* * *
Evgeny sent several reassuring messages that he was just looking into the problem for now and was not actively asking questions. But he promised to keep in touch every twelve hours, and at the same time sent several files, including tax extracts concerning the current owners of those very premises. As the ally said, he was lucky by coincidence, because now it was useless to ask questions actively. Authorities had gathered so many people, as if they had found a laboratory for the underground production of nuclear weapons, especially strong drugs, and a club for lovers of reading the Constitution, all in one bottle in that building. In short, there was the wrong time for questions. There, several random passers-by, suffering from excessive curiosity, were arrested right there on the spot as suspicious individuals, and they did not stand on ceremony in explaining the legality of their actions.
Panic was growing in the city, little by little. Lots of people had disappeared, died under strange circumstances, and simply decided to leave. Rumors were circulating, one worse than the other. Dog packs on the outskirts and in the factory district were literally hunting for single passersby or even small groups, and regular attempts to shoot them were increasingly resembling military actions. In recent days, it was not dog hunter enthusiasts who were wandering around there, but special forces or other military personnel. Rumors were circulating about bringing in full-fledged military units into the city. Because the SWAT returned from the dog hunt pretty battered, in smaller numbers than when they left. The same unprovable rumors were circulating about a terrible leader or shepherd in dog skin, running on all fours, appearing among the dogs. It seems they never managed to shoot him.
Among the housing and utilities workers, or whatever they are called now, there are also many problems, voluntary departures, and other nice things, because none of them wants to go down into basements, manholes, or climb up to attics and roofs. Many of them were found dead and extremely gutted after that, and some were not found at all, which is why there was such a mess. Among these guys, the losses were especially great. In a small church on the southern outskirts of the city, of some historical antiquity, they found a priest who had hanged himself, and at the same time his entire family and relatives of who knows what generation. Thirty-one bodies, from old people to a three-year-old boy, who simply went and hanged themselves, all at once, voluntarily and without traces of violence.
The operative who posted the video online did not wait for the boss to give him a flugegehaimen in the ass, wrote a statement, and, according to him, was going to move to Kuban that same day to live with his relatives. However, the video and the operative's comment were quickly deleted, as were many attempts to post it again. And in general, the Internet is working worse and worse, as is mobile communications, but this is, of course, just a coincidence. In any case, the encryption under "just a conversation" performed by Evgeny became more and more allegorical and cunningly twisted with each message. Just in case. He also advised considering the option of moving, because at this rate, their "passion for walks" could become even more life-threatening than it already is.
The city froze in a cloud of panic rumors, bloody crimes, mysterious horrors, and all that. People instinctively sensed trouble, trying to stay away from it. There were fewer and fewer birds and cats in the yards, and dogs also disappeared somewhere or joined the outskirts of the packs. Even the atmosphere, the air saturated with soot and smoke, seemed to become heavier, more unpleasant to the taste. Igor was not sensitive enough to answer this question exactly, but it began to seem to him that the level of the power of the Other Side was increasing in the concrete jungle. Not enough to feel this stench with full awareness, not enough to make the spiral of Vessels in the chest burn this power right in the body. But the muck filled the air, poured out of the tap with the water, spoiled the taste of food, and polluted the earth. Obviously, in large quantities, this abomination could turn a person or another living creature into some kind of shit. But Igor didn’t even want to think about what regular and prolonged exposure to even relatively weak “radiation” would do to ordinary people who didn’t have the protection of the Lot and Vessels.
The products in the stores were gradually becoming less and less diverse. More and more often, he saw literally overflowing carts as if some kind of hysteria had begun. A new hunt for buckwheat or pasta. It seemed to Igor that rope and soap should also be added to the list of mandatory products. Now he spends most of the day in meditation. He did not even cast his skills over and over again. The time when this could have helped had already passed. Now he was precisely learning the Tablets, trying to better understand the secrets behind, to look through the keyhole without opening the sealed door, to see just a crumb of truth, so as not to die from seeing it. New units were added to the scale extremely reluctantly, but each such increase made him smile, because its value was higher and higher each time.
And now he was lying on the floor again, on a mattress, with water, aspirin tablets, a phone set on silent, and everything else that might come in handy when going through such an important procedure as filling out the Patch. It was time to close the last of the three free slots for the Tablet, and he had just the thing to close that slot. He had originally hoped to find something cooler in a raid on a kindergarten, but it didn't work out. The only trophies he got were beating and Tablet development. And that wasn't bad, especially the second one. He was basically satisfied, as were his comrades, who didn't realize why their understanding scales had gone up so dramatically.
