Elijah Gutman. The Restless One. The Red Messiah

Elijah Gutman

The Restless One. The Red Messiah

In the kitchen sits a cup of hot chocolate, unfinished,

And my little soldier is already dozing, diminished.

He dreams, as always, of distant worlds, you see:

Planets, palm trees, cities, and balloons floating free.

Rock band "Nogu Svelo"/"Cramp in the Leg", Lullaby.

Chapter 1

The cycle of flashes of light and colorful spots illuminated the dissolved darkness. The spots and flashes doubled and tripled, swirling, sometimes speeding up, sometimes slowing down, appearing and disappearing, flickering from above and below, from the right and the left, indicating to the consciousness that the world of the living is not ready to let it go just yet. Alongside the flashes, buzzing, whistling, and squeaking sounds could be heard. All these images weighed heavily on the aching head, as if saying, "Look and listen to us! You can do it! Come back to yourself!"

The person lying on the couch felt that a strange confusion was taking place in their head and, with an act of will, commanded themselves to focus. Gradually, the flashes and spots stopped spinning, doubling, and jumping. They began to acquire clarity and form. Soon, the flashes turned into a lamp hanging above the head, the blue spots became painted walls, the yellow spot transformed into a wardrobe, the red one into a hanging picture capturing a sunset on a sandy shore, and the black one into a television set next to the bed. The headache gradually subsided.

"Where am I?" the person thought, surveying the room. Bright light, a white ceiling, monotonous walls, a couch. And suddenly, a squeaking electrocardiograph to the right of the couch and an intravenous drip protruding from the hand. Undoubtedly, a hospital.

The next question shocked them even more because it sounded like this: "Who am I?" The person couldn't remember who they were! Looking at the emaciated but clearly once muscular hairy hands with large fists, they realized that they were, at least, a man. And that was all they remembered. Think, think, head! Think about who you could be and where you come from! What countries exist in the world, what is the situation in global geopolitics? And they remembered that the world was divided into two systems. The capitalist and socialist camps were formed by two superpowers. They have been in a state of cold war for many years. And this confrontation could turn into a real war, a nuclear one, as both sides possess numerous atomic bombs. Which camp do I belong to? - he wondered. Damn, who knows!

The man wanted to touch his face, but it turned out to be wrapped in bandages, making him look like an ancient mummy. Leaning on the bed with his hands, he lifted his head, once again surveying the ward. A window. Beyond it was a tropical forest. Somewhere in the distance, a city could be seen. Ah, the hospital is located on the outskirts of the city, and the floor is high, at least the tenth, maybe even the twelfth. A hospital on the outskirts of the city could belong to a military unit. Or maybe not.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a pretty young nurse entered with a medication for the IV drip. The patient, looking at her with wide-open eyes, smiled. Granted, his mouth was bandaged, but the nurse could tell from the patient's eyes that he was smiling. Instead of smiling back or at least greeting the patient, she gasped and rushed out as if she had seen a ghost. In turn, the patient was surprised by such a reaction. What could it be? Could it be that I was in a vegetative state with diffuse axonal brain injury and they consider me a vegetable?!

Most likely, that was the case.

The patient analyzed his own vocabulary. The use of words like "geopolitics," "confrontation," "diffuse brain injury" indicated that his education was at least above average. What specifically? he wondered. Maybe he's a doctor or a biologist? It's unclear.

Examining his abdomen, the patient noticed that it was also wrapped in bandages, but there was absolutely no pain there. He removed the bandages: underneath was normal skin, although in the area around the navel, it alternated with soft, infant-like skin, which evidently grew where there had been some injuries. The patient tried to stand up, but an unpleasant surprise awaited him: his legs did not respond. He simply couldn't feel them. It seemed that he was paralyzed below the waist, which meant a spinal injury, and that meant a lifelong disability. The patient pinched his leg with all his might, but he only felt a slight, almost imperceptible pain.

How did he manage to get injured like this? And then, like a candle flickering in the darkness, the first memories flickered in his mind: he was flying in a helicopter and got into an accident! Where did it happen? Somewhere above a tropical island. What kind of accident could have occurred? The helicopter was shot down by an anti-aircraft missile system. Did the pilot and the rest of the crew and passengers survive? It is unknown! And if the aircraft was shot down, it's quite possible that he's now lying in a hospital located in enemy territory! Without memory and unable to walk. But again, this doesn't reveal whether he belongs to the capitalist or socialist camp. However, it's better not to tell anyone yet that he remembers the accident. And not to ask anyone in which country he is. Unless they tell him themselves.

The door opened, and a doctor entered the room with a green folder, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a blue coat--a bald, tall, hefty man in his fifties, somewhat resembling a boar or a hippopotamus. Two more doctors in white coats, a man and a woman in their forties, followed him.

"Good morning, El. I am Dr. Eber."

"Good morning, Dr. Eber," nodded the patient, noting to himself that El was indeed his name.

"I am the chief physician here," - he continued, "I am in charge. This is a hospital. A military hospital. Here, we treat people. Injured soldiers."

"Dr. Eber, I understand that you shouldn't overload the brains of just awakened coma patients, but you don't have to talk to me like an idiot!" El allowed himself to raise his voice. "My mental faculties are normal!"

"Oh, really?" exclaimed the chief physician, astonished. "Incredible! But I cannot deny what I see with my own eyes, as well as everything related to you. Take notes," he turned to his colleagues. "Contact is possible, consciousness is clear. Mental state is questionable. How many fingers do you see, El?" The doctor showed him a hand with two fingers bent.

"Three," El replied, and the chief physician removed his finger. "Two," the doctor brought another finger close to his palm. "Seven." "List the colors of the rainbow." "Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet."

"What is five times five?"

"Twenty-five."

"What is six times six?" "Thirty-six." "Thirteen multiplied by fourteen?"

"One hundred and eighty-two," El said without hesitation.

"The first capital of the Confederacy?"

"Andoza."

"Raise your right hand. Good. Now your left. Now both at the same time. Catch!" the doctor shouted, throwing a pen to El, who effortlessly caught it.

"Let's take notes," Dr. Eber addressed his colleagues. "The patient doesn't exhibit the sluggishness, passivity, and scattered attention typical of coma survivors. Coordination is normal. Capable of multiplying two-digit numbers. Presumably emerged from the coma with an intellect higher than that of an average healthy person. How do you feel, El?"

"I would say I'm fine, except for the paralyzed legs and lost memory," El sarcastically replied, smiling. He surprised himself by saying it so calmly, as if he were talking about a common cold.

"Any abdominal pain?"

"Nope," El said, removing the blanket and revealing a healthy abdomen covered in fresh skin.

"You know what, El. You are the most extraordinary patient in our hospital. When you were brought here twenty days ago, your spine was fractured, your abdomen was practically eviscerated, and your head, specifically your skull, was pierced. Nearly a quarter of your right brain hemisphere was damaged, not to mention the lacerations and burns disfiguring your face. Normally, people like you are put straight into coffins, but your body--the only one found from the crashed helicopter--showed signs of life. And Colonel Maur said you must survive. At all costs." And I agreed. Medicine has known cases where people lived with only one surviving hemisphere of the brain after surgery. While our neurons do not regenerate, neural connections can become more complex, and surviving nerve cells can take on the functions of damaged ones, resulting in the restoration of brain functionality. We performed four surgeries on your abdominal cavity and one on your spine, along with some facial reconstruction. However, after that, your digestive organs and liver regenerated on their own, and even the scars from the surgeries disappeared. Somehow, your spine fused together, and the injured part of your head was covered by a membrane under which cranial bone and the missing parts of the brain grew back!

El pondered. If only twenty days had passed, why had his muscles significantly decreased? It seemed that the organism required biomass for the regeneration of damaged areas of the brain and internal organs, and the muscle tissue served as its reserve. No problem, it had disappeared - they would grow it back.

"You mean to say that everything is healing on me like a dog?" El asked.

"Hah, like a dog! Only primitive life forms surpass you in terms of regeneration ability! If you cut a worm in half, each half grows into a new worm. If you detach a lizard's tail, it regrows. But I have never seen anything like this in humans. I was taught at the institute that nerve cells do not regenerate. Turns out, they do regenerate in you! You, my dear, are a violator of biological laws! You know what would have happened if a doctor discovered such a patient five or six centuries ago?"

"What would have happened?"

"The Holy Inquisition would have burned you at the stake as a demon!"

"Curious," El responded as indifferently as possible, while recalling medieval legends he had read about demons and their abilities to regenerate limbs or eyes in a matter of days.

"Now, we need to examine your mental state in more detail." For half an hour, three doctors questioned El, and he honestly answered all the questions except for the helicopter crash incident. Then the medical professionals conferred, and ultimately Dr. Eber spoke up. "Mentally, dear sir, you are perfectly healthy, except for the memory loss. You have dissociative amnesia, meaning you do not remember yourself and your professional skills, but general knowledge is preserved. However, we are confident that after therapy, you will quickly recover. Now, colleagues, I will ask you to leave us." Two doctors left, leaving only Dr. Eber with El.

"El, if it weren't for Colonel Maur paying me a hefty bribe to leave you alone, I would have personally examined you - because your regenerative ability has greatly intrigued me, and I could have received a substantial reward."

"And would you have dissected me?"

"Of course! Your life - for the lives of hundreds and thousands of people."

