The Real Growlerville 10: In The Industrial Park
(A first hand account by investigative journalist, Mr. E)
Visiting the Industrial Park is both fun and a little scary.
The fun part was playing with Fast Fingers. The scary part is when I left Dominick's Shop where I ordered myself a pair. Read about Fast Fingers in my last post.
The way home from Dom's shop takes me past numerous industrial parks, research centers, their shipping and storage areas, and other mysterious sections designated with signs like, "implosives" or "temporals" or "endotherms." Most of the lots are empty. Some have empty containers. 
The only lot that has a fence is marked "Disposal." Inside, there is a tarp over a pile of something. From the fence, it appears to be just household junk, covered with some kind of green mold.
The sign inside says, "Danger! ATBE, Keep Away From Rain."
I've learned that anything marked "Danger" in Growlerville should probably be marked "Extreme Danger!!!"
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From far away, silent lightning erupts in the sky. Just as I step up the pace toward home, I see a large crate in an area designated "recovery." The crate looks like it may have fallen off a truck. One side is smashed and partially open.
As I get closer, I can see a label marked "Research 1A" and dead insects scattered about in the yard around the crate. It's gross and creepy. A big box of bugs?
For a moment I am paralyzed, but my curiosity overcomes my queasiness and I approach the huge carton, trying not to step on any of the bodies. There are so many that they are unavoidable, and when I do step on one, it doesn't feel like a real bug. It's springy and rubbery.
Upon closer inspection, I can see that the insects are not real, but realistic, synthetic replicas of a species of cricket. This is one humongous shipment of fake bugs!
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As I put one of the insects into my pocket, a fleet of white trucks with "Fred Forever" bumper stickers and "Research 1A" on the doors thunders onto the lot.
A bunch of really big guys wearing mirrored sunglasses and visors jump out and tell me there's a security issue and that I must leave immediately. I ask who they work for and what the bugs are for, but they are only interested in getting me out of there.
These are very serious dudes.
When I mention that I'm a reporter, they look at each other as if acknowledging the potential for trouble, and then the obvious leader points in the direction of my exit.
No more words are exchanged. From across the road I watch them haul away the crate and all the bugs on the lot.