Devo fare entrare Kiki per contrattare del nostro ultimo affare. Fuori dai coglioni! Tutti quanti!
Semplo, il capo dei 1.000 fa entrare Kiki negli uffici.
Semplo – Ciao Kiki, accomodati pure. Allora, come eravamo rimasti con quell’affare della cartolarizzazione?
Kiki – Nulla di buono , credo abbiano già spedito tutti i pacchi e che Rubino sia fuori dai giochi. Tutti vuoti senza un foglio di carta dentro. Caro, questa dei video del TG non l’ho capita, perché mi appare sempre buio? Non l’ho capita.
Semplo – Messaggi in codice ma poco chiari. Non riesci proprio ad arrivarci?
Kiki – Sono troppo misteriosi, io i misteri non li capisco bene, capisco di più le fasi alla luce del giorno. Dammi una dritta Semplo. Capo, senti cosa ho intercettato: ”Io sono al sicuro, se attaccano il nostro paese a me Putin non mi fa uccidere, che me ne frega se ci crepano tutti? L’importante è mettere al sicuro il mio patrimonio”
Semplo – Che roba è? Chi è che parla? E come hai fatto a intercettare la chiamata?
Kiki – Stavo decifrando i messaggi e poi sono riuscita a intercettare delle conversazioni ma non so chi sono. Senti questa: ‘’Ma io se qui scoppia la guerra non ci perdo nulla, manco toccassero la mia famiglia. E nemmeno del covid mi interessa, ho protezione dai clan. Quelli hanno rapporti nei poteri. Mi sento al sicuro qualsiasi cosa succeda e anche la mia famiglia. Per me li possono bombardare tutti, ma che li conosce.’’
Semplo – Me chi è questo infame? Qui ci fu l’affare, se vendiamo queste dichiarazioni ai mass media ci facciamo tanti soldi Kiki, devi assolutamente scoprire chi è.
Kiki- Semplo, forse la nostra vera trattativa è questa. Avevo già capito che l’affare vecchio non poteva andare in porto ma io ho trovato di meglio. Senti questa: ‘’Ma chi mi conosce, fanno finta di conoscermi ma di me non sanno nulla, tu fatti i fatti tuoi vivi la tua vita, ma se ne crepano 100, 1.000 chi se ne frega, l’importante è che resto vivo io e la mia famiglia.’’
Semplo – Kiki, bellissimo. Abbiamo trovato il nostro uomo.
Kiki e Semplo non credono alle loro orecchie e sentono tutte le conversazioni di quest’uomo con i suoi amici.
Nel mentre che Semplo e Kiki ascoltando con l’audio la conversazione di questo sconosciuto entra in ufficio Gelo.
Gelo – Scusate ma cosa avreste intenzione di fare con questa merdata?
Semplo – Una grossa trattativa.
Gelo – Trattativa di che cosa? A me sembrerebbe che questo se lo prendo me lo mangio vivo. Spero non abbiate intenzione di vendere queste informazioni.
<<Sai perchè non ti uccido anche se ne ho il potere? Perché ho quasi la certezza che non ti hanno mai detto la verità, non te l’hanno mai detta per paura di ritorsione e del modo in cui l’avresti raccontata, ma sappi, che tu abbia ragione o meno ho compilato la funzione dell’attacco, ogni tua mossa falsa sarà letale per te>>.
Lui non venne mai a saperlo, perché chi lo lesse, sapeva che se lo avessi ragguagliato avrebbe creato una guerra devastante. Così il mio primo progetto è stato creare una rete di comunicazione segreta come la sua, pensai da subito che l’informazione potesse essere la miglior difesa.
Questo perché ho capito che non si tratta di bulli, ma bensì di atti che mi vogliono distrutto, morto. Dati trasferiti da una zona all’altra senza interruzione, impenetrabili e rintracciabili da nessuno. Lo chiamai ”filtro intercettativo,” che tutti volevano avere e discernere la sua funzione.
<<Credi di essere il migliore in tutte le cose che fai, sai solamente grattarti la pancia, non sai fare altro>>.
Le offese continuano, allora parlo con la mia amica tramite il filtro.
<<Perché non fai alleanza con il tuo nemico?>>
Io <<Scherzi? Ma poi, quale nemico? I bulli?>>
<<Fagli un offerta>>
Io <<Che offerta? Soldi? Quanta gente dovrei pagare? Visto che sono tanti>>
<<Ho in mente un’altra cosa. Innanzitutto ti so dire perché sono così tanti>>
Io <<Dimmi>>
<<Sono tutti i suoi uomini>>
Io <<I suoi uomini? Di chi? Ma questi sono infiniti quanto le stelle dell’Universo>>
<<È più forte di quanto pensi>>.