He, obeying his intuition, placed the lump of matter compressed into a very dense mass, no longer ghostly, but entirely material, which had taken the form of a lamp lantern, right into the hollow on his chest, right on the solar plexus, feeling, precisely feeling, and not seeing, how this ball crumbled into many thin threads. The threads penetrated his body extremely quickly and, without encountering resistance, they entwined all five Vessels, pierced the base of the Lot, which ran like a column along the spine, and then, having gathered into a real battering ram of these threads, rushed to the last free Patch. Here was where the first difference came: where the "spiritual" Lantern at the moment of the ram disintegrated into the smallest grains of sand, merging into a foggy trail, the "bone" one, on the contrary, strengthened, its threads intertwined into a denser structure, like some kind of rope with a ram-like thickening at the end, which pierces through the unfilled Patch, forcing it to open up and turn inside out.
Or to the Other Side.
It was both similar and completely different from what Igor had done before. The same visions, the same Spiral, the Tree and the Rain, would have crushed his soul and would have been much more terrible if the dim glow of the Lantern had not protected him. But now he was illuminated by something else, not the usual manifestation of individual aspects of some secret mechanisms of control of the universe. No, it is different, like a multitude of small words and sounds, particles not of one mystery but of many, which merge into something unified. Much more cumbersome, useless in its clumsiness. This knowledge will not be instantly brought into the world, nor will it be forced to distort reality by a single wish and a glance into one's own Tablet. But where there is clumsiness, there is also strength, a great power born from its own fetters. A sword in the hands of a skilled swordsman, finding gaps in armor and vulnerable points, or a heavy war hammer, capable of crushing and breaking through that armor? It was the same thing, but in different words. It was different, but similar, and because of that, he had to concentrate much harder, not to let himself be deceived by the difference and similarity at once.
Now, Igor understood. He understood the difference between Spirit and Bone.
The secret knowledge that becomes a part of you, that you absorb with your breath, that you absorb with every movement of the spiral - this is the Spirit Foundation of the Tablet. But the Bone Foundation does not become you; it appears on you like a stigmata on your skin, or an engraving made by a bone carver directly on your bones. The young man freezes for a moment, choosing what he desires more than anything else, realizing that this type of Tablet is much more flexible within this framework, much better able to bend it to his advantage, if you can, and in time, if you have the will and the desire to know. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew what he had seen, what he had understood, and what was the fundamental difference between the first two and the last Tablet at his disposal. Surprisingly, his brain, accustomed to game analogies, was not even surprised.
Spirit Foundation gives the skill of quick activation, which is easiest to describe as “spell”, so as not to bother with terms like “direct impact of energy on a small part of a separate law of the universe”. So, if the Tablet of Spirit Foundation is a spell, the Bone Foundation allows you to master a... ritual.
Tablet: Light Touch of Primordial Powers: Grant Fragile Chalice and Bodily Might
Understanding: 1/100
Foundation: Bone
Brightness: Dim
Effect: Allows intuitive creation of ritual traits and actions that will convince the Primordial World to bestow a stream of pure energy upon the target, thereby increasing the number of available Vessels. Cast on oneself or a target, depleting one of the Vessels for a little over an hour, granting one additional Vessel of a fragile nature. The fragile Vessel lasts indefinitely, but only until the first emptying, after which it disintegrates, increasing the physical characteristics for a while. The next Vessel after the first will require the energy of two of one's own to be invested in it, the next after the second, three. Filling the trait and activating ritual actions also consumes one full vessel, depleting it for a little over an hour. The number of targets is limited by the total number of Vessels the initiator of the Touch has.
Effect: [will be revealed upon mastering 75 units of understanding]
Effect: [will be revealed upon full understanding of the Tablet]
Behold, your cup is before you, drink it to the dregs...
Igor lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and seeing nothing but his thoughts and the images that came into them. The new door-gate blocked the Patch with the Tablet was not like the other two either. This gate is not of cast steel, on which is carved a clear and distinct image. These gates are like a mosaic, beautiful and moving, each part of which has meaning and understanding. Collect from them what you consider necessary and what you have enough puzzles for, and having collected them, embody them in reality. Transfer the pattern drawn on your bones, cut with a sharp blade, embody it in reality, embody it and fill it with power, and it will serve you as it should serve you. Or you will serve it, who knows?
