Internet of Things: four stories about technology

^{Anatoly Sazanov illustration}

I decided to share with you four stories with "intriguing" titles:
')

• Augmented Reality
• Smart House
• AI
• Blockchain

Unites them (as you have already noticed) the mention of various fashionable IT-words. They are all shoved everywhere anyway, so why can't I?

A bit unstable (and not always scientific) and joyless fiction under the cut.

Augmented Reality

Morning 4421

I spend twenty-three hours a day, not seeing or hearing anything around. I am deprived of hearing, of sight, I cannot move. Just think, go crazy or - if you are very lucky - sleep.

That is my punishment.

“You thought war was a picnic?” They told me evil when they were sentenced. Completely forgetting that it was they who made me believe.

I try to move my arms and legs. While moving, although creaking shamelessly. A few throwings into the river did not benefit my exoskeleton. I open my eyes and see the usual twilight, the colonnade, and behind it the cars rush with a buzz. Everything as usual.

I crawl out of my hiding place onto a path leading around the memorial mound to a wide staircase. Early morning and the stairs are empty. In a few giant jumps I climb up. Several cars are buzzing after me. Maybe, however, they are not at all to me. But from the harsh sounds, I still instinctively try to press my head into the shoulders. They are not blind, and they see the stigma.

The stamp on the case was set at the same moment as they took away my voice.

I am upstairs, on the observation platform, and I start sluggishly digging in garbage cans. It is necessary to be careful, you can not drop any fragments or scraps. You can not give a reason.

From here there is a view of the square, which modern architects have tried to make solemn, imitating the ancient masters. Whether they miscalculated, or was this Martian dust disfigured frilly facades, but the square began to resemble a tomb. She was surrounded by dead gray-gloomy houses with eternally black holes in the windows.

Except one.

It was a hostel for refugees from the contaminated zones, and he had notoriety. He was considered a breeding ground for infection and was called “Leprozorium”. Although, of course, it was not infected and could not be. From the infected zones were released only after total disinfection.

Those who survived, of course.

On the house with a sweeping scribble was written “leper = traitor”.

- Are you warming yourself in the glory of someone else? - someone utterly pronounced over his ear and coughed. I pulled my hands out of the trash can and just in case took a couple of steps to the side before turning around. A man with pock marks in half his face looked at me unkindly, shaking from the cold morning wind. He was wearing the uniform of the City Service, he was holding a tablet, and the cleaning robots were scurrying around, picking up cigarette butts from cracked plates.

- Gryasya, while you can, - continued the man, now and then coughing. - Soon you will be expelled to the infected zones. There and the road. - He raised his head up to the monument, and suddenly shone: - Eh, why are you not born ten years earlier ...

I involuntarily continued his look. On a high pedestal, a huge radiant exoskeleton barely stood on its feet, overcoming, holding back fiery rain. The exoskeleton was a copy of mine, but without a stigma. The inscription on the pedestal read: “To the defenders from the Fourth Armada”.

Yes, they protected.

And the first armada protected. And the second.

And we are not.

The third wave reached Earth. We will never be forgiven for this.

I stood at attention and waited for the employee to leave with his robots. Apparently, they will not leave me a single gram of aluminum, and I will have to make a risky sally into the courtyards. But the employee was not in a hurry at all, walking around the monument and muttering something maliciously under his breath. The open spots on his face were of extraterrestrial origin. The burning sensation in his throat, which makes him expectorate every minute, is also. I could understand him if he tried to understand me.

I have little time to live. I grew bolder, took a few steps, and jerked down the steps. When I reached the transition, I waited for the green signal and quickly ran across the roadway, being at the Leprozoria. If you turn the corner and sneak along the wall, you can get to the courtyard garbage. Refugees throw little, but still happens.

My attention is drawn to the car approaching the hostel. She disgustedly stops ten meters to the entrance, without touching the tires puddles on the sidewalk. A woman with a huge bag in her hand gets out of the car. He rises right into the center of the puddle, plunging ankle-deep, and takes out a baby of about three from the back seat. The child is well-trimmed, and I can not guess at all whether it is a girl or a boy. The woman closes the door and says something to the driver with a smile, but he takes off without hearing.

I walk along the sidewalk, clinging to the wall of the house, and they pass by me, holding hands. A bag hanging on the shoulder of a woman hits me on the iron knee, the recoil almost drops it. The woman turns to me and says, looking straight at the stigma:

- Sorry.

The baby stops and also turns his head towards me. And ... smiles?

The woman straightens the bag on her shoulder and slightly pulls the child by the hand.

- Come on, Molly.

They go to the entrance to the hostel. The doorbell rings and disappears behind it. In parting, Molly gives me another smile.

This smile paralyzes me. I do not notice how another pedestrian rudely pushes me aside. From the mound a city employee is still watching me. I dive into the gateway and hide there until he leaves. Then I return to my shelter. In the far, dark corner, I push back the stone barrier and see a pale pink glow.

Amanita martial.

After rubbing the foil I got into the dust, I carefully sprinkle mycelium and — especially carefully — the mushrooms that have spilled. These can often be found in contaminated areas, in dark corners of landfills. If you carefully dig and pull out the mycelium along with the ground, you can avoid infection. If you touch them carelessly, carelessly, the mushrooms will burst, spraying millions of spores.

When they grow up, I'm going to touch them very casually.

Crush foot to hell.

With this in mind, I perched on my “sleeping stone” and curled up, counting the last minutes of freedom.

Not that the thought of revenge warmed me so much. I knew it was pointless. He knew that it was sacrilegious. He knew it was wrong. Father would not praise for that. But the father was the first to turn away from me after the defeat. In this sense, I have nothing to lose.

But if you do not think about revenge, you will have to think about how much time is left before it is turned on again. And at the end of the twenty-third hour I will think only about one thing.

Will they include me at all? Or leave my mind to rot in this steel kennel?

Morning 4422

I was turned on.

This should symbolize great mercy. This should mean the chance of redemption granted to me.

For me, this does not symbolize a damn and does not mean.

“We won twice already,” we were told. “Be worthy of the First and Second Armada,” they told us. Oh yeah. We were ready. Were ready to return winners like them. Were ready to walk proudly in parades. Were ready to accept congratulations, drop a tear on the fallen, put in boundless devotion to the Earth. Of course, we were ready, we are children who grew up on the chronicles of the First Armada, eagerly sticking to the screens during the celebrations of the Second Armada. We were ready for what we saw all our lives.

Only here we were not ready to kill. Seeing how they die were not ready. And someone up there, it seems, was still not ready for the fact that the third wave would be several times larger than the previous ones.

Each missed capsule stuck into the conscience, like a splinter. Each of us considered himself guilty. Probably, it seemed to us very noble, to blame only myself for failure.

But to others it seemed very convenient.

The morning reminded me of that. A traitor was written across the body with a marker. Surely adolescents, adults, solid people do not rummage in such suspicious dark corners. Thanks at least not thrown into the river, as last time. Sorry.

Sorry ...

I have nothing to reproach myself for. We held back the attack as best we could. Probably, I was not the fastest, the most agile. Probably, I was not even brave. But anyone who would have told me then that I did not try, would have fist in the face.

Now, of course, speak with impunity.

But when we were driven to Earth, to intercept the first burst capsules - a meaningless undertaking, because they then broke through with thousands! - I first ran to one of them. Ran to see the enemy in the face.

I felt the smell of burning. No, it is not in the memories, it is in reality. And the smell, of course, only seemed to me — I just noticed the smoke and heard the crackle of the flame.

Burned "Leperous".

Jumping out of my hiding place, I saw smoke coming from the windows of the fourth floor. In the distance, a siren howled, fire engines raced through the maze of streets. Passers-by were throwing a fleeting glance at the raging flames and, realizing that the house was on fire, they moved on about their business. The cars were whispering maliciously, standing at the traffic lights, and drove on when the green light came on.

I narrowed my augmented eyes. The door of the house opened, and people poured out of it. They poured out and stopped under the windows with their heads up. They didn't care.

