The two remained in a claustrophobic, tube-shaped tunnel. The space was so tight they couldn’t stand upright and could barely pass through one by one. They had crawled through the gloom, on all fours or on their bellies, for most of the underground journey.
Erlantz unbuttoned his trousers without hesitation. He reached behind the zipper and pulled out a hidden black wool hood with two slanted holes. He put it on.
The mugalari smiled; with her night-vision cybermod, she didn’t take her eye off a single detail.
She spoke in a low voice:
“Wow, you’re one of the classics. Almost nobody uses those anymore. Everyone wears holographic ones.”
“I prefer tangible things,” he replied. He had opened his leather jacket and pulled a pistol from its hidden holster, which he now gripped. He was calibrating it for rapid laser fire.
“Well, that pipe isn’t very classic. Intxorta IV model, latest gen,” the woman countered.
“But it’s inspired by one that is,” Erlantz clarified.
“Do you always have to have the last word, or do you just love talking to me?”
“Is there only one choice?”
The cyborg laughed so shrilly she sounded like a wind-up toy. She had to force herself to stop.
“Whatever you want. This is as far as I go. From now on you’re all alone, so listen carefully... and stop being so tense, you’re making me nervous.”
“All right. Go ahead.” The brown irises visible through the openings of the garment were fixed on her like burning nails.
“That thing you see there is the hatch,” she pointed with one hand. “When you open it, you’ll come out onto the esplanade. You have 8 seconds to cross it, jump into the alley, and lose yourself in the shadows. I recommend you get into the first sewer you see. Ask for the hostel there. Spend the night without causing trouble.”
Trouble? Everything is trouble, Erlantz lamented to himself.
“If you don’t make it in time,” the woman continued, raising her voice, “you’ll have the zainbots on top of you. It will be difficult then to get to the non-automated area of the dark district without noise. Don’t come back to this tube. It’s already burnt. Will you know how to guide yourself?”
I’m the one who’s burnt out. I don’t run like I used to. Let’s see how I manage.
“Yes, don’t worry, I know Bilbao, I grew up here.”
“I warn you: it has changed a lot. Try not to cause a stir. Now everything depends on you. Zaindu.” The cyborg winked an electronic eye that glowed fuchsia and lightly stroked his hooded face. “Agur.”
Ha! How diligent and affectionate she is.
“Agur, nameless girl. Thanks for everything, truly.”
“Aurrera mutil!” She made the victory sign with her hand. After giving him a slight smile, the veteran mugalari turned and started her way back.
Concern gripped her from within. Worried, she pulled out the datapad where she had mapped the tangle of the Dark Net. She made sure of the path to follow. She moved quickly, mentally timing over and over again the distance the clandestine man had to travel.
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He opens the hatch. He scrutinizes the horizon, poking his head out, but sees nothing suspicious. Driven by an invisible spring, he suddenly bursts out from underground into the night.
Acid rain and wind lash at him. He does a new visual sweep. The esplanade is a rectangular enclosure surrounded by buildings and walls. On the west side, an imposing guardhouse looms; to the east, there is an opening with a mesh fence toward the lower area.
8 seconds, let’s go.
Erlantz starts to run. The ground is slippery.
6 seconds. Something is wrong.
Two giant spotlights flare to life. The lights sweep across the pavement, biting into the darkness at devilish speed. He tries to outrun the interception, but it’s in vain. Once located, thin red light lines emerging from a sensor on an armored wall begin to trace his figure.
He responds by throwing an EMP dust disk against the ground. The lines disappear due to the effect of the nanoparticles.
3 seconds.
An electronic flare ignites in the sky, lighting up the entire area. The AC soldiers begin to fire from their watchtowers. Lasers impact near him as he runs desperately.
1 second.
A military gravity vehicle comes out of nowhere, a ghostly apparition. It blocks his way to the lower alleys. The twin cannons rotate in his direction. He pulls out the zikintech magnetic grenade he has kept. He throws it with all his strength.
0 seconds.
The homemade rubber-3 device sticks to the metal and explodes. The combat vehicle blows up and crashes against a wall covered in obscene graffiti. Its occupants are crushed among the wreckage of iron.
“Argh!”
The shockwave knocks Erlantz back and deafens him. A shard pierces his shoulder like a metal lash. They don’t stop shooting. A cyberdrone is heading toward him.
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The mugalari had already traveled a good distance. She was about to pass under the infamous static defenses of the automated capital. She had heard muffled explosions and gunshots outside. She feared the worst. Her heart beat loud and fast. It was going faster and faster.