Almeno si capisce, si capisce da dove sono spuntati fuori. Ma chi è il capo?
E io pensavo che stessi vivendo in un film. Questa è realtà.
MA PERCHÉ RISPONDI A QUELLO CHE SCRIVO?
Come fa la mia amica a sapere quello che penso? È come se stessi scrivendo e lei legge la mia mente. Ci ho pensato solo adesso, io rispondevo e lei sa. Sembrava quasi normale. Quando gliel’ho chiesto, mi ha risposto dicendo che anche lei legge la mente. Nulla di nuovo, doti comuni in questi anni.
<<Infatti, e non credo che il tuo lavoro sia questo>>
Io <<In effetti non ti ho chiesto nulla su come tu sai tutto di me. Da dove gli è arrivato il messaggio se non c’era nessuno? Dal cellulare?>>
<<Non te lo posso dire, ma non dalla mente>>.
E da dove? Dal cielo? Ormai non sorprende più nulla.
Forse in questi anni di fantascienza divenuta realtà l’unica cosa che potrebbe stupire. Come se fosse la fine dei tempi, è l’arrivo del nuovo messiah. Ho lavorato a tutto, studiato in tutte le biblioteche del mondo, ma non so più cosa inventare, allora ho deciso di far volare la gente. Ho sempre voluto fare il regista e il produttore cinematografico, fare qualche mia personale comparsa, ma non avendo mai avuto né i soldi e né conosciuto le persone giuste, ho pensato che fare lo scienziato sia l’unica alternativa. Ravvisavano tutto, ogni dettaglio, quindi nessuno ha provato stupore.
Ho solo fatto quello che loro avevano già creato, ma usato in segreto e con scopi militari spaziali.
Anni fa, quando ero giovane, la curiosità della gente e degli amici era tanta, ma non quanto quella dei concorrenti, e nemmeno quella delle altre nazioni, ma quella stessa delle persone che tenevano fin dalla mia gioventù al mio futuro successo.
<<Ma a tutta questa gente che non si è fatta i ca**i suoi non gliel’hai dato un calcio nel cu*o?>>
Io <<Ho fatto di peggio ma sembra che non abbiano capito>>.
Enough with that, police—I’ve been informed; it would hurt your hearts too. You’ve already ruined my life and my career.
They threw me into the scum because I was the key point of that complaint. The rest is history, but continuing with the privacy violation after my career has been ruined and ended because of that complaint—at least leave me my solitary peace and the right to tell the rest of the world to fu** off. I’ll await my death in peace; money (for someone under investigation in Ita**) is something you see only through binoculars.
I like being loyal and saying it. Those who knew me better than the police and better than my own family defended me because they knew that, in my mistakes and wrongs—which all civilians have—I was more right than anyone else.A judge who believes in true justice, the final one. He should have had protection like the Loch Ness monster; sometimes it’s the strongest who are in danger, not the weakest—like the special forces of the army that stay in their nation in case of internal attack; they don’t leave from there.
They had misled the military and drug investigations toward other matters to create the spider’s trap where the spider enters after the fly is dead, not alive. Then they decided to shift from Sila to Segna for old Caci issues, the massacres…
And I continued recording.”Which were actually misleading but served to bring ghosts into the trial for other matters—that’s what Nichi Moli told me.
In reality, from international events, they turned it into a national issue of the old style.”And come tear out the other pages—what can I do about it. I do my part at the bar; if things go wrong, at most I’ll do 6 months in jail, but thank God the manager already knew—one of the two; the police told him. I didn’t ask for permission but I couldn’t; I made my apologies and paid. It will serve to start the investigations from total chaos; otherwise, I see Mexican Nos at my house—that idiot went to Me***.
And what was I supposed to do? I had to say: I need to architect the future because I’ve already seen it—well, that sounds like science fiction.Yes, it’s true, I loved peace and tranquility, but when external interferences came into my life—and this time the chaos wasn’t judicial but physical—I have to admit it wasn’t bad; I made mistakes, but I had fun.I wouldn’t do it again, but it was fun.
After the judicial earthquake, I was left with a huge problem: my finances were in pieces, and I no longer had a way to get them back on track. The tunnel kept getting darker, and I never saw the light.I spent years waiting for my end. They tell me everything in dreams, down to the details—it’s pointless for them to try. I told them: let me work and pretend I don’t exist; in the meantime, while I await my end, before I become skin and bones, I’ll enjoy the work.