The last woman appeared in the doorway - the one who just arrived yesterday. She was dragged by force and thrown onto the sidewalk, and when she tried to return, she was shoved roughly out of the door.

- admiring creature? - there was a familiar cough nearby. The garbage admiral and his garbage flotilla walked around me, frozen on the stairs. His voice brought me to my senses. I jumped down, leaving a terrible crack on the sidewalk, and jerked across the street right under the wheels of the cars. The cars were buzzing, but they didn’t even think to slow down.

I ran up to “Leprozoria” and grabbed the manipulators into the ugly stucco. Because of the turn with a crash and squeal taxied a fire truck. They will probably tell me to step aside.

“Stand aside, son.” It sounded then almost affectionately. And then the foreman shot into the capsule with a shotgun and, not allowing me to come to his senses, hit me with the butt.

Therefore, I did not wait, but crawled to the top. Crawled, clutching at the window sills and the frame. Clinging to the cracks in the walls, for pretentious growths, for fixing antennas.

On the fourth floor, I knocked out the glass and dived straight into the raging child. Having twisted my vision to the maximum, I, like a dog looking for a host, rushed from door to door, looking and listening.

I found Molly in the bathroom of one of the farthest apartments. I do not know how she guessed to huddle there, closing the door tightly, but it saved her life. I kicked out the door, picked her up and jumped back into the corridor. Breaking down the elevator shaft door, I looked down and up: the elevator was hanging below, in flames. Having shaken, I clung to the cable and climbed up, holding the girl to me. She clung tenaciously to me, closing her eyes in fear. She still does not know that we adults are doing the same.

In a few jumps, having reached the last, sixth floor, I climbed onto the technical floor, and from there - knocking out the hatch - climbed onto the roof. There I sat, leaning against the wall of the exit of the ventilation shaft. He sat down, holding the girl in his arms.

She opened her eyes and looked at me. Her face was slightly soiled with soot. She was wearing a gray jumpsuit, larger than her in size, worn over a white T-shirt. Cold wind pierced her to the bone. I moved away so as not to cool her even more.

- Where is mom? She asked.

I stretched out one hand and showed her down. The girl stretched her head in that direction, but saw nothing - it was far to the edge of the roof. Down below there was a noise, crash and abusive cries of firefighters.

Molly put her trembling hand in her pocket, took out a crumbled piece of biscuit and immediately put it in her mouth. Looks like it calmed her down a bit, and she asked me:

- I'm cold. Give me a hug.

Without waiting for an answer, she pressed herself against the cold metal. Weakly or strongly - I did not feel. The exoskeleton was not created for this.

“Hug me,” she repeated.

I covered her hands, carefully, trying not to damage.

And she stopped trembling.

It was wrong. It was illogical. It was contrary to all the laws of physics. I would tell her if I could say that the most reasonable thing for her is to curl up on the roof itself, shutting off the wind from the wind. But do not cling to the cold metal case.

But she snuggled and warmed up. And, breathing more evenly, she asked for more:

- Sing me a little song.

I could not.

They took my voice. Will I remember my last sentence before the verdict? Why did I say her?

Oh yes.

Indeed, in the capsule was a living thing. Of course, I didn’t know for sure ... But neither did the foreman. He saw the same as me. The creature huddled in the corner of the capsule was not a killer. It was not a soldier. It was not a fanatic. It was a scared child.

“Stand aside, son,” the foreman said to me then. Shot, blow - and now we are flying back, I am constrained and disarmed, and he leaned toward my ear: “Sorry, ssuka? And you have not regretted our children, eh? Do you know what infection they brought with them? ”

He was right. He was monstrously logical rights. Whether it was special or accidental, but they brought with them alien flora and fauna. What was it - favorite cactus pots? Hamsters in cages? Herbarium hidden between the pages of books? The acorns typed in a pocket? For us it was death. Infected zones appeared where the broken capsules fell.

Therefore, I was then returned to service and again gave the order to kill. And I killed. I executed all their orders, knowing full well whom I was shooting at. We were still found guilty and still judged.

It was then that I allowed myself to admit that I felt sorry for them.

“I killed them because it was necessary. But I could not regret them flying through space to certain death. It would be inhuman. ”

These words were worth the voices.

I suddenly realized that I was shaking Molly from side to side and muttering to myself some forgotten melody.

I suddenly realized that Molly was following me.

She could not hear me. No one could hear me. I did not have a voice!

She sang along with me for a minute, and then fell asleep wearily. Behind her, my body fell asleep. Vision disappeared, sound disappeared. I froze, sitting on the roof, with her in my arms. I could only hope that the fire would be extinguished and they would find us. Twenty-three hours I just thought about it.

If only they did not decide that she died.

If only they had time before the flame gets to the roof.

If only they had time before the house collapses.

You are welcome.

Morning 4423

I wake up at the bottom of the river. I sigh to myself, roll over and crawl to the embankment on all fours. Clinging to the potholes in the concrete that I made last time, I pull myself to the surface. I cling to the park fence, drag myself through it and fall into the flower beds. Without waiting for the guards, I immediately rush to the exit and hide in the gateway. Winding in the courtyards, in twenty precious minutes I get to my native square. From afar I see a shining monument. I run a little more under the disapproving rumble of cars - and I see black-and-wide windows, dead, burnt. From the windows every now and then people pop out in shape and carefully consider something. Patrol car at the entrance. A crowd of residents surrounded a woman with a child. When I see a girl, I feel both joyful and sad at the same time.

Glad from the fact that she is alive.

Sad from the world in which she will live.

I can not hear the words, but I see that the residents shout at the woman. Take turns, supporting each other with an approving hum. The policeman stands nearby and seems to be trying to keep them in order. Disdainful frowning nose. He doesn't care about Molly and her mother, they are all equally unpleasant to him. He looks at the inscription “leper = traitor” and nods thoughtfully at her.

I understand what's going on. They arrived, and a fire broke out on their floor. This is simple causal logic. We flew to protect the Earth, and the Earth was infected. No need to guess who is to blame.

I do not notice how the king of garbage cans and his vassals appear again around me. Cough would have to give it a mile. It seems that he was holding back especially for me for a long time.

- stare again? You like it when people feel bad, right? All because of you, creature. We, the refugees, are looked upon as cattle, because of you.

He wanted to spit at me, apparently, but coughed, doubled over.

I did not wait for him.

Quickly hiding under the colonnade, I pushed the stones away from my hiding place. Carefully dug the soil and pulled out mycelium, along with still unripe mushrooms. I went out with her back into the light - and if someone pushed me at this moment, then he would have to blame only on himself. I slowly walked to the cleaning robot closest to me and kicked it. In surprise, he opened his mouth, where I pushed mycelium together with the pieces of earth.

She was still too weak to break out in controversy right now. Next is not my concern. Too little time.

I, like yesterday, rushed across the road without bothering to follow the rules. Like yesterday, I got angry hooters in the back. Is that the fire truck did not seem from the corner, like yesterday.

I wished I could shake hands with the one who pulled Molly from my arms. Even if it was he who later threw me into the river.

The crowd parted in front of me. I entered like a leper in the circle of lepers. The policeman from such impudence lost speechlessness and stood with his mouth open, while his hand reached for the pistol.

But I found my voiceless.

I jabbed my finger at the burnt windows of the fourth floor, and then pointed at myself.

The crowd boomed.

"Right! He lounged around all the time! ”- a tall man in sweat pants screamed.

“I followed the girl from the very arrival!”, - confirmed the woman in the colorful scarf.

I managed to see Molly before my mother dragged her into the crowd, obeying the ancient instincts. She clung to her mother and looked at me in both eyes. She did not smile. I understood why, but I was a little hurt - to leave without seeing her smile.

Turned her mom. She was mortally scared. She was dead tired.She had come a long way, running from death, and lost all the little that she had.

I could not envy her.

She nodded to me, and I read in her eyes, "Thank you."

