Everyone looked at Victor, and the psychologist looked at some kind of square device that appeared in his hands.- You are well done. What is your name?– Victor.“Victor, but didn’t they scare you?”Pustovalov at that moment looked at the psychologist.“No, they didn’t scare me,” Victor chuckled, “the guy who came to my aid scared me.The man nodded.Yes, I forgot to say. He entered the car a little later and first sat between me and that girl. He took out a ballpoint pen and began to peck at his knee with it. Well, you know, he acted like a psycho. In fact, he was a psycho. He scared this girl with his strange behavior, and I talked to him a little. I wanted to calm him down so he wouldn't hurt her. And then, he left. And, in general, that's why we met.So you managed to calm him down?- Yes, he was excited, and then after we had a chat, he left."How did he scare you?"- He appeared suddenly when the gopniks grabbed my legs and turned me over. I saw…Victor was silent.– What did y

Boris generously spread butter on a piece of bread, put a plate of Emmental cheese on top, pressed down slightly, and, twisting the created sandwich, bit off a third from the corner at once. At the same moment, his face twisted into a grimace of disgust - instead of creamy pleasure, his mouth filled with the taste of acrylic paint, a can of which stood next to the oil on the windowsill.Nevertheless, Boris chewed a piece and swallowed it. It got even more disgusting. Throwing the sandwich into the trash can, he took three long sips of black coffee and stared at Yakov, who was either sleeping or talking on the phone - reclining in an armchair and pressing his smartphone to his ear, he blinked slowly like Dmitry Medvedev at a government meeting. The clock was a quarter to four. He had been awake for almost a day.Finally, the smartphone moved to the table.“Shiburova Ayana Bachievna…” Yakov said, stumbling over every word.- What are you muttering?- One thousand nine hundred and twenty

“At seven, it’s like the apocalypse. I don’t know what’s in her head, but definitely not rainbow pictures from Instagram.“Boris,” Yakov paused before getting into the car, “we don’t even know what he looks like.Thank you, Elder Fura. And then I forgot.They were delivered to Chelyabinsk on a military plane. Yakov was sleeping, but Boris couldn't get the first four digits of "1835" out of his head. He understood that there was nothing complicated in them, if the rest were just coordinates, then there was no special trick in these four. But the train of thought still could not get into the right track, it irritated him. He seemed to be missing something simple yet important.Taking into account the collection, obtaining permits and the time difference, they arrived in Chelyabinsk already at the beginning of the fourth. It immediately became clear that the Chelyabinsk airport is located quite decently outside the city, namely twenty kilometers. Makarov was supposed to arrive later, the

Boris shuffled to his "post" along the way, throwing a glass into the trash can. The crowd of people below flowed like a full-flowing motley river. Peak hour. Boris yawned. He felt heavy apathy and deadly weariness. Putting his hands on the railing, he literally hung on it, spitting on the fact that he began to attract more attention. Yawning again, he stared at the scoreboard. It was already unbearable to look at the streams of people below. He felt nauseous. It must be the crappy schnitzel we had for lunch.And what if he throws up this undercooked schnitzel right into this human river. That will be fun for Makarov, who reports this to the general. Arrival board and departure board. They also dreamed of him. All these Chrysostom, Penza, Krasnoyarsk. Roughly six. No thirty-five. At eighteen thirty-five nothing arrives or departs. Damn thirty-five!Having endured only twenty minutes instead of the prescribed thirty, Boris hobbled to the seats and literally collapsed on them, thrust hi

A stammering female voice from behind reported:“My eyes see many more bloody fields. I don't know what Sivanma is up to. But how long will he be entertained by our troubles?Since the Chinese, who was standing opposite Pustovalov, continued to look into his eyes, deepening the tension with silence and, as it were, setting off a strange electric chirp, Pustovalov raised his eyebrows inquiringly, showing Dasha, who was also looking at him at that moment, a "puppy" look. The Chinese did not appreciate Pustovalov's acting abilities. Despite the acrid smell of sweat, the stench of the mouth, heavy sniffling, the black collar of the once blue shirt, the forehead wet with sweat, reminiscent of darkened dough flavored with pepper, unshaven in the form of sparse hair, as if the owner of this body had been using the female hormone tarragon in the form of large volumes for many years beer, reducing the male norm of testosterone by at least half - despite all these purely human signs, the Chines