In the following days, Pxan couldn’t stop thinking about that strange black mass in the hand of the statue. Rene didn’t know anything about what was it and the archives said even less. It seemed like some things were passed down tongue to tongue, inquisitor to inquisitor. Some reasoning behind the inquisition appeared strange even to him.

Days passed by and Pxan re-entered his routine, even though he had imagined that the inquisition would bring him a life of adventures that wasn’t the reality. It felt like any other job, just a bit more varied than most and with fewer social interactions.

Pxan had very few friends and couldn’t pass the time at bars and clubs like the others.

Pxan didn’t felt any sexual compulsion so he never trailed behind a person.

Pxan passed his days alone, in the solitude of his apartment, checking if a certain piece went well with another piece. Seeing how hard was this new metal, trying to make a cog function. This was what he did in his spare time. Not after long, he had developed an unusual concentration. He would go home at nine, finish dining at nine and a half and often remain awake until one pm. It was a kind of strange pass time for him. His creations were like children to him. Seeing how a small mass of chemicals with a bit of work became a full functioning mine fill his heart with joy. Still, he couldn’t create a dog. That was too far off his league.

And so life went by without much happening. The black egg was off-limits, the route too complicated and the guards too strong. One thing that happened though was that Pxan bought an old house near the limits of the district. The seller looked at him like an alien for buying a house so far from the workplaces in order to live. In one of those areas where jurisdiction was much debated. People looked at him strangely and he got a few denounces for being “out of the sane norm” but he liked that house. Even if it made people hate him even more.

He had all the things that he desired: space, tools, silence and workshops.

One day when coming back from home a strange man wearing the best of suits awaited him at his door > he begun saying > for those who don’t know the inquisition work hours were irregular and depended on the types of jobs being assigned. He had gotten home an hour and thirty-three minutes after the normal worker. > he saying touching his perfect keep hair > he picked up a paper > normal people cared much about being seeing good and normal by others. Pxan wasn’t one of those.

>

The man face twisted into a smile > he began explaining how he contacted the police of the other district and that of his own in order to take the house down.

> and so saying the man went away.