Building a Conglomerate in Another World

December 18, 1899 — Milltown Junction, Amerathia

The sky over Milltown was a painter's palette of steel-gray clouds streaked with coal smoke. Every hour, the town exhaled through smokestacks and furnace chimneys, the skyline traced by metal cranes and the silhouettes of towering water tanks. Once a sleepy rural outpost known only for its brickyard and fishing creek, Milltown Junction had been reshaped in the image of a modern Amerathia—functional, focused, and utterly transformed by industry.

From the ridge above, the landscape looked like a living schematic. Parallel rail lines converged at a central depot where goods and people crisscrossed like clockwork. Bright orange auto chassis rolled down conveyors into flatcars; barrels of refined oil waited in neat pyramids to be shipped east; refrigerated cars carried milk and meat packed in Amerathia's heartland toward far-off coastal cities.

On the southern edge of town, the newly christened Hesh Corporation Complex—South Forge—churned day and night. Unlike East Shore's assembly lines, South Forge specialized in heavy industrial fabrication: girders, bridge supports, turbine housings, and long-haul freight axles. If East Shore built the homes of the future, South Forge built the bones.

December 18, 1899 — South Forge Administrative Annex

The humming lights overhead flickered slightly as the day's load surged through the compound. Inside the administrative annex, a large room with whitewashed brick walls and steel beams overhead, dozens of clerks typed furiously. The rhythmic tap-tap of keys filled the air like machine gun fire in a battle of ink and paper.

Among them walked Beatrice Lang, logistics director for the South Forge plant. In her pressed skirt and narrow glasses, she seemed out of place to outsiders—but anyone who worked there knew her by voice alone.

"No, Jenkins," she called, not breaking stride, "that's fifteen rail axles due west, not east. The invoice says Leeds Station. Check the coordinates again."

"Yes, ma'am!" the flustered clerk stammered, immediately leafing back through his manifest log.

Beatrice crossed the annex and entered the attached coordination room, where a wall-sized chalkboard displayed every production target, shipment, and arrival across the Hesh Corporation's western supply chain. Colored chalk connected dots between towns like veins on a great map. Every line mattered.

She marked a circle on a junction northeast of Calverside and made a note beside it: "Furnace delay. Update supply order 221-C."

Nothing was wasted. Not time, not material, not ambition.

December 19, 1899 — Milltown Workers' Market

Every Wednesday, the wide plaza between the machine works and the freight hub was transformed into a bustling open-air market. Merchants arrived in wagons or early-model trucks bearing fresh produce, cheap boots, secondhand coats, and even rare spices from southern ports. Factory families made the most of their lunch hours, browsing stalls with steaming food carts and quick-cut tailors.

At one stall, Edgar Morales, a steelworker in a smudged blue uniform, inspected a brass radio casing handcrafted by a Korean merchant.

"Does it catch the government broadcasts?" Edgar asked.

"Clearer than anything on your roof," the merchant replied proudly.

Nearby, his wife, Angela, bartered over a crate of cabbage and onions while their daughter, Milla, clutched a stick of honey candy and hummed the jingle of a Hesh Corp appliance commercial.

Though the world around them was built on iron and steam, the market reminded everyone that life was not just about survival—it was about enjoyment, flavor, sound, and community.

December 14, 1899 — Hesh Corporation Internal Development Laboratory, Milltown

Inside a secure wing of South Forge, researchers and engineers worked under arched lamps and glass canopies, their work cloaked in relative secrecy. Here, the prototypes were built.

A new line of electric streetcars was under development, designed for fast stops and smoother acceleration. Another bay tested reinforced safety cabs for long-haul trucks, a project already being piloted across Amerathia's mountainous north.

At the far end of the lab, two engineers stood before a strange-looking machine shaped like a boxy barrel with spokes.

"It's a home generator," explained the junior engineer, beaming with pride. "Runs on waste heat. Perfect for towns without steady power."

The lead engineer scratched his chin. "Get it working without constant refueling and you'll change the countryside."

"Already halfway there, sir."

They returned to their notes, the hum of invention filling the silence.

December 21, 1899 — Steel & Steam Union Hall, Milltown

By evening, the shifts ended and workers headed for the local union hall, a wide brick building with banners hanging from the beams. Inside, long wooden benches faced a modest stage where foremen and spokesmen took turns delivering updates on safety reforms, payroll changes, and housing expansions.

Tonight, however, the air buzzed with anticipation.

A representative from the Hesh Corporation had arrived from the capital.

"Friends," the envoy said, voice calm and resonant, "the board has approved your request for winter housing allowances. Effective January 1st, heating supplements will be included in your next pay cycle. Additionally, new apprenticeship slots will be opened for family members of current employees, starting with the next quarter."

Applause erupted across the hall. Whistles echoed. A few men thumped the tables in celebration.

For these families—many of whom had come from war-shattered provinces—the factory wasn't just a place of employment. It was a promise. And tonight, that promise felt real.

December 22, 1899 — Office of the President, Washington, D.C.

Matthew Hesh stood before a series of photographs spread across his desk. They were aerial shots of Milltown, sent from one of the new tethered observation balloons being tested for commercial use.

The images showed factories and farms side by side. Rooftops lined with new insulation. Families walking home beneath gaslit lamps. A world in motion.

Amber entered the room, holding a telegram from South Forge.

"Apprenticeship program launched," she read aloud. "First group includes thirteen young women, two from rural provinces. Local union calling it the 'engine house scholarship.'"

Matthew smiled. "That'll raise some eyebrows."

"Only among those who aren't building anything," she said, walking over to stand beside him.

He studied one photo carefully—a family waving at the camera from their porch, a Hesh-built refrigerator crate still beside the steps.

"This is why we made steel," he said softly. "Not just for bridges and rail, but for homes. For the quiet work of living well."

Amber placed a hand over his. "Then let's keep doing it."

December 22, 1899 — Sunset Over Milltown

As the sun dipped below the smokestacks, the clangor of the day gave way to quiet. The streets were dotted with the golden glow of lamps and the gentle rumble of late freight trains pulling out of the yard.

Children chased one another through the alleys, trailing the scent of supper from nearby kitchens. Radios crackled with evening news. The tinny jingle of an appliance ad played over a loudspeaker mounted on a co-op store: "Make it with Hesh—stronger, smarter, simpler."

In one small home, an apprentice named Josie—now a machinist in training—sat with her parents, showing them a blueprint she'd drawn by hand.

"It's a new clutch design," she explained, beaming. "Faster response time. Fewer breakages."

Her father, a blacksmith turned warehouse foreman, looked over the drawing with reverence. "That's yours?" he asked.

"All mine."

Outside, a factory siren sounded once, low and steady.

The day was done.

And from the heart of Amerathia's industrial frontier, a new future rumbled steadily forward—one forge, one apprentice, one neighborhood at a time.