Everyone always assumed an apocalypse would be a dirty business. As it turned out, it was immaculate.
Not that anyone paid any attention to the whole thing at the time.
The dead street shone neon clean as Joe fumbled with the package. He was sweating lightly, even in the cool, conditioned air. He brought his other hand up to rub his receding chin, a nervous tic that annoyed him, even as his latex-covered fingers scratched again.
A woman's voice echoed benignly through the spaces between pastel cement and white walls. Please remain calm. Although the individual is not considered dangerous, he carries an item intended to cause distress to Society. Citizens are warned not to speak to the individual, but to terminate immediately or contact an officer of the Peace. The citizen who completes this act will be a Beloved of Society.
Joe considered spitting, but the irony of that death sentence would have been too much, even for him. Instead, he slid the delicate