Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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Rated: 18+ · Draft · Dark · #1771369
Not complete, I am aware of errors. If you REALLY feel like it, feel free to correct
Chapter I
Generic world
The alarm clock. The god damn alarm clock. I hate this loud, cacophonic noise. It's some kind of box, filled with aluminum circuits to become some kind of devilish invention. You are well, comfortable in your bed, on a big blue sea of dream. Then the hated sound comes, telling to drop your lackadaisical attitude toward your day, while screwing your sleep cycle. At the moment you need it most. All this, just to make you fully aware of the boring shitty day to come. You can't even hope for it to be" great", because if something "great" was planned, you wouldn't have slept of the whole night, thus making pointless the use of the alarm clock. Look like I'm at my time limit. Oh well, time to get up. For another day. And then another day. Same boring crap. Oh, and who cares! Let's see what I'll wear today... Average jeans..first socks I found... my "Ramones" t-shirt...that's pretty much it. I am walking to the kitchen, like a hungry animal forgotten for months. Except I ate 6 hours ago. Along with the alarm clock, your brain is another thing that hates you. Eating "Fruit-Loops" like every morning, alone. Seriously, what kind of masochist want to suffer like that the morning? Brushing my teeth, combing my hair, nothing else to do. I must have been quick this morning, I still have 10 minutes to pass. Mr.TV, it's your job to entertain me. After you showed me the weather. Ok, so 27 degrees, on this 7th of April of this year 2031. So pointless to have a 3D TV if it's to have little sun coming out of the screen. Pretty much as useless as all the technological object in this house. Who don't like trendy gadget? My point is, you either are trendy and technologically advanced or society failed. Kind of a pointless logic. Anyway, lets watch cartoons. Might help me to pull out my Spanish test today, since they are all educational. They're boring but all kids and lazy teenagers (all modern teenagers) watch them. But if everybody does it, there must be a reason. In that case, its just the easiest way to study. When I'll have learned every languages I need to, I swear on myself that I'll go set every one of those studio in fire. It will be a great day for the world. But it won't be today, nor tomorrow. In fact, probably never. And then, its the moment where I realize I have been too much of a monocellular vegetable in front of Berlingo the Teached Teaching Teacher puppy. Like every other morning, I don't have the time to realize how dumb I must be, and I grab my bag, my lunch, and run like hell to catch the bus.

