I was about to write in past. About to write: "his name was...".

But due to the same reason I'm writing here and now, I promised myself not to do that.

He exists. He's still out there, only that we're not able to see him. Like a coloured dot in a cascade of white noise, waiting to be spotted. I prefer to think that way.

I knew his name was gonna mean a lot to me since I heard it for the first time five months ago. I had been living in Atlanta since the beginning of 2012 but I was struggling with myself. It was a mad mixture of newnesses. New country, new culture, new pace, new way of life. All of that was apparently beating me off. I felt pretty alone for my first eight months in the USA. He changed that.

His name was Ferran Vega and he was from Madrid, Spain. His reasons to move to Georgia weren't distant from mine. An urgent combination of financial despair, appetite for experiences, desire for a change, lack of immediate perspective and simple curiosity. He was tender in manners and brave, almost violently, in his thoughts. Poet, scholar, passionate about history and philosophy. A very complex mind of his own.

He disappeared about five weeks ago. Last thing he did was creating this blog for unknown purposes.

I am the only one who knows that last part. For now.

I feel the recent events have inevitably pushed me here, as if my will was submitted to that of a greater, unreachable power. Amongst his blogger username and password, I discovered some things about my friend that could only be desribed as disturbing.

I'm gonna be using this blog to post any hints and discoveries I may find in my research. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing, yet I find myself unable to operate differently.

My friend is out there and I'm gonna find out whatever happened to him.

My name is Jérémy and that's all you need to know for now.