"But you took the Medical Oath! How can you simply take a person's life, even with good intentions?! You would become a murderer!"

"That's why I decided it would be better for both of us if I handed you over to the Colonel. As for the reward - I'm not sure if I would have received it. But this way - it's better to have a bird in hand than a crane in the sky."

"Ah," noted El, "He didn't commit murder because a bribe seemed like the best way out. A kind doctor."

"Look at the results of your brain tomography from a week ago and yesterday," said Dr. Eber, taking out two images from a folder, showing a small glowing area in the first one and a fourfold increase in the second. "The difference in activity is colossal. Your brain is flawless!"

"Hmm, thought El, where is he leading to? I don't like this anymore!"

"I promised the Colonel to keep you alive. However, the Colonel might perish in war or due to an unfortunate accident, so I can offer you cooperation if you agree to undergo some private examinations. I'll pay you handsomely - and I promise to preserve your life." So, he's hinting that he plans to arrange an accident for the Colonel? No, I'd better stay away from such doctors! Before you know it, you will end up preserved and packaged in a few jars! - "Unfortunately, Dr. Eber, I have to decline your offer."

"Well, El, you have disappointed me. You won't refuse the Colonel so easily." The chief physician left the room. About fifteen minutes later, a tall man in camouflage uniform, with a buzz cut, entered the ward, roughly the same age as Dr. Eber:

"Good morning, comrade!" Ah, "comrade." That means El is a representative of the communist camp. And considering how disdainfully the Colonel pronounced that word, he himself, on the contrary, is a servant of the capitalist system. So, my hunch about being in enemy territory turned out to be correct.

"Good morning to you too," El replied with a hint of cynicism in his voice.

"I didn't expect you to recover so quickly," continued the Colonel, "Professor El Goar." Ah, his last name seems to be Goar! Yes, that's what he was called before! And he really is a professor. But in what field? It feels like the Colonel is about to reveal everything himself. After all, he needs El for some reason. El noticed the Colonel holding a folder. It seems to be the patient's personal file! - "El Goar, a professor at the Physical-Technical University," the Colonel began reading in an official tone, "Born in 1963 in the Republic of Gasta. Parents deceased, unmarried, the only child in the family," the Colonel smirked, "so no one is particularly concerned about your disappearance. "In 1980, graduated from Boarding School Number Twelve, then went to the capital," the officer continued, "Didn't serve in the army because according to the Confederation laws, orphans are not conscripted into the Red Army. Worked as an electrician while studying through correspondence at the Physics and Technology Institute. Entered the graduate school of the Institute, wrote a dissertation on computer technologies within a year, becoming the youngest professor in his institute. Engineer, programmer, developer of electronic computing machines," the Colonel emphasized that phrase. "Almost half of the modern computer hardware in the world has been created based on your designs. Your genius, Professor, your inventiveness, is needed by the Empire and its invincible army."

"I'm a communist," El replied. "And I won't betray my homeland."

"If you disagree, you'll simply spend the rest of your days in the hospital. But if you agree, you will receive a substantial amount of money. You will have everything - a separate house, a luxury car. The corporation `Pineapple' is already working for our army, for the glory of the Emperor. Join us, and you will too." -

"Colonel," El objected. "Even if I were to agree, I wouldn't be able to help you. I have serious brain damage, and I do not remember anything about what I was involved in."

"The main thing is for you to give your consent, Professor. We will hire the best scientist-doctors and heal your brain! Besides, Dr. Eber has already told me about your regenerative abilities. You emerged from a vegetative state on your own and are completely mentally normal! I'm confident that your memory will be restored."

"I'll think about your offer," El replied. Of course, he didn't want to betray his homeland - a plan for escape began to form in his mind, the main thing was not to show the Colonel that he was opposed.

"Think, comrade Goar," the Colonel smirked. "You still have your whole life ahead of you, and if I were in your place, I wouldn't agree to spend it within these four walls."

The nurse came in and brought El breakfast - a plate of porridge, fruits, and a cup of tea. Despite receiving intravenous nutrition for almost three weeks, El eagerly attacked the food. - "You eat with such appetite, Professor," the Colonel remarked, "you clearly enjoy life. I'm confident that you'll love a rich life even more than that modest life back home." El didn't respond. The Colonel left the room.

***

Time was approaching noon. El was being hooked up to an IV drip. He tried to recall something from his previous life, but nothing specific came to mind. He carefully analyzed all the fragments of information about himself that the chief doctor and the colonel had told him. It seemed to El that his parents might still be alive. Boarding school, distance learning at the Institute of Physics and Technology (Phystech), and working as an electrician? He had absolutely no recollection of that, but he did remember his graduate studies and writing his dissertation. Yes, he had indeed developed or improved numerous computer components and programming languages for them, not to mention regular applications. And he made one of those languages the subject of his dissertation. The Ministry of Industry of the Confederation collaborated with Phystech and paid El for all the advancements he created at home or in the laboratory at the department.

After the procedure, it was time for lunch. El made his way to the kitchen in the provided wheelchair. Settling at the table, he loosened some of the bandages on his face to free his mouth. Lunch was nothing special: a fajita, a tortilla with beef and vegetables, a salad of cold rice, beans, corn, and beets, and a vegetable soup with meatballs. It could be washed down with cocoa. El eagerly started eating, placing the tray on the table. A patient in his early thirties approached his table, leaning on a crutch with his right hand:

"Hey, you're new here?"

"Yes. My name is El," he extended his hand.

"I'm Zak," the patient responded, shaking his hand, "I'm a sapper, got blown up by a mine during the civil war."

"I was in an accident."

"How old are you, El?"

"Twenty-five. And you?"

"Thirty-two. El, have you heard about the prisoner of war from the downed helicopter who's currently in our hospital?"

"More than heard. I am that prisoner of war."

"Oh, really," Zak looked at El with interest, "I don't think there's anything special about you."

"What should be special about me, Zak?"

"The stories about communists depict our enemy as a Confederate nerd obsessed with science, labor discipline, not believing in God, and worshiping the dictator Lamed. Do you believe in God, El?"

"No, but I don't idolize Lamed either."

"Just like me, I don't believe in God or the Emperor. Could it be that your parents would turn the city upside down if they found out you were missing?"

"They couldn't. I don't have parents. I'm an orphan."

"I sympathize. My parents regularly bring me home-cooked meals, as does my girlfriend. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No. I haven't met the right one yet..."

"They say there's no sex in your country. That your women are too modest and repressed, not having sex before marriage."

"Not all of them."

"Are you a virgin?"

"No."

"When did you lose your virginity?"

"Twenty years ago," El confidently replied, straining his fading memory. -

"What?!" Zak choked on his tea, "At the age of five?!"

"No. Certainly not," El said, contemplating, "during the accident, I struck my head severely, and it seems I haven't fully regained my senses. And I was also fortunate: no one else survived besides me."

"I wouldn't say that. The pilot survived as well."

"But Dr. Eber clearly told me that among the bodies found in the helicopter, only mine showed signs of life."

"Among the bodies found in the helicopter, yes, but the pilot managed to parachute out and land in the forest, where our guys picked him up."

"I'm not a spy or a special forces operative, but an engineer," El said. "Why would the military shoot down a civilian helicopter? Our nations aren't at war, and I'm sure the pilot had permission to be in the empire."

"How should I know?" Zak shrugged, taking out a pack of "Galleon" cigarettes from his pocket. "Maybe they thought there was a spy on board. Or they somehow sniffed out that you're a computer expert."

"Perhaps," El shrugged, "but that would mean someone from our side betrayed me."

"Let's go smoke," Zak said, opening the pack and taking out a cigarette.

"I don't smoke," El replied. "I'm an athlete. Former," he corrected himself, glancing at his wheelchair.

"Well, El, I can see you're a regular guy, just like the rest of us. Farewell," Zak said, leaning on his crutch and heading towards the exit.

El settled into the wheelchair and headed back to the ward. His brain still needed further recovery, and drowsiness washed over him, prompting El to lie down and take a nap.

***

He had completely different dreams. Mostly about teaching at the Phystech Institute and developing computer hardware. But there were also surrealist ones: about a strange world without poverty, disease, wars, where religions nations peacefully coexisted, flying machines filled the skies, the ecology was perfect, and the entire planet had transformed into a unified rational state, and people became one nation. Upon awakening, El pondered. Could it be that he dreamt of communism? He remembered that he had always treated the idea with irony, believing it would come sooner or later. But here it was--so vivid, bright, and realistic!

The next dream depicted a scene from his childhood when he was around five years old. A small town lay on the shore of the sea. Young El walked to the beach with his father along the morning road paved with cobblestones, passing old car interchanges with fountains, and then along the pier, bypassing the statue of a mermaid.

"Daddy, are there no jellyfish today?" El exclaimed with excitement.

"No, son. They left our shores three days ago," his father replied.

El breathed a sigh of relief.

On the mountain to the south, a large city sprawled, covered with both avant-garde sparkling high-rise towers and ancient temples of major religions. Summer was palpable--in the soil, the air, and the water. The sea beckoned El while simultaneously repelling him; he was terribly afraid of jellyfish. However, his father said they were not there.

Arranging their belongings on the beach, young El ran along the pier and jumped into the water. Holding his breath, he dove deeply and began exploring the underwater world of his hometown--corals, algae, and colorful fish.