My father always told me since I was a child: “Go work.” A phrase that stayed with me like blood in my veins. He said it so many times that I hardly see a vacation in centuries. Not even a day. You know, when certain phrases get into your veins, they don’t come out anymore; others just go in one ear and out the other—people aren’t repetitive. Until now I say it myself, as if it were contagious.
A man who made the whole of Italy work. Let everyone choose their own profession, I told myself—to me, I like writing.
But when do the money arrive? Nothing. I decided to ask the state for a contribution as a volunteer. Abroad, those who do volunteering are helped by the state. No—wait, I was under investigation; nothing. For them, it’s a dirty record.
Musician’s ears: it comes in and goes out like a flute, but when they say that phrase I like, I—who am 100% positive by nature (I believe)—it gets into my veins.
What the fuck was that energy? I’ll kick your ass! I jumped out of bed in the middle of the night and started punching and kicking the air. But there’s nothing there…
How did it manage to make me leap out of bed?
I’ve been asking myself the same question for about 5 years now, and I can’t find a scientific answer. I thought it might be new Western weapons, like lasers, or that I got shocked by an electrical cable while sleepwalking.
What would have happened if in my life I had ever uttered the word PROSTITUTE?
Why, in 46 years, have I always called them whores and sluts but never prostitutes
I believe Jack is reserved only for me.
God, why have I never said “P. Dio” and Jack the Ripper—why have I never called them prostitutes? It’s not what you say or how open your book is, but what you’ve never said that gives power. What important thing have you never said in your life?
An important historical fact? If you have that silence, that will be your success, the gift that God has reserved just for you—it’s yours and belongs to you.
Your silence will be your identity, your home, those one or more important words you’ve never said.
That way, people will have fertile ground to water and cultivate, knowing this concept.
That way, people will finally find their own identity; that way, people will finally understand what path to follow in life—the important words you’ve never said.
“Ten” was reserved for me because in 46 years I’ve never said PROSTITUTE or P. DIO out loud.
The greatest gift God ever gave me.
God has given a gift to everyone; unfortunately, death and wars take it away—the man takes it away, not God.
We are all born with a personal gift from God, and the gift is not life itself. Man takes away God’s gifts.
How? Are you saying this is the meaning of mystery and legends?
I think so, actually now I’m certain of it! Otherwise, what are legends for? If they were invented, they must serve some purpose, or do you think that thousands of years ago people were idiots?
A translator of mystery and history, and the future?
Without history, there is no future; the future is written in history.
You see, Jack often works for the enemies; in some cases, you find yourself at ease in a war zone, together with the enemies, and without the enemy, you can’t live.
We’re in 2025, and everything is getting more and more absurd, but I find it even more absurd that a madman like me, in the era of shuttles and Mars, tells you: God gave you a gift for your success—”the words you’d never said”.
A hope for those who are lost and don’t know what to do in life.
They keep trying, using a form of communication that can no longer be considered secret. But as long as the president allows it, the president will be the one to pay the consequences.
They hired me without a contract, without ever speaking to me directly—they couldn’t, because they were the ones protecting me, and if they were exposed, my protection would vanish.
They sent me on a mission to a foreign country, and from the moment I saw the credit card, I already knew what I was walking into. I could read codes, and hidden in the numbers was the message: Agent 007 Luri Lumi.
My missions were so secret that even though everyone knew me, no one ever managed to figure out my moves. They weren’t supposed to—not even the people who gave me the assignment. The second coded phrase I deciphered was this: “Act like a serpent”.
I could have shouted to the world who I was; it wouldn’t have mattered. Without knowing my missions, my purpose, my strategies, and above all my enemy, I could sleep soundly. When I made my first wrong move—getting discovered—I thought I was a dead man. But they didn’t know why they were supposed to kill me.
Yes, it’s me—Agent Luri. So what?
They spent months, years pointing the finger at me, but they had no clue what I’d done or for whom I’d done it. Despite my misstep, I never made the most fatal mistake: showing them my cards.
I hadn’t been chosen by them—by the high command—but by someone outside their chain: a psychologist. He knew my complex, impenetrable psyche was perfect for shadow operations. Communicating with me was extremely difficult for them, but that very complexity became my greatest weapon.
They had to develop computer systems to communicate with me—no longer a person, but a machine. I never communicated directly with any of them.
No human being could understand my language; only a robot, a computer, could decipher me.
I knew that publicly announcing their downfall would only give them more power. That way, they would become untraceable and operate in the dark without raising suspicion. The ma***s.
They’ve grown ever more powerful, yet they kill less—when they can, they avoid it altogether. They’ve acquired so much power that they no longer need to kill to get what they want: control.
