• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 12
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Rose-tinted glasses?

The time before was far from perfect:
A deadly virus had killed of hundreds and thousands of the population, traffic and pollution was at its peak in history, prisons were overflowing and crime continued to rise. But it was our world, however corrupt. It was colourful.

Now, a haze of pink suffocates the city; the buzz of buildings becomes still like a miniscule bee holding its breath, watching its predator move. The poisonous rose-tinted pink gas finally settles, removing all sound. The hum of transport, the sighs of the public, even the patter of rain is silenced, creating a wordless vaccum.
As always, the people still. The pink gas poison acts as a precursor to the 'remedy' that will follow; the silence a precursor to the commands to come.
Little messengers clad in uniform resembling that of a soldier's, disperse quickly into the streets, eyes scanning for those selected indivuals.
This world, void of colour is ordered, maintained, controlled by these little messengers. We have no say.

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