YEAR 2077
Our new world is painted in a sheet of
clean silver and dirty brick. Which of these you see is dependent on
your social status, and fortunately for the members of the Chromia
Club, its all shine.
But private detective Rosio Navarette
wasn't interested in chic metallurgy. This was where the 1% lived,
filled with charming young investors and old tycoons. The club was
used for these people to their own dignified professions and have a
little uptown fun while doing it. Today though, color had entered
this monotone world; but it was not gray. It was red.
From the day the top ruled the world no
pig dared enter the halls of the mighty, but Rosio did not forget the
law and it's entitlements. He was a pig out for meat.
The door opened. The room was white.
White walls, white dresses, white suits, white glares. Rosio slowly
made his way up the stairs to the center of the room. Not only that,
but the center of attention. They all stared at Rosio. He was
different. He wore black.
One man looked down at him from a
balcony above. The shepherd. He wore a white vest, that matched his
white beard.
“Rosio Navarette, PI. I'm here to
talk to the Locust.”
The shepherd looked at him with stone
cold eyes, but honored his request regardless. With the sweep of his
hand he sent a young damsel off the stage and into the back.
Rosio looked around him. They all
looked, but their looks were all different. Angry looks. Pitying
looks. Bored looks. Eventually new figures entered the stage, but
they were not what he expected.
The floor cleared. These new men too
wore white – but they did not don white suits. They donned white
armor.
Rosio knew what he needed to do. He
drew his sabre, and they drew theirs. 2 white, 1 black. They went so
fast it was a show on itself, and besides the sound of steel on
shining steel the room stayed silent.
But then there was another sound, the
sound of a glass crack.
One of the guards fell to the ground,
while the other went for a strike. Parried, and knocked out. What a
pitiful performance.
The room went quiet again, with only
Rosio standing. As ears adjusted, you could here panting. But now,
there was a tap of a cane. And another. Soon, the room fell into an
organized set of taps, with everyone joining in the orchestra. Except
Rosio.
A third man came in, different from the
others. All the others, for though he did have a white handkerchief
he wore a new suit. A red suit. It was the Locust.
“I am Rosio Navarette. You killed my
daughter.”
The tapping stopped.
The Locust looked upon his prey in the
calm. Rosio was well enough to realize that he was not the one to
come easily, but unfortunately for him, he brought a sword to a
gunfight.
A loud shot. A crippling pain. Those
were the last moments of Rosio Navarette's life, as he tilted back
and fell onto the ground of the Chromia Club.
The tapping continued. The world was
black and white again.
---
Twitter: @CodexofAegis
Facebook: facebook.com/CodexofAegis
---
Twitter: @CodexofAegis
Facebook: facebook.com/CodexofAegis
No comments:
Post a Comment