The Narrative

By Abe Pyne

What happens when a child is never told “No”?
What happens when politicians are never told “No”?
What happens when politicians lie, manipulate and trick you into saying “Yes”?
An existence created for the centralisation of absolute power, sold to the masses under the promise of an impossible ideal, elimination of offence of any kind and of any type. Noble in its outset but eventually leaving a personal existence devoid of virtually any meaning.
Leaving places, roads and indeed people without names and the truth hidden and warped for the endless, narcissistic pursuit of unaccountable power, where life itself is of no value to those owning it.
In this existence of total neutrality and equity of outcome for all, a dream tugs at a lost and tired soul, continuously trying to create a spark that ignites the flame of freedom. But where does it come from? What is its meaning? What is this thing called freedom?
Who will stand and fight for that freedom? Who will take on the heart of absolute power, being not only the politicians but The Narrative itself?
It is irrelevant if you believe The Narrative, because like everyone else, you belong to it…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398473522

Abe Pyne

After a long career in various 9 to 5 jobs, Abe Pyne decided to expand outward into writing novels, this being the first foray into that world. An interest in the political world, the ever-shifting cultural demands that make things as they are and the subtly of controlling populations is something that has always puzzled him, and still continues to do so. Some of these thoughts have come together within this novel. The author invites you to join him in one possible outcome, an outcome where everything belongs to The Narrative.

Book preview

Chapter One

Xe

It’s chaos, Sir, they are all dead.

How many?

We don’t know, there is no one left to count but we know it is at least 23 million dead already, the Medicare system has completely collapsed. Violence is endemic, the rule of law non-existent, it is every person for themselves. The remaining Presidential Guard are still protecting this bunker, but it is in here too.

What?

Yes Sir, it is here too, we are all as good as dead. I suggest we release everyone to fend for themselves; it is over, the whole country is over.

How?

The biological weapon of some sort we had been discussing. We do not know the details because all the labs are down, there is no one left to examine them.

"But it has only been a matter of weeks since we started this, it cannot be that effective? We war-gamed for this possibility!"

We underestimated them, Sir. It is devastating, they have won and there is nothing left to try to protect or save but ourselves. We played by the rules on these weapons; they did not. As you know, representations were lodged with the Global Unity Organisation but we all know it is a corrupt and toothless organisation and they have just declared that they will not get involved in domestic matters. I guess his bribes to them were greater than ours.

More like they have seen what he is capable of! Go, go see to your family.

They are all dead, Sir, no one is left, not even the kids.

"I am sorry. I am so sorry for starting this war, DAMMIT! I trusted the Generals and advisors when they said it would be short and we could not lose! They told us that his military was weak and all we had to do was expose him and his New Government to the people and the country would fall. We would be seen as their saviours!

How could he do this? How could he do this? There are rules even in war!

Not in his eyes, he is insane. We never thought he would go this far.

Launch the nukes, fuck it; if we are going down then so are they!

We cannot, Sir.

Why?

Everything is down, everything, all command and control is lost. Sir, it’s over, there is nothing left, there is no one left.

***

Xe 805491997 was just an ordinary human, of no outwardly descriptive sex, religion, orientation or in fact anything in this brave new world of neutrality, a world slowly created whinge by whinge, perceived victim by perceived victim, cancellation by cancellation.

Xe, everyone just referred to each other as such to avoid long numerical introductions, stood staring out of the window of his apartment, seeing nothing with his eyes but instead deep into his dark place where he could hide from himself and the world. How he needed this inner sanctum, this hiding place more and more as he grew older.

The rain was incessant and had been for three straight days, pounding on the glass like fists hitting a punch bag. It was continuous, rhythmic and symptomatic of the social control, regular, like a heartbeat. He loved the sound though, it helped him achieve his sanctum of nothingness, his trance like state where he could go to hide from everything but the damn dream!

This deep depression had gripped him in a vice like grip with no escape, one minute thinking that he may as well go and end this miserable existence, the next a tiny spark, driven by the dream, would fill his heart with hope for the future, that he may one day be able to change things and give purpose back to himself, perhaps others, but then life would beat the hope back out of him and the cycle would start again.

Never-ending darkness deep in his soul which gave him nowhere to hide in this obsessively introverted nation. He just stood there staring, head half-cocked to one side, lost in the darkness of his mind, pondering, like he often did, how it had come to this? His head occasionally moving to the other side without conscious effort as a new thought traversed through the dark, deep recesses.