And I really mean like hell, because I can't catch my breath. The calm peaceful street seem so changed. No more little white wood house and generic minivan. No, all their colors blur together. But I really like this, it makes me feel like I'm living in an abstract painting-like world. But sadly, the brain need oxygen, and when your lungs are about to rupture, your cells have better thing to do than sending oxygen to your brain (Yes, cells are also dumb. As in, really dumb). So I am taking my breath, and slowly walk to the stop. I walk. I walk. I walk. I'm so near, just this pointless, horribly placed boulevard. I'd pass if this blue car didn't nearly killed me (Well, everybody wanna kill everybody who aren't their friend so). No, not this car. This blue car. Sheesh! On the left lane. No, the other left. I hope you never become a driver, or a surgeon. especially mine. Oh yeah, its BCD, or Blue Car Day. If you don't come from another planet, you would know the government (made of total morons) passed a law that only one car color is permitted every day of the week. And today, Tuesday, it blue. Don't ask any really silly very petty questions. I did not pass this law, and other things need my attention. Like, catching my bus. Finally arrived, five seconds before the bus. Entering the blue machine, I go and sit next to a stranger. But you have to understand that everybody is a stranger, and nobody talk to each other. Even parents don't give love. Everybody is isolated, alone. I could be raped and murdered on the public pace by thugs and nobody would care. Society's vision is the only highway in this wasteland. And society's vision is an human inside a shell inside a shell inside a shell inside a shell over and over. My wish is to talk to somebody. It's not a matter of finding the greatest courage. It's a matter of finding the other person who has this courage. The ride continues, still, I don't even bother to look through the window. I know it all by heart. Its pointless. Alley of symmetric white houses with one colorless nondescript van in their 2 meter large alley. I am about to engage conversation, but this would mean big, big trouble. And who even consider? No! the responsible pass. The hiding costume. A silverish long ample dress made for the exclusive purpose of hiding your body. Identical needless the size or gender of belief. Without a single spoken syllable coming from our throat, we put them over our "normal" clothing. Now , they are distributing our kaki green backpack, with everything we need for the day. Everybody have the same regardless of grade, so asking the teacher when there is something you miss is kind of, alot pointless. As stupidly pathetic as this may sound you could still give Lady Luck a try and attempt to buy them on the "Black Market". And it worked, so many pencil entered the school this way. But it does really hurt to allow them to pass security border. Yet, none of this matter. We are arriving, and if it happen that something is lost, the person usually use an organic replacement. Usually from their own organism. Of course! Its super duper trendy to write with you blood! First class: Math. My "group" (why do they group us anyway? We are all a sad bunch of lost loners!)all head as one being to the classroom. And as one being, I mean, our breath and steps are synchronised, stepping on the grey tiles with the same difference between every person. And I'm godamn serious. Time for Secondary 4 maths. Understand: We will lean what is a square. And I am not being a cynical average teenager and used this simple part of theory to express how much our teacher is underqualified. No, he meets all the criteria. Nor was I joking. This truly is what the ministerial program make us learn. But so it is. The clock keeps staring at us in a superior manner. I know this isn't real, but when you're that lonely and don't want to be lonely, you project your feeling to other things, like objects, to have friends. And I really feeled superior for knowing the same maths as our Prime minister. And you also infuse every fact with your own opinion, to give this generic world a hint of life. Class is over, and I am directly heading to French Class. More boredom, but at least here, the knowledge isn't restricted yet, but laws to remediate to this are being voted next week. Grammar. We are according verbs. The book give us the instruction, and the teacher apply social rules. I don't understand a single thing. I should try to understand until my head explode, yet I don't feel like doing so. You know what? I am going to ask a QUESTION! Such heresy makes adrenaline flow through my veins. A change! So small might it be! I can hold such power! I open my mouth. So many stares, and I don't feel the peer pressure, no. It just give me more motivation to speak. I say "Je ne comprend pas, pourriez-vous me l'expliquer?". Everybody was in such a state of shock, one or two or three fainted. He pointed the rules on the wall and left the classroom, as he was the most horrified of all. I like the change. It gives me hope, It's the only thing to give me hope, as small as it might be. I wish everybody would talk. It would be such deliverance! But for now, I am in deep, deep trouble. I have nothing more to say to this. For now. Only for now.

