See the shockwave slowly spread, Palmieri’s death the pebble in time-space pond. See the circle silently wide. The seat, the tall Vox building rising from the countryside just outside the city, was boiling. Murder stress. People talked about the developments. The environment was oversensitized. Invisible electric arcs ran between the structure’s worried residents. From the employees, to the executives, to the programmers. You didn’t need to listen to the hundreds of tiny speeches whispered through the corridors. You knew what they were talking about. Lend your ear, hear them talk about a dead designer - just a check. Someone raised their eyes and watched you passing. They knew you were one of the victim’s co-workers and that was all, for now. Most likely they didn’t know the police found one of the victim’s co-workers on the place, for now.
Some shining soul had come up with the idea of hanging a photo mural of Palmieri in the cubicle room. It seemed like the image’s source was a possible promo picture for his next software, whatever it would have been. His large glassy eyes watched you, astonished and grainy for the enlargement. It could have been worse. For example, he could have been killed later, when the event would have spawned much more murals.
When Oscar entered Durante’s office Durante was sleeping. The office was located at the far end of the cubicle room, the large space where Oscar and all the others pretended to work a varying number of hours a day.
Durante, head laid on top of the seatback, was quietly snoring from his mouth, his chest rhythmically going up and down, pen frozen in the middle of a phrase on a A4 sheet. Here’s one who must have suffered murder stress full force. Something was telling Oscar that letting him sleep would have been the best thing for his emotional balance.
He clapped his hands. Durante woke up with a gasp, finished writing the phrase, and stopped. Looked up to Oscar and jumped in the chair.
-Oscar! How long’ve you been here?
-Some seconds.
-Have I been sleeping?
-Yes. Narcolepsy. Or moments of darkness, as Durante called them. On to off in half a second, no warning, and totally random. | 
