Chapter 47: ERASER ORDER
Almeria was living through one of those turbulent nights that only the powerful can truly ignore the weight of.
The municipal loudspeakers played soft, supposedly soothing music, while behind the walls of upscale residential neighborhoods, families of high-ranking officials and polished nobles sipped their last drops of wine, eyelids heavy in front of the sanitised state TV.
Talk shows, melodramatic dramas, and heavily filtered news—designed like lullabies to put the masses to sleep, to tuck in a sick child so they won’t worry.
And then, suddenly, everything changed.
Every screen—giant billboards, holographic skyscraper projectors, tablets, phones, smartwatches—was seized by a crackling static.
Then an image appeared, dark so abruptly that a collective chill swept through streets and homes.
A face. Or rather—a mask. Pure white.
There were no lips—just a crude seam, black threads knotted as though to stop some truth from escaping.
No pupils visible behind the slits. Just an unfathomable void.
Behind it—red curtains. Whatever—or whoever—it was, it waited.
No words, no gesture. The figure simply stared and everyone stared back.