He could smell it.
There was a stench of rancid grease and burnt metal. This smell seeped into every fiber of his heavy protective clothing and lingered stubbornly on the edge of the breathing filter, as if it was about to break through the last line of defense at any time.
This is the garbage disposal port of Area C of the "Ark", the empire's flagship, so big that it can swallow a small satellite. And he, Lu Yuan, number 9527, is the most insignificant existence on this giant ship - a garbage collector.
His left hand, an old mechanical prosthesis, was skillfully grabbing a scrapped energy conduit. The coating on the outer shell of the catheter was mottled, and the residual electricity caused a numb tingling sensation on his fingertips. He has long been used to it. This feeling is as much a part of his life as the everlasting smell of motor oil in the air.
The iron arm waved, and the conduit was accurately thrown into the huge collection box marked "Recyclable Metal" behind him. The box is almost full, and various twisted parts are stacked together like hills. He repeated this action day after day. Sort, throw, sort, throw. This boring rhythm is his entire way of survival.
A regular sound of metal banging came from the distant passage.
It was the sound of military boots on the grating deck.