So many questions remained unanswered, so much desire remained unfulfilled, so much purpose remained without direction.

This was life to Xe, nothing more than existence and waiting to die.

A sharp pang of discomfort in his stomach snapped him out of his trance. He looked at the cup in his right hand and taking a sip of cold coffee he realised that he must have been standing there for some time. It was light when he first looked out, the clock on the TV stated it was now 1:14 am.

Putting the cup down, he turned to look at his apartment. Apartment number 1-317-884-777-87-4-22-8 was of the standard modular layout in a block of identical dwellings, such demanded equity of outcome, all must have the same no matter what anyone did.

The ferocious and seemingly endless pursuit of neutrality, equality and equity reduced everything possible to numbers, deemed neutral enough to be accepted. 1 for the Region, 317 the City, 884 the district, 777 the sub district, 87 the road, 4 the Building, 22 the floor and 8 the apartment.

There was no longer any desire for names or anything that would indicate a gender to a building or a location. Historical figures had long been removed from buildings and streets, someone, somewhere had always managed to find a reason why they should be considered historically evil for some reason, often made up, sometimes just a hysterical attempt to be ‘relevant’ in their time. Only statues of those with a numerical reference and of those who furthered the word of the narrative remained. Only those deemed ‘pure’ enough could be considered for adulation and they were few are far apart.

Neutrality and avoiding offence was the narrative and the narrative was everything.

The apartments comprised of three rooms, a living/kitchen area, a bedroom and a bathroom. The outer hallway door opened directly into the living/kitchen area which comprised of a standard sofa and chair. They were made of leather and were actually quite comfortable. Next to them was a small round foot stool that doubled up as a table, which was made of the same material as the sofa and chair, upon which was a copy of ‘Good Citizen’ magazine.

At the back of the room was the kitchen area, where he stood. This had the standard appliances used to store and heat food and drink from a pre-determined menu of choice published the week before in Good Citizen and was ordered through the touch screen TV, along with other basics required to maintain the standard of living and personal hygiene demanded of all citizens. Forgot to order? Well, you will be a little hungry and perhaps a little smelly this week then, won’t you?

Everything was packaged up in single service packaging that required a certain amount of time in the heating vortex, as it was called, and hey presto! There was your meal or coffee or whatever tasteless gruel you were subjecting your body to. Even the deadest of pallets, such as Xe’s, struggled with it at times.

The food itself was delivered, to your apartment delivery box on the ground floor, every Friday with just enough nutrition to keep you alive, but not enough to do anything overly strenuous unless you were registered on the New Government fitness programme when your allowed food intake was linked to your attendance at the provided gyms around the city you lived in.

There was never enough, only just enough based on your circumstance. Hunger was always kept at bay, just and deliberately to serve as a reminder that if you stepped out of line, you would be in deep trouble very quickly.

You could always buy more food, even alcohol from a shop if you had enough money and a high enough citizen status. As with everything, this was linked to the New Government database and sanctions applied immediately. Found drunk somewhere? Your ability to purchase alcohol was removed. Some did make their own alcohol to avoid this issue but it usually ended up with people going blind or apartments randomly exploding, sometimes both.

These two areas comprised of half of the apartment. On the other side was the bedroom and bathroom.

The only bedroom comprised of a single bed and a wardrobe and that was it. If you were in a coupling then the bed would be replaced by a double. There was a carpet and the walls could be painted any of the agreed neutral colours, there was certainly no option for any colour that would denote a gender type resided in the room.

If you had a child then an additional bunk would be added for your maximum of one child. After the birth of the child, both parents would be immediately sterilised. The country had too many people and there was no requirement to populate it any more. Hiding the birth of a child was an offence punishable by life imprisonment for both parents, unknown for the ‘illegal’ child. In the event of multiple births, then you just had to squeeze in more, no allowance was made berthing wise.

Along the opposite wall was the wardrobe and storage space for the apartment. Each apartment was supplied with a dirt and dust cleaning items. Clothes washing and pressing was managed on the ground floor of the apartment block in a communal laundry. It was a requirement, by law, to always have clean and pressed clothing when out in public, so was often filled with other people from the block. Xe, whilst introverted, did enjoy the limited discussions with his fellow apartment block residents. Polite, informal but above all, always neutral in nature.