Unlike a Protective Charm or Combat Shine, the ritual available to him was flexible. Igor knew he could accomplish his goal in different ways. He could draw the signs. It was so easy now for him to imagine the symbols he needed and understand their meaning. Drawing pentagrams, he could wait for the right time or search the fridge for the right ingredients. He may do it all together, getting a little more result than from each approach separately. But at their core, all these reagents and signs, all these symbols and ritualized action... they are, like the first two Tablets, just tools. A way to convince the world to play by his will and his rules, based on the laws of the universe. It's just that now he has the right to rely on them, to know exactly how to play those notes.
He raised his hand and looked at his fingers, releasing a little power from not even the vessels, but from the spiral itself, which throws these forces out into the world around him. And the tips of his fingernails shone, and Igor himself knows that he can draw a sign with his fingernail, he can direct this power to a pencil or a pen, he can impregnate dried grapes or a freshly laid hen's egg with it, he can, he can, he can.... He can do a lot of things now, but not much use is made of each individual action. And you can't overcomplicate the ritual either. It would become too cumbersome even for a Bone Tablet; it would become unruly, threatening to collapse into itself and hit its creator with a rollback. Choose the elements, prop them up against each other, imbue them with your power, accepting and understanding each part of the ritual action. Then empty the Vessels and cast, cast as best you can, hoping to pull it off. Unlike the familiar Protection and Shine, the guarantee of success of Bone Tablets is not one hundred percent. Simple Tablets can also have misfires. He remembers only his fears of not being able or not having time to concentrate to activate the protection in direct combat, when trying to nibble the face, but here it may not work even in ideal conditions.
If you do not create worthy elements of the sacrament.
If you can't cope with the created mosaic.
If you miss some of the preliminary work.
If you just miss something, you won't believe in yourself, or you'll believe too much.
"If, if, if, if..." In the dull voice of a disappointed bore who was shown the "pwn everyone" button, and then this button turned out to be fake, says the young man, getting to his feet. "Again, a lot of work, not magic. Couldn't they have given me a magic wand so that I could wave it and everything would be done?"
In fact, he has not one but two most valuable acquisitions. The ritual itself. It is simply impossible to convey how useful it is, allowing him to double his ammunition at once. Well, if he blocks three Vessels with the Shine cast on himself and allies again, leaving him with only a couple of free ones. The second acquisition, no less valuable, was the ability itself, embedded in instincts, to direct the forces of not so much the Vessels as the Spiral, outward, just like that, without relying on active skills. This, and also an understanding of the mosaic mechanism itself, is the selection of more suitable conditions for activating the ritual. When used correctly, these tricks can, if not move mountains, then greatly surprise a superior enemy.
The bastard from the abandoned building was a moron and definitely crazy, but his ritual allowed him, with only one vessel, to strike so hard as to almost knock out both the young man and his homeless assistant. Now, Igor no longer doubted that the freak had the bone foundation of the Tablet, or even more than one. Somehow, he had transformed human bodies into creatures, and he had transformed them not by random mutations, but by targeted action. A completely new direction of "build-building" was emerging, opening the way not only to direct damage but also to crafting, summoning, or controlling crowds of all sorts of abominations. Those same golem-idols of late, no doubt, were created similarly and were not much different in essence from the vivisectionist's meat mutants.
Having finally come to his senses and soaked in the shower, Igor did not rush the horses but thought over the general features of the future ritual. First, he needed a cup, a bowl, a plastic bottle, or any vessel, but a cup would be the best option. The ideal option turned out to be as many as four clay cups-pots, which were souvenirs from a local history museum. Igor had no idea which one. These cheap cups were left in the apartment by one of the tenants. Then he removed the carpet from the floor, leaving only the old wooden floor ... and immediately covered it back with carpet. It would not work. The surface was too uneven and not right, not suitable, too lively, and not dense enough.
The ritual was moved to the bathroom. He began to draw a circle on the old tile, using the remnants of gouache to which he had added a little of his blood from his punctured finger. Or rather, not a circle, but a spiral, with one continuous stroke overlapping the other. Forty-nine times he drew that spiral with a diameter of a metre and a little more, each time the power-soaked brush continued to draw it, as if from that power creating paint and blood, not letting them end in the middle of the stroke. Then there was a circle, which had to be painted with the rest of the gouache and in a normal way, not with one stroke, closing the spiral into a cage. It was the turn of the fridge. Mulberry from the freezer, bought at the market in autumn, a few apples cut into slices, the same number of cucumbers, parsley, and tomato. One. A single one, because it was the freshest, and he didn't need more than that.