Suddenly, schools of fish swimming by shuddered and scattered in all directions. The water trembled. The approach of something more fearsome than jellyfish could be felt.

A shark!

The marine predator, with its mouth wide open, swiftly approached the boy.

"No! Go away!" El attempted to shout underwater, extending his hand. Sensing the power in the impulses of the human child, the fish turned disappointedly and, swishing its tail, gracefully swam away.

El resurfaced. His father, now worried, was swimming nearby.

"Are you alright, son?"

"Yes, Dad, I scared off the shark. It swam away."

"After so many years, the sharks have returned to our shores. The world continues to recover. Nature is reclaiming what civilization took away."

The painting of the sunny beach dissolved, and before El's eyes, the next dream unfolded. He was around twenty years old. Clad in the armor of a legionnaire, he walked through the market square of an ancient springtime city, accompanied by a shaman of the northern barbarians. The shaman turned out to be a middle-aged blue-eyed blond man with a massive beard and long hair braided into plaits. His head was adorned with a horned helmet, and his body draped in a bear's skin. A third skeletal arm peeked out from his right sleeve, and an egret's wing spread from behind his left shoulder. A ceremonial dagger hung from the shaman's waist, and his gilded palms bore tattoos in the shape of blue eyes. Suddenly, El noticed an attractive half-naked girl standing at the edge of the square. He smiled at her and waved his hand, and she waved back.

"El, you shouldn't get involved with her!" shouted the shaman. "She's a prostitute!"

"I apologize... great Natipakshush, I'm not yet a historian, I'm still learning. What does the word 'prostitute' mean? Is she a priestess of one of the fertility goddesses?" El asked.

"A priestess of love," replied the smirking shaman Natipakshush. "A worker of the sex industry."

"I don't understand. What is the sex industry? How can an industry be associated with sex?"

"She sells sex for money."

"What?"

"Men pay her money for engaging in sexual activities with them."

"It seems illogical. If a man and a woman engage in sex, they both derive pleasure from it. Usually, both the man and the woman can equally initiate intimacy. Logically, no one owes anything to anyone. So why does the man end up as the buyer and the woman as the seller?"

"An imperfect society breeds vices," the shaman said in a mentor-like tone. "You surely learned this in school, but children's textbooks won't mention things like prostitution. In such a society, there will always be lovers of easy gain--thieves, gangsters. And when women are oppressed, selling their bodies becomes an easy way for them to earn, considering that it is usually men who are wealthy and influential enough to pay for sex. With the advent of wealthy women in the industrial era, male prostitution also emerged. Wealthy women could afford to hire young men."

El imagined himself being "hired" by an old, fat widow from the industrial era, and it made him shudder. These emotions struck his imagination so intensely that he woke up.

El Goar pondered his recent dreams. Once again, instead of concrete memories, he dreamt of all sorts of nonsense! To think that a twenty-year-old had just learned about prostitution for the first time! Of course, under communists, there was no room for sex. But not to such an extent! And the dream about childhood and swimming in the sea could possibly reflect real events, except for the shark that frightened the young boy.

On the other hand, dreams were meant to be irrational and surrealistic. El recalled reading the works of the fathers of psychoanalysis: in dreams, the role of consciousness diminishes while the role of the subconscious and other irrational structures of the psyche increases.

Dinnertime was approaching. Upon awakening, El surveyed his hospital room. It seemed that his brain hadn't fully recovered yet, as his attentiveness faltered. He managed to overlook the travel guide to Gibbora on the nightstand. Let's open it: Gibbora is the name of the island, an imperial state located on it, and its capital. The brochure included a brief history of the island. Before the discovery of Gibbora by Old World seafarers, five indigenous tribes inhabited this place. The astonishment of the arriving conquistadors was immense when they saw not just a handful of native tribes but an entire empire that had built magnificent cities in the name of their gods, the greatest of which was the ancient Gibbora. The leader of the conquistadors, Kir Daar, ordered his men to conquer this settlement. And despite being outnumbered by the natives, the invaders emerged victorious because they were armed with muskets, cannons, steel swords, and wore armor into battle. Kir Daar became the prince of Gibbora and the governor of the island. Two hundred years ago, when the war for independence of the states began, Gibbora turned out to be the only region of the Empire where the rebellion was suppressed. However, guerrilla fighters operated for nearly two hundred more years, and twenty years ago, the Gibboran Civil War occurred. Armed factions and pirates seized power on the island, displacing the imperial army. As a sign of "friendly assistance," the Confederation of Socialist Republics provided the rebellious state with three cruisers filled with marines. Sensing the end was near, the emperor met with one of the rebels leaders, Kan Tasan, and proposed cooperation--simply put, he bribed him. The Imperial Fleet, which arrived at the island, together with the pirates of the Gibboran Sea, defeated the Confederation. Kan eliminated all other Gibboran rebels, and the emperor appointed him as the prince and governor of the island.

In addition to the state's history, the travel guide contained numerous photographs of the city with its landmarks and a map. Glancing at it, El immediately memorized the city's layout--he had a photographic memory, it turned out.

Dinnertime was approaching. El sat in his wheelchair and headed to the dining hall. Zack was not there; it seemed he had either left the room or hadn't arrived for the meal yet. After having a plate of cheese salad and potatoes with chicken fillet, sprinkled with corn and beans, El drank a glass of cooled tea and then returned to his room to sleep.

During the night, surrealistic dreams of exotic worlds haunted him. In one of them, he crawled up the walls of castles and fortresses, much like an insect or a spider. Several times El woke up and analyzed his dreams. There was nothing about his own life in the real world.

In the morning, El woke up once again after the dreams that had been visiting him. This time, he felt fully rested and no longer desired sleep. He glanced at the clock: 4 a.m. There was still over an hour until sunrise, but El could see fairly well even in the darkness. Two hours until morning! There was enough time to go for a run. But how was that possible for a wheelchair user like him? An idea sparked in El's mind: if his own nerve cells were regenerating, if his body had grown back a piece of his brain, then surely he could also regenerate his spinal cord. El pinched his thigh with all his might. The pain was mild, but stronger than yesterday. He attempted to move his toes. It worked, although very weakly and uncertainly! His spinal cord was regenerating! However, complete rehabilitation would still require a few more days. But he needed to run, and the sooner the better! What should he do?

El remembered someone's words, that a healthy spirit resides in an unhealthy body, and conversely, a healthy spirit is the key to a healthy body. In short, the spirit is stronger than the flesh, and it can heal the flesh itself. El also recalled the words of Dr. Eber: a person can live with half a brain, expanding the functions of the remaining neurons. In theory, the same trick could be performed with the spinal cord. He listened to his body, felt every organ within him - it turned out he possessed such an ability - and focused on his spinal cord. The lower part of it, which had begun to regenerate, was still very thin. El relaxed and with the force of his will, directed the life force, known as Qi energy, through his spine. He felt the power of the nerve fibers growing, indicating that he was on the right track. After lying still for fifteen minutes, El moved his toes, which now obeyed him quite easily, and then he immersed himself once again in a healing trance. Another quarter of an hour passed, and El managed to place his feet on the floor independently. After sitting for five minutes, he attempted to stand up. It was unsuccessful as El fell to the ground. However, using his arms as support, he managed to rise. But walking proved to be very challenging; after taking two or three steps, stumbling like a drunkard, he fell again. He needed a point of stability! Leaning on his wheelchair, El began circling around the bed, sensing that this gradually developed his spinal cord and partially reactivated the atrophied muscles. Twenty minutes later, he felt that he no longer needed the support of the wheelchair; he could manage with a cane. Finding a mop in the corner of the room, he started walking, relying on it for support. A quarter of an hour later, El realized he no longer needed the support; he could walk on his own. Despite limping heavily, he resumed circling around the bed. Another half an hour passed, and he was walking completely calmly, without any limp. After an additional twenty minutes, El started running and jumping around the room, trying not to make any noise to avoid attracting the attention of the medical staff. Soon, the seventh hour of the morning arrived, and El lay down in bed, covering himself with a blanket. He did not want the entire hospital to find out about his regained ability to walk.

After some time, the door to the room opened. Standing at the threshold was a nurse. "Good morning, Professor Goar," she said. "It's time to get up."

"I would love to, but I'm afraid it's problematic with paralyzed legs," replied El with sarcasm and a hint of aggression in his voice. Playing the role of an offended invalid turned out to be rather amusing. "Oh! I am so sorry, my goodness! I meant that you should go... you should head to breakfast," the nurse quickly corrected herself.

"Thank you," El nodded. With the help of his hands, he climbed into the wheelchair as the nurse left the room.

El leisurely unwrapped the bandages from his head and glanced in the mirror. His face was completely unharmed. Young, around twenty-five years old. A beard had grown in these three weeks. Dark brown eyes, curly black hair, straight nose. Judging by his tanned skin, he belonged to the indigenous peoples of the New World. Exactly! El slapped himself on the forehead. The surname Goar, quite common among the Gastans, was a hint.

His ravenous appetite made itself known, but the escape was more important. El wheeled himself out into the corridor and began searching for the elevator. According to the evacuation plan, the elevator was at the other end of the corridor. When he reached it, he noticed the elevator and the staircase to the right. But there was a problem: two soldiers in camouflage uniforms and helmets were guarding them. It was evident that prisoners were not uncommon in this military hospital.

