Project "Eye" Part 4

So, gentlemen, it is done!

Immediately I would like to apologize for the lack of publication last weekend - there was a global rethinking of the main storyline, and not only, I'm sorry.
')
I also changed the approach to writing a little bit and now I’m spending more time on just one character, but no one is forgotten and nothing is forgotten, of course. Now the story will be more decentralized and large-scale, I decided not to put all my eggs in one basket named Deimos and unleash the idea of ​​my anti-utopian world.

The text was written mainly on the accompaniment of the vocal-instrumental ensemble “Hanging loop knot” or simply “Slipknot” among the people.


In VK music is right here .

For those who do not understand what is happening here and what kind of publication:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

The text itself, as always, under the cut.

---

Oliver walked through the night streets of the ghetto again. What Petty told him did not require a long comprehension. Oliver was in a hurry to get away from the dangerous streets of the capital's suburb. After walking with a dozen blocks, he went to his district, where, with mixed success, he lived the last couple of years. He reached his destination only when it was already light. Turning into one of the gateways, Oliver entered the multi-storey building, climbed to the second floor and finally found himself in the apartment, which he called his own.

The first thing that needed to be done was to extract stocks, weapons and generally collect simple belongings. It was time to get out of the ghetto, because the appearance of the Commander promised only one thing - he would have to return to the line.

Oliver took a piece of pipe, which stood at the head of the mattress, and with a few short but strong blows, knocked some of the bricks out of the wall. At one time, he paid dearly to the old bricklayer to make it look as though no one had touched this wall since the revolution. I had to throw out even more for his silence, because it was impossible to strangle the old man in a quiet way, a too noticeable person with many clients. Sooner or later, his brigade masters would have put two and two together and found the hapless killer.

Having dumped the remains of the brick by the end of the pipe to the floor, Oliver removed from the caches an old but sturdy army backpack, berets, a traveling set of clothes, shoulder holsters and two antediluvian but neatly oiled and wrapped in Glock rags. As practice has shown, nine-millimeter cartridges are still easier to buy or barter than the high-tech stores of modern submachine guns, and full armor, or at least helmets, is rarely found among free gangs. Yes, and with a shot through the leg, and, even more so, his head, it is difficult to catch up with someone and rob.

Oliver carefully put his belongings on the mattress, dropped the trampled and sometimes torn shoes on the floor and sat down to wind the clean footwomen extracted from the bowels of the backpack. When he was already laced up his berets, the door to the room abruptly and with a creak opened. On the threshold stood Melky for a couple with some big man. The huckster's eyes were running and, as soon as the door was completely opened, he hurried a whisk behind the big man holding a sawn-off shotgun in his hands.

- Hello, Ollie! - From behind the peasant's back Petty immediately started talking. “You are the one, but Tommy pays more than a couple of glasses.”

- With a brigadier pinned? - Oliver glanced at the already-charged and neatly lying on the glok, a couple of minutes ago, ready to go into the holsters. Too far. And even if he had time to reach them, the edge in the hands of the big man did not leave him a chance, and Oliver did not want to die so stupidly.

- You fl, do not twitch. - Minor drew a parallel between his eyes and the Glocs and assessed the situation. - This guy, though taciturn, but a nervous, slegontsa, do not aggravate. And listen, Tommy, he wants to grind.

- What does the Brigadier need from me then? - Oliver quite successfully depicted astonishment on his face.

- Yes, you yourself know. - Minor rubbed his nose and continued, - Ollie, come on, get up. I will take your belongings and we will sink down, without incident. I, this, do not need adventure, ok? Grind with Tommy and decide for yourself, ok?

There was no exit. If only the Little One stood in the doorway, then Oliver would try to take him to the reaction and jerk through the mattress to the glock, and then they would have looked who was more precise. But in the doorway there was one of the brigade’s chained dogs with a sawn-off shotgun. The shotgun did not leave Oliver a chance at a distance of five meters: the affected area was too large and there was no place to hide from a shot.

- Okay, just give me some shoes. - Oliver carefully laced his wrist and reached for his jacket.

- Uh, stand by. - For the first time, the big man spoke. - In the corner walked away. Small pockets check, then dress.

Oliver, backing away from the edge of the barrel, went to the opposite corner of the room. A small man slipped under the barrel of the big man and swung the jacket for the presence of a weapon, took a homemade lead brass knuckles from his left pocket and, finding nothing more dangerous, said:

- Norm everything. Hey, Ollie, I'll put your clothes in your bag, then return them, okay? - Without waiting for an answer, he began to throw Oliver's belongings into a backpack.

