The End Times, Brought to You by Americorp.

Dumpster Diving and a Special Delivery

A/N: This is my first time posting on here, and I don't really have any sort of plot in mind for this story. I just have a lot of concepts and characters floating around in my head. With all of the BS that's been going on in America lately, I figured I'd just start typing in attempt to cope. This is how I predict the near future is going to look like.

It's strange to think about what's normal nowadays. Just a few years ago, I lived in a real house, with plumbing and electricity. I graduated college and had a pretty decent job. The sky was blue and water was drinkable. I got to eat three meals a day. But now, I live in an abandoned strip mall with dozens of strangers, jobless. The sky is black, every body of water and drop of rain is deadly toxic. I now eat one small portion every day. Who would've thought that I (and everyone else) would lose so much? 

Everyone did. Everyone knew what was coming, and we couldn't do anything about it. Not legally, anyways. But hey, prison life looks pretty appealing at this point, so what's the harm in a few crimes? A couple ransacked stores here, a dozen package drones shot down there, the occasional coordinated attack on police... we're practically rewarded with time in jail, with its leakless ceilings and guaranteed meals. Unfortunately, despite the public threats, they really couldn't arrest us all, so lesser crimes are barely accounted for. For instance, dumpster diving.

It was a part of my weekly routine, to dig around in trash and and scavenge any and all potential supplies, to be redistributed throughout the homeless population. Two others, Jax and Mince, were also there. Jax, a man a few years older than myself, sat in the driver's seat of his still-running truck. He anxiously tapped his fingers on the steering wheel while his head swiveled back and forth, scanning the empty lot. Mince, a young, stout redhead with a face full of freckles, stood in the bed of the truck, taking everything I handed her, inspecting it, and sorting it into the various totes that sat there. Considering that we were raiding a Walmart dumpster, most of the waste consisted of stale bread, dented cans of preservatives, sprouting vegetables, and other foods that were slightly past their expiration date. 

The dumpster was mostly empty at this point. Satisfied with the haul, I started to climb out. A sudden slam caused all of us to jump. The store's back door was now wide open, showing the silhouette of the angry, overweight manager. 

"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU RATS," he howled, "GET OUT  OF MY TRASH! GET OUT! I'LL SHOOT!!"

I, startled by the voice, accidentally fell backwards and landed flat on my back in the trash. I heard the squealing of the truck's tires as Jax made his getaway. Part of me wanted to be angry. Once again, I ended up covered in trash and completely abandoned. It was almost funny, actually, how this was a common occurrence. I was ultimately too tired to bring myself to feed into the rage or the humor of it. I just lied still, praying that the man who scared off Jax and Mince didn't come investigate the crime scene that I was currently in. Thankfully, after a few moments of frustrated grumbling, he slammed the door shut. He must not have seen me.

With a relieved sigh, I got up and threw myself over the edge of the dumpster. I cringed as I realized that trash water had soaked into my hair and the back of my jacket. Once again, dull anger swelled in my chest, before passing. I only had myself to blame. When we inevitably get caught, it's the driver's job to get the cargo as far away as possible. Each person is responsible for their own skin at that point. At least Mince was in the truck bed. She was still new to the scene, and I'm not confident that she'd be able get back on her own.

The employees' door opened again, causing me to jolt into a crouch. A figure walked out, approaching in my direction. I began to panic, knowing that it was too late to make a break for it. I was going to have to fight. I'm going to get my head bitten off when I get back home. I took my knuckles out from my pocket and clutched them in my hand. If I'm lucky, I'll just knock them out in one hit. They won't remember what happened, they won't remember what I look like, they won't-

"Hydra?" a familiar voice calls, breaking me out of my thoughts. 

"Dakar? Oh thank god," I said, barely seeing the details of his face in the dark. 

"The boss man sent me to clean up your mess," he jokingly scolded, prodding me with his broom. "Seriously, though, I'm glad one of you stuck behind. I got an important message from the West Tourniquet." He discreetly handed me a USB as he spoke.

I only nodded as I slipped the USB into one of my pockets. Dakar knelt to collect the scattered trash on the ground. I joined him. After a few minutes, all the litter was returned to the garbage. Dakar looked back to the building he worked at, but hesitated to leave. 

"You got to start being more careful," he said softly. He ran a hand through his hair. "There's only so many times I can 'accidentally leave the bins open' before they start to suspect something."

I huff a laugh. "I'm as careful as I can be. Trust me, I don't like being caught." My smile dropped as I saw Dakar's worried face. I lightly hit his shoulder. "I'll be careful, okay? And you oughta be getting back to work, slacker." I grinned. He offered an exhausted smile back. He eventually returned inside, and I started the long trek back home.