He'd picked many hills to die on, he'd just never expected a trash heap to be one of them.

  There was nothing glamorous about being the dude stopping people from stealing trash. It was maybe two steps above the trash guys and two steps below the guys who worked in the clean offices. Right in squarely in the middle of blue collar. Brom had never thought that this job was forever, but it had been steady enough. Plus, he doubted his Mom would ever be willing to help him again if he'd fucked this up. So he'd shown up on time, put up with shit that rubbed him the wrong way because he was the low man on the totem pole, and got along with his coworkers. Mostly.

  But the job had changed. Brom followed Chase into the security control room, looking to get his gear before he headed out to look over the notoriously bear-prone Section A. There were no cameras now, so the bank of softly glowing monitors was gone. Instead, there was a notice to conduct hourly foot patrols, a sign-up sheet for 'mandatory retraining on the new alarm system', and a big shiny orb in the center of the desk. He stood there, hands on hips, lips twisted to the side as he looked it over. It looked like a big shiny crystal ball, the kind you saw fortune tellers in older media using.

  Chase curled his lip at the orb. "Fuck, I'll take camera three's eternal blur and the shitty monitor flicker back any day."

  Brom shrugged, rubbed his hands together, and made his best 'wizard gesture' over the orb.

  [Would you like to activate Greater Orb of Scrying?]

  "Yes." Brom had already forgotten that activation didn't require verbal confirmation, drawing a confused look from Chase.

  The smaller man jumped back as the orb suddenly activated, sweeping the room with a charge that made all of their hair stand on end, ruining Chase's careful pomade application. "Jesus H. Christ!"

  Brom felt like he was playing with one of those Tesla orbs, the power rippling between his fingertips and up his arms, prickling gooseflesh where it touched. It was like full-body TV static, and that drew a connection in his brain. Slowly, the churning grey mist inside the orb began to resolve itself into a clearer and clearer image.

  "- light vigil is planned later this week for the victims of the harbor event Dungeon. Preliminary estimates say at least one hundred people lost their lives to the machinations of the Cold Harbor Cult; that number is expected to climb. We here at Northwest News offer our condolences to the families. This is Russel Harper, signing off."

  The cheery outro jingle of the local news segments started playing, a card flashing that the next program coming up was 'Bennet's Bestiary with Rosanne Bennet'. Russel Harper had been the town's news anchor and weatherman for as long as any of them could remember, holding down a desk in a dated office and broadcasting on public access. Rosanne Bennet had been the head of the Cold Bay Humane Society, a retired veterinarian.

  "...I think this is the equivalent of Basic Cable. Mage programming." Brom slowly willed the orb to shut off, dropping his hands and rubbing his tingling fingers against his thighs.

  "Hey! What if those were useful programs?" Chase pointed to the now clear sphere. "There's weird shit out there."

  Brom raised an eyebrow. "Are you really telling me that?"

  Chase pulled a comb out of his back pocket, using the orb like a mirror to fix his hair. "Yeah, I guess that if anyone knows, it's you. Fuck, why'd you end up a big damn hero?" The other man leveled his comb at Brom. "Like, seriously. There had to have been better options than Brom fucking Jones."

  "You know, I don't know why you hate me, Chase. You enlighten me on that, and maybe I'll tell you my theory on the whole 'big damn hero' thing." He grabbed a flashlight, checking that it worked, relieved when it did. Probably magic now, push a button, and a rock used mana to glow. Too bad he didn't have his taser anymore. He had to make due with the nightstick that had been provided and a strange black square? He pointed to it and glanced at Chase. "Second shift, leave any notes about this?"

  Chase had flopped into the 'observer' chair, clearly happy that Brom seemed to be gearing up to take the first of the hourly walks. "Oh, yeah. That's the new radio. Syncs with the communication menu. Real-time talk and feedback."

  "Aww, you mean I get to listen to you bitch without lag? Just what I've always wanted."

  "Ask for a transfer then if you're so unhappy."

  "I did, but it's by seniority, and guess who's the only one with less seniority than me?"

  Chase wrinkled his nose, poking the orb and muttering. "Yeah, yeah, old man Metcalfe's nephew." The only person who'd parachuted into the job harder than Brom had.

  Brom shifted his duty belt, watched Chase annoy the orb for another couple of minutes, then shook his head. "Try not to break that thing while I'm out."

  Chase snorted. "Try not to get eaten by a garbage monster."

  As he let the door swing shut behind him, Brom sighed. Maybe he should quit? It wasn't like his mom would care now if he did. He'd wait and see what his first paycheck was and compare it to what he'd made from dungeons and quests. Anything was better than walking around a dump and being stuck with Chase Peeler as backup. That man had only backed him up out of duty before. Now? Now he had a full-on excuse to avoid doing that. Because Brom was a 'hero'. Fuck that dungeon victory feed. It had done more harm than good.

