It was 3 in the morning. Generic description of my surroundings. I had just come back from reporting on microkillers by ProxyPharma (just another bigco with no official records). A bat bit me and I had healthcare providers rush into my hotel room. They provided me with release, that is, drugs. Mental peace is the absence of awareness.
When I woke up, a leather hardcover sat on my chest. Red Planet Oyster. It foretold my prediction. With the advent of eternia, a drug that amplifies human strife on an individual level, Cortisan Blues (the book’s bigco) made sure to monopolize its malpractices, so they promoted dying. Within two years, the best-sellers were eternia (Forever, forever and dietona (We love never). They made football teams about it. Films and meals about it. If you were of age, you were biased. If you were young, what were you waiting for? (…) Cortisan Blues ended up buying the competition, but the factions stayed.
They took my things (camcorder, portable marauder, miscellaneous rocket powers) and brought the law upon me. Men in tuxedos, spiting torpedos. Stuff I’ll never understand: lawyers and her decision to let me die. They should write my name in a different font. Order number: zero. In math theory, zero comes before everything else. In every list, it is always reserved. You can go to any list and zero is always waiting to be taken.
Galardica can’t destroy America.
Galardica won’t destroy America.
What Galardica can do is operate in cohesive syntaxis, for the benefit of others (you are others).
What Galardica will do is clean away your America mess the way the Laundry Room Inc. intended to.
Yigfat aragata, ål profetea Galardica.
(In prose and largeness, every prophecy leads to Galardica).
