Thierry Crouzet

Épisode 1 — Paradise

— À terre ! Lire la suite →

Post|8

I’d like to slap that Ms. Penrose. What contempt! Politicians everywhere are lousy. To keep a lid on things, the best they can do is accuse a cleaning lady of theft. Soon it will all be her fault. Lire la suite →

Post|7

Here’s the article by Mark Mitchell, published just over an hour ago, at 9 am local time (it’s already Monday morning in New Zealand). Not very exciting, but it is thought-provoking: Lire la suite →

Post|6

I managed to lose the SUV. I changed route several times before reaching the cabin built by my great-grandfather. If they want to find me, they’ll succeed in the end. In the meantime, while Mystic went hunting for mice in the attic, I lit a fire, checked the solar panels and the charge in the batteries, and then linked in by satellite. Before me stretches the lake where I learned to kayak and to shoot my first ducks. My closest neighbor lives six miles away. He won’t bother me. Bears and bobcats are a bigger fear. Lire la suite →

Post|5

No, nobody jumped me. Actually, I didn’t see anyone, especially not the SUV. And that’s a lesson in itself. Just suppose for two seconds that I’m not freaking out, that my mother is being watched, and so am I, consequently. In that case, it can only be by the government, with its technological arsenal. Lire la suite →

Post|4

I don’t bother pointing out to Alexa that she’s just given me advice, when she’s always accusing me of mothering you. I start the car and go into reverse. The backing lights paint the underbrush white. Yoo-hoo, here I am. I can’t turn off these bright eyesores, which are normally useful but a real pain when you’re trying to make a getaway. Lire la suite →

Post|3

You don’t believe me, do you? Here’s the surreal chat I just had with my best friend on InLine: Lire la suite →

Post|2

I haven’t just run a 100-yard dash, but I am out of breath. My hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel. My fingers are trembling. I can barely write this post to you. I’m doing it so I don’t fall apart here. Calm down, Tequila. Get a grip. Breathe slowly. Lire la suite →

Post|1

Friends: I’m on the run and you should be, too. I’m not saying that just to scare you. I’m writing this at a Texaco station where I stopped to fill up my old Civic. I’m sure you’re wondering what happened to me. We talk to one other constantly and I have the feeling I can read your thoughts. I’m going to tell you everything, even though my Mom ordered me to keep it a secret, as a matter of life or death. But I only obey her up to a point. Lire la suite →

Foreword

Tequila began posting about herself on InLine(1) and other social networks shortly after her thirteenth birthday. Four years later, on 27 November of Year Black, when Agent π struck, she was still posting regularly. As a key witness to events and soon-to-be member of the Resistance, she provided live accounts of the tragedy. At the World Health Organization, we’ve gathered her most remarkable posts so that, pieced together, they will help us avoid ever finding ourselves again in a similar situation. With Tequila’s agreement, we have merely corrected some clumsy phrasing due to her hurried writing. We’ve also added occasional footnotes(2), often with reference to scientific details. We hope reading this will enlarge your horizons and strengthen your faith in our common purpose. Lire la suite →