"Who goes there?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Just a patient. I want to go to the first floor pharmacy," El calmly replied, pressing the call button.

"Well, I'll believe that! Medications are ordered through the nurse. I won't allow anyone to run away from here."

"I don't need your permission," El replied rudely and, with a series of precise strikes, hit the soldier's solar plexus, diaphragm, temple, and chin, slamming him against the wall and knocking him out. Yes, the serviceman didn't expect such audacity and strength from a disabled person and was caught off guard. However, the second soldier reacted in time. He took his rifle off safety and aimed it at El. That's when El simply got out of the wheelchair and hurled it at the soldier. The fact that the wheelchair user stood up so effortlessly stunned the soldier for a couple of seconds, and the wheelchair knocked him off his feet. El used those precious seconds to strike the soldier lying on the ground under the chin with the butt of his own rifle, snatch the weapon, and knock out the opponent.

The first obstacle was overcome! Now what? Escape in a hospital gown? One of the soldiers happened to have a build almost identical to El's. He stripped the enemy and dressed himself in the soldier's uniform, putting on the helmet and grabbing the rifle. It should be easier to leave the hospital in military attire! El quickly jumped into the life-saving elevator.

Chapter 2

El, wearing a helmet, carrying a rifle, and dressed in military attire, descended to the ground floor. He remembered that he possessed good acting skills - during his college years, he even performed in the university theater. Therefore, if he played the role of an ordinary soldier and behaved like them, walking with the appropriate expression on his face and gait, they would surely take him for one of their own. He strolled casually down the corridor, his face displaying seriousness, attentiveness, and thoughtfulness. The corridor led to a hall, adjacent to which were several rooms for the military personnel, and there it was - the exit! However, the military base, to which the hospital was attached, could be seen beyond the exit. Above the entrance door hung the flag of the Empire - the head of a majestic lion with a crown above it, all of it on a blue background. On either side of the exit stood two more soldiers with rifles. El leisurely headed in that direction.

"And where are we heading?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Home, of course," El replied, trying to maintain a natural demeanor.

"Go back to your post, deserter! So, you've decided to go home, huh!" the sentry bared his teeth. "Soldiers on duty are prohibited from leaving their posts!"

"I'm not on duty!" El retorted.

"Then why are you in uniform and armed? Don't act like you don't know that it's forbidden to leave the base in this state!"

Sighing, El thought, "I should have told him that I'm going to the base, not home; maybe he would have let me through."

"I'm new here," he justified himself. "I'm not used to it yet."

"If you've finished your duty, go to the guardroom. Surrender your weapon and uniform to junior commandant Rem," the soldier gestured towards the room opposite the exit.

Having no other choice, El nodded and made his way towards the massive oak door, knocking on it.

"Come in!" came the voice from inside. El opened the door and entered. The junior commandant turned out to be a sturdy, red-haired man in his thirties.

"Greetings, sir," El said, saluting.

"Why aren't you shaved, soldier?!" the officer almost exploded in anger. "What disrespect for the regulations?!"

Harra?da! El cursed silently. "I really don't want to end up in the guardhouse over such trivial matters! I need to find a way to get out of this!"

"I was recently discharged, sir," El replied. "I didn't have time to shave..."

"Ten percent of your pay will be deducted for one month for disregarding the regulations, private..."

"Ari. Dan Ari," El blurted out the first name that came to mind. "As you wish, sir. And in the meantime, may I leave the hospital?"

"Well, hand over your rifle, helmet, and jacket from the uniform. You can keep the pants and boots... First, sign this form..." The officer looked puzzled. "Strange, your name is not on the list."

"I'm new to this base, sir. They sent me here after my discharge--yesterday morning."

"There was a change of senior commandant Fromm when you arrived, that's why I don't know you. Where did he enter your information... Cannot find it... That lazy Fromm, I'll give him a piece of my mind! Never mind, sign here!"

El was surprised himself that the officer was letting him go so easily without suspecting him of being a possible spy or saboteur. But it made sense-- for a spy, the main challenge is to infiltrate the enemy's rear, not to escape from there. A spy would flee disguised as a patient or a doctor. Yes, he could have put on a white coat and walked away, but El had not thought of that! At least they were letting him go now!

As El was signing, there was a nervous knock on the door.

"Who's there?!" the officer barked.

"Private Lance Garad, sir!" came a shaky voice. "A prisoner of war escaped, pretending to be a disabled. It seems to be Professor El Goar. He beat us with Gan and stole my uniform!"

"Come in," the junior commandant replied, and the door opened. With a limping gait, holding onto the wall, trembling Private Garad slowly entered the doorway. After a mild concussion, he would need medical assistance, fortunately, there were plenty of doctors nearby.

"That bastard turned out to be quite clever," the soldier uttered. "He escaped to... There he is!" Private Garad pointed at El. "You?! Goar?! Uninjured? You'll soon find yourself in a ward along with your pilot!" growled Rem, pressing the alarm button on the table. The siren blared. In a fraction of a second, El struck the officer's temple with the butt of his rifle, knocking him out, and then swiftly incapacitated Private Garad once again. Run! Run again! El dashed towards the exit amidst the blaring wail of the siren. Soldiers at the entrance opened fire on him, but he ran so fast that they aimed too late. El slung the rifle across his back and, while running, struck both of his adversaries under the chin with both hands, knocking them out. Finally, he emerged from the building! The long-awaited street. However, other soldiers were pouring out of the base. They surrounded El, cutting off his retreat. Not a problem he could not handle, confidently thought El as he increased his pace. He charged directly at the surrounding soldiers, scattering them like pins, and continued his sprint, noting in passing that he possessed slightly greater strength and agility than ordinary people. Where to run next? The city was out of the question: maneuvering would be difficult there, the army would chase him, and they would call in the gendarmerie. If he needed to shake off pursuit, the jungle was undoubtedly the place to go!

Elevated, El dashed toward the tropical forest, with soldiers following behind--more and more of them. Reaching the nearest tree, El agilely climbed it like a monkey and began firing from behind the branches, trying not to aim for the head or vital organs: these guys did not deserve death; they were just following orders. Several soldiers, wounded and cursing, collapsed to the ground. Jumping from tree branch to tree branch, El moved deeper and deeper into the jungle. Soon, it seemed like he had disappeared. Finally, safety!

Relative safety, El realized, upon hearing a menacing cry from an unknown animal. Looking back, he saw a large, white, and fluffy bird perched on a neighboring branch--a bird the size of an average ostrich but resembling more of a griffin in shape. It extended its neck forward, rising on its hind legs.

Without a doubt, the bird was a threat. El had read that they were listed in the Red Book twenty years ago and were already extinct. Apparently, they had not really become extinct! And if El did not act quickly, he would be the one to perish. The fugitive grabbed his rifle and pulled the trigger. No shot rang out! He had run out of ammunition!

"Don't come any closer, you creature!" El shouted, not wanting to die, as he held his hand out in front of him. And then, a miracle happened: the bird suddenly froze in place.

El himself stood frozen like a statue: the animal had listened to him! The dream from his childhood, where he had driven away a shark by extending his hand, came to mind once again. Could that dream have been true? Could he have had the ability to command animals since childhood?

"Two steps back!" commanded El, and the bird, without turning around, stepped back exactly two steps.

"Here, I am the master, understood?!" El continued, extending his hand. And the bird bent its long neck, lowering its head to the ground. Its posture expressed submission.

"Rise," El mentally commanded the frozen bird, and it lifted its head.

"Now let me mount you!"

The bird sat calmly, allowing El to settle on its back.

"Let's fly up!"

The bird flapped its wings, lifting off the ground. El mentally commanded it to move in the direction of the city. It turns out that he didn't even have to speak aloud to give commands to animals. Soaring above the city, the rider surveyed it from the bird's-eye view. Ah, he was in the southeastern part of the state of Gibbor, not far from the coast. This state was the Empire's stronghold in the western hemisphere. That meant to reach the capital of the Confederation, he needed to fly northwest. El mentally commanded the bird to move in that direction.

While flying over the ocean, El felt the impulses of his new pet: it wanted to eat, craving fresh fish. He had to command it to satisfy its hunger. The animal and its rider descended to the restless surface of the sea and caught several large fish, which the bird of prey happily devoured. El sensed that the raptor was now sympathizing with him. However, he himself felt somewhat uncomfortable because he had to take the lives of the fish, but such is nature: some animals eat others.

Sitting on the back of the raptor and flying home, El once again began to ponder who he really was. Other people clearly lacked the ability to telepathically communicate with animals. And just to be on the safe side, it was better not to tell anyone about this ability. As for his physical form, El had significantly weakened after a three-week coma. However, he was noticeably stronger and more agile than an ordinary soldier. What would he become when he returned to his previous, normal state?

At least one thing became clear: he was not like most people. Although he was probably not the only one. El could have been born this way, acquired his abilities through an experiment, or developed them through training and meditation. The latter seemed quite likely: if he possessed these skills, someone must have taught them to him. However, regarding the possibility of an experiment, El had two unpleasant options: he might not have simply gained abilities afterwards, but he could have been created as a result, specifically a clone endowed with immense strength and endurance, or a robot, an android. It seemed that science had not reached that point yet... But secret developments are secret precisely because ordinary people do not know about them. Amnesia easily fit into this scenario as well: in reality, there might not have been any memories, as a created android or clone cannot remember anything. So, it turns out... El's affiliation with the socialist camp and his capture on enemy territory, including the speech of the chief physician and the colonel--was it all a performance, deliberately staged before him?! Everything was too confusing and convoluted!