Anyway, I continue my exercise. Or at least I try, because I can't get any further in it. If at least there would be something to stare at, but there is nothing to stare at. Except if you count blank empty nondescript symmetric walls. vandalising them to add a few colors is on my list of thing to do. IF I survive my meeting with Mr. Principal. I'm sure they'll send me to some kind of correction facility, or if I act eccentrically enough, to a treatment facility. And by treatment, I really mean forced brainwashing. With his hands, he is doing some kind of gesture telling me to follow him. I grab my things, and I head out. We walk a bit around the school hallways, frozen in silence. To my surprise, he is not bringing me to his office, but rather in the auditorium. Guess there will be a nice little childish cartoon to widely explain something to me for the next 24 hours. Wonderful...*sigh*. Anyway, there is nothing to do but to watch... I can't wait to see what rational arguments they have to teach me talking is wrong. The movie starts. Oh my! a nice little imaged sequence. And there only argument is that "You don't want to be a social reject hated by society because of your rebellious behaviour" and "Why be against the Ideology, since it only brought us good?". Pathetic and pathetic. Anticonformism rocks, and the Ideology is only a web of lie. Way to confirm my belief. Yet another reason to talk. They should have understood reverse psychology is not the way when you know it's gonna be reverse psychology. . Finally! Dinner time!. I'm starving, so I head up straight to the cafeteria. I show my number card, and instead of Pâté chinois, I have a strange mixture vaguely resembling rotten vomit. And I am really alot really generous. I have to eat that, or starve Knowing I have no body fat and all meal are hypocalorics, I bring the fork near my mouth. Then, I have a (not-so) genius flash. What if I stopped to eat to show my disapproval? Like they did in the old days. I say old days, because nobody do this anymore. Why would they? And yes, this was an ironically rhetorical question. Now, let just hope I won't be force feeded, but there is more chance I will be left starving and ignorated. My recent enterprise award me all sorts of stares and weird look. The more I pay attention, the more I see how it's all generic. The look, the stare, the walking, the eating, everything. You could put somebody in front of another, and a mirror wouldn't change what you are seeing. The more time I allow those thoughts to flow in my mind , the more they become creepy. We are all the same. We are all the same. I can't believe this. No individuality, no critical thinking, nothing. We are a bunch of zombies who didn't encounter any brains. I need to be different. Scream. I get up, and scream more air than my lungs hold. From the horrified looks in the classroom, I am now seeing everybody flee in horror Footsteps still synchronised. I definitively gave myself a trip to NSMTP .Or National Sick Mind Treatment Plant. Wow. This doesn't matter. I was different. And no matter how I would have done it, the result would have been the same. I slowly walk out, and a member of the police give me a bill saying "somebody" would come pick me at my house at 6 p.m. And my (adoptive) parents will soon be informed. I dunno why he give this to me. We both know I won't come, and rather flee elsewhere. They will start looking in the perimeter, and then in the opposite direction. I'll rather run at a 87 degree angle. Why? They will never this about 90, and 87 is, fancier? I go and grab my things, and run outside, into the woods. I just hope there will be not patrols, or I'm lost. Still doesn't matter, because if I am running away from the law, I won't stop because of the law, that is just plain obvious. Ewe, could you believe the state those woods are left in? Rotten food, mutagenic animals, even corpses left here by the police. Which means they come here at one time or another. Wonderful... Better hurry up. I walk, walk, walk, and could you believe even the trees are shaped identical? Even the flowers are identical? I bend down, take a few seeds from the wild roses, and plant the next. After, I tear of the one in front. Me: 1 Symetrism: I-lost-the-count, but the fact that I scored is what matters, right? Yeah, I should be thinking about fleeing somewhere and/or hide. I heard of this island where rebels live, and you can talk. Yet the only way to access to it is to be one, and I lost touch with all rebels I knew when they were "taken away". I don't know more. Maybe I could find them If I had unedited map, yet they are rarer than diamond those days. Still, I'm out, and fleeing is a rather less important issue comparated to finding a hiding spot right now. Ummmm... Probably there will be a free spot in the Low Town, do its really, really disgusting. But nobody want to search here, so it's alright for me.