A policeman approached me at the end of my only hour.

I knelt down so as not to fall on someone by accident, and plunged into darkness.

Morning

Molly woke up on the bus. Mom was dozing next, leaning his head against the window. When the bus bounced on the bumps, she frowned in a dream. Outside, ripe, ripened fields stretched. There were many people in the cabin, they were sleeping or sitting, plunging into the phones. The driver chewed a toothpick and looked at the road - he was visible in the mirror. And then he suddenly noticed Molly and winked at her.

That was enough for her to understand: everything will be fine. And she purred the song. Quietly, practically to myself, so that she would not be cursed for noise.

- What is this song? - Mom will ask later. Molly herself does not know. She remembers only the roof, piercing wind. And the man who defended her.

Lulled by her own little song, she clung to her mother and fell soundly asleep.

Smart House

The house awoke from sleep with Zhenya. She opened her eyes - and the house obligingly let the coolness of the morning, the smell of earth and apples and the gentle-timid sunshine into the bedroom. Somewhere behind the tops of the trees there was dawn.

She always got up earlier to enjoy the silence in the company of coffee mugs. However, today, judging by the TV from the living room and the empty half of the bed, it was ahead.

Zhenya got up and sighed. The house seemed to come to its senses and gently closed the doors so that the television could not be heard. Zhenya went down the stairs to the courtyard. Driving along the railing, she felt droplets of dried paint. Where the sun and rain exposed the tree, it would not hurt to tint. But his wife did not want to change anything.

Walking toward the veranda along a paved garden path, past a lawn with a bursting watering, she involuntarily peered into the living room window. Kostya was sitting on the sofa, his back to the window, staring at the TV screen. After biting her lip, Zhenya entered the kitchen from the veranda, and a couple of minutes later returned with a cup of coffee. On the cup it was clumsily written in “mom” in blue letters.

Inhaling the burning smoke and sipping the milk froth, she closed her eyes - tightly, to the colored spots in her eyes - and then sat down in a chair and began to watch the sun grow. When it appears entirely, Zhenya will stop looking and go into the house. She knows that further the sun joking over the house and disappears, plunging the veranda into darkness and leaving her alone. This thought frightened her, and she did not linger on the veranda in the afternoon.

But all this later. So far, her sun is with her, peeking timidly from behind the tops of fir trees, as if from a blanket.

The door creaked. On the threshold appeared Leon, sleepy and ridiculous ridiculous. In pajamas with anchors.

“Hi,” he said sleepily, squinting against the sun.

“Good morning, bunny,” Zhenya said gently. Putting the coffee on the table, she stretched out her arms - go, I'll hug you.

Leon obediently approached and gave himself a hug. He hesitated a little, and he wrapped his arms around his neck, putting his nose to the neck. She could feel his breath.

Then he lifted his head and asked, peering somewhere off into the distance.

- Can I go to the forest today?

Zhenya pressed him tight to her.

“Come another time, baby,” she replied.

Leon frowned and pulled away, trying to slip out of her hands. His wife really did not want to let him go on his own.

- I want to go to the forest.

“I know,” she continued calmly and soothingly, gently, “We will definitely go down when I get some rest.” We came here to relax, remember?

- I can go alone.

“But I'll worry about you.” You do not want me to worry?

The question was not rhetorical. Zhenya looked at her son searchingly, waiting for an answer. He tossed his eyes from the forest to his mother. In the end, he gave up and, biting his lip, shook his head.

“That's good,” she smiled approvingly, “go change your clothes and come in for breakfast.”

He obediently headed for the door, and suddenly hesitated on the threshold.

Zhenya was on her guard. She turned to ask what had happened, but her son had already disappeared through the door.

A little later, after breakfast, exchanging an empty plate for a glass of juice, she casually asked:

- The house says that you left the room at night. Something happened?

Lenya lowered his head and did not immediately answer.

- I woke up at night. I saw the moon and ... scared. She was scary.

Zhenya squatted down beside her and hugged him.

- Why didn't you call me? Did not come?

Silence.

- I did not want to upset you.

“My poor,” she stroked his head, “be sure to call me if something happened, okay?”

Leon nodded slightly. As if reluctantly.

As if he really wouldn't want to call her at all.

Zhenya relieved a shiver in her chest and said as gently as she could:

- Well, go play. I will come to you soon.

After washing the dishes and leaving instructions regarding food to the house, Zhenya went to the living room. There, besides the mumbling TV and the silent spouse, there was also a huge bookcase.

“Would have done something quieter,” she threw through her teeth to her husband, but he did not answer. Bubnezh prevented her from concentrating.

“Children's fears ... Children's psychology ... there was something somewhere ...” The house, as if hearing its thoughts, obligingly turned over the shelves of the wardrobe and put out a weighty volume with a cute peanut on the cover. Zhenya took the book and stopped in indecision. I looked at the armchair in the living room, looked at the TV. Then she looked hopefully at the clock, and then, without hope, at the veranda, which gradually disappeared into the shadows.

“I will go to him,” she decided.

Climbing up the creaking stairs to the second floor, she entered Leni’s room and sat in a rocking chair. Lena sat at his desk and painted with paints. She looked over his shoulder. The forest, the dark blue sky, their house, careless brown, and a black spot in the sky.

“Wow,” she said, “nicely drawn.” What is it? - She pointed to the blackness.

“This is the moon,” answered Lenya, and shivered.

- But the moon is yellow.

- And yesterday was this. Black.

Zhenya looked at her son incredulously.

“I'm sure you just had a dream.” Just a bad dream.

“Do you have bad dreams?”

Zhenya bit her lip.

- Yes, son. Are dreaming. They all dream.

She sat in a chair, opened the book and began to read, trying to penetrate into every word and not miss anything important. When it got dark and the house turned on the electric light, Zhenya had in his head a mess of terms, methods and teachings of all kinds. Looking out the window, she saw the moon sneaking behind the clouds. Round, yellow, she seemed to swim in the waves, like a huge shiny fish. Smiling, Zhenya looked at her son. He watched cartoons, chained himself to the screen and opened his mouth. In the glare of the screen, he unpleasantly resembled his father.

- Laziness, - she called, - Lenya.

The son reluctantly turned his head to her, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

“Come see how beautiful it is,” she beckoned him.

He put the cartoon on pause, rose from the floor and approached her with interest. She pointed to the window to him, and he obediently looked to the place where the moon was floating in the clouds.

He froze.

His eyes were instantly glazed. He seemed to stop breathing, and his heart seemed to be trying to escape from the chest. Zhenya saw it, felt as if it was happening to herself.

“What ... what is it?

“The moon is ... black,” he whispered. - See?

Zhenya looked out the window again. Yellow moon Still yellow.

"What's happening".

- Lenya ... She is yellow. You see?

Zhenya's chest was cold. Something she just read today.

Leon, turned away, reluctantly looked out the window again.

“Black,” he mumbled and lowered his gaze.

She thought, or he was ... ashamed.

“So ...”

“Lyonya,” she crouched beside him and insinuatingly asked: “Why are you kidding me?” The moon is yellow, but I can see perfectly.

Leon was silent.

“You thought I wouldn't believe you that you saw a nightmare yesterday?” I believe. But now you are not sleeping, and the moon is plain, yellow, as always.

Leon was silent. Tears glistened in his clear eyes.

- Leon, do not be silent. Explain why you're lying to me.

- She's black! - suddenly he furiously blurted out, - Black! Go away from me!

His face twisted and reddened. He escaped from her hands, crouched in his bed and covered his head.

His wife was worth much effort to preserve the apparent calm. She straightened and walked casually to the door. Holding the handle, she said haughtily and coldly over her shoulder:

“I'll leave.” And you sit here and think about your behavior. One.

Zhenya went out and locked the door with a key on the machine. Or did the house do it for her? She no longer remembered. The veil was asleep in the bedroom. Zhenya was sitting on the bed and looked at her own hands. For a moment, old wrinkles and ugly-bulging veins wrapped around bones were imagined.

