The shiny yellow man steps on the red floor. He's insensitive, and numb to it after so long, which is why he's good at his job: or at least that's what he tells himself. His yellow hand yoinks the gray matter and plops it in the bucket, followed by skull bits. Crusty vertebrae follow. Arms, legs, torso (but that has to be chopped), chase the former. He scrounges a few last giblets into the bucket. God, it smells. Now the real fumigation commences.
He looks out the window, it's already dark out. Luckily it was on tile. This Chinese restaurant has seen better days. Who knew someone could get so upset over an order? Mop, mop, mop, lather the floor, as it bubbles with red. Wrangle the water out of the mop, into bucket two, nice and juicy. Mop, mop, mop, boots are slippery now, whoop, whoop, whoop he goes! Catches himself, wins this round. Rings this iteration of juice into bucket two, just like the last. It's clearer this time. He said he was good at his job. The bleach stings through his mask, which he prefers. Tidies up, wraps up, lugs the instruments and buckets into the van. Evacuates the establishment.
Returns to the main facility, disposes of things properly. Cleans the cleaners, puts it all back nice and neat. Evacuates in his own vehicle this time.
No music today, doesn't feel like bothering. He stares blankly at the ignition as it fails to start a number of times before finally rumbling to life. Should probably take it to the shop, but he doesn't care. If it stalls out on the highway then so be it. Apathy pervades his body, and he wishes he could be normal again. Nothing happens, and he makes it home.
When he gets home, he tumbles with his keys before barging through the door. There's a man in all black with a balaclava. Clearly not expecting him to be home so soon, he rips the pistol from out of his belt and blasts him. It nails him right in the noggin, splattering his brains all over the wall before he plops down to the floor.
The robber takes what he can and skedaddles. The authorities show up and do their thing. When they're about to leave, they call their main guy. He always answers the phone, a good man to have on standby. The home phone rings. One of the officers picks up the phone. Shit, it was their guy. This guy. He was their best one. Next in line won't be happy: the house is fully carpeted.