Upon the wall in the bedroom was an image he had created himself of a stream running through a small wooded brook, with a small wooden shack next to it. It was crude but he knew what it meant and it meant so much to him he did not care.

The bathroom was again basic and functional in nature. A toilet, sink and bath were present. All of the tiling was white as was the bathroom suite. The only mirror in the apartment was a large mirror above the wall with the sink, which was showing signs of age with the corners starting to turn silver in colour, but he still got to see his face in it every day, staring as he often did into his own eyes for several minutes before shaving.

After dealing with his immediate problem in his bladder, another coffee went into the heating vortex. He wasn’t tired, he was too lost in his mind to sleep. He needed a distraction.

Taking out his coffee he moved over to the sofa and picked up the copy of Good Citizen which was a New Government produced publication delivered to every apartment, free of charge, which detailed how every citizen was expected to live their life.

A monthly publication, it regularly had articles about how great the New Government was doing, including what new initiatives were being brought in to improve everyone’s lives. It was all bullshit and everyone knew it, but the New Government propaganda machine had to put out something to pretend that purgatory was in fact paradise and that they really were working for the betterment of the people they so mercilessly controlled, yet so often seemingly happy to be controlled, naïve to how life could be, naïve to the concept of true freedom. He often wondered why it was still produced as a glossy paper copy rather than electronic like everything else, which was the most attention he usually paid on it.

Flicking through to the ‘celebrity’ section, he read interviews with the people seen on the TV, how they lived the same lives as everyone else and were dedicated to the cause of the narrative. He did not believe a single word uttered. The drivel of perfection was so on point it was simply impossible to believe. The fact that they lived in an area of the capital that could not be seen from any vantage point around, along with the senior politicians, officials and Brutus champions, that was completely off limits to the rest of the population, guarded as it was by roadblocks and armed guards, said it all to him.

So to say that they lived in the same one-bed apartment as him was an insult to his intelligence, but that is exactly what it said and you were expected to believe it.

He moved onto the car section which showed all of the new beautiful machines that were carbon negative and perfect. Outside they were pure white and covered in lights, inside there was so much gadgetry, he could hardly understand how it was even drivable, even with auto-driver capability, but of course he did not need to worry about such things as vehicles were completely unaffordable and only belonged to those at the top of society, living in the same apartment as this, ‘yeah whatever’ he scoffed.

With a yawn, he flicked to the TV section. Programming was so controlled by the New Government that it may as well have been broadcast from 1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1 itself, for this was the building that contained the office of Premier Xe, leader of the New Government and glorious leader of the nation. Never a bad thing happened anymore such was the perfection shown. A perfection that was in total contrast to the reality around the general population, shown by a media that claimed that they were free and fair and absolutely not under the control of the New Government. They claimed to always report on the events of the day with facts and absolutely not with political leaning at all; after all, they stated The truth of today, direct to you, direct to your home in the opening credits, so it must be true.

His favourite show of choice to stare at when seriously drunk and in a dreadful mood, being the only time he actually watched TV, was ‘Show Me Showtime!’ Aired at 10 pm on a Saturday night. It was quite frankly, awful. The show was now projected in holographic 3D, so as to make the home audience feel like they were sat in the studio, which did not make it any more bearable to him.

JJ was the host. As he was part of the ‘others’ that lived in the restricted part of town, he was allowed to dress differently and to refer to himself as JJ, unlike every other average person. Xe noted the hypocrisy of it, but there was nothing that could be done to change it so who cares, such was the apathy of life and of actually trying to highlight the inconsistencies of the narrative and the projection of how everyone was supposed to be living the same equitable life, irrelevant of their role in society.

He had no time for JJ and thought he was a desperately unfunny dickhead. A pathetic crown styled hair, with a large spike in the middle that was designed to make him look ‘funny’ but actually made him look like someone who speared fish from a lake with their hair for a living. He spouted the usual platitudes and neutral jokes that were utterly unfunny, saved by the canned laughter played by the TV production team. The programme format was always the same and with a choice of only three channels it was not like you could go anywhere else for your entertainment. Opening with the inane ‘jokes’ canned laughter and a smile so white in colour, he thought that it could act as a searchlight for lost souls at sea.

After this came the funny video clips, usually of people seriously hurting themselves, again supported by the canned laughter, before JJ would finally move onto the family challenge part of the show.