No, the android option was ruled out: El could feel his body and could sense every organ--he was clearly a living being. Furthermore, he lay in the hospital, undergoing numerous surgeries and tests. As for cloning... Again, because he could feel every organ, he could literally read the approximate age of his cells--they were several decades old, more than two. And it was unlikely that a clone, a mere copy of a person, could be stronger and more agile than the original. Unless, of course, it was a modified copy. No, the feelings were unequivocal: the organism was over twenty years old, so the hypothesis of artificial creation was ruled out.

El also remembered that a couple of months ago he had read an article in some tabloid about special children called indigo children. The author wrote that these children possessed high intelligence, immense strength and agility, extraordinary health, and various supernatural abilities such as exceptional sensitivity, telepathy, and healing. According to the author, they also had a serious adult look from infancy and were psychologically much more mature than their peers.

The article was accompanied by a photograph of a girl who could examine patients and diagnose their illnesses with her hands (like how El sensed the condition of his own body), as well as a boy who could easily command domestic animals (just like El commanded the bird). They also wrote about indigo children that their intuition and sense of danger were extremely developed, as well as their heightened sense of justice. According to the author, these were creative children, energetic and joyful, with various talents ranging from poetry to technical skills. Could it be that El was a grown-up indigo? It is very likely: if we believe in the dream about swimming with a shark, the ability to control animals manifested precisely in childhood. On the other hand, according to the author, the first indigo children started being born about fourteen years ago, and El is already twenty-five. The rational consciousness of a technocrat would suggest that indigo children are most likely a myth invented by pseudo-psychologists for parents who want to see something special in their non-standard (and sometimes simply unhealthy) children. Some women claimed that such children were born after contact with angels. It's interesting whether there was at least one man who could be persuaded to believe in this nonsense. Although, as far as El remembered, such children were mainly born to single mothers, which allowed the churchmen to see them as "the offspring of the Devil's union with an earthly woman." In another issue of the same newspaper, El read another article where a journalist interviewed a fisherman from Gasta. He recounted that one night he woke up with the feeling of someone else's presence in the room. His wife was fast asleep, and upon looking around, the fisherman saw two figures resembling humans, wearing tight white clothing. They were two men. One of them attached a strange suction cup to the fisherman's forehead, and a voice resounded in his head: "We have come in peace" (again, telepathic communication, almost like El's with the bird, only with the help of intermediary devices). The fisherman then described how the people in white "read" his brain, "learned" about the Gastan man's personality and knowledge, and studied the language he spoke. Towards the end of the article, the fisherman concluded that demons had visited him, as their description closely resembled what medieval legends said about the offspring of hell. El thought, maybe he himself was also one of the demons? But the professor's rational consciousness rejected this version as simply foolish and laughable. And the guy was clearly visited not by people in white, but by a white fever, as fishermen are well-known enthusiasts of alcoholic beverages.

So, the versions involving a grown-up indigo child and demons were not accepted as unscientific. El himself could not believe in his own existence, as he saw no rational reasons for the existence of such a strange creature like himself. But at the same time, he could not deny his own existence. He remembered a statement by some philosopher: "I think, therefore I exist."

After two hours, El reached a small island with a rock in the middle. It seemed to be one of the points forming the so-called Gibborian Triangle or Gibborian Sea: there are small islands to the west, east, and south of the state. He had flown about sixty miles, and it was still about eight hundred miles to the Republic of Andoza, where the capital was located. So, by rough estimates, the remaining journey would take at least another twenty-seven hours. And the bird still needed to rest.

No, this won't work. He needed some proper transportation. He could hijack a pirate ship from the Gibborian Sea. Or a helicopter. However, he would need to know how to operate an aircraft. And then El slapped himself on the face: piloting a helicopter! The pilot, a subject of the Confederation, was languishing as a prisoner in that very military base from which El had escaped! Communists never abandon their comrades in trouble! He had to go back and save him!

El commanded his pet to turn back, and after a couple of hours, he found himself again along the shores of Gibbora, then flew in the direction of the garrison.

***

El, sitting on the bird's back, surveyed the military base from a slight height: a black helicopter had landed there at the most opportune moment. Judging by the uniform, a real general, possibly the commander-in-chief of the Gibborian forces, second only to the prince, emerged from the aircraft. Slightly above average height, slim, with a crew cut where gray hairs had already crept in. Yes, El remembered that General Lei Nuri, the military chief of the state, should roughly look like that. Colonel Maur appeared before him. El activated his super hearing.

"Greetings, General Nuri," Colonel Maur stood at attention.

"At ease, Colonel," the commander-in-chief nodded wearily. "I heard that you have the computer developer El Goar in your custody, and you wanted to recruit him for the service of the empire and the Emperor. I want to speak with him personally."

"That is impossible, sir," even from here El noticed a slight tensing of the commander-in-chief's facial muscles.

"Why?" The strain in the general's face was evident.

"Goar suffered a serious head injury and is currently in an unstable condition. Moreover, he spends most of his time asleep. You will not be able to communicate with him, sir."

"Well, I will try. Lead the way, Colonel."

It seemed that the colonel found himself in a deadlock: if he informed the general that El had escaped, it could cost him his career. But if he didn't inform, he had to show where El was. Well, the colonel was clearly a resourceful bug and would surely come up with something. El himself needed to come up with a plan. He would not be able to descend to the helicopter; it was guarded by six soldiers. Escaping from them was one thing, but somehow passing by them unnoticed was another. Besides, he was now wanted. He needed to find a way to get here, change his appearance somehow, and return through an alternate route. Not through the forest, but, for example, through the city.

But it's also dangerous to appear in the city; he is surely being sought after there as well. Even if that's not the case, he will only make it to the first military patrol or gendarmes he encounters, who will immediately spot someone suspicious in a soldier with a beard and slightly longer hair. El mentally instructed the bird to fly towards the sea. Once above it, he removed his camouflage jacket with insignia and threw it into the water, in order to differentiate himself from a soldier. He also tossed his rifle and helmet into the sea, which sank with a ringing splash. It was an acceptable disguise: a bearded man in a shirt, camouflage pants, and army boots. He was no longer a soldier but rather a fan of military style. Perhaps a hunter, a fisherman, or simply someone who enjoyed walking in the forest, returning home from a country trip. But it was still better not to encounter patrols. El commanded the bird to fly west. Descending on the southern outskirts of the city, not far from the sea, he released the bird. It glanced into his eyes for a few seconds and then flew back towards its native forest.

"So," El said to himself, "the mission is as follows: it is necessary to change my appearance as much as possible and reach the garrison. To do this, I need to shave off my mustache and beard, change my hairstyle, and preferably my clothes. And it wouldn't hurt to eat something. And for all that, I need money."

El was confident that the plan would slowly come together as he made his way to the military base. He headed there along Conquistadors Avenue, remembering the route perfectly thanks to the map and the bird's-eye view. A gendarme patrol on a motorcycle passed by not far away. El hid from them in a dead-end, hoping not to attract attention. He turned quickly enough to be noticed and slowly enough for those fleeing at the sight of the gendarmes to be viewed as suspicious individuals.

However, someone did notice El. Here, behind the dumpster, four guys in their early twenties squatted down. They were all dressed in tracksuits, two of them chewing sunflower seeds, the third smoking, and the fourth holding a bottle of tequila in his hands. They were passing the bottle around in a circle. Without a doubt, they were a bunch of small-time criminals, hooligans. El began to regret throwing the rifle into the sea.

"That's the ninth victim today," said one of them, the strongest and most muscular, apparently the leader.

"Kid, what neighborhood are you from?" one of the thugs, bald-headed, asked.

Ele paused for a moment: street criminals aren't known for their high intelligence. To make such an individual leave you alone, you had to engage their brain. Showing weakness was not an option, and in response to each remark, you had to position yourself higher and ask questions of your own.

"Why are you interested?" El calmly spoke, but with a touch of steel in his voice.

"You think you're the smartest?"

"Who, me?"

"Well, not me!"

El smirked. The local thug had trapped himself in a verbal duel but now wanted to seek revenge in a physical one.

"Don't act smart! Got a smoke?"

"I don't smoke."

"Are you some kind of athlete?" - the thugs chuckled.

"Yeah, an athlete."

"Ha! What kind of athlete are you, skinny?" the thug smirked, eyeing El's thin arms. "Probably a chess player."

"Chess player, swimmer, martial arts master," El calmly replied.

"If you're a martial arts master, then I'm an astronaut! Hand over the money!" The thug pulled out a knife and stared hungrily at El, who found himself cornered against the wall.

"I don't have any money," El honestly replied.

