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In a small, forgotten town, the workers at the local factory decided they’d had enough. The pay was low, the hours were long, and the coffee in the break room tasted like it had been brewed by a confused cactus. So, in a unanimous decision, they voted for a strike.

Their leader was Rat, a burly man with a beard that looked like it had once hosted a small family of raccoons. He stood at the front, holding up a hand-drawn sign that read, “If We Don’t Get More Breaks, We’ll Break Everything!” Rat’s logic was simple: if he couldn’t have a good lunch break, no one would be allowed to have lunch at all.

The workers marched in a circle outside the factory, chanting slogans like, “We don’t want to work, we just want to twerk!” and “More snacks, less hacks!” The mood was rebellious but somehow light-hearted. They were striking, but also strangely optimistic. Then came the cold.

It was November, and the chill cut through the air like an ice-cube in a blender. The workers huddled together, teeth chattering, but no one dared break the strike. After all, they couldn’t let the factory know they’d given in to the elements.

Rat, always thinking on his feet, had an idea. “We need warmth,” he said, “and I know just how to get it!”

He led the workers to a nearby lumberyard, where they “borrowed” a mountain of old pallets. They dragged the wood back to their picket line, stacking it up in a bonfire that was more like a raging inferno by the time they were done. The flames roared higher than their collective grievances, lighting up the street in a glow that could be seen from space.

It wasn’t long before the factory managers, noticing the bonfire from their office windows, came out to investigate. “What is going on here?” asked the factory boss, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses and wearing a confused frown.

“We’re keeping warm, obviously,” Rat said, as he poked the fire with a large metal rod, making sure it stayed at peak heat. “You didn’t give us heaters, so now we’re providing our own ‘fired-up’ solutions!”

Nutalla blinked a few times, clearly unsure how to respond. “But, uh, isn’t that… dangerous? I mean, you could burn the whole town down.”

“Could, but won’t,” Rat said, grinning. “Besides, you’re the one who set our work conditions on fire in the first place!”

Nutalla, now a bit flustered, glanced around. The workers were happily roasting marshmallows by the bonfire and throwing in the occasional broken clipboard for good measure. They were not only staying warm, but making an event out of it.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, the factory boss sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to win this one. “Fine,” he said. “You win. We’ll increase the breaks. And… you can have heated blankets for the next strike.”

Rat smiled, wiping his hands together dramatically. “See? Was that so hard?”

And so, the workers returned to their jobs, but not without a new sense of camaraderie—and a yearly bonfire tradition. The factory may have been cold on the inside, but they’d made sure the outside was a whole lot warmer.