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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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The electricity went out.
As the hum of machines faded, the surrounding noises became clearer.
It reminded me of a noisy café.
People used to say sound barriers could be created through noise.
At such places, people would shout to talk to the person next to them.
But when the music suddenly stopped, everyone lowered their voices.
Not because speaking softly was enough to be heard, but because they didn’t want others to overhear their conversations.
Humans are strange.
When they become aware of their own actions, they act awkwardly, stiffly, burdened by their own self-consciousness.
That was the case for the couple next door, making love all day in a room under the watch of a camera to pay for their lodging.
Even though the power outage didn’t affect the CCTV, and it kept recording, the loud moans and the sound of the bed creaking against the wall were no longer audible.
Above, below, across the hall—it was the same everywhere.
The only sounds were hurried footsteps entering rooms, the cart likely carrying bodies rolling down the hall, and the casual steps of a patrolling officer.
Still, a quiet world was a good thing.
Camila, her hair wrapped in a towel, lounged on the sofa in horn-rimmed glasses, scrolling through her phone.
I alternated between looking at my phone and stealing glances at her.
“I’d like to try being alone,” I said.
In that fleeting moment of thought, I found myself holding onto her.
It was an impulsive act. Camila seemed unable to hide her delight.
“Are you breaking up with me? Or trying to put distance between us?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I want to stop being anxious when you’re not around. I want to stop being unable to bear being alone. I want to stand beside you, walking shoulder to shoulder, not clinging to you.”
“Then why say it like that?”
At my words, Camila laughed out loud.
“It’s strange. Neither of us is bad with words, so why do we keep miscommunicating?”
It was odd. We clearly desired each other and wanted to possess one another. Hadn’t we left marks to prove it? Yet our words kept diverging oddly.
Only our bodies were honest and straightforward with each other, transmitting truth without distortion. Especially with Camila, this was uniquely so.
Why, though?
Because of the CCTV, we didn’t go further. We didn’t want to display ourselves like that.
Instead, Camila washed her face while fully clothed, leaned over, and rinsed her hair in cold water before emerging.
“Just in case someone watching the CCTV might report me, even though that’s unlikely. Doesn’t this look completely different?”
It certainly did.
“You look like a pineapple in glasses.”
Camila pinched my arm again.
After that, we fell silent, each engrossed in our phones.
We weren’t texting anyone or sending emails, though.
Camila seemed to want to distance herself from her past connections, while I had no one to contact.
Instead, I browsed the app provided by the Continental Hotel.
“Seems like this place has decent connectivity. Is the VPN part of the service?”
The phone was connected to the “National Network.”
Although it boasted “free calls for all citizens,” nobody really used it. Elza’s government monitored everything.
“If you use regular communications, Elza’s government will censor you. If you use the VPN, the Syndicate gets your data. Which do you prefer?”
“Maybe it’s better for this world to just end.”
If I had to be monitored anyway, I didn’t want to use the VPN.
The app was like a black market, but “Scale Plus” was different. It listed items for sale and buyers looking to purchase.
“Camila, isn’t this a dating app?” I said absentmindedly.
Camila glared at me, wide-eyed.
“So you’ve used one of those, huh?”
“No, I mean, doesn’t it look like one? I haven’t used one.”
“Then how do you know what they look like?”
“From the news.”
Camila muttered something, probably debating whether to leash me or something similar.
The UI was a bit outdated but functional.
It showed past purchases, provided trust ratings for users, and hid nicknames for anonymity.
Amidst the listings, we found the person we were looking for.
“Look here. This person lives in Zone 4 and has bought a lot of alcohol, even welcoming high-end liquor.”
Camila pulled up the map on her phone.
“Zone 4 is a safe zone.”
We decided to send a message through the app, setting off a chain of events that led us to an unusual meeting place: a whimsical pie shop in Zone 13, surrounded by the chaos of a city trying to make sense of itself.
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