Yes, so I take the small stone path, while keying random things everywhere. I f I am to be searched, I might as well give them a reason, no? I am even going as far as to do caricature of our "Great" "Prime Minister". I must truly terrorizing the hobos in the Old Town. And could you imagine they went as far as to give hobos an official clothing, positions, space, to make the symmetric? The government put them in this shit, and they still praise it. In chorus, of course. Truly a saddening vision of pathetism. I wonder what part of their brains they took off. Probably the same for all, to the millimetre... I yet continue to walk, and here I am, the Small Town. Same line of houses everywhere. This perfectionism is everything you need to drive an obsessive-compulsive around the bends, and I'm serious. Some kind of hypnotic trance. Really, you can understand the people who go up to tear their eyes off. And you'll often feel jealous for then. Physical pain or psychologic pain? What a harsh choice. This is the question Hamlet should had thought about. So, nothing else here. Its 3 P.M., time for a snack. You can find a decent one here, because it's like upper-middle class part of Mother City. I go to a small cafe, and I take a muffin with a, yeah, coffee. I'm not drinking the coffee now, though, because I'll need it to be a watchmen for the night. The muffin eaten, I am heading out, only to find a drunken dude trying to "be intimate" with his "friend". Understand An intoxicated bastard trying to rape a 13 years-old. They say true feelings come out when you are drunk...Even if this is happening in the middle of the street, nobody act. Don't even stare, no, just nothing. I go to have a "little chat" with our Mr. Dirty Pervert. Which quickly turned into shoving. Which quickly turned into a fistfight. We attacked each other until we both bleed from our mouth. I see an opportunity for a quick finish. I grab my teddy knife, and stick it deep in his lungs. So I won. And I just return on my road. Nothing to catch your attention, a few murders happening next to you. And no this wasn't a paradox. It is a realistic statement with a small touch of irony. Even the stabs are in rhythm. It once made me sick, but you get used to it. Just like everything else, since it's easier not to think, but rather follow. I bet my 5 last pennies that the sheep's are laughing at us right now. How can we think we are superior with a straight face? At least they have self-will. Thing that today, we cruelly lack. As I advance to the Low Town, there is more junkies, more rapist, more murderer. Well, defeat or be defeated. I need money and I can't work. Option left: THEFT. I just need a good victim. Here. A middle-aged man carrying a bank mallet. Just what I might need if I want to hide for more than one day. I get nearer to him, nearer to him, and I take a paper on the floor. I run past him, shove it in his face. The moron, mistook it for something important. He runs after me. I lead him into a small damp street. Now he must realize how foolish he was, because he tries to walk slowly back, but utter horror freeze him on the spot. Its hopeless for him now. I take again my knife and walk to him at an irregular pace. Just another identical banker being stolen identical bank bills. Another generic human being dying, who will care? Who will be there to notice. They don't realize a damn thing. They think they are all important, but a hobo could do his job. After all, we are all identical, so, is there any difference? I come near, and stab him once. In the leg. He falls on the ground. I stab him one more time in the other leg, this time cutting the tendon. I can see it in his eyes, he want to scream, still he's a freaking coward. I attack like a demon, tearing off the skin of his torso and his face. His face, now lacking half of its part. And eyeless, noseless, orb. It was too much. He try to throw a scream, but only a faint whisper comes out of it. You should have talked sooner, dumbass. I take his mallet and I find enough money to hide for about a month, and a moth and a half. Well, it's better than nothing. I should be able to find a rent in the Low Town. Nobody with a sparkle of sanity will choose to live here, except for hiding. I can't reach the Low Town for this night, thanks to the night curfew. They don't want anything to be smuggled. Things like philosophical books, unedited maps or stolen valuables. All mass-crime always happen in the Low Town. Always. Might as well just rent a room in the nearest hotel. Yay, a cheap motel. I rent a room for one night, go upstairs and start to unpack my things. Great. Now I guess I will be stating to need an atlas. I will take it with as many maps as possible. Even if it's dangerous, I'll still be going. There must be at least a few smugglers at the "Kind Candy". It's always like that. So it is probably my safest choice. I go down on the street