"Search him, Skull," the leader commanded, and the bald thug approached El. El bent down and struck the thug's hand with the edge of his palm, sending the knife flying through the air. With all his strength, El grabbed the thug by the shoulders and brought him to his knees, catching the knife in the process. He turned the thug's face towards the gang and pressed the knife against his neck. In that instant, a plan emerged on how to get the money right here. The gang leader had mentioned that they had already robbed eight people today, which meant they could rob them in return. Of course, El's morals did not allow him to rob people. But he reasoned with himself that if he took back what had already been stolen, it would not be a crime. After all, it would be difficult to find the victims of this gang and return the money to them. He could not go to the authorities either, as he himself was wanted, and he couldn't hand the money over to the mocking guardians of the law, saying, "Don't worry, sir, we'll find the owners and return every last penny." Ele had vague memories of dealing with robbers before. He had even killed them in self-defense. Therefore, he uttered:

"Surrender all your loot, or I'll slice your Skull," El threatened. "Well, what are you staring at?! I've dealt with tougher ones!" "Boar, save me," the hooligan pleaded, begging for mercy. "Hey, you!" said the leader, who was evidently nicknamed Boar. "Even if you scratch Skull, we'll pound you!" "Screw Skull," chimed in another mustached thug. "Let him finish him off, and we'll rough him up later!"

El wasn't certain he could handle all four of them, so he decided to change tactics. Gripping the robber's neck with his left hand and holding a knife to it with his right, he headed towards the street and said, "If you don't hand over the money, I'll drag Skull to the authorities."

Of course, El was bluffing; he had no intention of going to the gendarmerie. However, the gang was unaware of that fact. Boar appeared deep in thought, seemingly unaccustomed to such a predicament. Judging by the expression on his face, even if he didn't want to relinquish all their spoils to El, he was prepared to let him go unharmed. But everything was ruined by a scruffy lowlife with a half-empty bottle of tequila, who hurled it at El. He failed to react in time to evade it, and the bottle struck him in the forehead. His head spun, his grip on Skull faltered, and Skull slipped from his grasp. It seemed like a mild concussion. Yes, the previous El, the one before the accident, would have easily handled twice as many in the group!

Skull grabbed a knife. Without hesitation, El approached him from behind, pushed him, and slammed his head against the wall. El's own brain was gradually returning to normal, not for the first time and perhaps not for the last. Compared to the injury from the accident, these damages were laughable, and El once again felt healthy. Boar charged at him, and El hit him with all his might in the chest with a punch. The gang leader flew to the opposite side of the dead-end street, crashing into a trash bin. Dazed and ready.

The remaining two rushed towards El. He grabbed one by the chest and threw him at the other. While they were down, he knocked them both out with kicks to their heads. How fortunate he didn't kill them: this world was relatively civilized, and unlike medieval realms, killing attacking bandits could lead to legal troubles--one couldn't rely on lawyers. El shook his head, dismissing the absurd thoughts about medieval worlds. It seemed the new blow to his head didn't serve him well.

He searched the pockets of the hooligans and took out all the money. Excellent! It would be enough for a haircut, a good meal, and decent clothes. Although clothes weren't particularly necessary; he could strip Boar and take off his suit--their figures were nearly identical.

"What's going on here?" a stern voice sounded nearby. A gendarme. And not just one: two of them rode into the dead-end street on a motorcycle with a sidecar. One, bespectacled and mustached, presumably the captain judging by his insignia, and the other sitting in the sidecar, a sergeant.

"We heard noise and shouts here," the captain continued. "What happened, citizen?"

"I was attacked by a street gang, officer," El replied, "and I defended myself."

"Commendable, citizen," the law enforcement officer replied, surveying the bodies on the ground. "Have you ever considered working in the gendarmerie? We need new recruits."

El pondered the offer. Joining the force would grant him access to a gendarme uniform, which would allow him to infiltrate back into the military base. Granted, he had no documents with him, but that wasn't the biggest problem, El resolved. He would find a way to handle it. There's no way I won't find a solution.

"Yes, I agree," he voiced his acceptance.

"Captain," the sergeant whispered, but El heard every word. "It looks like this is El Goar, the one wanted by the military."

"Identify yourself, citizen," the captain demanded.

"Dan Ari," El introduced himself with the same fictitious name he used in the barracks.

"Your documents, please."

The documents were requested too early. The plan to infiltrate the law enforcement agencies had already failed at the initial stage.

"Now," El reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a rectangular object. Of course, it was a banknote. A large one. Well, most gendarmes were satisfied with such documents too. Approaching the officer, El shoved the banknote in his face.

"Is this a bribe?!" the captain's voice had a steely edge. It seemed the gendarme was incorruptible. Or, more likely, had a much higher price. But El was prepared for such a scenario, just as he was prepared for the possibility of incapacitating the gendarmes. However, he told himself: enough with concussed enemies for today. Certain knowledge of his own superhuman abilities came to mind.

Holding his right hand with the banknote in front of the captain's face, El swiftly slipped his left hand behind his neck and squeezed it from behind, sending a tranquilizing stream of chi energy into the officer's brain. The gendarme lost consciousness.

"What the he..." the sergeant didn't have a chance to finish his sentence as El performed the same maneuver on his neck.

And here's the appropriate attire! Walking around the city in a gendarme uniform was safer than wearing military or sports clothes, which were favored by street criminals. El put on white gendarme trousers, a white uniform, and a sombrero with the law enforcement emblem. He also wore glasses, which turned out to be farsighted and slightly impaired El's vision. However, he was confident that his vision was much more powerful than that of ordinary people, and even with these glasses, he could still see everything within the normal range. Just in case, he took the captain's identification. But what to do about the beard? If soldiers couldn't wear it, then neither could gendarmes. That meant he had to stop being a gendarme. El removed the captain's shoulder boards from his jacket and the emblem from the sombrero. Good. A bespectacled civilian dressed in attire resembling a gendarme uniform was ready. Where should he put the emblem and shoulder boards? In the sidecar of the motorcycle. The pistol went there as well. But what about the gang? He could not just leave four scoundrels alone with the gendarmes in that condition! What if the hooligans regained consciousness before long? However, there were handcuffs in the sidecar--exactly four pairs. El used them to bind the hands of the bandits. If they woke up earlier, they would be concussed. The law enforcement officers, on the other hand, would not be.

El mounted the motorcycle and started it with a roar. The smell of gasoline and engine oil filled the air. El guided the steel steed to another district where the unconscious captain and sergeant would not be able to find him. He took the motorcycle onto Conquistadors Avenue and headed through the city center towards the eastern part of town. However, despite the approaching noon, the road was congested.

From a philosophical standpoint, true democracy was only possible in a traffic jam, as a traffic jam was a great equalizer. In a traffic jam, everyone was equal: the bus driver, the owner of the cheapest car, the taxi passenger, and the millionaire in the most prestigious automobile. Their Majesty Traffic Jam made everyone stand on equal ground. And only a motorcyclist could calmly maneuver around them.

El maneuvered through the traffic jam. After several miles, he noticed a barbershop. Parking the motorcycle in the inner courtyard, he entered the shop and emerged twenty minutes later with trimmed hair, no beard, but with a mustache, bearing a strong resemblance to a gendarme in general and to the captain's photo on the identification card. True, according to the documents, the captain should soon turn thirty-eight, but hardly anyone would bother checking the birthdate, and in the photos, he looked much younger than in real life.

El returned to the avenue and looked around for a cafe; he was desperately hungry. Soon, he spotted the nearest dining establishment: a poster displayed a smiling old man in a hat, with a beard and glasses, embracing an equally cheerful and large ram standing on its hind legs. Above the poster, three large red letters were visible--GFL, which stood for "Gibborian fried lamb." GFL was the most famous fast-food chain in the entire Empire. Many people enjoyed lamb from this chain, not least because of the twelve secret spices that gave it an unforgettable taste. However, rumors circulated throughout the Empire that among these spices were narcotic herbs, which had contributed to the unprecedented popularity of this fast-food chain.

The hunger continued to attack, and El was ready to devour an entire refrigerator full of food. After parking his motorcycle on the sidewalk, he entered the establishment. There were only three people in front of him.

"Hello, officer," said the cashier girl after a few minutes of waiting in line. "What will you be ordering?"

"Good day," El replied, scanning the menu. "Two meat rolls, two chunks, spare ribs, double portion of potatoes, kebab, lamb salad, and two lamb burgers."

"Would you like something to drink?" the girl asked.

"Yes. A cup of mate, please."

"Just one?" the cashier was surprised. El nodded.

"Did you not come with your wife? Or a child, officer? Are you going to eat all that alone?"

"It seems like you're not paid to ask questions," El said sternly, realizing that to arouse less suspicion, he needed to turn everything into a joke. He continued with a smirk, "I get paid for it."

The cashier smiled in response, placed all the food on a tray, poured a cup of mate, and announced the total cost. El, having the exact amount without change, paid and took the tray, finding a seat in the corner. He hung his sombrero on the rack and began his meal, ignoring the glances from the cashier and some of the other patrons who wondered how such a slender man could consume such a quantity of food alone. The meat rolls, salad, kebab, and lamb burgers turned out to be quite delicious. However, the chunks and spare ribs were too greasy and seasoned, so he had to accompany them with many potatoes and even order an additional portion. After drinking the mate, he pulled down his sombrero over his eyes and headed towards the exit.

"Did you enjoy it, officer?" the cashier asked.

El nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Our lambs are currently raised in excellent conditions and are slaughtered completely painlessly."

"What?!" El felt a surge of disgust. "Did I just eat pieces of dead animals?!"

"And did you think that meat grows on trees, officer?"