The spiral, as a symbol of infinity, is the foundation that threads the Vessels of every Exalted. The circle acts as a line of defence and blocking, which should prevent the ritual from shining in the perception of colleagues without special skills or creatures cursed by the Other Side. After a moment's thought, he drew a second and third circle, bleeding again from his finger, the second one already, and then carefully bandaged himself. In this way, he hoped to shield his ritual action as much as possible. Perhaps it would have been more correct to carry out the ritual in nature or in a distant garage, but Igor had no garage, and it was easier to run into an angry patrol outside the flat than in the flat itself.
The combination of vegetables-berries-fruits-grass should, in his understanding and expression of will, symbolise life and the fullness of that life, make the effect of bodily amplification after the disintegration of the disposable Vessel adjusted to vitality and regeneration. Well, or turn him into a vegetable if he performed the ritual incorrectly, but Igor did not doubt himself. Even if he made a mistake, he would be able to avoid a backlash; his Gift helped him to understand his Tablet and its limits better. As well as his own.
He wanted to cope to the best of his ability, powering up the ritual circle and creating two fragile Vessels for himself at once. First for one, and then for two. There would also be one last unspent charge left, just in case. He wanted to, but logic and reason told him it was better to start small and behave more modestly, cautiously, and prudently. He could try the heavier variants of the ritual later, but it would be good to make the first attempt not even successful, but at least not a complete failure. He sat down in the circle of the ritual, with his bare arse directly on the spiral - bare because his clothes, from the point of view of conceptual symbolism, were both a cage and a protection, shielding him from part of the powers granted by the ritual. He hesitated for about a minute and a half, then spat out the first Vessel directly onto the spiral and the ring that closed it.
The world had shifted; its laws, so familiar, less and less meaningful every day, had retreated before the will of the Exalted One, and the world had changed as well. A world in which another world was formed, a piece of reality, outlined by a circle, and in this slightly different world, slightly different laws apply. This is, after all, the essence of bone engraving or spirit alteration, the essence of ritual, the essence of active skill, as such. In the here and now, the world has changed. It is just that with the spiritual Tablet, the centre of change becomes the Exalted One himself, and the bone mosaic is revealed not inside the body and soul of the ‘wizard’, but in the zone of action of the ritual trait. This understanding is so simple it is even a little funny, though it seemed to him that without his Gift, it would be far from easy to understand. Not to recognise or logically guess, but to understand.
He clutched a clay bowl filled with pure mineral water and wine in equal proportions, but without blood. Blood was not allowed to be added, even though it only helped in the spiral and circle drawing stages. Into this bowl, he pours the second Vessel, emptying it, but, at the same time, forcing the force to impregnate the liquid inside the bowl. And this liquid begins to shine, to glow, shining even through the rapidly cracking bowl. The earthenware does not fall apart, though it should; water and wine do not flow through the cracks in it, though they should. But to whom should they? To the familiar rational world and the laws of physics? But here, its logic means nothing; here, the world law belongs to Igor and his Tablet, his bones, on which the new law was drawn.
Wine and water, wine and water merged together, turning into a small, quail's egg-sized drop of warm sunlight, turning into honey and the smell of flowers. Actually, the bathroom smelled like a meadow of flowers, and it was not because the air freshener was leaking. The boy brings the bowl to his face in a leisurely, even solemn manner, for his movements are also part of the ritual action. The time of day, the position of the stars, and the calendar holidays of different calendars. Any aspect and law of reality can influence rituals; any such law can be used to one's advantage if one has enough skill, enough understanding, and the will to impose that understanding.
The drop is like honey and a pill at the same time, like a soft caramel candy that has melted in the heat. The drop stings the mouth cavity with sweetness, hiding in the stomach, but before reaching it, it loses its matter, spreads in the body with pure light. This light comes up to the Spiral, it pulsates to the beat of the drawn spiral, which gradually heats up under Igor's arse. And, for a moment, he realised - he had held it, he had managed, he had made it! The fragile Vessel was the last in the line, but it was as if on its own. It could be emptied and crumbled, releasing the power of life and health into the body, or it could be kept for as long as you deemed necessary, spending full-fledged Vessels at first.
And it is also clear why it is called ‘fragile’: even in the inner ocean, this bowl-vessel seems to reflect in a mirror a real cup, scattered with small shards. The cracks are visible, they are obvious, and it is equally obvious that only the charge of force filling the Vessel prevents the walls from crumbling into shards, turning to dust, and that dust from filling Igor's body with life. With a quiet groan, he fell back on the cold tile, finally spoiling the drawing, which was now just paint with blood. He lay like that for at least ten minutes, listening to the sounds of water running down the riser, letting himself recover a little.