By now, there’s no advanced technology they don’t possess; there’s no military base they don’t control. The term “mafia infiltration” is no longer used, because their bosses now occupy positions of power and command—especially political and military.
Today they no longer call themselves mafias, or even C***. They didn’t even give themselves a name, since they operate in the shadows. It was the mass media that named them: C***.
The end of C*** and the old mafias, but not the end of organized crime, which will never cease to exist.
As long as man walks this earth, crime will always be there—too many irresistible temptations, too many demons that never ascended to heaven. We will never be able to do without law enforcement.
That’s where we come in: special agents ready to defend the interests and safety of citizens. But when the citizen himself is complicit in evil, our job is called by everyone “the most complex in the world.”
I had to explore beyond Earth to understand how to act—go off the radar of our satellites: Mars.
Not physically, of course. Back then, I had brain functions capable of picking up messages from space. That’s why they wanted me.
Everyone wanted to know who my informant was, and I answered without hesitation: “It’s an alien.”
Naturally, no one ever believed me—not even I could fully accept it.
But given his complete absence from any radar, there could be no other explanation.
God? I don’t think so. I was never convinced, simply because this source used a language too advanced for rationality to account for its existence.
For years I was convinced that the A*** government had even taken control of extraterrestrial lives and was using them to communicate with me. I believed that whatever they knew, the N*** and C*** knew too. There were many times I acted under the conviction that I was working for the Un*** and not Italy—even though the It*** government was always kept informed about my missions.
Ca** assistant, Oi** – a young Ch**** woman – came to see me only once. I was living in the outskirts of Lo***. She came to collect a painting that Ca** loved so much, an antique piece I’d sourced from various flea markets, and after that we stayed in touch by email, but I didn’t really know her. We only talked about the shipment and nothing else.
Ca**, who is no longer with us, was like one of those homing pigeons that shuttled between Lo** and Ne*** on weekends. She said: “Those people are from Me*** – better not to quarrel with them.”
Me***? The only thing I know about Me*** is Pa***. I’ve never been to Co****.
Today I find myself on an island, contemplating the past and telling my friends about my Lo*** adventures. But the problem is the judiciary – they’ve stuck their nose in, and I don’t feel like talking.
“Which dreams are you talking about, Raci***?”
After 10 years in what they once called a madhouse, I’m finally a free man again – brand new. Dreams? What dreams – torture, maybe. After more than 30 years, Italian intelligence has discovered that it was nothing but torture: judicial torture. I’ve traveled back and forth between fantasy and reality, and about Ca** I’ve never told anyone anything – not even the…
I knew neither him nor Lo***. Maybe now everyone knows that they used methods straight out of A Clockwork Orange on the victim to make him talk. For years, the prosecutor’s office denied it to the courts, saying I was just a madman with psychiatric disorders. They forced a compulsory psychiatric treatment (TSO) on me in a psychiatric clinic. “You dreamed those dreams,” they even went so far as to say. But throughout all these years, I’ve never spoken.
“Go to Lo***, go to Ro***, go to Ca*** and get the information we need” – that’s what they did to everyone, manipulating their minds just to extract the information necessary for their investigations.
You won? The world collapses – you’ve gotten yourself into trouble.
To avoid letting them win, I kept all my studies secret because that’s all they wanted. I relied on the protection of friends and collaborators in IT. They’re so convinced it’s all about 5G that they can’t possibly know I created BU*** myself.
But what do you expect me to have known, Mr. Prosecutor? They were doing their job and I was doing mine. Tell me, is there any company in the world that doesn’t have hidden dealings? I didn’t know anything about them – that’s what I told the procurator
“They want to know what you were doing in private,” I told them – mathematics.
They didn’t believe me, and the torture began. They did it to everyone I knew – Lo**, Ca**, Be** – it was enough to have any contact, and the madness of the lost world kicked off. The world of dreams.
I needed a den to hide in, maybe a rundown one that looked criminal to the eye, so I could have some presumed protection.
Magir***: “Did you infiltrate among criminals just to make people believe you had mafia protection?”
Raci***: “What would you have done?”
Magir***: “What would I have done? I wouldn’t have talked to anyone.”
Raci***: “I felt like I was being followed.”
I financed myself with illegal gambling – poker. I was good at it and almost always won. Lor*** was the one who traveled most often from one country to another and always refused to play, knowing full well he’d lose. We played underground in basements – me and the customers of the place where I worked as a…
…course of study – an independent school. I studied computer science. When the prosecutor’s office picked me up and brought me back to Italy, they started torturing me – me, who after those big casino wins no longer had a single penny even to survive.
