The first book — The longest day

logicapsule 4.1

Everything gets cleared up when a homeless guy offers to let me connect my memo to his USEB for free, to confirm with emo-data his version that Isha found something in B-4 that she shouldn’t have taken home with her. In an isolated corner, he allows me to watch what he saw several nights ago; none other than a girl of about nine stained in blood, running by herself in the shadows and loaded down with a large black backpack on her back. My instinct makes me take this guy and his comment seriously: «what that girl took is the reason they destroyed her house», but it also makes me doubt the reason I want to find out the truth about all of this. It’s like moving close to the edge of a dark abyss with my doubt as the only light; ambition or something deeper and more authentic? My golden cage starts to waver with the image of a defenseless Isha in the middle of the night, but the vision of the Fuelsanto Award in my hands, offering me a luxurious life gives me back my self-control.

Not giving it a second thought I head for sector B-4, following the trail to quadrant twelve. There on top of a mountain of waste, I find a solitary perimeter roped off with the police’s typical clinking holo-tapes.

Inside there are only traces of dry blood. No stiffs or study marks of the crime scene, something that’s extremely weird. Everyone knows that the police in Upper-Madrid couldn’t give a diki about the people in the Cesspool sectors, but the fact that there isn’t even a surveillance drone in a roped off area is a stench that sticks to my tracker’s nose.

My instinct leads my hand to the inside of one of my interior pockets to remove my chrono-viewer —I paid a ton of wangs to get this gadget reserved exclusively for the police. These things are capable of registering, processing and arranging the light and sound waves from anywhere, allowing you to see a holographic projection of the most recent past. And even though it only has a range of fifty square meters, why the fuck wouldn’t I want a device like this? The only problem is that the police track the electromagnetic waves the CRV’s give off, so it’s not recommendable to use them for more than five minutes, or a patrol car will be on you like a whorthy on a profitable business—. I quickly place the CRV in the middle of the perimeter and record the events of the entire day that Isha was there.

Everything gets cleared up when a homeless guy offers to let me connect my memo to his USEB for free, to confirm with emo-data his version that Isha found something in B-4 that she shouldn’t have taken home with her.

In an isolated corner, he allows me to watch what he saw several nights ago; none other than a girl of about nine stained in blood, running by herself in the shadows and loaded down with a large black backpack on her back. My instinct makes me take this guy and his comment seriously: «what that girl took is the reason they destroyed her house», but it also makes me doubt the reason I want to find out the truth about all of this.

It’s like moving close to the edge of a dark abyss with my doubt as the only light; ambition or something deeper and more authentic? My golden cage starts to waver with the image of a defenseless Isha in the middle of the night, but the vision of the Fuelsanto Award in my hands, offering me a luxurious life gives me back my self-control.

Not giving it a second thought I head for sector B-4, following the trail to quadrant twelve. There on top of a mountain of waste, I find a solitary perimeter roped off with the police’s typical clinking holo-tapes.

Inside there are only traces of dry blood. No stiffs or study marks of the crime scene, something that’s extremely weird. Everyone knows that the police in Upper-Madrid couldn’t give a diki about the people in the Cesspool sectors, but the fact that there isn’t even a surveillance drone in a roped off area is a stench that sticks to my tracker’s nose.

My instinct leads my hand to the inside of one of my interior pockets to remove my chrono-viewer —I paid a ton of wangs to get this gadget reserved exclusively for the police.

These things are capable of registering, processing and arranging the light and sound waves from anywhere, allowing you to see a holographic projection of the most recent past. And even though it only has a range of fifty square meters, why the fuck wouldn’t I want a device like this? The only problem is that the police track the electromagnetic waves the CRV’s give off, so it’s not recommendable to use them for more than five minutes, or a patrol car will be on you like a whorthy on a profitable business—.

I quickly place the CRV in the middle of the perimeter and record the events of the entire day that Isha was there.

The longest day — Part 02 | 1 of 2

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