“Healthy,” Oliver told the brigadier, “yes, you.” Listen, look to this one, - he nodded at Petty, - he didn’t snatch something from me. I understand your boss is not going to wet me.

- Close your mouth and raise your paws higher. - Oliver replied the big guy.

- Hush hush. My job is to warn. If you put up something, I will fill it up myself. - Oliver is already beginning to enrage all this.

Small quite quickly finished fees and didn’t even seem to have appropriated anything to himself. Tightening the neck of the backpack, he hardly threw it over his shoulder and threw Oliver his jacket.

“After you, Saeer.” - Fine handed, pointing to the door, and the other pulling out, more for confidence than a revolver ready to shoot. “Let's not make Tommy wait, Saeer.”

Throughout the entire journey to the headquarters of the brigade, the bruiser kept him at gunpoint, which completely excluded the possibility of escape. As they passed the nearest checkpoint, two more escorts joined them: one was walking alongside the big guy, and the other in front of Oliver. Reaching the very center of the protected area, Oliver and the company entered a non-ordinary four-story building and began to descend - Tommy preferred to keep the headquarters underground, which was, in places, stupid and self-confident: break through the troops to the bunker and it, together with its entourage, would turn in cornered rats. Cornered and doomed basement rats.

Oliver was held in narrow corridors to one of the rooms, apparently to the meeting room or the brigadier's office. There, Tommy was already waiting for him and his right hand was Hoarse Joe.

Hoarse Joe was strikingly different from his patron. Nature has not endowed him with the physical power inherent in Tommy, but rewarded him with a sharp mind. A very dangerous person and a talented strategist were hiding in the thin, bony body of an already elderly brigadier. Joe didn’t inspire animal fear in his appearance, and for this reason, he probably preferred to remain with his brigadier’s right hand and act on his behalf — no one wanted to anger Tommy.

Oliver was seated on a stool stowed together and the whole convoy, except Small, walked out the door.

Tommy looked at his "guest". Having played with huge muscles in his arms, he got up from his chair, walked over to Oliver and swung sharply. He expected that they would beat him, but he was just surprised that so quickly and without talking. Tommy at the last moment stopped the strike and straightened the collar of Oliver’s jacket, patting him on the shoulder of his hand.

- Look, with the eggs. Similarly, he. - Brigadier turned away from Oliver. - Small, give him back the backpack.

“Uh, boss, there it’s, the trunks inside ...” began Petty.

- I told someone to return it! And come on, get the settlement from the senior shift. - Roared at Tommy Petty.

Hoarse Joe has not yet stuck and just watched from the corner of the room. Tommy checked the exit of Petty, and then turned to Oliver and asked head on:

- Will you drink?

- Yes. - Do not lose Oliver.

- Whiskey, of course?

- If there is.

Tommy grunted under his breath and walked over to the closet against the wall. Opening it, he took two glasses, took out a dusty bottle and, satisfied with the inscription on the label, unscrewed the cork in one motion.

- Single malt, still prewar. The penultimate, if that. - Tommy splashed half a glass and returned to Oliver and handed him a whiskey. - Hoarse does not drink, sober. And you on, hold, you will pour water itself, there are ware. - Tommy nodded his head in the direction of the table on which stood posharpany marching bowler.

Oliver, realizing that there was no longer any reason to give up and kick in, decided to enjoy a drink. He sniffed the contents of the glass and realized that, even if it was his last day, he was far from the worst in his life. Sipping and drinking the temples, he drank half a glass in a gulp and felt the soft hot ball sink into the stomach. In another situation, one could say that now, de, one could even die, but now it would look too literal. After waiting for the first portion to settle, he rose from the stool, went to the table with a glass and splashed some water. At this time, Tommy watched his actions with a look of approval.

- And really steel eggs. Like at home. - Tommy laughed out loud. - How are the whiskey?

- Good.

- Well, Oliver Steele, let's talk?

- Easy.

He did not care. Oliver realized that he had been under Tommy's cap for a long time, perhaps from the very day he, the Steel General, had set foot on the ghetto land. He hated this nickname, it seemed to him stupid and inappropriate, but he could not do anything about it.

- You are called Steel for your exposure, right? - asked the foreman.

- For the last name.

- Good joke.

- Or maybe not a joke. - Oliver answered with a grin. - But better call me by name. I'm retired.

- Which you made yourself.

- Exactly.

- From the resistance does not go away on their own. And like you - just feet first. - Tommy answered.

- As you can see, they leave on their own two.

“The commander was looking for you, Oliver.” Across the country threw a cry.

- I know.

- And he is in the city.

