Distorted

Chapter three, Coincidence?

In the modern-day world, the machine's thorns tangled the impoverished in a bloody scheme, one that sucked the life out of them in exchange for a few coins. The loud cry for utopia echoed in their heads only, but once their feet touched the ground a fresh breath was all they could wish for.

Even children begged for their life, selling their tiny bodies for the steel creed, a religion of selfishness and impossible ambition that these poor souls were never aware of, and no matter how these men and women gave their life for this tainted cause, their grandchildren fell under the wheels just like their predecessors.

Human's worst enemy has always- and will always be- their ambitions

//Anomaly.

In old crumbling house in the suburbs of Ilusia, an old man named Jackson in his sixties sat down on a wooden chair. With a pencil in his hands and under a faltering lamp light, he took a deep breath as he looked at his empty messy bed, the one that felt colder than an iceberg. It was time for him to write down what only the papers can withstand. His thoughts were like a self-destructive grenade that might rob him of this life, on the fresh new notebook he had stolen from his office in Milasic's industries. He began pouring down the flood of tense feelings and tangled thoughts letting them eventually draw an image of what his eyes saw the last two years.

"I realize I'm old. My eyes aren't as sharp as they were, even my legs can no longer carry me." He wrote down and stopped for a second, he sighed as if he felt burdened by the entire world, the pen in his hand felt heavy and the papers felt as thick as stone, but, with every word he wrote, he felt the pain lessen. Jackson was the vital part of the puzzle, and the papers he filled daily were a treasure concerning the mystery of the blackout, because unlike Merit, Jackson does remember.

The old man rested his head on his palm, his words has filled three papers already, his heart feels lighter, his mind has let go of these crowded thoughts only to finally let his consciousness slip into tranquility after a long day of work, the moon had given him a chance to energize his old tired body for another day of repetitive paperwork that could last for a eternity and a puzzling incident that has been repeating itself for almost two years now.

It was a new day, a different one yet felt the same as the one before. The heavier Merit's heart feels, the slower her steps gets. All these illuminated houses in the middle of the night made her feel more lonesome, more estranged and more detached. Merit was drunk by poisonous thoughts, ones that she thought they would eventually devour her completely. She was aware she had something so small inside, but that thing fed on her anger, on her sorrow and loneliness, each day it grew stronger and bigger, but Merit still kept her innocence intact for the sake of her precious dreams, the ones she haven't lost yet.

She had already decided to visit Ross, an old acquaintance who Forger worked with. Rossland was the only one that wouldn't harm Merit as he owed it to Forger. The two were comrades in the past, and Merit occasionally visited Ross after she became homeless but refused his invitations to stay. Rossland was a unique man with a mindset that could drive this world fifty years in the future, but he was also a fugitive with a criminal record that prohibited him from practicing his craft, artificial intelligence.

Merit could clearly remember where his workshop was, he had a vast place with tons of cameras and unusual machines she never understood their function. Merit remembered Mr. Forger's trip to the upper area and how she used to accompany him in delight, but she snapped right out of her daydreaming once she stumbled on memories of Eleanor Street, the one where Ross' workshop was.

Although it was almost ten o'clock in the morning, the street was calm, the workshop's sign was half broken and the light was stuttering, the wooden door was half open and there seemed to be no light inside, Merit slowly slipped in.