In a deliberately strict tone, which was part of the same game, Pustovalov was explained that he would be carrying cargo from a large warehouse to a smaller warehouse.The warehouse was interesting. Pustovalov, by the nature of his former occupations, had seen various warehouses. He saw the storage facilities of the port of Rotterdam and all sorts of logistics centers, but the food warehouse of Vault U-4 undoubtedly surpassed them all. Perhaps there was something wrong here too: the racks went to an immense height, and the square spread out in all directions, without showing any hint of borders. Probably, what was stored here could feed a country the size of Canada or Italy, but it’s not clear why they were fed such crap?Pustovalov lowered boxes of fish fillets from racks onto a trolley, raw smoked sausages with EU labels - Speck, Stajonata, Breazolla, cheeses, frozen vegetables from freezers, boxes of French ice cream, New Zealand butter, huge bulk apples, pineapples , pears, peache

Going to bed in a new place, Pustovalov tried to think over Victor's story and the events of the last hour, but the nauseating sweetish smell creeping from the toilet did not allow him to concentrate. The fact is that he was familiar to Pustovalov, but entangled in a web of hectic thoughts, he still could not remember him.The only source of light - a wide doorway covering the silhouette of the new dad - to remind everyone who now controls their lives and nightmares. Pustovalov once again noted that this ancient instinct worked perfectly for Kharitonov - he was born not only to crap in small ways, his real vocation is world wars, famines and Egyptian executions. His unconscious hatred for humanity, which has developed protective mechanisms in the form of pushing such individuals into marginals and evil clowns, is also understandable. But it seems that in times of crisis, protection failed. And only now, looking out of the darkness at the new pope, Pustovalov finally remembered this sm

But then Pustovalov thought for the first time, who are they still praising, if all the leadership is here, and there are no more people left on the planet? Is it really this first technocrat who looks like a top manager? Doubtful. Considering how this type was spread out in a kimono, it seemed more like a cruel, touchy and mentally unbalanced tyrant.Thinking about this, Pustovalov raised his eyes higher and for the first time noticed that the walls of the room narrowed slightly, so that the huge glass at the bottom of which they were, rather, had the shape of a flask. Waves of darkness still swayed above. No, there was nothing new in it, except for a slightly breathtaking sense of depth. As if above him, in the immediate vicinity was the ocean with billions of tons of water, capable of crushing in an instant.But he was no less interested in a round gallery, located about five meters from the floor, and if you strain your eyes, then above the second row of dim lamps, you could see t

But this round remained for the character - the look of Mirzakarim Viktorovich, which she caught a glimpse of in a mirror image when she got up from the sofa, was aimed at her ass.“Why the hell are you wearing a kimono, Mirzakarim? - Suppressing hostility in his voice, the man noticed and, without waiting for an answer, disappeared behind the door. - Come here!Although the office was impressive, it still betrayed in its owner a person accustomed to stingy budgets accountable to taxpayers. Unlike the rest of the block - no expensive woods, painted ceilings and other vulgarity. A purely functional table from Ikea, comfortable “retro” chairs in the style of the seventies, landscapes instead of icons and portraits. And already the most complete sacrilege - a framed photograph of the family on the table with the same girl in a sweatshirt and jeans, at whose ass Mirzakarim Viktorovich lustfully stared. But the ventilation in the office was excellent. It seemed to the man in the kimono tha

Surrounded by whirlwinds, a short, three-car electric train thundered and flew away in a silent cloud, turning into a caterpillar hastily cutting through the snowy desert.Staring after her intently, Yakov entered the stinging cloud, cracking crisply at us with his heavy boots. Taking off his hood, he took out a wide smartphone with a working navigator from the pocket of the parka, looked, squinting from the sun. A blue dot on a single thread reflected the reality of the bewitching emptiness around - the boundless field ran beyond the horizon in all directions, merging with the blue of the sky. With rare copses covered with snow cobwebs, A-shaped pillars and blackening felts of forest strips, or rivers, or rotten Russian huts. For scanty trifles, arising, as if from the void, Yakov clung to his gaze, enduring frost and evil gusts of wind in his face. He walked for the third hour, but the hardy organism still had a lot of reserves of strength. But there was almost no time left.Jacob w