He’s been discovered... shit, shit. I have to get out of here now.
She consulted the digital map and headed for the nearest and most dangerous exit.
I hope he’s lucky. He seemed like a resourceful guy.
As she was about to turn a sharp corner in the narrow tunnel, she saw them. They were waiting. Black tactical armor with blue visor lights, the white circle of the emblem on the shoulders, in position to open fire.
Shit. It’s over.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The police didn’t think twice. They shot her at point-blank range with hybrid ammunition. The bullets resonated with an intense echo, making their ears ring. They left an intense stench of chemical gunpowder.
It all happened in the blink of an eye. She didn’t have time to react or reach for the smoke canister in her pocket: they cut her down without mercy. The impacts caused sparks in the cybermods and a disgusting noise in the body. The underground tube filled with blood, organs, and soaked chrome.
“Another EZ rat down,” his voice sounded filtered through the helmet.
“Where is her friend?” asked the subordinate. The trail of fumes from the rifle nozzles was already fading.
The officer took off his protection, showing a flushed face full of sweat.
“At this point, dead, most likely.” The policeman spat. “Did you see the mods the bitch is wearing?”
“Call J2 and J3, have them bring the extraction tools. And some good pliers.”
“Copy that.”
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The cyberdrone closes in on him. Erlantz rolls on the ground; his back and shoulder suffer, but he gets up instantly. He sweats under the hood. His clothes are wet and muddy. Faced with the unleashed chaos, the enemy lasers are less and less precise. The armed militant pulls out his pistol and fires several bursts. The cyberdrone is hit full on and destabilizes. It falls to the ground burning, followed by a trail of smoke. It is a mass of glowing plastisteel that not even the rain can prevent from melting.
The esplanade, illuminated by the flare and the decomposing vehicles, is coming to an end. Below, darkness.
Come on, time to jump and fly.
With his heart pounding at full speed and drawing strength from weakness, he runs to the edge of the esplanade where, after a great jump, he would reach the non-automated zone. There he would be safe...
The sky suddenly roars. What had been a distant murmur becomes thunderously visible. Two Maelstrom Heli-cores arrive making a calculated maneuver, positioning themselves in the direction of the pursued. The coaxial rotor blades kick up vortices of grime and whirlwinds.
They align their weapons and launch several salvos of thermal rockets. The projectiles impact the edge of the esplanade, unleashing a hell of fire and kinetic violence. Late for an Erlantz who is already flying into the blackness of the alley in free fall after having taken down an old metal gate.
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Realizing that red drops were marking the path in the form of a winding river, he let himself fall leaning against a wall sheltered from the corrosive rain.
I’m not up for this anymore. I shit on his fucking skull. What pain.
He took off his upper clothes: hood, leather jacket, and black t-shirt with a gray lauburu inscribed. Despite the sharp pain, the shoulder wound was clean and superficial. After treating it, he put on a pressure bandage.
He continued the journey while slowly catching his breath. As he moved through its labyrinthine and narrow streets, he reflected on the area he had just entered. The dark neighborhood he was walking in was also known by the name of Desidia. An area of Bilbao where automation was disconnected.
It was inhabited by the dregs of society: citizens without citizenship “not optimizable” by the algorithm. The AC offered re-education or relocation: the unproductive or dissidents were reformed, imprisoned, or sent to marginal areas like Desidia.
Without having crossed paths with anyone yet, he saw the first sewer. He remembered the woman: What could have become of her. Most likely we were detected beforehand. I don’t think they located me by chance. Following the mugalari’s advice, he descended through it.
The Oscura of Desidia was a mixture of sewers, abandoned metro, and perforated cavities from the old Insurgency War. It didn’t take long to find a dirty second-grade droid with a chassis that seemed to have seen better days. One eye was wobbly, hanging from a sparking wire.
“Aupa, can you tell me where the Ilargi Hostel is?”
The droid didn’t speak, perhaps because its synthesizer no longer worked, but it made a signal with its ramshackle arm toward a fork.
“Eskerrik asko. Take care, friend.”
He followed its directions and soon came across a glowing neon sign where Ilargi was read in large letters.
“Kitty. How nice.”
He dodged a black cat splashing in the puddles and entered the hostel in the gloomy alley.
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Location: Ilargi Hostel, Desidia Dark Net. Bilbao. Sector A1. Automated Communities. Time: 02:47. Temperature: Cold. Humidity: High.
Erlantz was in his room naked with a small towel tied around his waist. On his bruised skin, water drops from the shower were still sliding. He was sitting on the bed, manipulating the datapad. The connection was precarious.
