I thought they would come through that window. Instead there was a noise from above. On the roof. A tip tap of metal on slate. Brief silence. Then a scuttling, a scraping, a slide of steel on brick. A crash, a clatter, then silence again. But not complete silence, no. A sigh of hydraulics, a slight ring of sliding pistons from the living room.

Where the fireplace was.

Then a tall lanky form appeared in the hall outside my office, soot-streaked chrome glimmering in the faint light from the streetlamp outside.

It tipped its top hat to me, then stepped out of the way as four more sweeps scuttled in. Each grasped a limb in strong steel hands and carried me out into the hall, carried me down the stairs towards the front door, carried me out into the street.

BERT was waiting.

I tried to scream but a cold metal hand clamped down on my mouth before I could let out so much as a yelp. The citizens did like quiet after all.

I heard the slight hum as the shredders began spinning up to speed, watched as BERT’s chute cover slowly yawned open, a gaping hungry maw. The fifth sweep, the one that had tipped its hat to me, strode up to the group holding me aloft. The mirrored dome of its head shook slowly back and forth, half in pity, half in disgust.

“Life is a rum go, guv'nor, and that's the truth. But a clean city is an 'appy city, I always says.”

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