The sirens were already sounding in the dark passageway. He ran, but couldn't get very far without attracting the attention of the policemen.

"Damn, they thought I was him…" he thought, while he ran as fast as he could, dodging trashcans like an expert. He was well known for escaping dangerous situations, but this one may had proven to be a little too difficult. As he was turning right though the alley, he heard the loud sound of a gunshot against the wall.

"He barely missed me… normally cops don't shoot at sight. It's a difficult case, this one." He said to himself "I will need to take desperate measures" He then took an extreme detour, confusing his followers. When he saw some stairs al his left he jumped and grabbed them with surgical precision, and got to the roof almost immediately. He then closed his eyes and concentrated, his body starting to shiver madly. The lights on the street seemed to dim a little, and suddenly, the police took a different path, leaving him alone. Up there, in the darkness of the roof, he turned invisible.

"¿Why did you die, Red? Seeing your body on the floor was just too much for me. You were always cautious, even to a fault" He thought as he kept trembling, as if he was taken by an extreme fever "When I heard you were being followed I came to help you, but I was just too late. Please, tell me your message…"
His thoughts then changed. He thought about moments before, when he arrived to than creepy and dark house. He remembered the windows were shattered, the pieces scattered through the floor. On the center, nonetheless, it was clear. The red rug was clearly visible.

"He must have run, as some shards were a bit far from the broken window" the shadow thought "and must have gotten to the stairway. I saw blood there, but not enough to kill him. I was worried so I rushed to the door. I saw him there, murmuring strange words. I think he saw me, and tried to get up. I promptly stopped him. He smiled at me, his final goodbye. He had a wound on his shoulder, yet no blood was flowing…"

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud sound. Someone had arrived on the roof. He didn't move: he was confident that he was practically invisible while he used his powers. He was wrong, because a fast punch came his way and knocked him out of his thinking position. There he was, dressed in a blue tux, smiling smugly.

"You!" said the shadowy figure, recovering from the first shock "You were the one!"
He then got up, and started shivering again, but with twice the intensity. It was like the whole city was dark: no light could be seen in any angle. Most of the people still awake near the area thought they were going blind.

But Navy (as this was the color of his suit) was expecting that, so he just stood still and shot him. The shadow didn't even dodge, he was confident his powers would protect him, but he was wrong. The bullet pierced reality like it was a piece of paper, but he didn't feel any pain. Feverish as he was, that just didn't happen. He changed his strategy and transformed himself into Navy's shadow. Even he couldn't predict his movement, so he was soon enveloped, and what is a man without a shadow? Contrary to popular belief, you don't get to be pure. You just lose your balance, and your consciousness starts to fade.

Before falling, Navy smiled. The shadow knew why. Soon, he also fell to the ground, in pain. The bullet had pierced his arm. Now he knew why Red died, and how. Those bullets killed everything they hit, no matter how shallow the wound.

"I just won't surrender… I won't die. I'll avenge you Red, and discover why you were killed."

In a last effort, the shadow enveloped his body in the darkness, and disappeared.

Escuchas un susurro en el oído derecho. La voz es irreconocible, y habla tan bajo que solo distingues una palabra: “Despierta”. Asustado, abres los ojos de prisa y te encuentras sentado en una cama sin sabanas. La habitación es completamente desconocida para ti. Las paredes son de un blanco brillante, como los azulejos de los hospitales, y si las miras directamente debes cerrar los ojos. En el techo hay una ventana que revela un cielo de mañana. Las ramas de unos árboles justo arriba de la ventana se entrecruzan ocultando en parte la visión externa. A tu izquierda hay una puerta cerrada, y a tu derecha hay un estante que guarda tan solo un libro.

Opción I: Lees el libro en el estante
Opción II: Buscas una manera de escalar hacia la ventana
Opción III: Abres la puerta a tu izquierda

Fui nadie en las llanuras mientras los ríos llenos de rocas brillantes acompañaban el ruido silente de mis pasos. El camino se desdibujaba mientras se acercaba al abismo de mis manos, de mis ojos invisibles. La realidad estaba comprimida, dolorosa, en una esfera de silencio. Y en ese momento fui nadie, sentí la fuerza de no estar atado al mundo. La tierra y el cielo, los bosques frondosos y extensos, la ciudad que muchos pintan de gris pero que yo tapizo en naranjo, los aviones, las aves, las nubes que se mueven quietas, como un niño que golpea una tina llena de espuma, lo fui dejando atrás. La tranquilidad absoluta se apoderó de mis venas. Y solo allí pude pensar, sin mente, sin dolor, sin recuerdos, y seguí las huellas que había dejado sin darme cuenta en el camino. Cada paso, un cambio, cada mirada un desorden que modifica la realidad aunque nadie se dé cuenta, una destrucción mínima e insignificante que define un recuerdo que algún día se disolverá en la lejanía. Y lo vi todo, la parte desenfocada del observante que se fija en lo que cree importante sin darse cuenta de que en realidad todo es importante y efímero, bello y doloroso, un secreto que un sabio solo ve por un instante, por menos de un segundo. Una gota que se desdobla y cae en un río, un sauce que llora su felicidad, una roca ignorada al borde de un camino, una flecha ensangrentada abandonada en un museo, un cuchillo que nunca ha cortado y que reside en un cajón esperando un momento que no llega y no llegará nunca. La verdad no está oculta, pero nuestros ojos no están hechos para verla.

Pude verme así desde lejos, desenfocado, borroso, como personaje secundario de una película que se trata sobre otro. La verdad se me acercó lenta y me sorprendió por la espalda. No he seguido el camino de los malditos ni de los sabios, no he forjado mi camino por mí mismo, no conozco todo lo del mundo ni conozco todas las consecuencias. Mi voz tanto enreda como desenreda. Mis orígenes no son heroicos, mi pluma no es un mundo en sí misma. Mi importancia solo importa para mí y para los que alguna vez me han visto, una simple minoría que se disuelve en la vastedad del mundo. El mundo es un espejo que brilla por sí solo, no necesita alguien que lo observe. Nada es necesario, nada es vital. Nuestras mentes nos enseñan de mala manera que las cosas forjadas por nuestras manos son universales, cuando nuestro universo está formado solo por nosotros mismos. Pertenecemos a la misma especie, y por lo tanto nuestros sentidos en general son idénticos, con variaciones pequeñas que nosotros creemos sustanciales. Pero nos equivocamos, nadie piensa como nosotros, no somos la mayoría ni la minoría, no estamos solos ni acompañados, somos egoístas, somos generosos, somos polvo, somos memoria, somos ojos que se cierran al dormir, un sueño extraño que parece real y del que no se quiere despertar. Una ilusión óptica en el desierto. Un laberinto cuya entrada es la salida, marcada por un hilo. Un mundo, una idea, una bomba de humo. La lluvia. El amanecer. Nadie.