The "Kind Candy" Is there a worst-famed establishment of the whole Mother City? Yet somehow, it's still off the authorities radar. I never actually went there for myself, so it was quite a shock when I saw the building being as generic as the surrounding. I guess the sacrifice needs to be done so that there won't be any bust. I slowly advance closer to the door, and I am immediately stopped by a giant, monster-looking man a bit behind the entrance. He points to a blackboard on which is written "IDENTY PROOF NEEDED" and under it, in even bigger letter, "NO COPS!!!" I show my ID, and he show me another path to take, which lead to the backstage of the scene. I find this really, really weird. I place my hand on my still-stained knife. With my other hand, I slowly open the curtain. I am immediately greeted by an old man. Rodger is his name, or his common undercover name, because that is what is written on his nameplate. He had only one arm and is moving in a wheelchair. The only unmutilated part of his body was his blue eyes. On his bald crane, you could see multiple scars. My tongue is burning of the desire to ask him "How did this happen?". But I do not know if he is an ally of the republic, or a Resister. He is asking me to sit. We both remain completely silent. He hand me a survey I answer it as honestly as I can. He give me another paper, with a location hastily written on it. In the "Low Town". This shall be of the most utter interest. My personal guess is that he is a Resister, since no authority would go in the Low Town like that. Or for the least, he is neutral. I return in the pub, and ask for some vodka. He doesn't even ask my age, as all alcohol and drugs are illegal in all circumstance. But the ambience is...heavy? Even here, nobody talks. I enjoy my drink alone, until a stranger comes near me, and make me understand he wants me to return in the backstage. He says " I have a job for you. There is this influent Republic ally. You kill him, and the Resisters offers you protection. He is the leader of the academic system and...". I cut him short "No need to say more. If he is taking care of education, I take care of his life. And why is nobody talking?". He is silent for a bit, and then inform me everybody is down because there was a raid last night. He have to pass at the Low Town. It shall be perfect. I'll test the address I was given. Some kind of resistance hideout. Perfect. Let's just head to it. After I am finish gathering info. I really need a map. I go and ask everybody and finally someone is having a map in his possession. What?. My gosh! He is such a motherfucking jerk! He have three of them, and won't sell any. Well, I will try to give bargaining a try. Can't believe I am losing my time like this. I have other things to do. I have the law kicking my ass and I have one last stop. If he keeps shooting exorbiting prices I'm gonna beat him up.Ok, finally, a middle price. 15 000$. How much is he betting I am going to pay for his fancy designer cushion? I propose to go far from "outsiders" look for the deal, to spare troubles to both of us. But specially for me. The dark alley. So dark, too dark. Like a reflection of the modern human, a place, that by its ambience and history, perform some kind of inception in your mind. There is no wind, yet the wind softly whispers to our ears, surrounding us in its words. Your thoughts speak for them. Some darkest desire of human mind, repulsed by our social nature. Repulsed by fear, by the terror of the authority. Those fantasy find their homes in such places. The once-crying now dead bodies lying on the ground are a great testimony of that .Right! I blindly chose to follow him. Any we can't believe anybody, especially when they bring you to places like this. This once-called paranoia is now considered elementary safety and survivals type. Because no matter how civilized this whole system looks like, it a free-for-all dominated by violence and primary pulsions. At the middle, a absolute power. THE law. I knew it. We both had the same idea. Attack the other, and take what was supposed to be our due. But he is already incommodated by I-don't-know-what. To him, it's called agonizing pain. To me, it's called a opportunity to win. Yet my stab in his chest isn't what you may call fatal. I shove him into a wall, steal the map. I also take his wallet and leave him to die with another stab, deeper into his lungs. I run away, back in the boulevard. This is the only safe spot, surrounded by peers pressure. Social regard on you is what will stop your impulsions. The law will kill your impulsions. There is nothing else that have some kind of influential power on you.

If only I could enter the Low Town. One hour before the night. If I go now, I will be caught for sure. I don't have enough money to corrupt all the guards. And on the top of that, the gates will surely be closed at night. Yet I am not even finished here. I must have a pretty horrible karma, or else. I'll do my thing, and enter by the sewers. Yes, that is a good plan.( traduction: The worst but only plan). I got to meet somebody. Somebody whom I can trust. Damnit! Does he really need to live that far? Okay, with what he does for a living, it's pretty much better to be away of social pressure. Of the law. He's a... how to say it...He is a pimp. And from a social perspective, sexuality is the worst of all sin humanely imaginable. Cherry on the sundae, his "workers" are ten years old girls, on average. Which is frankly, quite immoral. But in this land, moral doesn't exist. Your only wish isn't about your fantasies, about eating well or having a decent life. No, it's all survival. Human nature to its original form. Raw, horrible to the eyes of civilisation, yet a magnets second half, attracted inexorably to you, something you can't fight. With a bit of chance, I will be there in about 30 minutes. Oh, and he'll probably want a payment. Well, help's never free. Only money talks. I should have enough. A patrol! Fuck, that's a biggie. Fucking single-way street. Fucking exit less street. I can't pay a caution. I'll either go to jail or else... Escaping will only make the matter worse. Ok, I must calm down. Think, how could you win such a fight. Talking. Got it. A step, another sep and a third step toward the authority. Cold chills pass through my whole body. I am turning to an automat. All I say is a casual conversation starter, going in the lines of "How are you". Immediately, they are striven of absolute terror. I won. They walk back, and run away. I beated the law. They were even kind enough to leave a car behind them. Well, thank you. I will just arrive quicker to his house. It's all perfect. A tall building. No windows. This is it. In this lair rest help. In this lair rest help. Well, I have no other choice. I slowly park the car, and then try to go in the building unnoticed. Now, it's all or nothing.