El felt nauseated. He had consumed a bucketful of dead flesh. It seemed that he used to be a vegetarian, or even a vegan, before his amnesia, but he had forgotten that meat was made of the corpses of animals. He remembered that from an ethical standpoint, once you paid for the animal's killing, whether you ate it was no longer important. With sheer willpower, he suppressed the urge to vomit. His body craved protein. "I was joking," El forced a smile through his torment.

He also recalled rumors that the lambs were fed special proteins for slaughter, resulting in them developing tumors, and it was from these tumors that most of the dishes in the GZH food chain were prepared. But for an educated person, these rumors were laughable.

"Come again!" the cashier shouted. Naturally, she was interested in having such a food-loving customer, even if he had a strange sense of humor, visit GZH more often. Or maybe she liked him as a man--El remembered that he had always been popular with girls. But that was not important now; he had to save the pilot.

After some time, maneuvering through traffic, El arrived at the military base dressed in the gendarme uniform. General Nuri's black helicopter was still parked in the barracks' courtyard. The soldiers paid no attention to El, which was a good sign. He approached the entrance of the barracks where two sentries stood on duty.

"Halt! Who goes there?" one of the soldiers asked. "Purpose of visit?"

"I'm not obliged to answer to you, kid," El replied. "Captain of the Gendarmerie stands before you."

"Documents!" the soldier demanded. "Anyone can wear an officer's uniform."

El handed over his captain's ID.

"Alright," the soldier opened the documents, "Captain Ron Kaar. You are thirty-eight years old, Captain? You look too young!"

"A healthy lifestyle," El shrugged. "And everyone in my family lives long. My grandfather just turned ninety, and he looks seventy. Do you think these documents are fake? Take a closer look: are these glasses not mine? Or am I not young enough in the photo?"

"Not at all, Captain! You may proceed!"

"Where can I find the Confederate pilot prisoner?"

"Right wing, second floor, fifteenth room, Captain."

El silently made his way to the right wing and then to the designated room. There, handcuffed and shackled, sat a man in a rumpled jumpsuit, and next to him on the table was a lieutenant from the Imperial Army. The prisoner seemed vaguely familiar to El.

"Good day," El said. "Captain Kaar, Gendarmerie. I am here to interrogate the captured pilot."

"Please, sir," the lieutenant said. "Nute Tari has been here for three weeks, and we haven't properly interrogated him yet because he's only just started recovering."

"Are you Pilot Nute Tari?" El asked the prisoner.

"El?!" the pilot exclaimed, examining the self-proclaimed officer. "El Goar! Why are you addressing me formally? We're friends!"

The pilot had ruined everything! It seemed that he and El had been well acquainted before. Nute Tari recognized El and failed to hide it.

"You're mistaken, Mr. Tari," El said coldly. "You've got it wrong. I am Captain Ron Kaar of the Gibborian Gendarmerie."

"I don't like this," the lieutenant said, aiming his gun at El. "El Goar is an escaped prisoner. I will call the colonel, and if it is you, you will have problems..."

While the lieutenant was talking, El kicked the gun out of his hand and then grabbed the officer from behind, squeezing his fingers around his neck until he passed out. El searched the lieutenant and took the keys from his inner pocket, using them to unlock Nut's handcuffs and shackles.

"We're getting out of here!" El shouted and dragged the pilot along. They ran through the barracks, emerged onto the parade ground where General Nuri's black helicopter was still parked. As they sprinted across the compound, the soldiers paid no attention to them. They reached the helicopter, and fortunately, it was unlocked. There were only two sentries at the entrance. But that wasn't their biggest problem: two men were approaching the helicopter--Colonel Maur and General Nuri himself.

"It's El Goar!" the colonel shouted.

"Halt, Goar!" the general growled. The two sentries raised their rifles, but El swiftly grabbed one of them from behind and threw him into the other. While the soldiers were trying to recover, El and the pilot managed to jump into the helicopter's cabin and slam the door shut.

"Start the engine!" El barked.

"Fire!" the colonel exclaimed excitedly, and the soldiers began shooting at the helicopter. But the bullets ricocheted off the metal and glass; it seemed the helicopter was made entirely of bulletproof material.

"Cease fire!" the general ordered. "Colonel, your men are damaging my helicopter!"

"My apologies, General," Colonel Maur replied sheepishly.

At the same time, the helicopter took off, and El made an obscene gesture to everyone present. The aircraft headed northwest, towards the Confederate capital. Soon, they were far away from Gibbora.

"What's this?" El exclaimed, seeing a retracting panel on the control panel.

"There seems to be a hidden lever here," Nute replied. "It's probably an experimental helicopter."

El turned and tried pressing the button on the lever. It was locked. Then he turned the lever, and immediately several nozzles extended from the sides of the helicopter. The lock on the button disengaged. El pressed it, and the nozzles immediately activated, increasing the speed of the aircraft several times over. The rotor stopped spinning, folded like an umbrella, and retracted inside the helicopter. The aircraft flew completely silently.

"It seems this isn't exactly a helicopter," El said. "It's a disguised next-generation aircraft."

After a few hours, the helicopter, if it could be called that, landed on the shores of its native state, the Confederation of Socialist Republics. Evening enveloped the sky with twilight during the flight.

The City of the Sun became the new capital of the Confederation twenty years ago. Previously, the capital was the "Pearl of the Empire," the city of Andoza, which became the "Pearl of the New World" after the war for independence. After the revolution, the communists built a new scientific town, which they named Gart Goar, meaning the City of the Sun, in honor of the once existing settlement of the aborigines. The natives of Andoza, Gasta, and Gibbora worshipped the Sun God, Gahar, whom they began to identify with the imperial pagan deity of that luminary, Goar. That is why the surname Goar is common among the descendants of the aborigines.

The capital of the socialist state was a majestic settlement. Red flags with the coat of arms of the Confederation, a geometric figure consisting of intersecting rhombus and square representing the sun, fluttered on the houses. Within the figure, a wrench and sickle were inscribed, symbolizing the proletariat and peasantry, the ruling classes of the Confederation. Formally ruling.

To create a rational state, the communists built a scientific town in the form of a symmetrical geometric figure, with perfectly straight streets intersecting at right angles. The City of the Sun was built around the old aboriginal town in the shape of a sun figure, a square and a rhombus, with streets intersecting within these figures. In the center stood the Congress Palace, where the government was located--a huge white stone building forty stories high, crowned with a spire.

The architecture of the Confederation was more majestic than that of the Empire. Life in the Empire and the Confederation differed somewhat, although a couple of centuries ago, the imperialists and the confederates were one people. Three hundred years ago, the Empire colonized most of the world. The Empire deprived the conquered countries of their national culture, transforming them into faceless states, naming them after their capitals. In the New World, the imperialists drove all the aborigines into a vast reservation, which became the state of Gasta. But two hundred years ago, the colonists grew tired of the tyranny of imperial rule and unleashed a war for independence. The inhabitants of Gasta fought particularly fiercely. As a result, instead of twelve states of the Empire, there were eleven independent states, with Gibbora remaining loyal to the crown. The three islands--Andoza, Dorado, and Torrey -- united into a new state -- the United States of the New World. And sixty years ago, a communist revolution took place, uniting the States and another eight states into a single political bloc.

On the Congress Palace, giant clocks were displayed, showing half-past twelve at night. El recalled that near the palace, one could hear the ticking of the hands, and during the day, these clocks seemed to set the rhythm for the numerous plants and factories of the City of the Sun, becoming the central element of the city's unified mechanism. The citizens themselves seemed to transform into gears and cogs of the state -- the Confederation had built a powerful industrial civilization functioning as a single well-coordinated mechanism, like reliable and accurate clocks.

Chapter 3

"So, we've stolen a helicopter from the territory of a potential enemy, an obvious secret development of imperial technology," Nute said thoughtfully. "What do you think about it, El? What should we do with it?"

"I believe that new technologies should serve our homeland," replied Goar, scratching his forehead. "You trained to fly in the army aviation, and you have connections there. Find some commander, inform them about the stolen imperial helicopter and its landing site. The rest is no longer your concern; it belongs to the army, the FSD, and the defense design bureaus."

"You're right, El," Nute smiled. "That's exactly what I'll do." "And I have to go," Goar said wearily, extending his hand to the pilot. After bidding farewell to Nute, El headed home. Being in the capital city, he recalled the layouts of its districts and then the location of the street where he lived -- Lamed Avenue -- where he headed for a walk on foot. Twilight was thickening. Aware of his own strength, El was no longer afraid of the criminal elements that could be lurking in the city under the cover of darkness. As he reached the avenue lined with white-stone five-story buildings, he remembered the location of his own home--in the courtyards--and walked towards it. He encountered no one on the street; almost everyone was asleep, with only a dim light coming from a few windows. The air carried the scent of blooming jacarandas, recent rain, sea breeze, and slightly dampened stone. And on the fifth floor, the windows of his own apartment appeared. And there, under the windows, stood the untouched iron horse, the pride of the Confederation's automotive industry, a lightweight and fast red "eight," waiting for its owner's return for three weeks.

The keys to the house had been lost during the accident. However, El knew that there was another set inside the apartment, along with the keys to the car. How could he get inside his home? Fragments from his dreams started racing through his mind, where El would climb the walls of castles and fortresses like a spider. He concluded that he could do the same and scale the wall of his house to reach the fifth floor. He easily climbed through the windows and down the drainpipes until he reached the small window, where he extended his hand, opened it, and climbed into the apartment.

