Resurrection: Ciudad Axila, #3

By Daruma Neko

A dystopian future. A technological and ambiguous world.

In the third and final book of the Hellhole City trilogy, "Resurrection", our relentless heroes Netflix and Toxina leave the sanctuary of the Mud Angels and return to the most polluted and corrupt megalopolis on the continent to take revenge on the evil DJ Inferno and abort his plans to take over the entire city.
Will they succeed?
There's some of that, but revealing it would be a full-fledged spoiler and we don't want that, do we?
Just in case, don't hold your breath too long.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Pallol
• Release date: Jan 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224040025

Daruma Neko

Su nombre es japonés. 'Daruma' significa 'demonio' y neko, 'gato'. Es un gato-demonio. O un demonio de gato. Nuestro autor transespecista es un superviviente de Fukushima. Un gato radiactivo, fluorescente en la oscuridad. También desarrolló facultades humanas, como la de hablar o la de teclear con los pulgares. Y notó de repente unas dotes visionarias, de ahí que se animara a escribir para iPulp thrillers trepidantes con humor, romance, aventura y corrupción generalizada, que es lo que el público parece demandar estos días.  Si ya los gatos son sabios, imagina uno mutante. Para Daruma el futuro es como un libro abierto. 

Book preview

Resurrection

Daruma Neko

iPulp Series− All rights reserved.

Translation by Karen Gutierrez.

TAKE ME DOWN TO PARADISE CITY

IT WAS AN INCANDESCENT afternoon. A raging sunset of colors was breaking over the horizon. Netflix and Toxina finally crowned the top of the bare hill. Suddenly, before them, an unsuspecting panorama unfolded, making them hold their breath.

Wow, Netflix said in awe.

He had been looking forward to seeing that view again for a long time. In front of him, Hellhole City was revealed as it was. Incomprehensible. Polluted. Degraded. Corrupt. The great Babylon of the continent. A fascinating and ambivalent sight. Skyscrapers in vision glass and stainless steel, bionic towers, strange constructions, antennas, hangars, warehouses. Noise. Density. Smog. Radio channels in listening position. Clouds of podcasts. In a word, civilization. Bless it. Mystical as it was, Netflix had grown tired of country life. The dumpsite had been an exile, in every way. But now he was coming home.

Netflix took a deep breath. He felt excited. That's what happens when you return home after so much time. It had been a period of refuge and banishment, of deprivation and silence, but now he was back at last where the electrical noise doesn't stop, and you have everything you need. They were leaving behind the foul atmosphere of the country dump for the radioactive air of the big city, under whose dirty sun there was a place for everyone. Netflix hadn’t lost his, to be honest, it had been viciously taken from him, but now he was reappearing to reclaim it. The hour of exile was over, and the hour of his revenge had begun. That was the shamanic mountain whose summit touches the sky. That was where it all started.

Netflix, standing before the overwhelming view of smoke, noise, and lights, sighed excitedly and said:

It's nice to leave, but it's nicer to come home.

Toxina, smiling, replied:

There it is, closer and more beautiful than ever.

Yes, added Netflix, looking defiantly at her. Waiting for us. And I can assure you that the bitch has missed us.

Yes, Toxina acknowledged, I have missed her too. This great whore deep down makes herself loved, in her own peculiar way. Now it's time to shake those lethargic foundations a little. The long-awaited moment has arrived. It is time for the comeback.

For my revenge, he finished off with a manga twinkle in his eye.

We are a golden couple on top of the world, she stated.

We are, he confirmed. And the future begins today, he added between his teeth.

Netflix sniffed the air. The city, as always, smelled of synthetics, chemistry, machines and pollution and DJ Inferno, for his part, smelled like a corpse. Netflix had had a vision in which his arch enemy was a dead man. He breathed a sigh of relief.

His eyes emitted an eloquent golden glow. Netflix looked down from the hillock, staring at the post-urban, radioactive Babylon with an exultant smile, a vista before him blurred by the heavy pollution.

PANIC IN EDEN

DJ INFERNO WAS IN A bad mood. He had been sued for sending toxic drugs to Haiti. It was a class action lawsuit by the families of more than twenty Haitian children who died or were seriously injured after ingesting a fever-reducing syrup. The bad syrup had caused 59 of them to die of kidney failure and left four others with irreversible health problems. DJ Inferno had been involved, along with his local contact, in the export of the toxic substance from which the medicine was manufactured. The medicine contained glycerin contaminated with diethylene glycol, an industrial alcohol used as an antifreeze or solvent. DJ Inferno purchased the toxic product from a Chinese consortium in which the Beijing government participated. The glycerin had not been subjected to the required quality controls. Some 1,800 kilos of the product had been exported, of which at least 20% had been found to be contaminated.

To make matters worse, he had learned that Netflix was still alive − against all odds − and had returned to the city. He no longer felt safe, despite his praetorian guard of drones and his army of lobotomized thugs with a license to kill. Otherwise, his passions remained the same: power, ambition, money.

He boasted of being the leader of 'the sinister church of the land where hardcore is the word and the crazy bass drum, our G.O.D.!!!', as his followers said. He was the lord and master of Hellhole City, but he wanted more. He always wanted more.

The weather did not match his mood. It was an afternoon of textures like a Radiohead record. Sad, neurotic, thick. DJ Inferno sat dejectedly on his throne at the top of the old TV tower. Atom, who was by his side, decided to soothe him with the sweet nectar of adulation.

I notice his highness feels rather down today...

I'm worried, DJ Inferno replied, listlessly. And not just because of Haiti’s demand. According to my reports, Netflix is back.

Atom was surprised:

Wasn't he dead?

DJ Inferno snorted and replied:

You know what they say about weeds... They keep popping up.

But they can be pulled up, Atom's sly voice argued. Or fumigated.

His eyes flashed with mischief. Atom had had an idea, as evil as he was. He owned a diabolical mind.

Shall I prepare a sonic attack, my lord? said Atom. A long-range acoustic device would be nice.

DJ Inferno sat thoughtfully on his throne, considering what his faithful lackey had said, and slyly stroked his chin. He finally said:

I like the idea, but you know how I like to tweak things. Not just make it look like an accident, but a sexy accident. This time I have something better prepared. I'm going to give him the welcome he deserves.

DJ Inferno paused, the kind of pause he liked: a dramatic one. Then he said:

Netflix is like an irritating bug that always comes back and won't leave you alone. It's like a wasp in the summer when there is food.

What's a wasp? asked Atom.

DJ