This usually consisted of families, who did not want to be there but were offered twenty citizen credits to do so and were expected to show that they were very happy about doing it, or else. Taking part in various, stupid challenges that always resulted in them getting drenched in various unknown liquids, eating various unimaginable ‘foods’ or just plain being humiliated. Poor shits, he thought, but for twenty credits he would do it as well.

The humiliated family, still smiling badly, sometimes injured were then congratulated by JJ, for being such fun and were escorted off the stage. Once off screen they were given their twenty credits and ejected outside to make their own way home or to the nearest medical facility. The child was always crying at this point but they had served their purpose and were of no use to the programme anymore.

Then the finale! A musical act playing the current official drivel. Dracona Doob it was called and it was the only type of music allowed. Boring repetitive beat, boring repetitive music on top, it seemed to fit perfectly with the boring repetitive life that everyone endured.

Why he watched this drivel he did not know, but it seemed to make him smile sometimes and smiling was a rarity in his life so with a drink in hand and raising a glass to JJ he would sit, watch and drink himself into oblivion.

Reading Good Citizen had done the job and he drifted off to sleep on the sofa, coffee still in his hand, magazine on his chest, snoring that made even the bugs scuttle for cover.

He woke late morning the following day, wearing his coffee over the chest of his shirt. Getting up with a groan of a person who was significantly older than him, he decided to get out of the place. The continuous rain, though good to help him find his hiding place, had kept him indoors for three days straight. He needed to get out; looking out of the window, the rain had finally stopped falling.

The park is where I am going today, my little friends, he said out loud to the spiders and bugs in the apartment that he refused to kill by sweeping them up. They gave him something to talk to and he had grown to like them being around.

Looking in the wardrobe, he looked amongst the New Government approved clothing to wear. The control on what clothing could be worn was another law raised in the past to manage a societal complaint that differing clothes for the genders was not neutral and that colours could be defined to genders so had to go, all because some idiot had nothing better to do than run around finding offence in something.

Each item of upper clothing, neutral in design and colour of course, pastel beige and green being the only accepted colours in these modern times of equality and design. For the lower half, there were only black trousers or shorts. Socks and shoes completed the outfit, both black with no markings on them.

Two sets of exercise clothing were allowed, all black with no shape to them at all. These were provided by the New Government if you registered to visit the gym. Most did it to get more food and then exercised as little as possible, for not turning up for the gym at least three times a week meant a warning. More than one warning and you had to return the clothing and lose the food privileges that went with it.

He opened the bedroom window and felt outside to see if it looked cold; not too bad, he thought as he turned back to the wardrobe. He had a choice of a thin black jumper, a thick black jumper or a coat—again black in colour. Putting on the thin jumper before the coat and taking one last look in the mirror, he headed to the door picking up his mobile comms device and his Personal Citizen Device from the table along the way.

The Personal Citizen Device was a small silver metallic device oblong in shape, portrait in layout, with a small wave like shape down one side to add some sort of styling. On the front it had ten small lights that each indicated 10% worth of battery level of the device. Despite there being recharging points all over the city, if a citizen allowed the battery to run out, all access to places that required Personal Citizen Device contact, such as transport or entry into buildings would be revoked, there would be no access to the person’s money and if stopped by the police would result in a lot of unwanted, and probably painful, attention.

Too lose it completely was not bearable to think about.

There was further styling of three narrower, inlaid black sections interspersed by the silver metallic of the main device. It did not seem to add any actual function, which seemed odd to Xe. At the bottom was etched the number of the Xe it related to which was issued at birth, along with the Personal Citizen Device itself and stayed with you until your death.

The Personal Citizen Device itself had every detail about the individual. Where they lived, their designated citizen identification number, their police ‘interest’ level, their medical status, including inoculations against the various pandemics that had plagued the nation in the past and most importantly of all, their good citizen status, for no one in these modern times were allowed any rights for anything unless their ‘citizen status’ was at sufficient level.

It was also used to manage the person’s money as all payments were made electronically. This was of course very convenient for the user, but more convenient for the New Government who frequently used the system to either revoke all access to a person’s ability to travel and/or buy anything but also used the system to systematically steal small amounts of funds from people’s accounts to shore up the country’s finances. It was known and widespread but who could prove it? And even if you did it would only result in you losing all of your money, perhaps more, if you made too much noise about it.