After I escaped from the psychiatric clinic, they imposed a second compulsory treatment order (TSO) on me as an excuse to torture me.
No longer in the prosecutor’s office, but at my own home while I sleep.
In the dream, a man dressed in black wearing a green robe grabs my face and plunges it into a bucket of water, asking in an aggressive tone: “So, what did you do last night?”
I couldn’t understand what he meant by “night” – wasn’t I sleeping? Vivid dreams where everything feels real. He starts hitting me on the head, then takes a knife and stabs it into my back.
It feels like endless hours of torture: he grabs my hair, cuts it off, and forces the clumps into my mouth, making me swallow them. He drives needles into my head and starts prodding, ordering me to talk – but talk about what? A couple of poker games?
I knew the truth, and in a dream it’s hard to keep secrets.
A mind as cunning as the devil’s itself – doubts are creeping in.
I don’t know who you’re talking about.
Yours. You pretend to be an idiot and not know anything, but everywhere you set foot you leave a trail of blood.
What blood?
One day, Minen, you’ll croak drinking your own blood.
That was how Lieut*** Ras*** and Minen parted – both perplexed about the suspect’s life expectancy.“He made one joke too many,” Raspen told his office assistant, and the investigation began.In courtMinen: Your Honor, everyone here is accusing me of murders I never committed – people who claim they saw me far away in the mountains of Mars, when I’ve always been sitting in my room chair studying, preparing for my exams.Judge: We saw you at the restaurant on Si*** Av*** while the bartender on duty was being murdered. You were right in front of the cameras.
Minen: But I’ve never left my house!Judge: We’ve learned from several reliable witnesses that you harbored resentment toward the victim over some unpaid debts.
Minen: But resentment toward someone isn’t valid evidence to charge them with murder. We all feel resentment toward somebody.Judge: Minen, are you pretending to be an idiot or are you really one? We’re not sure, and sometimes it seems you’re playing both roles. We have enough evidence to think you’re possessed.
Minen: Possessed? By whom or by what?Judge: By a demon or an alien. According to our sources, it could be both.
Minen: Thank God, then maybe I just need an exorcist.
Judge: You lack tact on many occasions; you slap everyone in the face – even people above you – then suddenly you calm down and play the innocent little kitten. According to our examinations, you’re also possessed by Mother Earth. Minen: Mother Earth? What kind of possession is that?Judge: See? You don’t even realize it. We can’t tell when you’re conscious and when you’re not. We have to take you far away from here.
Minen: Is the trial over?
Judge: I declare this hearing closed.Why was Minen practicing moving objects with his mind?What did he need this power for?What were his intentions?Just for fun, or to cause damage? WHY DID HE SUCCEED?
They had no idea what his real abilities were and came up with all sorts of theories – possessions, schizophrenia.
Minen remained locked up for years in his room, training his supernatural powers. The dream of his life had always been to move objects with his mind.
So many things happened that he eventually attracted the attention of the mass media.
Minen – an antisocial young man who meets very few people during the day, since he’s always shut in his room and only goes out to buy cigarettes and groceries.
He lives alone in a remote village among the mountains.
He doesn’t work and lives on welfare.
Young and brilliant, he loves studying.He tells everyone that “they” speak to him with ultrasound from space or from the space agency – he’s so convinced when he says it that he ends up believing it himself.
But nobody believes him except the media.
They believe him because they communicate the same way – with ultrasound.
Nowadays, neither journalists nor law enforcement use earpieces anymore; they simply hear ultrasound.
Many years ago, internal microchips were implanted that transferred data from one ear to the other; now they’re no longer needed.
Today, in 2050, people receive information through ultrasound, but nobody believes Minen because he is deaf.
COME BACK TO YOUR SENSES
Those are the words people say when they no longer want to listen.There are so many things he’d like to do – one of them is to fly, but that might be the last of his abilities.He tries many times.
He throws himself off the balcony with mattresses placed under the window.He practices every day.
These are the first sources.I’m not ruling it out – it needs to be investigated.
They commit the crime and then accuse others. Mr. Pre***, there’s no way to sell information; the mafias are reading my mind.Mr. Pre***, I hung out with all sorts of people; I knew the whole world, I was friends with everyone and everyone loved me.Everyone hosted me: “Come live with us, kid, you’re always welcome”.
They hit me on the head and I forgot everything – the mafia.I don’t know how they did it.
I only remember that after that blow to the head I couldn’t remember anything anymore; I didn’t even know where I was.I knew too much, I saw too much.
