" Twos days after Westing's pharmaceuticals had been broken into, a dozen more warehouses had been sacked. The court was flooded with a tsunami of evidence, so much so that it had Charles Westing fleeing to Mexico along with the victim's compensation checks. Furious, the unpaid people began negotiating with up and coming drug-lords, scheming an elaborate plan to send a hit out on dear Charles. He was found dead within the hour, but it turns out the company had tanked half a year ago and the lost funds resulted in the defective drugs, so the people are still not getting paid.
The Shut Up and Pay, anti-protest organization quickly dispersed signage around the city in an attempt to ward off any riots before they began. But they failed, leaving one area untouched. The Take Up Spacers, quickly infiltrated and are growing exponentially in numbers as the minutes tick by." The news broadcast echoes throughout the lifeless street. The local business guild had voted this morning to close the right side of the street, so that the left half could have equal business. Part of the newly amended Work Together Act. Which also claims that people must buy half their bag of grapes from two different stores to insure that there are no monopolies on fresh produce after the Shaw-Mart/Tarford fiasco.
"Oh-no. We need to cut the feed!" Gunshots and threats ring out from the speakers. "Garret your fired!" The report yells over the chaos, which is quickly replaced by classical music. "We're sorry for confusion everyone, someone had mistakenly aired the trailer for next years film."
The Dustman rips the speaker's wires from the plug, discreetly tucked beneath the newest model of turf. He glances up at the lamp-post and waves, before throwing the expensive piece of technology on the ground. Once he's finished disassembling the media, The Dustman enters an old furniture store. There's no light on, and the closed sign is hanging crooked the door. He quickly crushes the sensor beside the door with his foot.
"Good-day!" The store owner calls out from the back. ""We've done a bit of remodeling so the mirror's-"
The Dustman merely nods and walks knowingly to were the mirrors are located.
"Of course, you already knew that." The elder man grumbles. "Hey! Before you go, some skinny fella dropped this off you a couple hours ago. Said it was urgent."
The Dustman turns around on his heels, and snatches the envelope. Tearing it open, newspaper clippings fall to the ground. There's an array of information to be deduced from the topics. Articles of his resent tasks, a handful of ads he has purposefully overlooked and a few images of people he's been considering as a target.
"Do you know who left this?" The Dustman demands, his voice deep and authoritative.
"I-ah- no. Some young man, probably a few years younger then yourself." The owner replies, taken back by the other's sudden shift in demeanor.
"Very well." He removes his sunglasses and looks in the mirror.
The disregarded clippings swirl around the ground and he is gone.
"Could have picked up his mess." The old man grumbles.