K-111 had entered an abusive disco in the block reserved for Machine Men, where it was impossible for such a place to exist.
It's true that the whole area on the periphery of the metropolis had been always abandoned to itself, and thus was subject to virtually no control from the government, but that is precisely the reason why wanted Citizens, or subversives were hiding in this brick maze.
The most interesting thing, however, was definitely the music.
It was undoubtedly hip-hop, the symbol of rebellion par excellence, which, as it did more than a century earlier, had succeeded in rallying the outcasts, the last of society, the rebels, and anyone who was in any way at odds with Big Government.
This kind of music had long since been forgotten, and as it was considered dangerous to social stability, it was also banned and made completely inaccessible to anyone.
Yet there it was, at a party being held in a pub warehouse, the famous old-school style, played by scratching old disks, with a rapper singing his rhymes underneath.
This was all new to K-111, and he was deeply fascinated.
As he approached the people, dragged by the mysterious girl, he remembered his mission and realized something important, namely that he was in the warehouse of a pub!
It could have been the pub where he would find his target, however with all these people it would have been a problem both to find him and to take him out.
His knife had been sharpened in such a way as to be able to sever any organ with ease, as if it were a scalpel, plus the boy was able to locate and strike with extreme precision, the subject's vital points, this thanks to the notions of anatomy he had been taught.
In addition, thanks to his combat techniques, he would be able to immobilize any subject, either with holds or by breaking their bones.All this was perfected by his lean but toned physique, which allowed him to deliver quick and explosive blows, as well as incredible agility.
Unfortunately this wouldn't have been enough, in the midst of all these people, committing a violent act would have meant creating the caos.
He began to look around, as he was being dragged, among the countless people present, crawling like an eel and disentangling himself among that confused pack of rebels, looking among the partygoers, for his target.
It was 40 minutes before the murder deadline.
His eyes moved quickly, trying to identify the face of the pig, whose death meant his salvation.
Suddenly, however, he met the girl's gaze, reflecting off the strobe lights of the club and so he noticed one thing.
Her eyes were empty.
Actually, empty is not the right term.
Her eyes were fake.
They merely reflected what they had around them, and gave off nothing of their own.
A mirrored gaze, comparable to that of a doll, beautiful but fake, almost disturbing.
And it was staring into those eyes that he saw him.
His target, standing behind him, watching him.
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