Everyone hosted me, and I knew and saw everything, but I always minded my own business – I drew, studied English and math, stayed in my corner studying, read tons of books about dreams; I was a devourer of books and study.
I loved mathematics and numbers.I outsmarted everyone who tried to outsmart me because they thought they were smarter and more advanced than me.
They’re pieces of shit to the point that they won’t buy the destiny of the world and God’s design; they prefer to buy weapons.
The most powerful weapon in the world is to intervene in time.Answer: the matter is very serious, extremely serious.
They left him the package because I left the bag at that En***man’s house – it’s called revenge; the English police take revenge.
It’s not law. Who organized the revenge? The English police? The mayor?Your Honor, ever since I took all these blows to the head I’ve had constant headaches; sometimes it feels like my head is about to explode and I short-circuit.
I know a policeman who keeps swords at home and has killed many people with a sword.I could even procure explosives.
They noticed that instead of admitting my flaw of jealousy, I investigate those who analyze it; according to them I’m able to change people’s character – I look for cures, they try to change character by making people fake, like jou****.
An uncontrolled gesture like putting hands in someone’s face or nose – does it depend on having seen that movement often, and do we do it unconsciously? And is it related to the malice of the person who did it?
The rejection of traditions, the continuation of an event, a photo, a gesture; the need for variety, novelty; boredom, monotony, repetition that irritates; the need for constant newness, for cycles; the feeling that repetition kills you, leads to death – like a bully who keeps humiliating the victim.Techniques used against me for revenge because they said I was the bully – sentenced to 46 years instead of 13, even though I had already been punished and had already changed. No, I won’t stand for it, I won’t accept that shit.
Then he arrives – the devil – and tells me: “Go, you’re free…”He really says it. The En*** pol*** didn’t like the threats to Luma; they’re not joking… don’t trust the En****.
No, Mr. Prosecutor, he has always been a hard-working family man; he never had anything to do with drugs.I can swear it on everyone, even on my father.
I swear it on all of them.I can guarantee it: he never tolerated drugs or dealers.
The poor guy always brought me white chocolate cake; he had a heart of gold.He was a true friend.
But those others were idiots; nobody ever took them seriously.Was the most serious of all; he didn’t mess around with those little fools. In fact, he always told me: “Stay away from drugs – that crowd kills.” He was right; nobody likes dying.The devil says: tell everyone what I showed you…He didn’t get along with M***; he didn’t like him as a person and always criticized him, didn’t hang out with him. Of everyone, I kept close ties only with M*** because he was reliable; I trusted him blindly and he trusted me.
No, I’m not lying; you never used drugs. He only warned people to watch out for this or that person.
Thanks to Satan I always managed to get out of trouble.I remember once I asked him: “Ma***, what effect do drugs have, in your opinion?”He got angry and said: “Drugs? Don’t even think about that stuff!If you ever use them, our friendship ends right here!” Mr. Prosecutor, why don’t you mind your own damn business?Don’t you see he has a family?Think about it: he used to hit his father because he came home drunk – serious, responsible, great worker.
Arrest me, Mr. Prosecutor. Ma*** is innocent, I guarantee it; I’ll accept the sentence.I am the son of Satan…I don’t like prison; I’d rather get killed or hang myself.I just don’t like it.
Better death – at least you don’t suffer. Ma*** is above suspicion: serious, respectable, pays his taxes, has a family, respectful, a good dad. How did they even get to him?
He’s not the devil…I never mentioned him.Mr. Prosecutor, the others were just watching movies like Sc**** or Cops and Robbers.I thought it was a game. Can’t all these prosecutors just retire?
I care about my own skin.
No, he had nothing to do with drugs; he informed me about who wanted to harm me, even from B****– he always knew everything; he was an informer about my enemies. He hated drugs.
He hated dealers.He had it in for Sa**** because he wasn’t doing enough against the mafias.For heaven’s sake, he’s a serious, honest worker and a perfect family man. Suspecting such an honest, good-hearted person seems insane to me.
When someone wanted to hurt me, he only had to talk to friends and he’d find out everything, even movements from Ch***.
Well, the games are over.He was a reliable informer; whenever I had problems he always found out everything, even from South Am***, and I got out of it. I owe him my life; he saved me on several occasions.
They must have realized that the EXP society really exists and that it wasn’t fiction. Mr. Prosecutor, what did you think?
That it was fiction or reality?
The way I told it, it sounded like pure fiction. In fact, it wasn’t believable – not even that I was the founding member.
I was certain nobody would ever think it was all true; I thought the way I wrote the book made it clear it was fiction, so I didn’t even worry about it. But I knew real people, not X accounts or people I’d never met in my life – trustworthy, reliable people.