"Yeah, this isn't that." The ancient quote helps to recall the sound of his voice, to break the blissful meditative silence. "It was very close to failure. I wouldn't have died, but I would have sat on the toilet for a long time - the extra force I couldn't suppress would have gone into the intestinal flora. Not enough to die of a complete digestive upset, but it would have been unpleasant. I'm good. I can have cookies."
Instead of biscuits, the young man decided not to talk to himself anymore, because it was already a kind of Spanish shame. He began to clean the bathroom from the traces of his ritual, to wash off his fatigue, and just enjoy life. In the end, he was glad to see that the speed of the new skill was very high. The ratio of filling the scale per one use is excellent. Moreover, the first two units he took were not at all for the ritual, but for the preparation of reagents for it, as well as through purely theoretical thinking up the plot and mystery of the ritual.
Light Touch of Primordial Powers: Grant Fragile Chalice and Bodily Might: 7/100
Five units of understanding for one application. Another two for preparation. Igor quite consciously used the simplest version he could come up with. Just one additional vessel, an extremely simple body enhancement, no additional ritual blocks, if we don’t count the masking circle in triple duplication. Hmm... Come to think of it, this is not the simplest option, yes. And again, this brings him to the question of the influence of the Gift, even both Gifts, as he now understands. One is for the accelerated development of the Tablets and an extremely deep understanding of them, the second is for improving work with the Vessels, the ability to more fully control the internal energy, relying on those Vessels. And what is the basis for his energy charges? Why, it is the Spiral! That is why he so easily accepted and perceived the work with the free force released by the Spiral!
There is such an idea that without such Gifts, even just preparing a ritual would take not three and a half hours for processing and another half of this time for inventing a sacrament, but a week and a half of hellishly persistent work. Or work to the extreme of stubbornness.
Well, it’s better for Igor to be Igor, and not some Oleg, right?
* * *
The new business from Eugene caught Igor preparing the third ritual of the bowl, as he had already done the first two, at the same time spending Fragile Vessels, checking the regeneration, and accelerated reflexes. If in the first case everything worked just fine, and deeply cut fingers healed without leaving scars in a minute and a half, the second ritual was easier, but there were some mistakes. Actually, when Igor started to check the accelerated reflexes, he realized this mistake when he almost dislocated his shoulder by jerking his arm too quickly in an attempt to tear off the petals of a dried parsley stalk tossed into the air. Yes, yes, reaction speed is there, body speed has also increased a bit, but strength, strength, he did not take into account in his sacrament, nor did he take into account the ability to synchronize reflexes and body perception.
He had to wait for the end of about half an hour of buff lying in bed like a jellyfish, afraid to scratch his nose to avoid accidentally poking his eye out. At the same time, he thought about the third variant of the ritual. And he came up with it! But just before he started working, he received a call from a comrade and an offer to go for a walk along a very amusing tourist route. Igor thought about it and agreed, starting to prepare the ritual. Not in the third form, which had not been tested yet, but in the well-proven first form, with an emphasis on survivability. He even ran to the shop for fruit, buying a bottle of wine at the same time and looking longingly at the amount of payment. The money didn't get any more, and he started to eat much more, trying to maintain a healthy diet. And when he would have to spend money on ritual practice, it was just sadness.
He finished the ritual without any problems, washed and changed his clothes, meditated a little, used both spiritual Tablets, and left the apartment in the dark. It was winter, it was getting dark early, and the weather was very cloudy all day, with snow falling and blizzards rising. He had to dress warmly, he didn't do much disguising, he didn't even put on makeup, he just wrapped his face with a scarf and pulled heavy glasses without dioptrics over his eyes, as if he were cosplaying Danila fucking Bagrov. Lately, he has rarely walked down the street. Too often, police started asking for documents and the reason for the walk, and on indignation, they took them away, packed, sometimes with slightly beaten kidneys. And sometimes not even slightly. In this respect, the alliance with Eugene, who had the right to travel back and forth regularly for work, backed up by a certificate, was very useful for Igor.
