SNARE
by Mr. K
9.
The garbage truck operator moved by rote, directing the massive green mastodon
to take hold of the last trash dumpster of the day. The other sullen-faced
working men of his crew stood around watching, not watching, and waiting
for the shift to end. They were oblivious as the dumpster was raised above
the container of the truck and a torrent of garbage and trash rained down.
They were oblivious to the shape of an unconscious woman in dark latex stockings
and heels tumbling into the truck. They were oblivious to the small,
large-breasted blond in torn purple who plummeted
in with her.
Night Star felt them connect the last sensor to her face. She listened to
the scientists moving around her, one of them humming a Beatles tune. She
was on her back now, her ankles and wrists pinned down in metal
cuffs.
“Are you ready?” asked one.
A face loomed over her.
“Ready. Let’s get to work on her.”
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