I hate to rely on other persons. Maybe somebody offered more than me for my life. And the person I am going to see hasn't quite the moral type. If he can have more money, he'll get more money. At any cost. Or even if it is to orientate the police toward another criminal, in occurrence me. I am prepared to defend myself. Just in case things turn realistically. Or, for the worst, it's the same. One step in the building, and you want to turn, to go away. You already start to hear the screams of pain everywhere. A haunting sound to remember you guilt. Frankly, I find it repulsing. Remember this is coming from somebody who probably murdered two persons. I continue to walk the stairs. I arrive at the door, locked. I sit on the chair while I wait, praying to find earplugs. Because this ambience is plainly unhealthy. Makes me sick. To think humans can be so cruel, such monstrosity, while believing in the best of values. Truly a proof of the human hypocrisy. We are nothing than beast of contradiction. The door unlocks. An old man gets out. A teenager sobbing. Well, here is another rapist going back to his "perfect" life. Because here, everything is expensive. Probably a government member. Because we all know their words are lies softly whispered to our ears, hypnotizing us in believing those very same words from which we want to go away I enter the room. The man stands behind the desk, quickly hiding his files and ask for my service. " High Passport", I answer sharply. For ignorants , a High Passport is kind of a document that give you a protection against all laws. That is, excepted attacking ministers, or things of such sorts. Yeah, just like you could normally assume, this costs alot of money. Well, time to stop being a whiny bitch and pay, thus losing 10 pounds due to lack of money. I give him the money. Now, he have the right to denounce me at any moment to obtain a reward. Yet he does not give me my passport. He says it is a trade. ID for passport. My first reaction is to freeze. To give this man all power over my life? Hell no! Somehow, this is my only option. Reluctantly, I hand him my ID, and I am now in possession of a wonderful High Passport. I don't ever think I'll be able to accept my own decision. I left my life in the hands of the greediest, most selfish man there isn't for miles and miles. He have no reason to save my life. You become an object to bet on. You have no indentify anymore. No, you are an object. And no moral will ever change this.

I am rushing down the stairs. I want to quit this buildings. It makes worms crawl in my brain. I don't want such a horrible feeling. Guilt, for being one more stone of this atrocity. Guilt, for being the atrocity. Guilt, for doing nothing. Only because it's easier. Because I, me and myself are all that matters.
Out on the streets. I encounter exactly 7 patrols. All were coming with angry looks on their face, wishing to hang me with my own intestines. A High Passport can be quite practical. I am managing to go up to the Low Town. So far, yet so close. Now it's the time to go through the sewers. Don't breath by the nose and... Jump! Looks like I am not the only one to ever had the idea. That is a testimony from the dead bodies that became rat shelters. I continue to walk and I can't help to gag. The sewers aren't that bad, but I can already breath the industrialized air. I get out of here and fall 2 stories. here it is, the Low Town

Chapter 2
Low Town
As soon as I hit the ground, I get back on my feet. It is so hard to breath. The chemicals must be modifying the structure of my inner lungs as this very moment. Dozens of high hobos are lying down in the pathway. No turning back is possible. I just walk down this street and try to avoid all the looks. The situation here is horrible. Human dignity at its lowest. Children used as slaves, as objects in the factory, people dying at all time, rape. Pretty much what I said on the other side, but way worse. Welcome to the city of horror.

I don't wanna stay here, even for my ID. I take the scrap of paper with an address and the map, with a strength given by the hope that there might be one spot of sanity. I am on my way, but I can feel the stares piercing in the deepest of my garden of privacy. My muscles are slowly yet steadily becoming steel bars. The ambience must be the cause of this sudden outburst of paranoia. Yes, this must be it. A reversed social pressure, others pushing you to be your true self. Not for you. Not for your identity or liberty, but to judge you. In hope an advantage can arise of that. Because action by principles doesn't exist. Today, they are just a burden. I am about to burst. Just one more stare and...This is it. Random homeless, I swear you won't be able to stare anymore." I don't care if you need money for your heroin addiction and then have sex with the first person you meet. I am sick of your hypocrite acting.". I take my knife, but hide it in my back. I take the blade out. I pull my nicest smile. a of an outrageous violence, stab him in the eye. As I take the blade back, his eye also come back, leaving him to roll on the floor in pain, as hot blood flow through this newly-made orifice. Of pure sadism, I repeat the manoeuvre with the other eye. I am feeling a mixed emotion. Something between pleasure and horror. I look around, and nobody even moved, or just flinched. I walk back, and continue my road, troubled by what I've done. Anyhow, I can't dwell on it. And I am almost at my destination. Now, everybody avoids my stare. They fear me. I can't say this is unpleasant. This would be a obvious lie
My, my, I didn't though the factories could get any worse. Now, I am stuck to pass through one to reach my destination. As soon as I arrive at the entrance, I pay my passage and shove the guardian away to pass. Big steamy cauldrons are everywhere, plus7 years old take care of everything excepted the decisions. That is only for the higher up. You can see them beated and whipped, tears smudging their face, yet without a word of complain. And this is only the public part, therefore we can guess that it's the best part , thus making it even more horrible in the other zones. It is enough. I am running out of here.
So near, so far. Down the street my safe spot, with a gang battle in between us two. I am feeling karma isn't so gentile anymore. I take a long breath. I start running like hell