“Teen crisis? She asked herself. “Separation?” - She was confused in terms, ages and techniques. Her thoughts were all confused as if someone had thrown stones at her head, breaking the slender rows of crystal locks.

- There are ... - she decided to think out loud, - there are two options. - Her voice trembled, she did not recognize herself. “Either ... or he ... moves away from me ... on purpose, he will re-read me, or ... something is not in order. - She suddenly came to life. - Yes ... Of course, something is wrong.

A saving thought brought her to her senses. She resolutely got up and quickly left the bedroom. She listened on the stairs - her son was quiet in the room. Going down to the living room, Zhenya found Kostya in the same place. TV continued to spew light and sound.

Zhenya sat down next to her husband and, looking at his unblinking profile, spoke firmly.

- Kostya, we need evacuation.

These words made no impression on her spouse. She repeated them louder. She shoved him in the shoulder with anger - and her palm was bruised. The pain seemed to break open some contact in her head, and she suddenly heard her name in the speakers of the TV.

"Zhenya".

She turned to the screen. Kostya looked at her from there and smiled.

“I don’t think you noticed that I’m no longer there. I don’t blame you, it's really hard to see how time flows. In case you suddenly forgot, I left detailed instructions for evacuation in the bedroom, in an envelope on the table. I would like it to be different, but how it happened. Farewell. ”The

screen blinked, and now he smiles at her again.

"Zhenya. I don’t think you noticed ... ”

Click. Darkness and silence. The living room has become a crypt. And Zhenya was already rushing up the stairs, stumbling over such familiar steps. Burst into the bedroom, greedily grabbed the envelope. She unpacked, ripped up and down, and dug her eyes into the instructions.

And then she pronounced the Order clearly and loudly.

The house went out. The light turned off. The world went out.

With shaking old hands, she removed her glasses from her head and shook her gray head. Eyes re-accustomed to the twilight of reality. The house, having turned the old bowed servant, helpfully opened the door in front of her - he guessed that she herself could not cope. Gray, frosted door, not a hint of wood. Wired plastic wall. The wires stretching from the ceiling and the flashing lights of hundreds of devices. It seemed to his wife that she found the house naked, lifted out of bed, pulled out of a deep and good sleep.

In general, it was so.

Home was easier. He easily recognized his young mistress in the old woman. Faithful servant.

Zhenya got up and, staggering, leaning on the substituted handrails, went to the stairs. Another door opened in front of her, and she entered Lenya’s room.

On the bed — more than she was used to seeing — her son was sitting. He looked straight ahead and saw nothing, because his eyes were covering electronic glasses.

“Mom,” he called out hoarsely.

“I'm here,” she whispered. Leaping to him, she stroked his head with the pitiful remnants of former whirlwinds.

“I can't see anything,” he trembled.

Zhenya opened the fastener on the back of her head and took off his glasses. Moonlight hit his whitish eyes, and he covered his hand.

Zhenya examined the glasses. The house turned on the light and put a screwdriver in her hands. With difficulty remembering how she set it all up herself, Eugene removed the lid of the eyepieces. Microchips flashed, and there, among the copper constellations, she saw a sticky fly.

Carefully picking it up with a screwdriver, Eugene sluggishly dropped it on the floor.

“I need a complete pest control,” she murmured, screwing the lid back into place. She looked at her son. He stared in amazement at his hands, covered with graying hairs.

- Mom ... How many years have passed?

“I don't know, son,” Zhenya answered, finishing the work. - It does not matter.

- You said we will try. We will try and come back. We are back.

- Take it easy. - She touched his head. He did not turn away, did not move away. He, on the contrary, clung to her, hid his face in her dress, so as not to see what was around.

“Is this ... is this a bad dream?”

“Yes, baby,” she said calmly. Then she carefully put on her glasses and fastened them on the back of her head. Then she helped him to lie down, almost collapsing under the weight of his body - thanks to the house for supporting me.

Having covered with a blanket, she kissed Lenya on the forehead.

“Go to sleep,” she said sweetly. - And when you wake up, everything will be the same.

- I'm scared. Sit with me, please.

“Of course,” She sat down next to him and stroked his arm. On her face was calm and tranquility.

“Just a problem. Thank God, just a problem. ”

She purred under the nose of one of her lullabies and looked out the window. There, on the waves of the clouds, floated yellow moon.

“Prepare to return,” she quietly commanded the house.

AI

Ruslan sat at a lecture and strenuously pretended that he was listening and recording the teacher. His friend Nikolay thought that Ruslan was actually listening to him, and therefore he continued to chatter in a whisper.

- “Genie” is a breakthrough. This is such an artificial intelligence, which has not yet been. Alex and Siri will scream like bitches when released. I saw the beta in action - it's something. This is a breakthrough.

- What is the breakthrough? - Ruslan asked absently, - Another voice assistant.

- “Another”? - Nikolai soared. - Do you even know what the chip is?

- No, - answered Ruslan. He was tired of this chatter - that from the department, that from the side of the next desk - and he pointedly looked at his watch. Good bye with Linda left an hour, three minutes and forty seconds. Thirty nine seconds. Thirty eight…

- ... the calculation of the life plan, you know, you fool?

“You yourself are a fool,” Ruslan snapped, “explain like a human being.”

“Look,” Nikolai began patiently, “you are setting a goal,” he pointed to the palm of his hand, “like:“ I want Tesla in a year. ” Well, or botan option for you - “I want a red diploma”. And “Genie” makes you a clear plan, a sequence of actions, understand? It is not for you to order a taxi and not to call your mother, this is your personal guardian angel. Got finally?

Ruslan did not answer. Ruslan followed the second hand. She has long gone beyond the limits of the lecture.

His stress was transferred to the teacher at the blackboard. He looked at his watch, looked with regret at the mentally absent students — and waved his hand.

- All for today.

Ruslan quickly put the tablet in a bag and a bullet flew out of the audience. Nikolai looked after him sadly, and then quietly turned to the phone:

- Genie?

“I listen and obey,” a deliberately eastern voice answered.

- Remind how many people should I advise you to install?

* * *

At three o'clock in the afternoon Ruslan arrived at the place and stood at the appointed place opposite the station. From there he could see the ancient clock on the tower. He checked with his - hurried for three minutes.

He really didn’t want to stick his habit out of the phone and miss her appearance. And not to notice it was easier than ever - the closer to the evening, the more people on the street and darker the sky. So he just turned the cell phone in his hands and fought with a keen desire to call or write to her.

“Easy. Agreed - it means agreed, "- he thought, -" She is always late, but she comes. Nothing to panic. ”

At three seventeen, when Ruslan checked his watch for the hundredth time, checked whether the phone was discharged overnight, and tested each of several thousand passers-by, it came out of the underpass. In jeans, not in the autumn light and short jacket, and a thickly wound flowered scarf. She walked, holding a phone in front of her and slandering something into it, and scouring her eyes. Then I noticed Ruslana and smiled. In her eyes flashed an inspiring, naughty light.

Ruslan went to meet her. They met at the fountain in the square, around which noisy children were running, and held hands - Linda had already managed to hide the phone in her purse. She smiled at him, feigned embarrassed, and glanced at the station clock.

- Oh, I seem to be late again, - she was surprised, - How long have you been waiting?

- Not at all, - Ruslan smiled.

- Then let's go!

* * *

They walked along the embankment, stood on the bridge - he embraced it so that it was warmer - and then plunged into the thicket of old houses and shabby factories. Once upon a time powerful clouds of thick smoke burst from the mighty pipes. Now there seems to be nesting birds.

On the narrow streets it was dark and romantic, scary. Ruslan and Linda chatted about nothing, stumbling from recent events to memories that had accumulated in less than twenty years. Ruslan was happy. He was embarrassed only that Linda kept looking at the phone screen, as if she was waiting for something. Something like jealousy overshadowed his joy. Had he not lost his ability to reason coolly, he would have noticed that their route changed every time after such a peeping.

