Shift (Silo Trilogy #2)

by Hugh Howey

It seemed strange to him that if you ordered enough to hang yourself, nobody cared. Enough to span a few levels, and eyebrows were raised.

A man may take his own life, he supposed, as long as he didn’t take another’s job.

“A hundred years too late.” He sputtered this last, overcome with misery. There was a granddaughter on the screen that was not his, a great-granddaughter one more click away. They stared out at him, all of them, none with eyes like his own.

The hard things got easier the more you did them. It didn’t make it anymore fun to do the hard things, though.

Solo thought—maybe—that he himself was like a shovel or a can opener or any of those rusty things lying about. He was something that could be found. He could be found. And someone had.