Real.
No, they’re still investigating and want to know all the members.I don’t remember, Mr. Prosecutor, I don’t remember the names.It wasn’t allowed to let in people you’d never met in real life, only those you trusted.It wasn’t even permitted to reveal its existence except as a movie or invented science fiction.
There were too many criminal organizations like the Freemasons and the m***s.
There had to be real bonds of heart, true love and friendship. Estrangement or mere private acquaintance among friends was not allowed.
While ma***s operate differently, with different kinds of ties. No one was supposed to believe in its real existence, or they would have passed laws against it – even today there are no such laws.
Ste*** Semp***, incollato e dato in pasto a un coccodrillo. Mi*** Lau**, prima accecato e poi tagliato gli organi genitali per farlo morire dissanguato. Devo continuare? Non basterebbe un giorno.
Imputato – Esistono anche criminali indipendenti, associare sempre un delitto a legami con organizzazioni criminali ha solo uno scopo mediatico commerciale. Non capisco perché mi avete coinvolto con questa investigazione con cui io non ho nulla a che fare.
Allora adesso si ricorda? Sta ammettendo le sue colpe? I suoi delitti?
Signor tenente, sto solo facendo il suo gioco, se lei dice che questi sono miei omicidi io la credo, ma ciò non vuol dire che ne sia consapevole. Cosa vuole da me? Una confessione? Sì, sono stato io, se è quello che vuole che io pensi.
Tenente – Lei chiama dei delitti un gioco? Queste parole aggravano la sua posizione. Lei farebbe saltare i nervi anche a un monaco buddhista, le consiglio di collaborare senza fare battute azzardate, le ricordo che sta parlando di fronte alla legge, e che questo non è un film.
Imputato – Se lei è la legge mi dovrebbe dare tutto il potere per difendermi, ma qui sembra che mi siano fatte delle accuse senza prove in mano, sembra che le vostre siano solo insinuazioni.
Adesso le faccio vedere anche le prove. Sicuramente mi dirà che questa persona non è lei, magari è un clone.
Imputato – Vorrei sapere perché sto qui a parlare con voi senza un avvocato, inizialmente sembrava solo un semplice interrogatorio, ora sono uscite accuse di delitti, prove schiaccianti e tutto senza un avvocato.
Qui la legge sono io e io decido se darti un avvocato o meno. Vedi ragazzo, tu ti sei cacciato in un bel guaio e pensavi di Ecco la continuazione del dialogo corretta e migliorata, con lo stesso stile della versione precedente: correzioni grammaticali, ortografiche, di punteggiatura, fluidità e registro linguistico realistico per un contesto poliziesco italiano. Ho reso le battute più naturali, tese e credibili, eliminando ripetizioni e rendendo i personaggi coerenti (il tenente autoritario e aggressivo, l’imputato provocatorio e difensivo). Tenente: …farla franca. Ma non avevi fatto i conti con me, anzi con noi. Avevi calcolato ogni minimo dettaglio alla perfezione, ma qualcosa ti è sfuggito di mano.Imputato: Lei continua con queste accuse, ma io non posso venirle incontro perché non ricordo nulla e non mi posso difendere da una cosa che non so di aver fatto. Per quel che mi riguarda, sta solo bluffando.Tenente: Mi parli quasi da saggio, da persona superiore a me. Mi chiedo dove trovi tutta questa sicurezza, ma credo che a breve non ce l’avrai più.Imputato: Mi chiami un avvocato!Tenente: Crepa!Imputato: Cosa ha detto? Ma che razza di uomo della legge sarebbe lei? Tenente: Che fai ora? Chiami i Carabinieri? Tu sei solo uno sporco assassino, un carnefice che ha rovinato tante famiglie, un verme da fogna. Sai che adesso rimarrai inchiodato su quella sedia per ore, giorni, settimane, finché non avrai risposto a tutte le mie domande. Innanzitutto iniziamo da Lory. Come l’hai conosciuta?Imputato: E chi sarebbe questa Lo**? Nemmeno la conosco.Tenente: Non fare il finto tonto. Sai benissimo di chi sto parlando. L’hai conosciuta in discoteca? Al bar? A noi risulta che la conosci molto bene, anzi benissimo. Hai fatto un…(se il dialogo continua ulteriormente, fammi sapere il seguito!)Questa versione mantiene il tono duro e conflittuale, ma risulta più fluida e professionale nel linguaggio, senza perdere l’intensità drammatica.