It could have worked, but I didn't plan that some of these person might had automatic weapon. One bullet pass through my leg. I fall on the ground and try to crawl, only to arise excruciating pain. I roll over myself and start screaming every single swear I know. On the contrary of what one might have though, this actually helped the situation. I have been noticed by both side. Both send somebody to take me. On the left come a total stranger, on the right a soldier. A soldier...I prefer to die here. I bite my lower lip and start crawling, this time toward the stranger. When I finally reach him, he pull me up to behind his line. I hear a indistinct mumbling, then a needle entering my thigh. A few minutes after, I become completely loopy. I am totally numb. Somebody is talking to me, no a thing is understood by me. I am seeing my thigh open, as they extract the bullet. I lost the notion of time, I just know that their base of operation was my destination.
I regained my spirit inside the house There are three other persons in the room. As I get up, they instantly stop their conversation and come to see me. "Talkers". I think I found somewhere I belong. One of them runs a check-up, while another ask me some question:

-Hello. I am Jerry Hawkins, but just call me Jerry. So, how do you feel?
-I'd say I feel okay, still a bit loopy. What is this place?

The last one promptly answer "The operation base of the resistance.". They then quit, leaving me alone. I feel exhausted, still, I can't sleep with all the questions in my head. No, I won't sleep. Using every bit of strength in my muscle, I get up, and walk to the door. Excruciating pain comes from this. I am feeling like if leg was teared apart. I walk down a dark cramped hallway, to arrive in a huge community room. Everybody is talking, my head is drowned in cacophony. Somehow, I like the fact that everybody is talking. Gives me hope. Suddenly, everything is in silence. A not-so-old-but-old-anyway man slowly advanced to the front. Ever person made place for him. The air filled with dignity. It was more than anticonformism, more than being rebellious. It was the core of human wish. A thing from which you can't help but being attracted. He open his mouth and is about to talk.

"Hello everybody, and please let me get to the point. Today, there is two imporant accounment that needs to be made clear. First of all, we have a new memeber! If he could do us the honour of coming to the front..." I guess he must be talking about me. Althrough I didn't remember siging anything saying I am joining. Anyway, why make a fuss of such a little thing? I advance and stand to his left. From this distance, I can clearly see his apperance. An old-but-not-so-old man, with a average face and rude traits. He goes on with his speech. " May we aclaim our new member!"I feel uneasy with so much attention. The loud cheering is almost hypnotizing, and might have been if the man didn't cut it short. "Now for the second new. A plan to kill Lord Murray, sadly famous leader of the NSMTP (National Sick Mind Treatment Plan). Of course, we'll need volunters to accomplish such a mission." Immediatly, me and a bunch of people are willing. I don't know I what I am going, but if it is to kill Lord Murray, of course I'll do it. Ok, here is a recaps for people who lives in another dimension.

Dean Murray is one of the goverment most powerful member. He started as a psychologist in the army. He quickly became an expert of psychological torture, and he was used to gain information from the enemy. Using this, he was know and is now reponsible of all psychological matter of our nation. That is pretty much it.

So, me and the other are handed a document with the plan. We are also quiting tommorow. My plan is simple, but I'd prefer another one. I ust enter as a patient. Welcome psychosis...

Well, here we are. I should be meeting them inside. I go in bed, and sleep until tomorrow.

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