ENTRY ___160



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]| Christophorus Pi Hatchenson : DEX-M

]| G-DIR EMPLOYEE USER ID # 96-69-12

]| Occupation: Insurance Agency Hunter

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Neural log 14 : 126 : 160



I took off my helmet to feel the rain on my skin. Long ago, as depicted in various holographic cards, humans of the past used to stand in the rain as a ritual, asking forgiveness of their love while the rain slowly melted their skin. Was it human to sacrifice your skin for love? If my skin had not been woven by machines, if it had not been reinforced with tiny nano-fibers, the rain would definitely leave me with a nasty chemical burn.



Was it also an odd human custom to park a pink van into a building? Perhaps its owner was in a rush? Perhaps the vehicle's G-map malfunctioned? Is that even possible?



My hover-bike gently purred behind me as I stood contemplating the situation: the Hospital building had had a van inserted into it. It was odd. Out of place situations are always bothersome.



Two protocols clashed in my head, "write the van a parking ticket" and "go get the Unscannable User".

I blinked at the van. Another oddity: Vehicle 14:48:54's license plates belonged to Don Incognito of 12th and a half street, Manchester of planet Mercury.



A road scanner would simply file this nonsense down, but I knew that something was clearly wrong with the address. It could not exist. Cross referencing the address with an actual location produced a logic loop. Someone had inserted the address into the listings database, but it couldn't be mapped. I sent a direct Neural Inquiry to the pink van. It did not respond. How odd. Perhaps its Neural receiver was shattered by the bad parking job.



A filing violation on top of a parking violation on top of a Neural receiver violation! This won out. The Unscannable would have to wait just a bit longer. I approached the van and nearly ripped the sliding door off its hinges.



I began to inquire once more on all Neural bands, hoping for an audio response.



"Vehicle 14:48:54! Explain yourself," I demanded. "Why are you parked h...?"



Too late, I realized that no such response would come. On the seat was a pineapple wired to a clock. A signature of the Unconnectable. A fruity-bomb. It was so very like them to conceal an explosive inside an organic object.



My joints did not respond fast enough. The timer clicked.



Everything went light.



Credits

29th September 2013

Tagged in Pineappe Pilot

Art Director: http://alexiuss.deviantart.comIllustrator: http://iidanmrak.deviantart.com