THE TOOL (Book 09) | Capability, Reliability & THE ÀṢẸ PORTRAITS

Описание: “A checklist with bloodless precision.”

THE TOOL is Book 09 of THE ÀṢẸ PORTRAITS, a stand-alone work of urban literary fiction exploring the moment where mastery becomes a cage. In the cold light of workshops and restricted zones, a maintenance worker discovers that the more he can fix, the less he is allowed to leave. This is contemporary noir about the "bloodless precision" of a system that doesn’t need your name—it only needs your hands to move when the code arrives.

In the series’ hidden architecture, this volume is tuned to the Odù Ìká (represented by the code IIIX). While the Òrìṣà remains unnamed on the page, the "narrative physics" is defined by the torque in the hands and the weight of obligation. Here, Àṣẹ is the system’s muscle: the friction between what you could do and what you are required to do.

The soundscape for this portrait is cinematic alt-pop / darkwave. It features a hypnotic, mid-tempo beat with light industrial textures, warm synth bass, and glassy arpeggios that mirror the rhythmic, repetitive nature of technical procedure.

The Lyrics:

"Checklist With Bloodless Precision"

[Verse 1]
Badge to the reader. Wait for the beep. The room is lit like the light is rented. Coffee, disinfectant, metal in the air. I start with the list because the list doesn’t argue.
Keys on the ring. Count them twice.
One has the wrong engraving. I don’t say it out loud.

[Pre-Chorus]
Green is just a color. Red is just a rule. The city loves a checkbox more than it loves the truth.

[Chorus]
Checklist with bloodless precision, make me clean enough to do the harm. Escort required, camera watching— I fix the gate and I become the arm. I tighten what I’m told is broken, I log it like it never had a name. If capability becomes domination, tell me where to put the blame.

[Verse 2]
Work order language. Verbs only. Inspect / identify / cut / verify. No story, no grief, no pride. Metal filings under a sealed box—not much. Enough.
Task key returned. Receipt clipped. They slide my radio back like mercy. “Next,” they say, like a door.

[Bridge]
The ticket has no fault code. It has an instruction.
Morning comes in bright angles. The workshop stays bright.
They take the objects back. They keep the function moving. And my hands are still clean enough to tighten what they’ll demand.

[Outro]
Three marks and a cut.

Key Question

When does capability turn into obligation?

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