The owner men awoke to go to work at the bank. The sun rose just as it had done for the last three and a half years. Even in the early morning, the sun scorched the already dry corn clinging to life it once had. However, the bank was never asleep. It was always awake, growing and growing, for it could never stop; otherwise, it risks perishing. The bank was constantly churning, working and working towards its end goal. The owner's men drove to work, dust billowing from behind their closed cars. The cracked, dry road and unnaturally tilled farmland passed them as they read the morning paper. 

They arrived at the bank, called by most as the machine. Responsible for the homelessness of most of the tenants in the surrounding area, the one-story building seemed to loom over the bankers as if it knew their every secret. Around them, they could see farmhouses, most emptied by even themselves, dreary and falling apart. Most of those tenants had been kicked out by themselves and they could see around them, the fruits of their labors. They would enter one by one, preparing themselves to start their work. And, like a well-oiled machine, they would enter and exit the bank going to the far-off lands to remove yet another family from their home. 

Right behind them would come to the next step of the machine's plan. However, this was a different type of machine. This real-life machine had an engine, ran on fuel, and could overturn the rocky and coarse soil. But these machines were not much different from the bank. They both were created by man but both controlled man, and both were able to change a man's life forever. While a bank was able to take away land from a person's name or put a man in debt for life, this machine could do the work of 10 men alone. This machine could put hundreds of families out of work in its lifetime without remorse. This machine was able to destroy a hardworking families mans, hand-built house in less than an hour and could destroy the barns of those families in minutes. 

Nevertheless, it was a cold machine because it had no feeling, no love to give to the land. The drivers on it controlled it, but not really as the tractor controlled them, not allowing them to stop, lest they lose their only source of income. The tenants would watch silently, and realize they had lost everything. Unable to do anything to stop their fate, they would watch from the doorway as years of generational work became dust. The tractors would plow the land, overturning anything and everything on it with nothing being able to stand in its way. Nothing could stop it as it ate and ate and churned out behind it, trash from a once beautiful home. The tractors would then return to the bank after completing their day's hard work, hand in hand with their passenger. 

Due to this they would leave the land empty and desolate after vacating the tenants, joining it with the wasteland around it. That land once defined by the people on it would become empty just like the other land around it.  The passenger would then collect their measly income after returning back to the bank. They then would return home, and even after turning off the engine of the tractor, it would still control them. For if their ethics got in the way, they too would be kicked from the land by the machine they once used. They were held in an everlasting trap they could not control lest they lose their home and family. They did not control this machine, they were only a passenger, observing its unending journey. The bankers, too, were held against their own will by the bank, unable to leave, stop or risk losing their only source of income. They would return day after day, performing the same menial task over and over, unable to change their fate. The bank would watch them, loom over them, as to tell them that they are under its shadow along with everything else and that it had complete control. And the bankers would have to sit there knowing that they were under the full and complete control of the bank. 

However, no one knew of the bank's secret. The bank needed to grow to survive, and this bank was not growing. It would vacate tenants from their homes, tenants who were trying to pay their rent with loans from the bank. However this bank was not making profits, it was not growing, and growing banks did not survive. However, this bank would fight. It was a machine with no feelings. It would keep sending its indentured army of bankers and tractor drivers every day. It would send them to its last breath, and it did. It would keep kicking out tenants, destroying their hand-built houses and their legacy, in return for their land. This land had no nutrients and was not able to grow crops, but was a wasteland of cracked land and dust. The land made no money but the bank was indifferent. It would collect the lands whether it would help it profit or not. It kept fighting on and on and would not give up with its creators working under it, with no control of what the machine did or controlled. They would be on equal level to the tractor drivers and other bankers, all equal for they couldn't control their fate.

But eventually, with no more tenants to remove and no more land to claim, it started to finally die. It would remove its laborers and its owners all the same. There was no remorse because no one could control the bank. It would remove everyone. It would leave no man behind. All the men would eventually be let go. The machine would stop its constant growth and fall. The irony being it would become equal to the farmhouses and barns it once emptied and destroyed. This once well-oiled machine would fall so far as to become the one thing it had complete control over. It would amount to all its hard work for nothing. It would become the one thing its purpose was not to be. A bank that stopped profiting.