  The dump seemed more menacing than it had before. With all the normal machinery no longer working, or working in new, strange ways, all of the noises of 'normal' that Brom was accustomed to were absent. He was going to have to relearn them all if he decided to stay on. The yellow beam of his flashlight helped chase away the shadows that seemed deeper and darker than they ever had been before. The sign for Section A flashed up again, reflective white vinyl with rust in the corners where the bolts were and minty green lettering. A bear report. Fucking Second shift, leaving it to them. It wouldn't be the first time. The swing shift was always a bit overworked. Their shift was the busiest, the time of day when all the truckloads were being sorted and when people who'd gotten off work were making their visits.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "I wonder if it's delivered by cart now?" Man, he was really glad he wasn't one of the truck guys. Their lives had to be really, really shitty right now. Or maybe they had magic tools to make their lives easier? Brom was still figuring the world out as he went along.

  His first sign that something was wrong was the palisade assembled from scrap wood that had been brought from elsewhere in the dump and reinforced with what looked like old, large appliances. Fridges, washers, dryers, and big chest freezers were set between the sheets of salvaged plywood. The whole thing bristled with broken furniture that had been polished into spikes. There didn't seem to be an obvious way in.

  His second sign was a length of PVC pipe that had been sharpened and put on an old dog chain. It came sailing at him, and he jumped back, watching as it was pulled back up and over that wall. A retractable javelin.

  Brom activated his comm. "Chase, you said there was a bear report from earlier?"

  The response was clear and crisp, as though the man were right next to him. "Yeah, Section A. Hang on and let me read it." Chase's voice faded out for a moment as he took in the details or maybe he did it just to fuck with Brom. "Okay, it looks like it came in right at the end of First shift. Second logged it, but couldn't spare the manpower to investigate, they were busy helping control a stampede of people who swore there was some kind of relic in the trash. Why, you see signs of bear?"

  "Worse. I'm staring at the wall of Fort Fukov, and the natives have already proven hostile."

  For a second, Chase was silent. "...you're telling me that there's a fort out there?"

  "It's either a fort, a forward operating base, or an entrenched position. Take your pick, they're all equally bad from where I'm standing." He dodged the javelin again, listening to the chain rattle. "Well, I'm going to try to actually communicate with it. Wish me luck."

  "Yeah, don't fucking die. I don't think that paperwork's changed."

  Brom ignored that, sweeping his flashlight against the palisade wall again. "Hello in there! You're currently trespassing on city pro-" This time, when the javelin shot out, Brom caught it. He held it firm as the chain pulled tight and began to vibrate, the thing on the other end straining to pull it back. "Excuse me, I'm talking. Since you can't play nice with your toy, I'm confiscating it."

  Brom yanked it. Something slammed hard against the palisade wall from the inside. The next thing he knew, a hail of pipe javelins launched themselves from behind the wall, forcing him to scramble back across the trash to safety. He had the urge to get up high, to shine his light down over that wall and get a good look at what was in there. Sadly, there was no high structure nearby. The only trash pile in Section A was firmly inside the walls he was currently on the wrong side of.

  It was at this point that Brom felt the third sign that things were desperately wrong. A vibration under his feet. It triggered the memories of yesterday, the belly of the eldritch ship-beast. When the worms had been coming. His eyes went to the trash, and sure enough, he saw those same burrowing signs, like Yacht Sothoth's chains. Something fairly sizable was burrowed under the garbage and approaching him rapidly. Brom narrowed his eyes and braced himself, gripping the javelin tight.

  -Unyielding Stance Activated!

  Too fast for the eye to follow, his ankles were grabbed, and there was a sensation of downward pressure as something tried to yank him below the trash.

  - Heinous Blow Activated!

  The javelin stabbed downward with precision into the trash in front of him. The slightly disturbed line that denoted the tunneling of the as-yet unknown assailant. The garbage parted below the force of his mighty thrust, and then he punched through something much softer. With an undulating scream, the trash exploded upward, and this thing rose up seemingly out of nowhere. It seemed to assemble itself from the garbage, bones made of coat hangers and baling wire for the ligaments. Plastic bottle padding and old elastics for muscle bands. The thing was gibbering in some language, the force of its fright ripping the end of the javelin from its flesh as it turned and began to scramble across the trash on all fours.

  Trash Golems.

  At least that was what the tag above the thing's head said. Even as Brom stared after the retreating one in disbelief, the others were already starting to rise around him. They were absolutely massive, made from whatever was on hand. Gas jugs. Tires. That one had bits of glass and sheet metal in it. Each one was nearly ten feet tall, their bodies moving with an uncanny valley sort of way. As if someone had described how humans were supposed to move but had never really shown them what that looked like. The movements were deliberate and yet still a bit too exaggerated. Their body language, though, was on point. It was telling Brom they were angry.

  Very, very angry.

  "No chance I can convince you guys this is a terrible accident and we can talk this through."

  As one, they tried to grab him, damp and reeking limbs stretching out toward him like he owed them money.

  Seemed like negotiating was a no...