Somewhere, between the large-ish city of Rasten and the adjacent KCDI corporate district, a magnet train glides silently through the night. Almost silently. Inside of the third wagon, a soft, almost harmonious whistling is generated by wind blowing past a bullet hole in the window. A middle-aged businessman with a goatee, a revolver and a tunnel from the front to the backside of his head sits in front of it. ″a shame, really, he′d be cute with an intact skull″ ″do you think they killed him because he knew too much? Got rid of the brain matter, destroyed the evidence?″ ″well they definitely killed him″ The elder of the two girls sitting to either side of the corpse scrolls through the almost comical amount of emails this guy seemed to be getting. I would guess she′s somewhere in her early twenties, while the one who just commented on the attractiveness of a cadaver can′t be older than eighteen. ″poor schmuck had to take care of some assholes shit basically every five minutes. Must have had the patience of a saint to wait until he′s on the train to blow his brains out.″ ″praise be″ She sounds almost sincere as she folds her hands, like this is the tragic grave site of a deceased martyr, a temple gliding through the air at 200mph. Were it not for the accurate time indication on the top right of my screen, I would assume that I was somehow receiving some kind of weird television show. The younger girl, dressed in vibrantly colored, trendy, though utterly uncoordinated articles of clothing takes a sandwich out of their fellow passenger′s suitcase and beams with joy when she sees that no blood got on it. ″we just ate″ ″so what? It′ll get soggy if I wait. You wouldn′t want his wife to have put in all of this effort for nothing.″ ″how much would you bet on his marital status″ The young girl cocks an eyebrow ″that′s not fair, you have his phone!″ ″seems to be purely business though. No pictures, no private calls, nothing.″ While poking a finger into the dead man′s cheek the younger sister has taken to scolding him. Or maybe they′re not actually sisters? Who knows? ″now that′s no way to live mister corpse, you should have at least had photos of your hot wife to look at during breaks. Just imagine how happy that would have made her.″ ″she′s hot now? What else do you know about this hypothetical wife, on whose existence you still haven′t wagered anything.″ ″my sandwich then, you can practically taste the love that went into this. Besides, of course she′s hot, he managed to go on for this long after all.″ ″deal, tell me if you find something.″ ″that wasn′t what I meant by did they kill him by the way. I was more thinking conspiracy.″ ″I know, but that′s the first thing your mind goes to every time″ ″Well, it would be so much more interesting, don′t you think?″ ″We literally saw this guy pull the trigger from the luggage department.″ Oh, so that′s where they came from. I was already considering befittingly absurd ways in which they could have somehow showed up in a train which previously just carried this guy. Spy movie antics, like entering from the roof of a moving Leviton. ″they still could have blackmailed him or something″ ″you don′t actually believe that″ ″No, but thinking about it is fun″ She checks a pocket on the inside of his suit. ″found his wallet!″ ″Excellent, how much did he have on him?″ ″About 600 bucks, and no family pictures anywhere. What′s wrong with this guy?″ ″What will it take for you to believe that he didn′t have one?″ The girl looks to her sandwich, then back to her sister. ″I don′t care, you can keep the sandwich... If you can get the blood out of his suit.″ Her companion rubs the fabric between her fingers. ″Leave it to me!″ They... Oh god, they undress the dead businessman and stuff his suit into a bag. Should I call the police? No. Even aside from the uncomfortable situation that explaining the surveillance equipment I have in one of Kalpa′s Levitons would create, what would the point be? These girls don′t seem dangerous, just kind of unnerving. And besides, what′s the harm in robbing him, especially if he doesn′t have a ″hot wife″? It′s certainly better than his possessions going to Kalpa. I look over at a picture of my own hot wife as I try to convince myself that this line of reasoning isn′t just a flimsy excuse not to intervene in the events unfolding behind the screen. To keep my distance from the outside word and not be swallowed by it. There would be no point in having the screen to begin with if I were to cross that sacred barrier. Wait, maybe Mimi knows this guy. Wouldn′t be the first time one of her coworkers ″removes themselves from the payroll″ as she occasionally refers to it. I haven′t spoken to my wife in about a month, so I′m somewhat hesitant to open a conversation with ″Hey, some poor soul committed suicide on the L39, were you acquainted?″, but then again, she is the last person to care about this kind of social decorum, possibly the only person to be more comfortable with this than with small talk. I send her an image from the video feed and add the question if she wants to come over sometime. A reply arrives instantly, despite it being 3 a.m. ″Never met him, but investigators ask me if I′ve seen these girls pretty much weekly.″ ″what do they get up to?″ ″Are you actually considering calling the cops?″ ″Please don′t, they′re so cute.″ ″Probably not, I′m just gauging how guilty I should feel about this inaction.″ ″As far as I know they′re just thieves, probably from the huts.″ ″Maybe? The way they speak doesn′t really fit.″ ″Be that as it may, they′re precious and I′ll be really sad if corporate catches them one day.″ ″April 11. Should work.″ ″That′s only four days from now and you don′t have an exact time?″ ″Mimi, are you sick?″ ″I′m not giving you a time, because it′s the entire day. We′ll be on shutdown″ ″Well, guess I′d better make some preparations then. Love you.″ ″Love you too.″ I push my chair backwards to escape the panopticon of monitors which I have constructed in the corner of my bedroom. This surveillance station and the other equipment connected to it easily make up for half of all value in this apartment, which admittedly isn′t much. A quick glance around the corner reveals that the blinds are indeed down, not that anyone is likely to be outside at this time of night in this neighborhood. It still gives me some sense of security, of control. I like being the one in charge of when to interact with reality. Safe from any and all prying eyes, I get up for some good old-fashioned pacing. There′s definitely something to be said for wandering aimlessly around one′s abode after getting up, reevaluating the events of the past day with the necessary distance, making plans, thinking in general while using the body to stay grounded in the physicality of one′s own world. The subtle sway and rhythmic steps along with the residual sleepiness being conducive to all kinds of ponderings. Usually I follow this ritual the moment I wake up, but there were some extraordinary circumstances today, starting with a gunshot that beat my alarm by about five minutes. I ducked into the surveillance station to find that someone had shot himself on an otherwise empty train, or a train that looked empty until two girls appeared from what I now know to be luggage department. To add to an already exceptionally strange morning, my workaholic wife revealed to me that she will have a full day off soon, which really only allows for one reasonable conclusion: I am still dreaming. This is way too good. Then again... I scan the text on a pack of caffeine pills before dropping one in a mug and boiling some water. It′s impossible to read in a dream. You just kind of know what things say and words change when you focus on them. These lists of components and warnings on the other hand, despite partially being in languages I don′t speak stay consistent. I really will be with Mimi for a full day, huh? I should think about what food to get. The hot water flows in a flawless spiral onto the ground coffee in my filter and drips slowly into the mug, dissolving the caffeine tablet little by little. I lean back against the counter. School starts in about four hours, so I better finish some prep-work work for the lessons, but not before checking back in with those two preliminary graverobbers. I anxiously await the last few drops falling before throwing away the filter in a practiced motion and running back to my monitors mug in hand. The older girl stands incredibly close to the camera, probably on top of the seats, her face taking up most of the screen. ″That′s an odd position, why would they need additional cameras here?″ ″Doesn′t look like KCDI hardware.″ ″So what, some creep is just spying on passengers? Doesn′t seem like a promising angle for those kinds of purposes.″ Ouch ″Well, it definitely looks expensive, let′s take it.″ What? No! The screen goes black. I somehow feel violated. <= Go back