Sunday, March 30, 2121
I’m back. A guy named Carlos saw me talking on my PIC on Thursday and confiscated it. I guess he thought I was calling for help. He obviously didn’t know what kind of person I was. I guess I should have called in a favor a long time ago. Oh well. Too late now. Somehow, he disabled my PIC’s personal communication features. If they can hack into that kind of technology, I wonder what else they can do.
Anyway, a lot has happened in the last couple of days. We’re still captives, but our box is bigger. Actually, we’re in the cargo hold of an old carrier. I guess I had it coming. Damien was just saying something about Karma. That is, right before one of the Rogues kicked him in the ribs for speaking out.
The world’s falling apart around us and Texas is no exception. That’s how these people started out. When President Rodriguez called for the re-registry after the Raptus, most of them opted out. So they ended up here. Renegades of the industrial wastelands. Ghosts among the machines. If I can become one of them, I might come out ahead. I might even be able to use them to get back to Missouri. First, I need to get my dog back.
One more thing. I’m not going to waste so much talking about my life when I get out of here. I might not record as frequently, but when I do, it’ll be important. I mean…significant…historically. It seems like there’s a lot more going on in the shadows than I realized. Not that I care that much, but a thorough account of something this huge could be worth a lot of money. I certainly have the connections, so when I get on my feet again, I’m taking my career in a whole new direction.