Oliver silently took a sip from the glass. The whiskey bouquet was so amazing that even this conversation could not spoil it.

- So Petty did not lie?

- The small one is still skinned, but honestly baryzhit that with dust, whores, that infoy. - Tommy is more comfortable sitting on a chair. - Otherwise I would not have lived that long.

“So what do you want from me guys?”

At this moment, Hoarse Joe stirred in his corner and spoke for the first time:

- It's simple. We are here to clarify the situation to you, Steel. - Oliver winced at the mention of his stupid nickname, and Joe got up from his chair and slowly began to pace around the room. - Look. You have been sitting under our nose for two years, and we have only expanded in recent months. They would have slid earlier - would have been held in high esteem by the Commander, and so - for us a joint. Of course, they looked after you, the alien, but that Oliver Steele himself came to us and did not even think about it. That's who will hide in plain sight?

- Anyone who does not want to be found. - Oliver replied.

- Well, I thought so too. And I sent you a message with Melky. The reaction was amazing, as a gift straight. Was there a tasty note? - Joe stopped at one of the walls and abruptly turned to Oliver. - We cant, Oliver, but you are in shit to the ears. So be kind, do what the Commander wants from you and we will all remain safe. You yourself must understand that you have only two ways. One of them leads to the grave.

- When will I see him?

- You will not kick? If you will, then it is easier for us to take your head off the edge right now, to say that you are mistaken and maybe blow over. But we hope you have brains. - Joe looked closely at Oliver. “I persuaded Tommy not to drench you right away, but to talk first.” You are not the last person in the resistance, in any case, was not the last. Idiots do not climb so high. And here it smells fried, for everyone.

- And thanks for that without assault. - Oliver reached out on a stool and sipped some more whiskey. - I want to live, so you reasoned correctly.

- Good. Finish it and go.

- Can at least not rush?

- With Tommy's pre-war whiskey and hurry? He will unscrew our heads. - Joe grinned and looked at his patron. - Yes, Tommy?

- By itself. - Replied the Brigadier. - Sit a little and go. At the same time think that the main thing you say.

After about ten minutes with alcohol, Oliver got up, picked up a backpack lying on the ground and handed it to Joe:

- Can you watch? I do not think that you will let me go to the Commander with a weapon, even if in a bag.

- You think correctly. Okay, your bag will be safe, come on. - Joe answered.

The three of them left the room, first Tommy, followed by Oliver and closed the procession to Joe. The latter, as promised, himself carried the hands of the fugitive in his hands, not trusting the cargo to someone else.

“See how courteous. So we are all really in a shit. ” - Oliver thought. Having a little strayed along the corridors of the basement, they went out to another door. Tommy himself opened it and gestured for Oliver to enter.

- Oh, Tommy. Bring darling? - The voice belonged to the Commander, a large, already completely gray-haired old man, sitting at a small desk in a semi-dark office room. Perhaps once he was handsome, but the time and burden of partisan life left their mark on him. The weathered, wrinkled skin of the face was cut into a pair of scars on her left cheek. Sharp, long, but once broken and incorrectly accreted nose, dull, deep-set gray eyes. - Hello, Oliver. Tommy, go on, myself.

Oliver stopped right behind the door, which the Brigadier Ghetto closed behind him. He looked at the old man in the chair and tried to understand what he was up to. The commander of the resistance, the leader of the partisans, the leader of the revolutionary forces (as soon as he was not called!) Was also silent. After a very long twenty to thirty seconds for Oliver, he spoke again:

- Sit down, my friend, sit down. We have a lot to talk about. - The commander did not take his eyes off Oliver. - And you look even younger than before, you won't even give thirty-five. A quiet life has benefited, right?

- Life in the Metropolitan Ghetto is hardly calm.

- Still easier than at the forefront?

- By itself. Compared.

- Why, Oliver? Woman? Thirst for freedom? Why?

The old man looked upset. Oliver expected any reaction from him. Anger, contempt, hatred, but not grief.

- I'm tired, Matt. - He answered the old man.

- tired? What do you mean tired? I could understand the woman and family, Oliver, the desire to die of overdose dust or sleep, but fatigue? - The commander perked up and spoke with every word louder and louder. “Tired, Oliver?” How many guys have you led, how many have you sent for suicide missions? Oliver! How dare you talk about fatigue? - He made a short pause and continued:

“We have dedicated our lives to the struggle, and if you have forgotten, you owe me.”

- And it seems to me that I have already paid off all the debts to you. For years his life has paid off. - retorted Oliver.

