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The Fuel

The small red book

"How are you getting in the building?" Rambo asked.


"With my longboard to the window levels and I know there's an open window somewhere, and break in," I told him. I didn't care what would happen, because it would be evening soon, and my longboard has fuel for another day and a half to fly.


"What am I going to do? I can't look obvious while waiting for you," Rambo said. "I'm waiting behind the next block."


"Just wait for me at the apartment," I told Rambo.


"Karina will be there with your Dad," Rambo said. "Be quick." I nodded, and walked to the Post building, with my longboard, in the dark.


There were crowds of people looking at the street lights, wondering why the solars weren't on. 


"I don't know what to call this lightbulb crisis! It's a total blackout and they don't care about pedestrians anymore," said a woman. "How are we supposed to feel safe?"


"I don't like the look of this," said another lady. "First the lightbulbs, then next its a potato famine."


I ignored the rucous talks and kept walking to the Post building, hoping to steer away from the public. 


The Post building looked haunted with dark windows and white paint and not a soul was inside. I walked to the back near the fast food restaurant and lifted off into the air with my longboard. I waited to rise to the top of the building to check if the rooftop door was open. The door was locked and I lowered my longboard along the windows and found a small opening in one of the middle windows along the high tower. The building has changed so much with glass all over the building replacing the structure of the white siding of the building. I crawled in through the small opening, and found myself inside a room with cubicles and I jumped on the flooring hoping I won't set off an alarm. The electricity was off and this was my glory. 


I dialed my wrist phone and hologram came up, with my Father's face. "Dad, I'm in. How will I find anything in the dark?"


"Find one of the boards, they must have some kind of outline of the news somewhere. Also, look inside the executive rooms, because those are the rooms where government official have their meetings," said my Father. "I know because I've met some journalists before and they said the rooms has all changed into government offices."


"Okay, I will call in an hour," I said, as I hung up.


I scrambled through papers in the big offices that were wide open, finding papers with policies and official business.

The papers had logos of The New Order and finally, for the first time, I saw the machete with fire logos printed on the official government. All these times, I never cared, until now. I didn't even know they re-wrote the Bill of Rights, to be what The New Order wanted, only to benefit the regime. 


A small red book fell on the floor, and it looked like a notebook too small to be anything important. I flipped through the pages, and written on November 3rd, 2525, was a dreaded agenda of Giuseppe Baptiste's Violin performance on the Capitol Lawn. 


Just write.


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