An encrypted message with a biosignature arrived from the Euskal Zona in the name of Untxitxo Beltza. It wasn’t very long: it just asked him if he was still alive. To which he already answered yes.
Where he couldn’t take his eyes off was the postscript. It informed him that Katerina, the cyborg mugalari, had been murdered at the hands of the AC zainbots.
A beautiful name. A beautiful girl. Another young woman for the worms ahead of time. Fucking misery.
He only knew her for a few hours. Even so, he remembered her determination and that energy left a mark on him. Embraced by sadness. His eyes clouded over. It was hard for him to breathe. And by solitude. He stopped his impulse to go down to the hostel bar and order alcohol.
His head ached; it used to be common.
He spread out on the bed the map he had carried rolled up in an inside pocket of the jacket. It was a map of Bilbao. It said: 2512, the current year. He took the camouflaged techno-pen that only left visible traces if focused with a certain light from the datapad.
He started marking X’s and writing notes: outskirts – hide pistol; Casco Viejo – rubble of lost gaztetxe; Errekalde – ruined library XY35; monorail – cache A5; abandoned STIX headquarters – search; Desidia – contact the Malware boys; Professor E – ask for book.
I think I’m not forgetting anything. The next few days I’m going to have to move my ass through the whole fucking city. I’ll get myself an anti-radiation mask.
He dressed in tight black boxers and lay on the bed. He didn’t turn on the television. He never did. He connected music from the datapad. The first song on his list started playing: “Desobediencia” by Cicatriz.
He tried to take out of his mind the vivid image of Katerina’s face that he imagined bloody. It made him remember his mother. Then he linked it to his father. He occupied his mind with activity to cut the loop of torment.
I will be writing down terms and adding photos. It will help me stay focused and tie up loose ends. It will be my codex.
Erlantz’s Datapad, Glossary:
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Cyborg – Human with a high number of electronic or mechanical components. Generally cyber-modifications that cover a high percentage of what was once body mass.
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Datapad – Multimedia device for communication, access to the Net, the Ghost Net, and data storage.
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Goma-3 – Moldable explosive. It is composed of refined gold silicate, ignition oil, and pressure microspheres. A black rupture gel core activates it by remote signal or contact.
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Heli-core – Urban attack helicopter. Small and agile, but with a good rate of fire and strong hit.
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Automated Communities (AC) – Political structure of the bourgeoisie that emerged in 2411 after the Hecatomb. Comprises Bilbao, Gasteiz, Iru?ea, and Baiona. It is controlled by the Capital Pact and its Executive. Due to their territorial isolation, they are almost city-states. They are managed automatically.
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Euskal Zona (EZ) – Political structure created by the working class. It emerged in 2411 after the Hecatomb. It comprises the entire Basque territory except for most capitals. It is organized in a self-managed way by decentralized and autonomous assemblies, but coordinated in the National Assembly.
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Mugalaris – EZ activists for infiltration and extraction from the cities of the Automated Communities. The counterpart of the AC are the shadows, linked to smuggling.
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Biosignature – Inexpugnable biological-mechanical encryption and tunnel communication. Also called anti-torture encryption. Biological access is needed but also vital signs that do not match common physiological states under isolation, coercion, imprisonment, detention, drugs, abuse, or torture. Otherwise, the “Centinel micro-AI” mechanism analyzes context, denies access, and securely deletes all files. (Note: it has software capable of detecting illness, deception, and traps).
And now a little automatic reminder message.
This file is encrypted with a unique biosignature. Bad luck. It’s already inaccessible and impossible to open. If you’re reading this, either you’re me in an unexpected circumstance... or you’ve advanced so far into the distant future that my memories are no longer dangerous to anything or anyone. What will follow next is not a story or a tale. They are scars. Open wounds. Etched in raw flesh, chrome, and silicon. There are no heroes here. Only shipwrecks and survivors. Welcome to my memory. Ongi etorri. I will welcome you even if the world burns or has already been consumed. Even if you don’t deserve it. Fuck you if you come looking for hope.
— Erlantz Txatarra, archaeologist, historian, and scavenger, militant of the Euskal Zona Resistance.
He turned off the datapad.
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Tap, tap, tap!
After finishing writing on the datapad and getting ready to sleep, something hit the door. With adrenaline surging, he grabbed the pistol from under the pillow. He tiptoed over to peer through the mechano-peephole.
There’s no one. What the hell.
Tap, tap, tap! Fss-fss-fss!
The noises were coming from the lower part of the door of that seedy, run down hostel...
This is a translation from (pictures and video inside)
Chapter 0 :