They entered an automatic avenue, where unmanned vehicles moved in test mode — huge buses and small robo-rickshaws — and walked along an unusually wide sidewalk.

“It's for people to get used to it,” explained Ruslan, although Linda did not ask him anything, “But many people are afraid of robots.”

“Why be afraid of them,” Linda shrugged, “just cars.”

- How to say ... See, a pedestrian crossing?

He was hard not to notice. He shone with a zebra in the middle of the avenue, and a red curtain walked along it, in front of which a bulky robo-bus slowed down.

- I see. Bright what ...

- Machines and so see, they do not need all this light. This is for people to be less afraid.

- Knocked someone?

- In general, never. Neither the transition nor anywhere else. They react faster than man.

Linda once again looked into the bag, where the phone screen shone. And Ruslan did not have time to ask a cautious question to dispel suspicions, she suddenly released his hand and simply declared:

- Check it out!

A moment later, she had already climbed over the fence. Ruslan came to his senses when she was already on the road - right under the headlights of the approaching roborickshaw. That, noticing the barrier, sharply turned on the main beam, forcing Linda to squint.

Who knows what she found a moment ago, but now Ruslan saw - she was afraid. Her knees suddenly trembled, she reached out with his hands to him, as if she wanted to return - but could not move from her place in horror.

A moment - and he jumped over the fence. The roboricksha turned the lantern sharply in his direction, frantically calculating how to drive around the violators. The brakes squeaked, the wheels slid over the wet frozen ice. Ruslan pushed his feet off the asphalt and pushed Linda away.

She flew into the fence and clung to it with both hands. Roborickshaw brought, she desperately beat off mathematics from the physics of the real world, and almost won. Having passed in centimeters from Linda's nose, she slipped through without touching her, and only withdrew caught Ruslana with a board. He was thrown to the side and knocked back. His left hand hit his elbow - and the cutting pain below the shoulder deprived him of consciousness.

* * *

When he came to, rain fell on his face. He heard the siren, and saw how the road blocked off with a red glow. “Emergency shutdown,” thought Ruslan.

Linda sat beside her, and at first it seemed to Ruslan that she was talking to him. Only she did not look at him - she looked at the phone.

- Djinn, what the hell is wrong?

“Ask the question, please,” the eastern voice purred.

- I did everything according to plan. Being late, walking, hugging on the bridge, non-fatal injury. I do not feel any increase in happiness.

- I estimated the probability of success at seventy percent. Allah himself would not have predicted better.

- In the ass your math, - she snapped, - What else can I do?

“Nothing in this scenario,” the phone answered cheerfully, “I can guarantee the result with only a certain ...”

Linda swung and threw the phone somewhere in the dark. In the distance, an ambulance siren howled in, approaching.

- Linda ... - Ruslan whispered and tried to get up, but the pain in his hand chained him to the wet asphalt. Linda looked at him angrily, turned around and quickly disappeared into the assembled crowd.

Blockchain

Record: 4abbe6bc-ae28-42c8-9c84-c96548923f0d
Previous Post: 4e792675-0ede-4bd8-a97e-ab3352608171
Subject: Svetlana Narzaeva, 12 years old
Status: dead
Reason: specified

Record: dd752b29-11db-43dc-945f-c22db3768368
Previous Post: 4abbe6bc-ae28-42c8-9c84-c96548923f0d
Subject: Artyom Shilov, 35
Status: dead
Reason: specified

* * *

The door creaked. Illya started and turned around. Instinctively turned around, realizing that he was betraying himself by his behavior. From this understanding, his hand trembled, and he dropped the e-passport on the counter.

No one came for him. Just a man sitting on a bench in the corner came out through a creaking door, leaving muddy footprints on the floor. He pulled on his hat and wrapped himself in a gray, wet coat, he quickly walked on a wet road.

Ilya turned back and glanced at the blonde behind the window. Swallowed. She smiled on duty with lilac lips, took the e-passport that had fallen from his hands and led them through the terminal. While the terminal was pondering about something, blinking with LEDs, she began to look at his photograph, gnawing on a nail thoughtfully.

“Wow, where have you gone,” she whistled, glancing at the address. - So everything is serious?

Ilya shrugged and tried to regain his composure.

“I — I am going to my wife,” he answered confusedly.

- Oh, congratulations. - Her interest is hilarious. - And the train is not faster?

“I'm not in a hurry,” Illya smiled nervously.

"I still want to live."

The terminal squeaked and shone red. Blonde twisted lilac lips.

- Alas, not this time. Try tomorrow.

Ilya took an e-passport from her hands and asked with ill-concealed despair:

- Not enough work?

- Works? Full, - waved a girl. - Here you and the construction, and a new highway. Just out of luck.

Ilya put his e-passport in his pocket, turned and stumbled to the exit. The right leg ached and hurt, as always in the rain. And the left one was the prosthesis of Onezhrobostroya, and it worked equally poorly in any weather.

Leaving before the exit, Illya suddenly realized that he did not thank and did not say goodbye to the girl. He was ashamed of what caused him in some confusion. “After what you did, do you feel ashamed because of such nonsense?”

He turned his head, but the girl had already gone somewhere. Ilya shook his head, pressed the creaking door and went out into the rain.

He did not have a hood, raincoat or umbrella, only a folder for documents, black, fastened with buttons. She raised it higher, closing not even himself from the rain, but a telephone. Its only sun.

“Sorry, I was distracted for a while,” he wrote. The answer was not long in coming:

- Not scary. Have you firmly decided? Will you come - Inga asked him.

Illya looked up from the phone and looked straight ahead. A chain of concrete blocks lined up on the left and stretched far to the horizon. There she merged with a thick-smelling railway rattling the trains to the right. Somewhere on the edge of the earth, she was waiting for him.

“I will come,” he answered. - I'm already coming.

* * *

Inge had to postpone the phone - she almost drove a cart on the child who had risen in the middle of the aisle. He thoughtfully sucked the pacifier and looked at the colorful poster that read “The lottery of correctional labor is your chance for redemption.” While Inga was thinking about how to go around the child, the mother, who was not working, jumped out from behind the shelves, picked up her child and left, casting a disdainful glance. The kid also looked at Inga and for some reason smiled.

She felt uneasy. “I don’t understand them at all,” she thought.

She looked at the shopping cart. Cot - cheap plastic. Bath. A large roll of plastic film. A tin of paint. Roller. About a dozen small things. And ... she seems to have forgotten something important.

- Can I help you? - The consultant swam out of nowhere, smiling at the same time with his face and a shiny badge.

“Um ... Yes,” Inga came to her senses, “I need a tool for washing the walls.” Something stronger.

- heavy pollution?

“Yes ... dogs, do you understand?” Everything gets dirty.

“Oh, I see,” the consultant beamed and began to rummage through the product. Inga praised herself for resourcefulness. Too boldly praised: Viscous fear awoke from the depths of her mind and asked her the question: “What would he say to that?”

And then he voiced the answer. In his voice, of course:

- Wow, what are you, it turns out, smart

Her legs gave way. As if in a fog, not remembering how to pay, she left the store and dragged heavy purchases home. A cold wind was blowing and driving a giant black thunder cloud from the north. The bags tried to cut her fingers with their twisted handles.

“What would he say to that?”

- You're so strong. Two whole packages!

Fear lashed her legs, pumped blood into her heart, forcing her already pale face to turn white. She reached the house on the machine, climbed to the sixth floor and only there, in the apartment, throwing purchases on the floor, allowed herself to catch her breath. I sat down on the stool in the hallway and began to rub the frozen palms. Furrows from the packages burned her white skin.

Memories of his last call burned her memory.

- I'm coming back on Friday. You did not think that we will part for a long time?

Inga looked at the calendar. Another Wednesday.

She glanced at the shopping. The back of the bed cracked. But now it did not matter. She took a roll of film and dragged him into a small room. There on the floor were still visible marks from the legs of the bed, which she barely pulled out the day before.