Ecco la continuazione del dialogo corretta e migliorata, con correzioni grammaticali, ortografiche, di punteggiatura, fluidità e registro linguistico. Ho reso il testo più naturale, teso e realistico per un interrogatorio poliziesco italiano, mantenendo l’intensità drammatica e i toni aggressivi dei personaggi.Tenente: …macello. Una, due, tre, cento ragazze, mille… le volevi tutte quante e hai creato il caos ovunque andavi. Tutti ti cercavano.Imputato: Io ho sempre chiesto i miei diritti, credo anche in passato. Sapevo già di essere indagato e chiesi ai miei amici di quale reato mi accusassero. Chiedevo solo di poter avere libertà di movimento.Tenente: Tu chiedi la libertà? Forse non hai ancora capito che non avrai più un solo giorno libero in tutta la tua vita!Imputato: Senta, lei sta inventando tutto!Tenente: Rispondi a questa domanda: dove ti trovi?Imputato: So solo che sono in una caserma delle forze dell’ordine. Non so nemmeno come sono finito qui.Tenente: Che ore sono?Imputato: La smetta, che domande sono queste? Tenente: Senti, ragazzo, a me “la smetta” non lo dici, altrimenti ti aggiungo altri cento anni di galera. Dimmi che ore sono.Imputato: Sono le otto di sera.Tenente: Certo, lo hai visto sull’orologio che hai davanti, vedi che sei furbo?Imputato: Mi arresti pure e mi dia l’ergastolo, pur di farla finita con queste cazzate, tenente. Tenente: Prima ti faccio sputare sangue dalle orecchie e ti appendo al lampadario! Adesso ti leggo quello che hai scritto nei messaggi alla tua prima vittima, così magari ti torna la memoria.(se il dialogo continua, mandami il seguito!). Questa versione mantiene il tono duro, minaccioso e provocatorio, ma è più fluida, con un linguaggio più naturale e credibile in un contesto italiano.
Ecco la continuazione del dialogo corretta e migliorata, con correzioni grammaticali, ortografiche, di punteggiatura, fluidità e registro linguistico. Ho reso il testo più naturale, coerente e inquietante (data la natura psicopatica del messaggio), mantenendo l’intensità drammatica e il tono minaccioso, senza alterare il contenuto originale.Tenente: Ti amo alla follia, Luigina. Dal primo momento in cui ti ho vista, mi si sono aperte le palpebre come se avessi visto un angelo.
Non potevo fare altro che armarmi della mia arma di seduzione e farti mia. Io e te, e nessun altro. Con o senza il tuo consenso, io sono venuto a prenderti, amore mio. Bisogna debellare il crimine e io sono l’uomo giusto. Sai quante volte mi sono rivisto The Punish**? Era il mio film preferito. Tu e io, con le mani sporche del loro sangue: di quelli che hanno rovinato la mia vita. Ho scelto te come esca perché sono sicuro che a loro piacerai tantissimo. Ti userò con il cuore in mano e tu farai il mio gioco. Un’esca perfetta per compiere i miei delitti perfetti. Puliremo la società dalla feccia umana: le strade saranno più pulite e puzzeranno meno di fogna. Sarai la regina dei miei affari sporchi, la protagonista delle mie missioni. Ti farò conoscere il senso della vendetta, perché ne hai bisogno anche tu. Sicuro di me stesso, ti farò viaggiare in un altro mondo: quello dell’onore e dell’orgoglio. Saprò farti gustare il senso del potere come solo io posso presentartelo.
Ti piacerà, proverai un gusto estremo nel vedere le loro carcasse viscide, saprai assaporare la loro morte come se fosse il senso della tua vita. Ne faremo a pezzi a decine, a centinaia.Adesso ti dico il mio primo piano: lo chiamerò “Il sacrificio di Satana”. Andrai a casa sua con i tacchi a spillo e la borsa rossa.
Ti vestirai con calze a rete e gonna corta. Sarai molto attraente e ti lascerò anche tanti pezzi da 500 euro nel portafoglio, che gli mostrerai per farlo stare tranquillo.Tenente: Come me lo spieghi questo? Secondo te chi stava scrivendo? Adesso ti faccio leggere i capitoli successivi.
Tenente: Luigina, ho parlato con i Gre** e vogliono comprare gli organi. Ma tu glieli devi cucinare. Non vogliono nulla di crudo e si vogliono gustare tutto con le spezio (se il dialogo continua con la reazione dell’imputato o altro testo, mandami il seguito!). Questa versione rende il messaggio letto dal tenente più fluido e terrificante, con un linguaggio più coerente e un ritmo che aumenta la tensione psicologica, pur restando fedele al contenuto originale.
Luca Cappai 