He laughed to himself at the thought of citizen status. Do a good thing like get your jab you would get a point or two, drop litter would mean ten points off, it was so disproportionate it was laughable.

It was not that way to start with of course. Good citizenship was easy to achieve, so no one objected to this new idea, after all it would prevent antisocial behaviour and make everybody feel safe and keep them safe, but of course the credits for good behaviour were quietly reduced and the debits for bad quietly increased, without warning, such was the drip, drip, drip nature of the way the authorities changed things so as to not alert anyone of the changes until it was too late.

To be without your Personal Citizen Device would mean arrest, to have a citizen status lower than 0 would mean a trip to Detention Centre One, which was widely regarded as a one-way trip, but deserved. The main issue was that a citizen could never see what their status was, you only knew when you could not take a magtrain or you heard the knock on the apartment door; therefore, you took extra care to do the ‘right’ things and avoid doing that which was likely to knock off a point or ten.

Still, no one at the time complained because life was getting quieter and there was virtually no anti-social behaviour anymore, the population saw what was happening but were willing to give away their freedom for some peace and quiet.

Device attached and leaving the apartment, allowing the door to slide shut and lock itself which it automatically did, Xe walked off down the hallway. Beige in colour with a beige hardwearing flooring. At the end of the hallway were the stairs. Climbing down all twenty-two flights, he came out through the small entranceway that looked the same as all the other tower blocks lined up in rows next to each other in the North East part of the city. This was the housing quarter where the vast majority of the population of the capital lived.

Between the rows of housing blocks was a grid pattern of roads. The only vehicles that used these in the housing quarter were the police and military vehicles. Nobody owned a car around here. The magtrain station and the busses were the only way to get around, those and of course your own two legs.

There was still a cold chill in the air, but it was brightening up nicely and the rain and cloud had finally receded being replaced by bright sunshine, warming the air just enough to warrant taking off his coat. As he walked along more people started to come out and to wander around as he was, most without any purpose, however those with a child were on their way to the park to get them to burn off some energy and stop driving their parents insane indoors after so many days of being cooped up.

Between the housing quarter and the park was a small shopping complex. Shops were not that plentiful. The food and living basics were delivered to the apartments, so the only food shops were those designed for lunchtime coffee or snacks if you were lucky enough to have enough money or a job, the quality was no better and it was all New Government controlled but it did offer some sort of tasteless alternative as an occasional treat.

The main shops were those that were outlets for the New Government called ‘Gov. Centres’. If you needed new clothing you could take your old and exchange it there; if you needed additional materials required to keep apartments clean and in the best possible condition such was the demand of tenancy, you went there, pens or other stationary, in fact anything at all you went there. Everything you needed would be manufactured by, and purchased from, the New Government, for a profit to them, of course.

Aside from shops, there were an abundance of gyms, being fit and strong was encouraged by the New Government. Xe sometimes wondered why, perhaps as a distraction from life, perhaps a healthy population was better prepared for war with some unknown enemy of the country perhaps.

Seeing the gym reminded him he needed to go again this week, but maybe tomorrow, such was his mantra which is why he usually ended up there three days in a row to ensure he had attended enough for the extra food portions.

Eventually, the housing quarter was left behind and in sight was the park. It was absolutely monumental with every possible climbing frame, roundabout, slide or other item that a child could let their imagination run riot on. It was actually very well maintained, but health and safety was not so high on the priority list and often a fall from height would result in a trip to the hospital to be patched up.

It would have been amazing to play in here as a child he thought, he did not know why he never did, or perhaps he did do, his memory of those days were robbed of him, but none the less he found it relaxing listening to the kids playing, arguing and basically being feral. It gave him a small window into life without his pressures.

Sitting down, he slowly ate the cheese and onion sandwich he picked up at the food shop on the way. It tasted a little better than the food that got delivered to the apartments but cost a fortune and he was starting to run low on available funds, still he was determined to enjoy this treat for the week.

Watching as they played and wishing that one day they would see freedom, he felt he was too old now to fight to machine, but those kids in all their innocence, if only they could be set free with their uncomplicated approach to life, perhaps they could change the world one day. ‘Why do I always have this pipe dream of freedom when everyone else seems so happy to be completely controlled?’ he said to himself as he finished off the sandwich.

Putting the packaging in the bin, dropping litter would wipe out his remaining money in a fine and do who knows what damage to his citizen rating, if he was seen, he looked for something else to do. Looking behind him, he realised that he had never climbed the steep hill behind the park and with absolutely nothing else to do with his life right now, decided that this would be today’s challenge.