Buzzed phone. Inga threw the film on the floor. Closed her eyes. Count to ten. Got her phone. She opened her eyes.

"Who?"

Message from Ilya.

She exhaled and sat down, slid down the wall on his haunches. Before answering, she sobbed several times, fighting with desperate, sighed deeply. And only gaining the strength to smile, opened the message.

- What do you think, who will we have - a boy or a girl?

Surprised and delighted, she replied:

- I do not know. And who do you want more?

- Let me think ... Let it be a boy.

- All of you are such, give you boys) And how would you call him?

- Similarly, on and!

“Hah, why is that?”

- Ilya + Inga = And ... Ignat?

- Not.

- Hippolyte?

- In no case. Let's better another letter.

- Igor?

Silence. A long, silent silence.

- Inga? All is well?

- Lets change theme.

* * *

In the evening, Ilya settled down on a bench at the railway station with the proud name Ozernaya. Most of the trains were passing by, not slowing down, so the platform was empty. The bench under the shed did not have enough boards, but this Ilya was not much saddened. At least dry.

He received several letters from Onebrostroi. The first of them was called the “Order of dismissal”. Ilya deleted the whole pack without reading. There was no way back.

He pulled the leg prosthesis forward, exposing the metal foot in the rain. The piece of iron was all the same.

His tired eyes caught on the faded poster of the civil society renovation. The silhouette of the “investigator” robot that has already become habitual and inspiring inscription.

“Machines calculate criminals. Punishment is the task of citizens. Together - on guard of justice. ”

“Investigators” called them only announcers in the news. Ordinary people called them "followers", and also "grave-diggers." The robots carried the bodies for examination and launched an analysis of the incident - a complex simulation called “investigation”. Ordinary people called it “fortune telling.”

“Typical fortune telling goes on for three days,” Ilya mused. - I have time. Now a little rest and go on. "

He closed his eyes for a moment and apparently dozed off, when suddenly too loud a peal of thunder made him wince and wake up.

It turned out not to be thunder, but an old man’s abuse, stumbling over an extended prosthesis.

“Put my skis here!” - He was indignant, rising from the wet asphalt. - And now I'm really wet.

Illya shook his head to wake up, and smiled faintly.

“Sorry, father,” he said amiably. - Sit down, get dry.

“I just didn’t have enough scandals,” he thought with annoyance.

The old man grumbled for the sight, but accepted the invitation. He sat down, laughing like a sparrow, and also stretched his left leg forward.

- What do you have, the leg does not bend? - He asked.

Ilya barely bent his leg and clapped his heel on the asphalt.

- Bends. Only uneven.

- One-night construction work?

- I guess.

The old man nimbly pulled up his trouser leg and bared his leg prosthesis. Outwardly indistinguishable, according to standard patterns of the Onega plant. Only fit perfectly. The old man moved his metal fingers - and the pistons in his legs obediently rustled, gently, melodiously.

“Here I am amazed,” continued the old man, “whoever has a meeting with a Onezh denture is a terrible trash. And I, you see, was lucky. Master of God.

Ilya looked at the old man prosthesis as spellbound. Mentally took him apart, lovingly blurred his eyes and again collected, bending to bend, line to line, like a flower. He rarely had to see his own work in business.

“I did everything right,” he thought smugly, and then he became ashamed: “And yesterday is also correct?”

“This is not my lucky grandmother,” the old man frowned and took out a wrinkled wad from behind his bosom. - Will you?

“I don't smoke,” Illya shook his head.

The old man put a cigarette in his mouth and continued, forgetting to set fire.

- Legs were taken away, put two prostheses. I, the main thing, tell her - wait for you, where you are in a hurry, let's stick one, see. And she all dreamed that she was lucky for me. And I know the statistics, I see that these parasites-masters usually give out. Killing such masters is not enough ...

The old man kept talking, talking while the rain drummed on the roof, and his diatribe lulled Ilya.

“Exactly,” he murmured through a dream, “to kill a little.”

He leaned back on the shabby-rough wall of the stop and closed his eyes. He wanted to stop thinking about dentures and the plant. An image of Inga appeared before my eyes. Motionless, smiling - just a picture, drawing in the dark. And this picture was blurred, like fog, flowed in colors in the rain.

Ilya was thrown into a cold whirlpool of sleep.

* * *

Closer to the night, Inga cleared the room, leaving only the heavy desk-bureau near the window, and spread out the film. The film was transparent, it still showed signs of bed legs on the floor. These tracks unnerved her. They reminded that not everything can be washed off even by the most powerful means.

Thinking about the tracks, she involuntarily looked at the wall, at the empty, faded rectangle and a lonely nail sticking out.

“I can fill this void,” she told herself and was surprised at her own audacity.She went into another room, opened an old creaky cabinet, and brought to light a box that was forbidden to be taken out.

Everything Igor didn’t like was kept in her.

Inga stopped in indecision. She lifted the cardboard edge and immediately caught the dissatisfied gaze of the father in the photograph. At the same time, it seemed to her that someone was standing behind her and tugging, as if by the strings, her heart — it stopped so sharply and began to pound so hard again.

She could easily imagine what he would say to her. It was scary to imagine.

- He did wrong with me. It was not worth it.

She turned round stealthily, as if she had climbed into someone else's house and was rummaging through other people's things, then she took out a framed photo with both hands and pressed it to her chest - so that no one could see.

“It wasn't worth it,” she repeated. - It will piss him off. And it will not work. ”

But someone stronger, more courageous, dragged her, resisting, back into the room. Her hands themselves raised her father's portrait and returned to its rightful place.

“That's it,” she said in a whisper, walking a couple of steps away. - Like this!

She was suddenly overwhelmed with indescribable joy. Like a puppy who dragged a bone from a sleeping dog, she spun around. Then she winked at her father and went into the bathroom to wash off the dust and sweat.

“Troubled day turned out.”

Sweeping her face with cold water, Inga looked at her reflection. Joy was replaced by bitterness. A pale shadow, a ghostly semblance of the Inga, which she was just recently.

At the clinic, she was not ashamed to say that she looked bad. They said that it was rather sad for the father and to drive himself to the grave.

“All this time, thought Inga, they have not seen? Or did not want to see? ”

She looked at herself. I touched my fingers to my thin shoulders. Then, as if for the first time, I saw scars and scratches on my wrists and sat down on the edge of the bath, looking at them.

“They always scratch painfully,” she thought. - Fluffies have a pathological fear of people in white coats. They can be understood. "

Inga closed her eyes and tried to remember herself on the day of graduation from the vetchilischil “Then I dreamed that I would treat little animals. I wanted to see them happy, I wanted to see them smiling hosts. I did not know that I would have to put to sleep more often ... ”

She looked at the scratches again. They healed long ago, dragged on. Scratched by those who can be cured. Doomed do not scratch. They look in love and believe you, they believe to the very end.

Six months ago, when Igor was so suddenly sent to another city, Inge was brought in a dog. Beautiful Labrador nicknamed Friend. Beaten, he weakly wagged his tail and humbly waited for his fate. The hosts paid for the sleep and left without even turning around. Either Inga was scattered that day, or the dog turned out to be lucky, only he survived the injection. Without waiting for him to be taken to the cremation, he suddenly woke up and just left. Having received his second chance, he could go anywhere. And he went back to his masters.

From them, he again got to Inge on the table. She stroked his poor broken head for a long time, and then broke off this circle.

* * *

: c64cc26a-6e5e-4788-b8cc-7e4c4103d871
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№1
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* * *

Tyomu loved at the factory. Tyoma loved to have fun and have fun, making innocent pranks. Still Tyoma believed in justice. According to him, Ilya everything was too easy. Because of the injury, they took him to the factory at a discount program, leaving the “normal guy” out of work. The plant even gave him a prosthesis - just like that. Disgusting in quality, outdated, made "on the heels" of the same Tema. But still for nothing Ilya got.

And if so, then justice for the sake of life crippled cost a little harder. To be honest.