The two acquaintances were waiting for him in an inconspicuous square, close to the railroad, so that his ear could hear the sound of distant trains, which were cheerfully humming their horns, shattering the silence of the night. The only light they had was a small, dimly blinking flashlight, the battery of which seemed to have gone cold and now needed replacing. In this light, even the eyesight, enhanced by the half-closed Step, could barely distinguish a homemade map drawn in pencil on paper. And the map was copied from a real cadastral plot, which Zhenya had access to thanks to a very fortunate coincidence.
"You need to change the locks on the archives, fuckers." That was all he said when asked if he'd get his ass if the owner of the plot he was interested in suddenly died a couple of days later. "And yeah, you sure as hell aren't going to be able to add on Vessel quickly for us.... okay, Vasya, a Shot, a Shot, more?
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
"No, not an option." Igor refused again, trying not to let irritation into his voice, and already regretting the fact that he had bragged about his new skill, knowing perfectly well that the extra Vessel would become visible as soon as they were near the power of the Other Side. "It's not poncey or greedy, it's a real waste of time and risk. I almost killed myself a couple of times, barely practicing the overlay of that shit on my own. Compared to the Spiritual Foundation, the Bone Tablets are fucking difficult to use."
Apparently, his very emotional speech managed to convince the naturally distrustful man, and Vas-Vasya didn't give a shit at all, because the main thing for him was to have vodka and the standard blessings of protection and shine. There was no vodka, by the way, so the homeless drank alternately hawthorn tincture and some brandy, and very expensive, judging by the brand. He ate all this splendor with condensed milk, eating directly from the can with an iron spoon, disregarding the laws of biology and the vulnerability of the pancreas, which, from such behavior, had to leave the chat room faster than money from the purse of a gambler. Despite such non-serious behavior, he watched and listened attentively, asked questions exclusively on business, and at the same time made extremely useful suggestions.
"Storozhkin Mikhail Petrovich, seventy-ninth year of birth, divorced once, married, not a member, not involved. The man, despite his surname, was not a watchman, but just a logistician who kept something in that kindergarten. I don't know what it was; I didn't ask him, but he had a whole group of movers working under him, who often worked nights as watchmen. Including there in the kindergarten." Crunching his neck, Zhenya let anger show on his previously almost impassive face. "A third of those men disappeared, and a third left town. Well, so they called back, answered, and put a status on VK. Obviously, left mostly those who have no connections and relatives that could have raised the alarm, what a fucking coincidence, eh! The remaining third had hardly seen their boss for the last few weeks, as if he'd been drinking, or owed someone else money, and had set them all up at the same time. And there's a well-traveled track leading to his dacha. He's also recently ordered a truckload of bricks, rubble, and cement. Like he's building a fucking shed. No, he's building, he was building before all this fucking shit. Only the shed ain't grown, as you can see, and the new batch of building materials just got delivered four days ago. You know what I mean?"
"Aha, my man, we understand." Having burped heartily, Vas-Vas puts the third can of condensed milk into the bag on his side, which he, like the bottles, does not throw away, but not in order not to leave traces, but to sell it for money. "He's become a demonic beast, killing people alive. And now we should send him to God's judgment. An autodafe, you know."
Igor only shakes his head in response to Vasily's uncharacteristically high erudition, especially when he starts swearing. Meanwhile, the discussion smoothly turns to the operation itself. Approaches to the dacha, which stands, quite successfully, on the outskirts, the route of departure, the layout of the building, and all that. Oh yes, another important detail was that the suspect's dacha did not smell of Iznanka. According to Zhenya, he would have missed it if he hadn't deliberately tried to listen to it, when yesterday he walked along the road, while he was bringing an acquaintance a magarich for a borrowed perforator. Zhenya had his own perforator, and it was not even broken, although he said otherwise.... but it was very necessary to find an excuse to walk by and “sniff the air”. Now, by the way, the suspect had gone to town, having left just an hour and a half ago, when Igor was still preparing to leave the apartment.
"There's always the possibility that he's as normal as we are. But I can smell it. He's a scumbag." Igor didn't want to kill an innocent man, but a lot of circumstantial evidence was perfect for this case. "We go in, check the gut of the house, if there are creatures, we leave, and then wait for him to arrive and bury him there. If there's nothing. Well, I'll personally leave the money on the table for the broken door and get the hell out of here. I just don't believe I'll have to. But I don't just believe it, I'm fucking sure of it!"
<p class="cnMzYzc5MGEyMTg2ZjRhOTNiZDVhNTI3YmY3NDc2YjBk">Yeah, the eternal question of whether to go “where” or to kill “who” is a philosophical dilemma.T.N. The author used the slang words "run away" and "kill", which are spelled and sound the same.