Scott Pilgrim Vs The World Garbage Truck の小説・ストーリー

The men all watched on with pride in their leader as he rid the world of a few less bastards. Collen finally let go of the lever and turned to brick and the man who brought the garbage truck. "Take the trash to the dump. Make sure to empty it, and put a bullet in anything still breathing." "Yes sir."

another added with a sneer, "she's finally realized what she really is—garbage sorting through garbage. Like attracts like, after all." Their laughter grew louder, but I kept my focus on the pile in front of me. There. I spotted exactly what I'd been looking for—a length of lightweight titanium alloy that would be perfect for a crossbow frame. "You know what I love about this?" Hughs continued, clearly enjoying himself. "The symbolism. Here she is, literally digging through trash, which is exactly where she belongs in the food chain." "It's poetic justice," one of the bikers agreed. "Finally, someone who knows their place in the world."

The engine purred to life, carrying me away from him - further from the boy who still believed in redemption and loyalty. - The incinerator's rusted teeth bit into my wrists as they dragged me through the derelict plant. Rotting plastic and decade-old ashes clung to the air like vengeful spirits. I remembered a place that was just like this. This is the end of the world, where all the trash goes back to its original form. Ash to ash. Dirt to dirt. Now daylight stabbed through cobwebbed windows, illuminating Al Cosa's ruined face. He sat hunched in that wheelchair, a tumorous growth of grief. The proud mob patriarch I'd toasted champagne with at his son's wedding had shriveled into a leathery

Scott interrupted his brother, “Yes, we’re going to be okay.” “Oh yeah, where is he at again?” Albert asked. Scott checked his phone. “Uhh, he was just at the PDC Orphanage, but now he’s stopped at some small coffee place called SB Coffee.” The road-bound thanked them for their kindness while he thought about the encounter he’s going to have with his brother. And as the rough road from the back road jumbled his thoughts and his body organs, some hundreds of cars he heard just arrived at the building behind him making him glad he left not one minute later.

They were human, predictable in the best way, always in the same place at the same time, filling the same stools every single day with their goofy, fun-loving natures. Men like that didn’t make enemies or simply disappear. Which meant someone had made them. The bend came up fast, the road dipping and curving just enough that the headlights caught the wreck all at once, instead of gradually, the truck sitting half off the road with its nose buried in the scrub, one side crushed against a tree hard enough to buckle the frame. I slowed, pulling in ahead of Arthur, the engine cutting as I stepped off and took it in properly. The damage was bad.

As my bewildered friend staggered in my vague direction, I called out, “Chucklenuts? I’m waiting on a Mr. Chucklenuts?” That directed his attention immediately, and I saw the mixture of exhaustion-heightened annoyance and grudging appreciation for my juvenile humor. “Yes, I’m Mr. Chucklenuts,” he said, dropping his bag at my feet. “And you’re Mr. Minidick’s driver, I presume?” I let the sign fall and pulled Scott into a bear hug. “Dumbfuck. How was the flight?” “Bumpy.” He kicked the bag on the ground. “Carry that. It’s my day.”

I direct the driver. Our SUV squeals down the side street leaving a trail of black marks in its wake across the pavement. Up ahead, a garbage truck turns the corner and the driver immediately slams on the brakes, spinning the wheel sideways. Finley and I go flying across the back seat and I catch her, but end up slamming my head against the glass window of the door. Ouch. For a dazed moment, I blink, my arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and I realize we've come to an abrupt stop. The damn garbage truck is taking up the entire street and it's impossible to get around it.

I saw the guy do it two times now. When I went to the back of the truck, the truck was darker than I thought it would be. It smells funny too. It smells like stinky trash, like when the trash people didn’t pick up Grandma Lucy’s trash cans for two weeks. Mommy says they were going on strike, whatever that means. It smelled really bad. That’s what it smells like in the back of the truck, and it is so dark, it’s hard to see. I’m not a big baby, though. I can do it. I’m not afraid.

"I want to go back up. I want to burn that whole city to the ground." "Revenge is a heavy burden, child," Mira warned. "It’s the only thing keeping me moving," I snapped. Suddenly, the piles of junk began to shift. A low, mechanical growl rumbled through the chamber. I saw red eyes glowing in the dark corners of the junkyard. They weren't the silver droids from the city. These were "Scrappers," monsters made from different parts of broken machines. One had a wolf’s head and the legs of a spider. Another had long, serrated blades for arms.