PROLOGUE
It's not easy living in the 22nd century. I have been a part of it almost my entire life, yet it is still a mystery. I feel more at home when I'm asleep, or too busy with work to think. I find a piece of myself hidden in many of my clients.
For now, I am hollow. Empty. Just another face...
As a typical twenty eight year old man with a job as a Private Investigator or 'Private Eye', I'm barely scraping by. I used to work for the Ice Pole Department, the new establishment that replaced 'Police Department' 35 years ago. But the IPD cut me off completely last year. Sure, I was paid a helluva lotta credits, and my rent was 1/3 it is now, but if I hadn't done what I did... I couldn't live with myself.
I've made mistakes. Haven't we all? But how many truly get the chance to realize they made mistakes? And who can truly say they've learned from those mistakes and make up for them? Even if that decision brings majour suffering and torment... I would do it all over again.
All in a short life-span... It seems too complicated. Impossible.
I am hollow. Empty. Just another face...
Until that day.
When my last client walked in... and made an offer (what is the phrase?), ah, that even I couldn't refuse. Everything remained the same. Except me.
I changed.
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User Identification: # 234-608-123
Journal Entry: # 179
YOU ARE READING
Dawn's Razor (Editting)
Science FictionMy number is 234-608-123. My name is Voice Tredder. My reputation is... scattered. My race is... unknown. It's not safe where I am... It's 2123, and technology has made a race for digital madness. I live on Earth, but there's something different...
