeant bustin’ his hind tryna save the Lt. but he ain’t need no help. The man stood up and slapped that bad boy just like this—”

Wilson spun his palm inward, jerking his arm back then lashed the air, reenacting the scene he’d witnessed.

“C’mon now,” the other soldier said, “Don’t blow all the damn cards off the table.”

“That’s how he did it.” Wilson chuckled, “Smacked the livin’ marbles out of that hobgoblin. I ain’t never seen nobody smack a whole Hagimora. Tell me you ain’t.”

“I dunno.” Damian shrugged. “That sounds a little far fetched for a regular lieutenant.”

“You think I’m kidding. You can ask yer’ boy, Jettinson. He’ll tell ya...”

“Y’all had Jet out there? What about that boy Leo? I already know that skug bucket was boastin’ about how he killed like twenty haggis with a pocket knife.”

“Naw. Leo had to stay and do bathroom duty. Heard that clown done stole Lt. Spawns mattress to go dune surfing.”

Killer’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, listening to the two soldiers ramble on about nothing.

He couldn’t wait till sunset.

He sat up at last, stretching the stiffness out of his muscles and went off to go look for his long time regrettable companion, Kaisse Renedict.

The titled fool was the laziest in the compound and had only dug for a few days before a montage of disappearances.

Word got out that Kaisse applied for a telemarketing job at some Soldier outpost, allowed to sit on his hind parts in air conditioned rooms until he returned later to dig again. How he pulled it off, no one was sure.

Among the many fatigued faces roaming about the plantation, Killer caught sight of another regrettable neighbor in his life, Maz Gryder.

Large amounts of sand spilled out of his thick curly hair as he reached into a gaping hole, grasping a meaty potato.

With jubilance, the boy lifted it up in the air.

“A SWEET POTATO!!!” He hollered.

Aggravated, Killer beamed one of his own at the back of Maz’s head.

The boy turned and snatched it down with his free hand, smirking at his friend.

Annoyed even further, Killer ran up and kicked him into the hole then grabbed a nearby shovel and began burying him.

A familiar hand grabbed his wrist firmly.

He looked into the weary face of yet another of his companions, Yurzif Maverick, a kid about two shades darker than him and had a relentless grudge with current authorities.

“Chill out, Killer.” He spoke in a voice dryer than the tumbleweed rolling about the plains. “You’re not alone. Everybody hates this crap.”

“Huh?” Killer blinked as if he’d lost his memory. “I know. I just thought I’d take the opportunity to end Maz’s suffering. He’s clearly losing his mind.”

Yurzif huffed and wiped the sweat off his forehead, looking into the ashy horizon.

“Yeah, whatever. I think the heat’s getting to you again...your nose is bleeding.”

Maz hoisted himself out of the hole, still clutching his sweet potato. He beat the dust off of himself, then took off toward the office to exchange it for unlimited rations by dinner time.

One sweet potato wasn’t enough. He was sent back to hunt for more. He hauled an axe back to the spot, and began smashing away at the dirt.

Yurzif stood by, resting his palms on his shovel with his head down, the sun’s heat beating down on his neck.

He looked up and turned his head to the sound of a humvee rumbling some lengths outside of the compound.

It rolled through the entrance and stopped in front of the main office, shuddering as the engine turned off.

The doors swung open and three people stepped out. Among them was Kaisse Renedict.

Sighing with enormous dread, he flopped out of the vehicle and stood under the blazing sun with an expression of laziness blunting his face.

He lumbered over to join the other unfortunate goons who weren’t really all that invested in what they were doing anyway.

“Look who it is.” Yurzif smirked dryly as his friend approached. “The biggest bum in the universe.”

Kaisse looked at him and tossed a crude gesture.

“Say,” Yurzif continued, “When the heck am I gonna get in on that marketing job? I told them I wanted to enroll but I haven’t gotten a response.”

“I don’t know, fool.” Kaisse droned. “Maybe it’s because you’re ugly.”

“Ugly?” Yurzif wheezed. “You’re the ugliest guy in the whole plantation.”

“What? Please, bro. My royal handsomeness knows no rival. That’s why they chose me. I’m the mascot of the whole outpost.”

Scoffing, Yurzif shook his head and started digging again.

Killer sat on a crate of potatoes, watching the A.I.G.E.s hustle about when one of the soldiers came by and told him to get off his behind and get to work.

It was utterly pointless. He had to get out of here.

The idiots running this place treated their staff horribly and that was because they were really just slaves shoveling potatoes for profits they would never receive, aside from eating the disgusting things for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

The menu did vary from time to time, meaning that whatever they ate were just potatoes prepared in different forms and they were starting to get tired of it.

Some people felt better off going to sleep on an empty stomach.

In contrast, Maz didn’t seem to be bothered by the redundancy and made the most out of his time unearthing sweet potatoes.

Not to say he didn’t hate the compound but it sure was hard to tell.

“You seem like you’re having fun.” Kaisse approached him with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, accentuating his defiance to work.

Maz looked up, squinting his eyes at the strange silhouette.

“What?” He replied. “No way. This place is disgusting. All I care about is these potatoes.”

“Yeah, right. You love it here.”

“No I don’t.” Maz gave him a puzzled look. “I love Barbie’s sweet potato casserole, that’s what I love.”

“Barby?” Kaisse’s tone was judgemental. “Who the heck is Barby??”

“Barbara, the chef.” Maz stated as if he should’ve known. “She’s like the best chef in the whole compound. Everybody else oughta’ burn in hell for all I care.”

“Yeah, well...At least I don’t eat potatoes every day like a couple scrubs I know. I get that good stuff. We got bread, steak, hamburgers, saucy hot wings, grits and eggs, and—“

“A SWEET POTATO!!!” Maz shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Shut up!!!” Killer boomed.

“You shut up!!” Kaisse jeered.

Maz dived over an A.I.G.E.’s head and sped off toward the office.

“That kid’s a looney.” One of the guys said, circling his finger around his temple.

Killer hacked at the dirt aggressively, tuning out all other noises until his focus became one with the earth.

Dust capped his head, shoulders and arms. His shirt was sagging from perspiration.

At this point, he wasn’t digging for any other reason than to dig and he dug forever.

The camp’s main supervisor, Captain Charole patrolled the area with exaggerated self importance, constantly reminding his worker bees about what they were here for.

Charole was an average fellow, dedicated to his job as captain and always looking for ways to improve the plantation and heighten the morale of his ‘soldiers’.

Ironically, most of them didn’t pay him much attention. He was one for corny motivational speeches and mundane lectures, forcing the army of diggers to stand in formation for too damn long and chant some stupid slogan that he made up.

One, Two, Three, Four,

We Dig, We Die, We Obey The Law!

Killer refused to utter such a self-deprecating line. Words had power and in no way would he seal his fate by digging holes until his last breath.

He slumped down beneath a crumbling archway, wiping the sweat off his forehead and took a swig of water from his canteen.

As he sat there, a strange feeling came over him. The feeling that something was missing.

He felt like he had always known what it was but for some reason he was drawing a blank this time.