It was late, way past closing hours. Ian, as usual, was up the forklift, staking some boxes on the higher shelves.

He flipped a smaller cardboard box round in his hand a few times, humming some song under his breath before sliding it onto a shelf. He watched it dissappear behind the bigger crates, not caring what was in it. He wasn't paid enough for that.

Ian sighed under his breath, pulling a lever on the forklift and lowering himself back to the ground. He stepped back onto the concrete floor, picking up his Walkie talkie.

"Hey, Pip. You there, babe?" He took his finger away from the button, waiting for a response.