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Chapter One

 CH 1

I am a rock

It is dark as the bus rides down the empty, nearly forgotten pavement, cracked, malformed and distorted by the clock. Faceless sits at the far end, a backpack between his legs. His hood is up, shading the bandana that covers his face and medical tape over his eyes. He sits, pressed up against the window by one too many people in the back with him, with the rusted metal frame poking into his face.

Faceless watches as degraded street after degraded street drifts by. Separated from the outside world. Nothing could touch him from in here, and he couldn't touch anyone out there. Better that way, detached.

With a wide turn of the head and a few pops, he stretches his neck, looking around the bus. Most people are zoning out to news feeds in portable VR, trying not to touch anyone, quietly ignoring each other. Disturbing how they could do that day after day. It was just the same recycled shit, over and over again. The same attacks: 'was it the New Irgun or IS Rebellion?' same celebrities doing something stupid, same games. So utterly boring.

There's one guy, in a white raincoat, with black tattoos like a circuit board that spider up his neck. He holds a cardboard sign on a stick in his lap. 'FUCK THE STATE' it read. But his eyes though, half closed, looking straight ahead, unblinking. 

The guy in the raincoat has one hand in his pocket, toying with whatever is inside. He is chewing something too. It might have been gum, or some drug infused chewable. The man turns and stares right at Faceless.

Faceless looks back out the window. Eye contact was annoying. It ruined the point of observing people without their knowledge. There was something about The Social Revolution protesting today, something about raising taxes for the wealthy and petroleum companies, however that was supposed to work. Like it ever did anything. Like he cared. It wasn't a part of his life anymore. But that guy in white, he wasn't a protester. There was no hope in that man's face.

The bus stops frequently, tossing its passengers forward and back. Stop and go, stop and go. An uncomfortable rhythm to it. One after another, people get off. It is quiet in the city. Only an occasional car for company on this depressing road, yellow lights flashing against dark, tasteless towers of glass. Faceless shields his eyes as they go by. Even through the cloth, cars hurt to look at, especially with the reflections. It was still the nicest part of Ricgene though. Only place where there were windows like that. About two dozen blocks in any direction, and half the buildings would be in disrepair. Because the representatives these days couldn't be bothered to fund anything. These great buildings, these monuments right here, they were the last testament to a once thriving biotech city. But no more. There wasn't any money left.

Six people or so get off at one stop, leaving the ride empty, save for two. That guy in the worn, white raincoat stays, hand still in that same pocket.

Faceless doesn't get up either. The man in white definitely wasn't a protester. Probably hired by the Orange Party to break up whatever protest was happening tonight. Shoot off a gun, get the police to open fire, then paint the resistance movement as a threat to domestic security. Classic disruption technique. But then maybe this guy in white knew something. Or if not, at least knew the people that did.

They exit the downtown area and enter the residential district, replacing skyscrapers with duplicate cubic buildings of concrete. Faceless even lived in one of these thousand room apartment complexes. As boring and unimaginative as the rest of the city. 'Nostalgic' wasn't the right word for it, and neither was 'lived.' He survived here with his mother, existed. And now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember her face. There were individual features, but nothing distinct. He wouldn't even recognize her now, if she could even recognize him.