Samuel and his partner were on their usual route before most people had fully woken up. The streets were still damp with night frost, the air sharp enough to sting the inside of the nose. Their truck rumbled through quiet neighborhoods, stopping every few houses with mechanical obedience. The metal arms of the truck groaned as they lifted containers and emptied them into the compactor, the rhythm almost hypnotic.

Samuel moved with practiced efficiency. Grab, lift, dump, reset. Grab, lift, dump, reset. Years of repetition had turned the work into muscle memory. His gloves were worn, his jacket faded, his breath steady in the cold air.

They had just reached another row of containers when everything changed.

Samuel stepped back, preparing to engage the compactor lever. His hand hovered over it, ready to bring down the crushing mechanism that would reduce another load of refuse into compressed silence.

That was when his partner screamed.

Continued on the next page