If I could walk out of the factory tomorrow and not come back, I wouldn’t. Not because I’m loyal, but because the pension they promise will vanish if I do. Autonomy isn’t walking away — it’s owning the machine that decides whether you eat when the welds dry. I’d take the foreman’s keys, yes, but first I’d burn the list of names they use to decide who gets paid in rubles and who gets promises. My father believed in the state. I believe in copper wire, dry gloves, and a gun under the floorboard. The rest is just noise with a flag.