Chapter 8: The Homeless Are Also Part of the Garbage

Only in the deep crevices of the tightly compressed garbage blocks did pea-sized black pupils, illuminated by the light, stare back at Roger!

"Fuck!"

Roger stumbled back a step.

Immediately after, he realized something and peered again through the gaps in all directions.

Indeed, in every gap he could see parts of a body—a shoulder, some hair, a pair of legs.

Only then did he understand the truth behind this tip.

Someone had been crushed alive into the garbage!

And all the strange noises had been made by this person in a desperate bid to survive.

If one thought further, it became even more chilling: he didn't know who had shoved this person into the garbage block, whether intentionally or by accident, nor how long the person had been trapped inside.

No wonder the system required the investigation to be completed within 48 hours.

If they waited any longer, this person would likely be shipped off to a waste processing plant in a truck.

Just imagining the fate awaiting the block once it reached the conveyor belt made Roger gasp in horror.

At that moment, Juan walked over from a distance, holding two sets of tattered clothes.

"I just found two pieces of clothing in the nearby pile—they were still in plastic bags, untouched by contamination..."

"What's wrong?"

Juan noticed Roger's grim expression and frowned in confusion.

"Come take a look." Roger gestured for him to press his eyes close to the gap.

When he saw the condition inside the garbage block, he too sucked in a sharp breath.

"Damn it, we should get him out!" Juan said without hesitation.

"Right, but be careful not to injure him further." Roger raised his crowbar.

Juan nodded and helped Roger slowly pry open the garbage block with their tools.

Perhaps the landfill owner hadn't compressed it thoroughly, so this block was far less compact than they'd assumed.

Once the top layer of garbage was cleared away, they could faintly make out a human-shaped outline within.

With the outline visible, the rest became manageable.

Juan pried at the lower layers of garbage while Roger stood atop the block and pried at the top.

After more than twenty minutes, their arms aching from exhaustion, they finally cleared away the metal debris pinning the trapped person.

But to their shock, there were not one but two people compressed inside the block.

They lay stacked atop each other, flattened, twisted into a bizarre, interwoven posture.

The woman on top stared with wide, vacant eyes, her face ashen, seemingly dead.

The man below bit down fiercely on a soda can, his teeth piercing the metal, refusing to let go even as sharp shards dug into his gums.

Due to prolonged entrapment, multiple fractures, and starvation, the man had no strength left for any further movement.

When rescued, he could only blink his dull, sluggish eyes and thank the two of them.

"This is fucking ridiculous," Roger said, furious yet bitterly ironic.

Judging by their ragged clothing, they were both homeless.

Perhaps they'd simply had nowhere else to sleep and chosen to rest in the trash pile—only to be crushed along with the garbage.

Had the operator checked even slightly, this wouldn't have happened.

Fortunately, besides metal, the block contained plenty of soft waste that cushioned them—if not, they'd now be two meat patties.

"Are you going to call the police?" Juan was also furious, but his cold gaze held more helplessness.

Roger shook his head: "No. I'm calling a reporter."

Meilijian has its own peculiarities—reporters are far more effective than police here.

Moreover, with the crackdown on illegal immigrants in full swing, under orders from the Federal Government, the police dogs treat these immigrants as easy political trophies.

If they saw these two, they wouldn't hesitate to send them to the Feifa Yimin Juliuzhongxin.

Even if Roger had legal documentation, he wouldn't risk his mixed-race identity on the slim chance that the police had any conscience.

But if he handed this to the reporters, once the story broke, the surviving homeless man, under public scrutiny, would at least be safe from arbitrary abuse by the police.

"Fine." Juan agreed with his plan.

Roger tossed the crowbar aside, picked up a water bottle nearby, walked to the man, held the bottle's mouth to his lips, and gave him a sip of water.

"Just hold on a little longer."

The man clenched his trembling lips tightly, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Roger's face, his eyes reddening.

After giving him water, Roger idly picked up the newspaper used to wrap the garbage, unfolded it, and spotted a hotline number in the corner.

He opened his phone and dialed the number.

Meanwhile, inside the Seattle Times building.

Vanessa, dressed in a crisp white shirt and a tight skirt, held her forehead, sighing wearily as she answered the hotline call.

"Ma'am, you're saying a thief broke into your home and stole the soil you use for your flowers?"

"Sorry, we don't take household stories like this."

"Uh, your soil is expensive? Then you should call the police, ma'am."

"What? We're not the police—we're a newspaper."

"We can't transfer you. Can you hear me clearly?"

"Oh my God, why are you swearing at me?"

"Hello? Hello!"

"Fuck!" Vanessa flipped the middle finger at the receiver, then slammed it down.

The male colleague turned his chair and smiled: "Vanessa, I told you this method doesn't work. The hotline calls are all boring household trivialities—real news comes from the Informer."

Vanessa shoved her black short hair back: "I know that, but I don't have a single good Informer. And right now I'm desperate for a breaking story—if I don't get one, the editor will fire me in half a month."

The male colleague glanced at the name tag on her chest, which clearly read "Intern Reporter."

He shrugged: "Alright, then you're stuck here waiting. I'm leaving."

"Did you finish your story?" Vanessa widened her eyes.

"Of course. I think this piece is solid—it'll make the front page of Section B."

"I'm so jealous," Vanessa stretched, showcasing her superior figure, then slumped over the hotline phone, ready to fight till dawn.

"Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!" The phone rang.

Vanessa picked it up at random, speaking in her usual unenthusiastic tone: "Hello, this is the Seattle Times hotline. What news are you reporting?"

The male colleague shook his head, pulled on his coat, and prepared to leave.

But Vanessa's voice, filled with shock and disbelief, suddenly rang out, making him freeze.

"What?"

"Wait a moment—what did you say?"

"Oh my God!" Vanessa seemed to have heard something utterly shocking, her eyes wide as she gasped: "Oh no, how could this happen!"

But after listening further, she immediately shouted into the receiver: "Where is the address you mentioned? I'm writing it down."

"Got it. I'm on my way right now—don't you dare leave! I'll be there in fifteen minutes!"

She hung up, snatched her coat, and rushed out with unmistakable urgency.

"Big story?" the male colleague asked, startled.

"Yes!" Vanessa's face glowed with excitement: "I swear, this will make the front page!"

"But you still have customer service duty…" The male colleague didn't finish—Vanessa slapped him on the shoulder.

"Tang Mu, help me out, okay?" The woman put on a tearful, pleading look: "If I don't get this story, I'll be sleeping on the streets. That's not what you want, right?"

Tang Mu, charmed by the woman's beautiful face, asked unconsciously: "So when are we going on a date?"

"Of course! I'll repay you properly!" Vanessa let go and stepped back: "Once I pass my internship, I'll treat everyone to dinner. So Tang Mu, tonight's yours."

With that, she grabbed her bag and strode out in high heels, leaving behind nothing but an endlessly alluring silhouette.

Tang Mu rubbed his nose, muttering awkwardly to himself: "Well, how isn't a group dinner a date?"

He sat back down at his desk—when suddenly, the phone rang again.

"Hello, this is the Seattle Times. What news are you reporting?"

"You say someone dug up the soil in your flowerpot?"

"Sorry, we don't take household stories—you should call the police."

"The police said you're crazy? Oh, then you should file a complaint against them."

"What? Hey, how dare you insult me!"

"Hello? Hello?"

Listening to the dial tone, Tang Mu gave a middle finger.