After a few stumbles that he thought would see him in a heap at the bottom with children pointing and laughing at him, he got to the top completely out of breath. It reminded him of just how unfit he was, even within his muscly but slender frame. I need to go to the gym more often he promised to himself in his usual ‘no intention of doing it’ way, every time he was out of breath or not strong enough to do something.

At the top of the hill there was flat unmown grass area for about 50 yards then a high wire fence with signs all along stating ‘Nature Reserve No Trespassing!’ Behind the fence and following it around for as far as he could see was a dense wooded area that you could not see nor hear anything behind.

OK, that was boring, he said to himself as he turned and stood looking out over the city, its magtrain rail lines and a grid system of roads, again largely clear of vehicles. The city centre itself could be seen from the hill. At its heart was the New Government complex of buildings that took up the vast majority of the space within the capital. The only other buildings were those that supported the running on the country such as the TV station, various security buildings, the hospital and some smaller buildings that he had no idea what they were for nor had no access to, nor did he really care.

Closest to him were some smaller buildings of various purposes with a network of alleyways crisscrossing behind and between them. These were mostly buildings for specific manufacturing tasks such as the food production for the weekly delivery and clothing manufacturing along with other items needed for the Gov. Stores.

Dominating the city was the Brutus stadium, home to the national sport and a game of extreme violence. It was huge, easily the biggest building in the capital, and could hold 120,000 people with ease.

In the games itself, the competitors would use various weapons to inflict as much, supposed, non-lethal damage to each other until one could no longer defend themselves. It was brutal and it was massively popular with all citizens, including Xe, who reminded himself he would take a trip there soon to get his fill of complete and unadulterated violence.

Between the sports stadium and the park was one of three churches, whose steeples you could see for miles. Whilst religion as such was no longer permitted in this neutral world due to the complete lack of neutrality, not to mention wars and civil unrest it caused, there were the Sages whom you could go to speak to in times of personal need.

The Sages of the Stoics were always there should you need them and it was a free service that he partook in often. Besides attending a sage’s service got you citizen credit points.

Xe just stood and looked and pondered like he always did, staring into the distance, across the city but not actually seeing anything other than the inside of his mind. A scream broke his day dreaming as another child had plummeted to the floor from a climbing frame of some description and was being scooped up by its parents to be carted off to the hospital.

With the clouds starting to roll in again and the day waning, he decided he should get down the hill before it became slippery and he ended up in a heap at the bottom. Neither hills, nor running were his strong point, unless he absolutely had to and even then were still not his strong point, besides most of the kids that were not hurt in some way had started to drift away due to the weather closing in and weary parents rounding them up for another evening indoors. He decided if he did end up in a heap at the bottom it would only be mildly embarrassing, besides it was Saturday and he had a hot date with a bottle of Vodinaski. Soon JJ would be on TV ready to blind him with his teeth.

Getting to the bottom of the hill with only two small slips and feeling proud of himself for doing so, he noted that the best way to get down a hill without breaking your neck, was to go along it rather than straight down. I will note that should I ever need to run down a hill he said sarcastically but glad he had actually achieved something today, no matter how small. Putting his coat back on, he headed straight off home, feeling he was being followed or watched. This feeling often came across him as he kept thinking he saw movements in the shadows. Increasing his speed due the uneasy feeling, he caught the attention of a police patrol vehicle which stopped and demanded to know what he was doing and where he was going.

Just going home, Xe said.

Personal Citizen Device NOW! demanded the officer.

Xe started to get nervous, why was he being stopped? I am just going home, officer.

Did I fucking ask you to talk? the officer replied without looking up.

Xe noticed the second officer was looking around and appeared nervous, this was not a good sign and Xe was starting to prepare for a beating.

Out of the corner of his eye, he definitely saw something pull back into the shadows behind a wall. This is not good, not good at all. That was not in my imagination, not this time, someone is watching either me or the police.

The officer scanned the device, before stating, Go home now. If I see you out again, I will be looking at you in more detail. Now fuck off.

Xe did exactly as he was told and headed straight back to the apartment. The police did not say these things without meaning them and if he was caught outside again that night, it would only end very painfully for him. He had history with the police and did not want to repeat it, no matter how much he despised them.

Finally