We spend our life lookin g upward.
We m easure our childrensâ€™ growth by their height.
From abodes closer and closer to the sky.
We talk them into believin g that lifeâ€™s a mountain, to be climbed.
Many are left behind. Som eone else climbs over them.
Bu t very few notice. Very few question. As above, not so below.
- S ubject: located. - Bioparam eters: transmitted.
Officer: unau thorized presen ce in
- Scene: configurin g.
deploym ent area. A “Synth” shaman.
Recovery Mission : top priority. Presen ce: trivial. We proceed.
“I walk through minefields”
Then you’ve got a more excitin g job, b uddy.
Level “A” cell: alert! Many, many bodies.
I’d rather be
- Sewer pipes: open. - Pods: en gaged. - Eightballs: in position.
Recovery Team : in position. Start in 5.
That blast! Bu t where…
Bye- bye… daddy…
Slowpoke! There are bodies to go! Bolt!
Hup hup hup
What is it now. . .?!
Data removal? Theyâ€™re erasin g som ethin g!
And now, the hardware! Well it wonâ€™t be lost from everywhere.
. . .C seven, got it!
Fuckin g hellhole. You destroyed my family, my life!
And you, Ted. . . what the fuck have you done?!?
A contrib u tion for Utopolis’ pets?
“Citycleanin g” office, please.
Do you have an appointm ent? No.
I am so sorry. Do you have an And what is your b usiness…?
My husband is dead and his compu ter com es to life for no apparent reason…
My husband is dead.
Security. Your b usiness is con cluded.
…you’re erasin g any trace… I have a right to know…!
I’m not from Utopolis. Not anymore.