Burned fuels: Part 2

Updated: Sep 9

Naivety... freedom isn't earned, or at least... It's not supposed to be...

There is no choice.

The best we can do is to go for the lesser loss. And sometimes just sometimes, when everything is just perfectly aligned, we can see things for what they really are, the rest is oblivion.

For now, things are just a real clusterfuck of emotions, I mean, coming back here? Fucking turmoil boiling inside of me. The Section looks kind of good, there is money here now, not like crazy but in comparison to the old cookeries.

Back then, just walking in this alley could get you high on chemicals, we were twelve and completely jacked on fuels and what not. I don't really miss this life. Happy that these days are gone for good. No kids work here anymore, or it's what I heard, I mean... it can be better than starving to death but whatever.

For old times' sake, I'm planning to meet an old friend, who happens to now own half of the section. Some says that you fight what you'll become... if only that wasn't such a fucking hurtful truth.


Everyone knows that if you kick the hornet nest, you'll get stung. This is why I'm usually staying far away from any place own or controlled by any gangs whatsoever. First, they are often bugged. Second, they're fucking nothing good but rumbles and troubles, and god knows I'm attracting them both.

Due to their inherently violent nature, these spots always need a bit of muscles, but seeing a full body armor on a stress-out kid waving a military grade subcompact machine-gun in your face, is not exactly the most welcoming way to greet a customer.

  • Bouncer:

Oi!Holup Mate! Keep a distance! What's your business?

  • Me:

Well, I'm passing into town, I thought it would be a good idea to come see an old friend of mine.

  • Bouncer:

Sorry mate, but we're close for tonight.

  • Me:

Well, you see, I don't come around pretty often. Actually it's almost been a decade, and I'm sure that if I could speak to a head, I'd be more than welcome!

  • Bouncer:

Nah mate, you don't get it, it's the boss call, we don't let anyone in, under any circumstances. The city is on alert, mate. Just go home.

  • Me:

Yeah! About that? Do you know what happened?

  • Bouncer:

I sure know that I don't, I guess that even the bosses are in the dark. I know that all the boys are on hold in the barracks.

  • Me:

It happens that this is why I'm here, I came to bring news to the board members, please just open the coms or something.

  • Bouncer:

Good try mate, but I'm ain't playing, shut your hole or get new ones.

  • Me:

Ok, I'm sorry for this, but what if I told you that The Fox is coming back home.

  • Bouncer:

What do you mean by The Fox is coming back...? Who the fuck is the ho...ho shit.


Deep down, pride is what motivates us. Not losing face, showing our success through possessions and relations, making bank, giving back to the unfortunate, putting your name on things that you made or bought. I wished I was wired differently, but I'm not. When I joined The Mission, I thought I could get rid of these flaws by throwing all my life away, leaving my wants and my needs to my older self. Starting fresh with a meaning, something worth more than my individuality. I took the oath to clear my digital identity, erase myself of all databases, destroy all physical proof of my existence, I lost my right to property, education, the right to live a normal life. To make it simple, for a new me, I had to kill my old self.

But all these sacrifices were easy to make, the real struggle came from burning the bridges to my roots. We had climbed so many crazy suicidal cliffs with the old squad that we got unaware of the view we made for ourselves. Besides all the pain we endured, the people we loved that we've lost, the violence and the drugs, there was so much beauty in being between us. We had the kind of bond that only the most tight knitted families develops.

I wonder how the family is doing, are they still the same? Are the kids behaving? How's work? That type of shit, you know... also, who's dead? I should care more from now on.


Wasn't expecting that! This place is hip as fuck, looking like a rich kid hotspot where a drink cost more than what we made back then in an entire day. Now I get why the street were looking so different.

The place is emptier than most bank accounts, not a single soul. I direct myself to the bar and ask for the fanciest booze they got, I'm not talking about the price here, I just want the cocktail to look like a cake, I want shits lit on fire, fucking sparkles, everything. Make it look fabulous.

I wasn't disappointed when I got it, a full-fledged rainbow, that drink almost made me gay for other men, or something. I wish I could tip someone, but the robots don't deserve what they already stole. We are losing all the crafts.


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