Your name is Mike. Just Mike. You hold down a decent job and live alone. You're an only child. Your parents live out of state. You rarely see them.
Ever since you hit around 30, you've been slowly becoming more aware of the fact that you have no direction in your life. You're getting bored. And now that you're 40, you're constantly aware of the fact that you're getting older. You have no kids to your name and probably never will. Adoption where you live never ends well, and you'd rather have no kid than a kid that hates you.
All these reasons and more, you think to yourself. Surely this is justified somehow by one of them.
For the past half year, you've been experimenting. You work at a scrapyard, which wouldn't be that impressive, but the junkyard is near a governmental facility. You pride yourself on your position as head scrapper and sometimes hope that you'll come across something cool.
About six months ago, you did. Some new guy must have thrown it out. You've had to hide the scrap records from inquisitive eyes, but it may just be worth it. This scrap could be life-changing.
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