A hundred stretched woods, sawn steps and accidentally de-energized machines. After all, justice was still not considered restored.

The first letter received in the morning was from the factory and began with the words “YOU ARE CORPS”. Ilya was not surprised. For some reason, he suddenly became childishly offended. “If Tema had done that, they would have praised him.”

But this petty insult has faded in the face of chilling fear. Status update for his case has come. In just one and a half days, and not three, he hoped, the cars had passed the verdict. Now even the old man had the right to break his head without a shame of conscience.

“If only I could go faster,” thought Illya sadly, wandering along the railway tracks. The streets would have been shorter, but the chances of getting caught by anyone were higher. By nightfall, he will probably get to the next Post Office and again try his luck in the Lottery Corrective Works.

"I have to get lucky."

Rain clouds drove away somewhere to the south, but the sky was covered with a gray haze. Elijah trudged along, dragging the naughty leg, and the trains went and went by. Commodity, passenger - in a chain, one after another. Heavy concrete blocks were driving, a huge train, four hundred cars - to build new residential boxes. The cars loaded with people followed; they looked indifferently through the windows, the floor, the ceiling. Someone was holding phones in their hands and, if the train was not traveling very fast, Illya managed to feel their predatory gaze. They saw him, had time to read his accusation and sentence in the news, and eagerly stretched their necks, trying to make out. The oppressive boredom of their trip dispelled bright dreams of how the chain in their hands falls upon the accused’s head. They were pressed against the windows, remembering his confused face,to savor the enchanting vision, on the way from one gray box to another.

Ilya hid his face behind the collar of a working jacket and stumbled forward. There was no other choice.

Towards noon, he decided to take a break, sitting on the bank of the stream under the railway bridge. There at least nobody could see him. He took out his phone and wrote to Inge that everything was fine. She did not answer.

“If you go all night,” Illya reflected, throwing small pebbles into the river, “tomorrow I will be there.”

Suddenly, the phone burst into a trill. Call from an unknown number.

Ilya was about to throw off, but suddenly he thought: “What if this is from Inga?”

And picked up the phone.

Silence.

- Yes?He asked timidly.

“Hai, Ilya,” said a female voice, familiarly, “this is Nadia.” From the post office, you had yesterday.

Ilya remembered. Exactly, a blonde with lilac lips, from the post office.

- I remembered your number, I felt that it was useful. I see you have serious problems?

“There is a little bit,” Illya said restraint.

“So I have ... some difficulties.” - The voice sounded significant. - I thought - do not help us each other?

Ilya began to guess where she was going.

- Sorry I am…

- Come on, - Nadya persistently interrupted him, - I checked everything, you have a preliminary marriage. You have not yet seen each other's eyes, so you are talking to the network for a couple of months. Garbage, not marriage, is easy to annul. I work up to three and I can pick you up - you drowned near? Zaregayas quickly, we sleep and everything is a delay on the occasion of paternity in your pocket. In the end, you're going to your Inge for this, right?

Ilya was as if doused with cold water.

“No,” he almost shouted into the phone and dropped the call. “No, no, no,” he continued to persuade someone in a whisper.

“I really want to be with her,” he justified, “I did not know that this would happen. I didn’t want it to happen. ”

He put the phone in his pocket and began to get out from under the bridge. The prosthesis treacherously slid off the gravel, and Ilya almost had to crawl on all fours.

“Nothing,” he thought, “the prices have fallen. Bonus for revenge now - pennies. Not that in the fortieth. And then - it can still be clarified. If the system regards it as revenge, bribes are smooth from me. Revenge is the right of everyone. Yes, they will clarify the matter, ”he encouraged himself.

Another couple of kilometers along the piece of iron - and it was time to turn into a matrix of concrete blocks. Residential areas. Equally dangerous is that night, that day.

“Now they are not satisfied with the hunt, as before,” Ilya thought, peering into the half-empty streets. No one looked in his direction. No one was pulling the chain on the fist. Already not bad.

Ilya with difficulty turned away from the saving railway bed and timidly moved towards the houses. He walked, looking down at his feet, his hands in his pockets. He walked, and the grinding of the prosthesis along the asphalt seemed to him a deafening clang.

“To kill such masters is not enough,” he repeated evil to himself and smiled sadly.

Before the deserted highway, he stopped and looked around. Empty, not counting rushing at full speed electric car.

“They're chasing like crazy,” thought Illya and decided to wait, swaying nervously on the spot.

The electric car braked right next to it. The side window lowered, and bright purple lips insistently pronounced:

- Maybe you will sit down? Or will you stay?

Door opened. Ilya was confused. What to do - sit down? Or continue to stand, attracting attention? Already the first onlookers began to turn around on them ...

Illya cursedly silently and sat down on the seat, putting his right foot on the road and holding out the door.

- Leg, maybe you poke it? - proposed Nadia, straightening hair.

“We are not going anywhere,” Illya said as calmly as possible. - What do you need from me?

- I already told you. You need to ask, or what? For a man who committed a double murder, you are too broken.

Ilya felt a lump getting to his throat. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and saw one unread update.

: 7eec7b1c-a130-455d-a76e-ea4064434e51
: c64cc26a-6e5e-4788-b8cc-7e4c4103d871
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“You are now number one on the charts,” Nadia said. - If someone needs bonuses, then you can get good. Especially since you're a cripple, even I can handle you.

“It's a lie,” Illya whispered. - Lying.

“I'm amazed,” the blonde pouted and clutched the steering wheel. - Do you make such offers every day? Say "thank you" and drove.

Ilya stared at the phone apathetically. “I remember her eyes,” he thought for some reason. -She was laughing. I forged that little prosthesis from her laughter. I could not be mistaken. ”

- Ale, - Nadia shoved him in the shoulder, and Illya looked at her in a huff, - are we going? Or should I go out and get those guys?

* * *

On Friday morning, Inga woke full of determination.

“Yesterday I put twelve innocent Fuzzies to sleep,” she told herself. “And today I can do it.”

She washed and dried her head. She found in the depths of the bathroom half-forgotten lipstick tube. She opened a new black, no frills dress.

She tried not to forget anything that Igor could not bear.

She spent the next two hours waiting. She sat in the kitchen, on a stool in the corridor, on the floor in the room. And smoked a lot. The phone was in her hands, and she put it on the table.

Now and then she glanced at her father's portrait, and this encouraged her.

Igor never called, never knocked. She knew that very well.

But when the state key turned in the lock and clicked the door handle, it paralyzed.

When the door creaked, her heart sank with fear. Inside her, the not-dead friend was whimpering and scratching. He asked back to his beloved owners.

Igor entered and stood on the threshold, studying the changes.

Smiled, pulling strings.

“Well, hello,” he said gently. - missed you?

Without waiting for an answer, he walked in and began to pace around the room, looking around, like on an excursion.

“You look good,” he remarked. - I have always said that you are black.

Inga blushed and looked down.

- I see you started a repair? It is high time.- He turned on his sock, and the plastic film nasty rustling. From this sound, Inga gave me goosebumps.

Igor noticed a portrait on the wall, walked over and smoothly raised his hand, holding his fingers at the bottom edge of the frame, just as he used to take her chin.

“Now it will break and throw,” Inga winds herself up. “And then ... then ...”

- An old acquaintance. - Igor smiled ... - I almost forgot how he looks. Why did you even hide his portrait? - In his voice sounded reproach. Inga's heart sank. Inner Friend pursed his ears.

Igor made a circle around the room and headed towards her. He walked as if unaware that she was sitting in his way. Closer, closer and closer. When Inge thought he was about to step on her, Igor stopped. He looked down at her and his eyes flashed.

- You did not think that we will part for a long time?

Inga could not stand his gaze. She turned away, bowed her head. It was as if she was guilty of something.

Inside something was beating. Beat and scream. Only Inga did not hear.

Igor walked away from her and turned to the window, his hands in his pockets.

“I heard rumors here,” he began meaningfully, “that someone of you was divorced for preliminary marriage.”

Pause. Silence.Just tapping his fingers on the glass.