The old man, having heard his words, clenched his teeth and half-talking, said:

“I created you, Oliver.” Already at twenty-five you became a member of the headquarters, the youngest. Many at your age then rotted in arms on the front line, and you fucked the girls and occasionally went to the raids.

- You know very well how difficult it is to send people to death! - Oliver could not resist and broke down on the cry. - Do you know how many died through my fault? Because of my mistakes and decisions? I stopped counting on the third thousand, Matt! And if you can sleep at night, sending young boys with ancient carbines in their hands to death, then I can not! I can not anymore! We have nothing against soldiers in full ammunition! They are not even always take heavy machine guns, and after the restoration of the production of combat drones, we were in complete ass! No, Matt, thanks!

- That is, you, when pressed, decided to escape, yes, Oliver? Throw these inexperienced boys, quit fighting comrades, give up everything you believed in and end your life with a pen in your side in this ghetto? Yes? - The commander, too, began to shout in response. - YES?

“I don't want to be a killer anymore, Matt.”

- Killer ?! You are the maniac! Oliver, you fucking maniac! Remind me what you did with the wagon train traveling under escort to the new Capital twenty years ago? When was he just taken to headquarters? How many women and children were there, Oliver ?! - Oral commander.

There was silence.

“Three hundred people plus two dozen escort fighters.” - He answered quietly.

- Yes it is. And you, it was you, not me, who ordered you to save ammo after the escort was killed. You and your squad killed three hundred people with a rifle butt! Half of your squad started to mind after that, and you even that! And now you say you're tired ?!

- You're wrong, Matt.

- What is it ?!

- Not at least what.

The commander jumped up from his chair and walked over to Oliver, looking at him angrily:

- Ah, conscience torments? So, my Steel General, what is happening now, compared to that wagon train, is baby talk.

Oliver did not know what to answer the old man. He folded his hands in the lock and stared at his fingers.

- What do you mean? He asked Matt without raising his head.

The commander instantly lost all his militancy and tiredly ran his hand over his face.

“A war is coming, Oliver, a full-scale war.” That is why I have been looking for you for the past year, but not to be executed as a deserter. Although it would be worth hanging you on a pole by the eggs and tearing the belly. The capital received a total advantage. Weapon Weapons, Oliver, with whom we can not handle the standard methods.

Matt returned to his chair and continued:

- I have only one question: are you ready to save ten times more people than you killed?

Oliver was at a loss. Departing from the resistance, he thoroughly knew what was happening on the continent. Stalemate situation. No one could gain the upper hand and a tacit world was declared, although the resistance was stirring up the discontent of ordinary people with all their might.

“I don't understand ...” he began.

“Just say,” Matt interrupted him, “are you ready to save more than you killed?”

He did not know what to say to his old friend and commander. There was a struggle inside Oliver. Nearly three decades of war, violence, murder broke down something inside. Is he offered atonement? How? How can you redeem what he did with his own hands or what he gave orders for? How?

- Good. Tell me.

“Are you sure, Oliver?”

- At least I want to live. And without consent, you do not need me. - Oliver replied.

- Believe me, my friend, when you find out what's the matter, you yourself will want to return.

- Good. - repeated Oliver.

, - . , .

— . — .

— ? — .

— . . , , , , .

— ?

. , , , .

— . — .

— ? , . . — «» , , . — .

- Exactly. . — , . — , .

.

— ? , — , — , ? — . — , , .

, .

— , , . . — . — , , , , . , ?

— , ! — . — . , , , ? — . — . — , , , , . . , , , . , !

— . — . — .

, . , — . , .

— , - . — .

— .

. , , , , , . « . » — . , :

— -. . So. . , . — - . - So. , -, , . , «». — . — . — , , , , . . — . — , . .

- , . , - , , , . .

— — , , . , — . , . ?

. , .

— — . — . — , . . Getting started!

, . . , , , . , , . , : , .

— , . — .

, , . , , , . , , , .

— - . , , , . — .

. , — . , , . . — . , :

— «», : , , , , , — 5-7 . , , — . , .

. . , .

— ? — - .

— «», . — . — — . 200 , , . , . . .

. -, , :

— ?

— , , .

— ? — .

:

— … , . , . , , . . , , .

, .

— , , . — . — - , , .

— , , .

975
, , . . , , , , , . , , . , . , , .

, . , . , . , , — .

984
, . — . . . - . , , , , .

990
. , - , .

. , — , , . , , . .

1000 0100 1001
. . . .

...



.

. , , , .

— , ?

. , - , . , — , , .

— ? — , .

— , . , . — . — , , , . , , , - , . . — . — , ?

— . — . — , .

---

. , , GT , VK «» . .

, , , .

5.