Silo

"Sir, the situation is similar to that of last week. A 20-year-old male plunged into the grain bin; according to his wife, he blacked out the instant he landed. Though he's still on top, we're concerned about what will occur once he regains consciousness. " I lowered my spectacles as I pushed the enormous glinting red button underneath my workstation as I dumped the heap of documents on my table. It blasted a loud enough siren throughout the main hall of the facility to rouse the dozing personnel. "Make room for the runway!" We hustled towards our trucks, puffing as we strapped our gear on. Every stride we made, we checked our timepieces to try to ensure we were on track. Such circumstances must not be taken lightly; death may happen in a matter of seconds. The sirens hollered throughout the busy streets and freeways, the vehicle accelerating rapidly than its purported capability. "So, what happened?" One of my relatively close coworkers, Argon, who got the call, threw out a faint snigger. Before speaking, he gestured an apology, seeing the unnerving expression plastered across our faces. He sometimes had an odd and uncomfortable humour that, I bet, often led him to trouble. He cleared his throat and continued, "His wife said he peered from the bin's top, which was double his stature, to, well, investigate something. He suddenly slipped, colliding into the clamp over his head, and collapsing within." The rest of the team groaned, "Folks claimed they heard noises inside and phoned him to inspect, and they were in the same predicament as everyone else." This was the 30th time such a case had transpired, with 50% of them concluding with fatalities. The overwhelming bulk of those who perished were children, and witnessing their hapless parents shattered our hearts. My men caught my disconcerting demeanor as I tightened my fists. "Sorry, sir, I didn't intend to bring up such unpleasant memories." "Don't be," I urged, patting his shoulders to indicate assurance. When we made an appearance on the scene, we found the wife kneeling, anxious and weeping. "Lord, please spare my husband." A bunch of medics from an ambulance that had arrived with us managed to calm the wife. My crew spared little time and began climbing the bin's ladders, hauling their equipment after them. They flashed a signal prior to actually heading in, "Still passed out, I'll head down first!", after assessing the situation inside. They leaped inside one after another, hurling stepping racks against the grain. Another group stationed at the bin's downstream part, poised to excavate an exit route if any constraints arose within. They fastened themselves around the bin's mouth and donned a buckle around their waistlines for assistance. In case they toppled over. The man was still motionless, and the simple truth that a wee half-body-sized metal panel had descended with him was the primary reason he didn't appear to perish in the grain pile. It functioned as a raft for his body, preventing him from plummeting. "All right, let's-" The guy awoke just as my colleague was about to issue an order. "He's up and about! Hold your horses, sir; we're about to-" They couldn't even finish, as the guy suddenly jumped up. He dove into the grain at that same time, sinking before he could even rise to his knees. It just took a fraction of a second for half of his body to be submerged. "Sir, take a deep breath and remain still. Toss me the shields! " The crew resolved to encapsulate the person with metal columns, making a polygon around the bound individual. "What the hell is going on... Where exactly am I...?"