- It was a little thoughtless, agree. - He sharply pressed his hand on the glass and slowly held down - to the opposite squeak. - It was worth discussing first with me. Eternal your way to complicate things.

Now he was annoyed. Steps sped up, he took another round of the room and stopped again in front of her.

- Apparently, I have to deal with this problem?

“No,” Inga said dully.

- Sorry, what?

- Not.- She raised her head and slowly got up. He left her too little space, had to get up, squeezing into the wall.

- I understood you correctly - will you go and correct your stupidity right now? - He asked peremptorily.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Good girl,” he said off to one side and walked away. Inga, as if in a fog, approached the table and opened a drawer.

When Igor turned back to her, the blued trunk was staring at him. And two frightened eyes looked over.

Inga waited for his reaction.

Igor and eyebrow did not lead.

- Ingochka, - he smiled gently. - I am the second person in the city. Even if I’m right now wasting your beautiful face, I won’t have anything. No entries in the blockchain, no consequences, no revenge. Nothing. And if you at least think about that ...

Shot rang out.

Inga barely held the gun in her hands. Her ears rang, she almost fell, resting her back on the table. Opening her eyes with her pensive eyes, she saw Igor squirming on the floor, holding her bloody thigh. In the eyes of his hatred, ridicule, rage - but not a drop of fear.

Inga squeezed into the table and aimed the gun at Igor. And he, blushing with anger, was drawn to her.

- You're in deep trouble! - He snapped. - Another movement and - you end.

Inga glanced at her father's portrait. He smiled at her from the wall.

“I'm pregnant,” she lied.

Igor froze.

“I’ll spread your beautiful face right now,” Inga continued, “and I won’t be anything.” And in a year of delay I will find a way to get out. I will find.

Fear.

She finally saw.

Fear in his mocking eyes.

“I ... you ...” He blushed terribly and again reached for her, clinging to her former submission.

“Thank you, Pal,” thought Inga.

And then interrupted this circle.

Ten minutes later, she sat on the balcony and smoked, looking now at the gray clouds, now at the people crawling downstairs. She saw two gravedigger robots — thin, like poles — rush and fly into the porch. I heard how they entered through an unlocked door and began to circle the room. One of them drove to her balcony, scanned carefully and sped away. The second one packed the body into a plastic bag, hung it to itself, as if on a hanger, and promptly dragged away.

Left room, blood stains on the film and spray on the wall. These traces will wash off.

Inge really wanted to feel relieved. She pulled on a cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke. The smoke cleared, mingled with the gray sky. Relief never came.

“You didn’t think we would part for a long time?” Echoed in her head, and she wasn’t even surprised at how her heart sank with fear.

“It looks like we won't part at all.”

She glanced down. The gravedigger with the bag just wrapped around the corner and nearly knocked down the person leaving there. He backed away from the robot, as if from a ghost, and pressed into the wall of the house. And then, looking around, he stumbled along the path in her direction.

Inga dropped her cigarette and put her palms on the railing.

In the cripple, she recognized Ilya.

* * *

Record: bb7ece22-3f5d-4739-a8dc-8125219f141d
Previous post: 7eec7b1c-a130-455d-a76e-ea4064434e51
SUBJECT: Foresters Igor, 38 years old
Clarifying the cause of death: premeditated murder
verdict №1
Defendant: Inga Karpova (Shepelyov), 28 years
Revenge : recommended

* * *

They sat on the floor beside them, not touching each other with their looks. Between them there was a black pistol - lay like a faithful watchdog.

Inga smoked and listened to Ilya's breathing. Ilya was sick of lack of sleep and cigarette smoke. The air was filled with the realization that they were still strangers, strangers to each other.

Inga stubbed out a cigarette on the film and exhaled loudly. Ilya struggled with sleep and tried not to close his eyes.

To sleep now would be completely inappropriate. It is better to speak.

“You ...” he cleared his throat, “you must know what happened.”

Inga did not answer, staring at one point in the area of ​​their shoes. Then she suddenly woke up, feeling awkward, and nodded curtly.

“That girl ... Sveta.” I saw her once. I came across the checkpoint when I went to the workshop, and my mother took out her in a wheelchair. She said something, and the girl laughed. I have never heard such laughter before. Cheerful, sincere. I came to the machine, and the chief gave me a drawing - a small prosthetic leg. It has never been easier for me to work. I swear to you, it was a masterpiece. I imagined how she would run, laughing, and worked, worked ... By the end of the shift, everything was ready, it only remained to calibrate. Just calibrate. My replacement came - Tyoma. Although we did not get along, I hoped that at least he would cope with this. At least calibrates as it should.

Ilya clenched his fists from powerlessness.

- In general, after a month in the middle of the day, the chief comes and gives me this very prosthesis. Requests to carefully disassemble the parts. And Sveta ... Sveta died. She stumbled, fell and hit her temple. I spent half a day with this prosthesis. Just sat and looked at him. Half an hour before the end of the shift, I came to my senses and decided to check the calibration. - Ilya paused a little, gathering his courage. - Probably, it was better for me not to do it. It was necessary to disassemble and forget. In general, when Tyoma came, I ... - Illya faltered.

- Hit him with this very prosthesis? - slowly finished for him Inga.

“Yes,” Illya answered weakly.

- Clear.

She picked up a tutu from the floor and began to get the next cigarette. Ilya turned to her and touched her palm. Inga barely kept herself from straining her hand.

- And you? What's up with you?

“Sorry,” Inga answered colorlessly, “I am not in the mood for confession today.”

- Tomorrow we may not be.

The pale shadow of a smile.

- Probably you are right. She released her hand, put a cigarette into her brightly painted lips, and lifted the lighter. - There was one person who was very offended by my father. Something they did not share. With this man we had ... a novel. That is, I had a novel, and he just took revenge on his father, through me. Then the father died, and the man stopped even pretending to be loved.

“I see,” said Illya, and looked around. Small room, dark. And stuffy, as before a big thunderstorm.

The phone buzzed in silence. Inga and Ilya started and looked at each other. Then Ilya slapped his pocket, took out his phone and read the message.

- What is it? - without much interest asked Inga.

- They write that we are number one in the charts. Family with three murders. Decent bonuses.

Inga chuckled.

- That's how ... What else do they write?

- What in our place would hurry with a delay.

“Wow,” Inga puffed on her cigarette, feeling something burn in her chest, “that's what they want ... People.”

Ilya turned off the phone and looked at her. Then he plucked up courage and asked.

- Tell me ... Didn’t you yourself want to?

- Wanted, - thought, answered Inga. - And even believed - a few days ago - that everything will be fine with us. What we really have ... will be the baby. And the three of us will survive, we will cope with all this.

Ilya nodded. He imagined it himself. Something bright, sunny ... Until everyone washed away the rain and blood.

- And now ... now what do you think?

Inga turned to him and answered. Firmly, viciously - but she was not angry at him, it was Illya who felt.

- To drag one more person into this world ... To hide behind them? And then count the days until the end of the delay. And they, she nodded at the phone, would count. And if our baby is born, they will not forget him either. We have already given ourselves to the slaughter. And now give it away?

The phone buzzed again, trying to tell you something important. Important not for them.

“No,” Ilya shook his head. “We will not do that.”

He threw the phone through an open door into the corridor — not with a swing, but like throwing pebbles so that they jumped from the water. He knocked about something loudly and fell silent. Inga watched him go, and then turned to Ilya - he leaned on the wall, closed his eyes and smiled.

“True, our choice is then small,” he said sleepily, “but at least ... at least I can get some sleep.”

Inga moved closer to him, hugged her, and he laid her head in her lap.

- Wake up when we come to kill?

- Sleep, - Inga said wearily and stroked his hair. With her right hand, she firmly squeezed the gun and looked thoughtfully into the gray window.

Steps on the stairs made Inga pick up her knees and stretch her arm forward. She cocked it.

“Just try to enter,” she whispered. “Let someone try to enter.”