Chapter 8: Cooling Shelves, Rising Tension

Rudy had settled in like a fresh sticker slapped onto a dusty shelf — bright, eager, and a little crooked. His first few days had been a blur of expired cans, inventory backlogs, and freezer doors that whispered when they opened. He didn’t question much, which Ram appreciated. But Joseph wasn’t so sure.

“I’m telling you, man,” Joseph said during Rudy’s second afternoon shift. “This whole thing stinks like spoiled milk and haunted salsa.”

They were crouched near the drink cooler, restocking with trembling fingers. Rudy, in contrast, hummed as he broke down cardboard boxes with the carefree rhythm of someone who hadn’t yet seen the freezer flicker.

“Rudy,” Ram called from behind the register, “LD wants you on backstock rotation next.”

The phrase had become common now. Ever since the garbled voice told Willie to expect a new hire, LD’s instructions had arrived through scratchy phone calls and static-laced speaker bursts. The crew no longer questioned the source — they just obeyed.

Rudy gave a casual salute. “Copy that. Anything else?”

Joseph narrowed his eyes. “You ever… hear anything in there?”

“In where?”

“The back. By the freezer.”

Rudy laughed. “Just the hum of capitalism, man. These shelves aren’t gonna stock themselves.”

But Ram had started noticing something too — not just in the freezer, but around it. Items moved slightly between shifts. Cleaning supplies were subtly rearranged. Once, he found the mop bucket full even though he hadn’t touched it. That morning, a note appeared in the breakroom written in handwriting none of them recognized: “Recalibration Pending. Align Stock by expiration.”

They didn’t know what it meant.

They followed it anyway.

New Schedules, New Problems

Willie had settled into the morning shift like a work boot in old gravel — steady and dependable. Ram and Rudy worked the afternoon, leaving Joseph to run swings alone. LD had mentioned in one of his messages that a “rotation cycle” was important for operational balance. Whatever that meant.

“We can’t keep going like this,” Joseph said. “We need rules. Normalcy. Clock-ins. Breaks.”

Ram stared out the dusty front window. The world outside had started to feel just as surreal as the one inside. Bare trees. Empty roads. Sunlight that never looked quite right.

“You saw what came out of that freezer,” Ram said. “You think a break policy is gonna fix this?”

Joseph didn’t answer. Instead, he slid a box of new lottery tickets onto the counter. The ticket packs were already pre-torn, their adhesive strips peeled back. Nobody had ordered these.

An Unexpected Visitor

Near closing, a silver El Camino pulled into the lot, engine sputtering like it was swallowing gravel. A woman stepped out — mid-30s, black slacks, faded green polo with a laminated badge clipped to her collar.

“Hey,” she said, stepping in and brushing cold air from her arms. “I’m here from Central. LD sent me to finalize onboarding for… Rudy?”

The silence that followed could’ve curdled milk.

Joseph blinked. “From… Central?”

She nodded. “They call us phasers. Paperwork support, orientation compliance, all that. I’ll need to sit with Rudy.”

Ram walked out from the stockroom slowly. “We weren’t told to expect anyone else.”

The woman offered a patient smile. “LD said it would be last-minute.”

Behind her, the El Camino’s engine ticked as it cooled. The trunk was covered in stickers from places none of them recognized — Belvedere Zone-4, NuMesa Outpost, Restock Delta. Faded logos. Faded meanings.

“I’ll be in the breakroom,” she said, walking past them. “Start the coffee if it still works.”

The Freezer Whispers Again

Later, as Ram closed out the drawer, he heard it — the soft, electric churn from the back of the store.

The freezer light flickered. The door hissed open, just a sliver. No one had touched it.

On the floor was a single piece of paper.

He approached slowly, boots echoing off the tiles. The note read:

“Shift structure approved. Await delivery.”

Beneath it, in the corner of the note, was a symbol Ram hadn’t seen before — a triangle with a circle in the center, like an eye staring out from behind caution tape.

He looked up, half-expecting someone behind him.

No one.

Just the hum.

And somewhere in the breakroom, the sound of a Keurig finishing a brew cycle that nobody started.