Yes, nothing had changed during his absence. It was a two-room apartment, separate and his own, which was a rare occurrence for such a young resident of the Confederation but normal for a young professional of his level. Of course, in a capitalist country, he would have become a big shot, as Colonel Maur had said, with his own house, elite car, and much more. But El was not one of those people who would sell their homeland for material possessions.

He inspected the desk, and all the documents were in place. First, El examined his passport. It was recently issued at the age of twenty-five, replacing the one he had received at sixteen. He was born in a settlement called Seaside Town in Gast. The only registered place of residence was listed as Sun City, Lamed Avenue, House 96, Building 3, Apartment 60. The page indicating marital status was completely blank.

Wanting to remember who his parents were, El carefully reviewed his birth certificate. It stated: Father - Kir Goar; ethnicity - Gastanian. Mother - Dara Goar; ethnicity - Gastanian. These names meant nothing to him. Frustrated, he went to sleep.

After a restful sleep, El washed up, shaved his mustache, and stared at his reflection in surprise. Overnight, his muscles had grown a bit. That explained why he felt so hungry. His body needed material to build new muscles. El put on his usual civilian clothes: white pants and a light short-sleeved shirt.

After El had somewhat recovered, he no longer suffered from a savage hunger but felt a more human appetite. He opened the refrigerator and found a multitude of raw and cooked vegetables, plenty of fruits, various nuts and seeds, and several packs of soy milk. However, after three weeks of the owner's absence, all the cooked vegetables, some of the raw ones, and the soy milk had gone bad. He would have to take out several bags of garbage.

Goar remembered that he was a strict vegetarian or vegan, not consuming not only meat but also any animal-derived products. He enjoyed having oatmeal and muesli with soy milk for breakfast. Since the soy milk had spoiled, he would have to make the muesli with water.

El poured water over the dry cereal and set the kettle on. Then he added water to the porridge and a cup, placed the porridge on the stove, and made tea with lemon. Oh, bother! The lemons had also gone bad! He would have to go to the store later!

After having oatmeal with olive oil and bran, muesli with water, and washing it down with unsweetened tea, El washed the dishes and continued exploring the contents of his own apartment.

Unpaid bills for electricity, gas, water, and municipal tax lay on the table. The Confederation Electric Company, being a state-owned entity and essentially a monopoly, charged exorbitant prices for electricity. Fortunately, they didn't heat the water, as there was a solar boiler on the roof. The municipal tax was a separate story. Since there was no private land ownership in the Confederation, the land belonged to the state. The residents of the buildings situated on that land rented it from the government, paying a substantial sum for it. The total annual municipal tax was slightly less than a factory worker's monthly salary.

El had planned to pay the bills in a few days. However, he fell into a coma for three weeks. The bills were now overdue, and he would have to pay penalties as well. On the table, amidst his belongings, he discovered a gold bracelet with three engraved symbols. They appeared to be either letters of an unknown language, hieroglyphs, or pictograms. One symbol consisted of two semicircles and two identical objects composed of multiple straight angles.

He wasn't eager to return to work just yet. Essentially, he had been discharged from the hospital. The discharge process involved going home first and then returning to work. He wanted to take a little rest, stroll around the city, regain his strength, get used to life in his native Confederation, and then he could think about going back to work.

El continued exploring the room. He noticed a red flag with an eight-pointed star hanging in the corner, a prize for winning sports competitions among university professors. Next to it, on the coat rack, hung a black suit with a hat and a mask over the eyes. El remembered that he had made this costume himself and had portrayed the Gastan Avenger, a character from a movie who led a double life as a journalist by day and saved people from criminals by night, at a New Year's masquerade ball.

Beside the wardrobe, there was a rectangular device with a screen on top--a fourth-generation computer that couldn't compare to the much larger and older models. Many of its components were created based on El's designs. His dissertation and lecture notes lay on the table. El began reading his dissertation and realized that he had indeed written it. After reading it in an hour, he remembered everything written there--the principles of operation and construction of the fourth-generation computer. Reading through the lecture notes, El quickly memorized the content and was ready to deliver it to his students.

Let's move on to the nightstands and their contents. In one of the drawers, contraceptive pills were discovered. In another, pornographic magazines. Smuggled goods from the Empire. Ah, so he had a reliable supplier. But there were no condoms. El started piecing together the sequence of events. Well, he didn't like having sex with condoms, like many guys. So he provided his partners with pills, not being sure if they took them themselves. Well, contraception is understandable, but what about sexually transmitted diseases? El remembered that he didn't find any first aid kits in the kitchen cabinet. If he had fantastic regenerative abilities, then his immune system must work perfectly, and no infection could harm him. Exactly! El remembered that he had never been sick.

And what about the magazines? Why would someone with a healthy sex life be so into pornography? Well, that's the thing--it wasn't a healthy sex life. El lived for months without women and, truth be told, resorted to self-pleasure, which is where the magazine supplier came in handy. Every two to three months, he would meet a girl. There was no problem with that--he would convince them to engage intimately, if not on the first, then on the second date. Sometimes the girls themselves would suggest it, sensing Goar's charisma and energy. And after four, five, or six encounters, he wouldn't invite them on dates anymore, would hang up if he heard a familiar voice on the phone, and soon the communication would cease. El wasn't ready for committed relationships, and when they started to smell like that, he would bail.

No, he wasn't one of those bad guys from the "use and discard" category.

El Goar was afraid of committed relationships. No, it wasn't due to immaturity. He was mature in every sense of the word as a citizen of the Confederation. What pushed him away from relationships? He felt that there was some tragic event in his past, possibly causing a psychological trauma associated with them. But what exactly was it? Maybe it was better not to remember? After all, the less you know, the better you sleep.

That was El Goar's personal life: meeting a new girl, dating for about a week, ignoring her, months of solitude and porn magazines.

Observant neighbors noticed that the young man occasionally brought young ladies home and reported it to the party committee. El occasionally had girlfriends, and then he himself was lectured at party meetings for his immoral behavior. Nevertheless, such escapades were eventually forgiven for such a highly skilled specialist who was valuable to the state.

He remembered a party at the Physics Institute where he sat at a table with his friend and colleague, married professor Yar Alag, and complained about his life.

"Dude," Yar said at the time. "We're programmers. So let's reason like programmers. You've entered a loop. And you need a reboot."

"What kind of reboot?" El asked.

"A good drinking session, for example. It solves many problems. Of course, you'll wake up sick in the morning, but then you'll recover as if you were born again."

"You know, Yar, I don't drink."

Recalling that conversation, El pondered. His amnesia was quite a reboot. A very specific one. He was literally turned off, and then he turned on again. The central processor, that is, the brain, reinitialized all systems and gradually connected memory.

Well, it's time to move on to the second room. El approached it and was surprised to find a huge titanium door with an electronic keypad lock. Twelve buttons, ten digits, a confirm button, and an erase button for clearing an input mistake. And a display with a capacity of four characters.

Another memory came to mind. El was lying in bed with a blonde. Or rather, the girl was sitting and smoking after sex. Although El himself never smoked, he was quite tolerant of smokers, even at his own place.

"Hey, El," she said languidly. "What's in the second room, behind the big lock?"

"You know, Lyra, in my childhood, I read a little-known tale around here called 'Bluebeard.' A wealthy man married and allowed his wife to enter every room except one, which was locked. But curiosity was stronger than the prohibition, and she entered the room, only to find the bodies of several dead women. They turned out to be his previous wives, whom he had killed. And when he found out that she had unlocked the door, he tried to kill her too. The moral," El continued sarcastically, "is don't try to enter someone else's locked room, or who knows what might happen."

"Is that a threat?" Lyra laughed. "Come on, El! You don't look like a maniac or a killer. You... you seem like a nice guy!"

"Do you know that maniacs and killers often look like nice guys? If they all looked like maniacs and killers, law enforcement would have an easier job!"

"El! Seriously! What's in that room?"

"If I'm serious, it's my personal space. In my own apartment, I have the right to have a corner where no one is allowed."

The memory settled in his brain. It intrigued him what could be behind the lock if even the owner himself couldn't remember. The door had to be unlocked! But he couldn't remember the code either! If he had to try them all, there would be a great number of attempts!

He had to break down the door! El swung his hand and punched near the lock. But it was a massive titanium door. Even his enormous strength wasn't enough. What if he turned off the power, then the electronic lock system would be disabled! El went out onto the landing, opened the switchboard, and turned the switch downwards. The lights in the apartment went out, but the electronic lock continued to work. It had autonomous power!

The door resisted saws, electric saws, and axe blows. The thought of using a welding machine came up. But where to get it at home? Intuition suggested that it wouldn't work on the lock either. Blow up the door? It was obviously so strong that an explosion capable of causing noticeable damage would certainly destroy the entire apartment and a couple of floors along with the residents.

No! The most civilized option is simply to guess the code. A brute force method, a simple enumeration of options. There aren't so many possible combinations--ten thousand, from 0000 to 9999. Ten thousand is not a billion or even a million.

The first thought arose: to skip overly simple codes like 0000, 1111, 1234. The second thought: maybe when he set the password, he deliberately chose a simple code, thinking that a visitor wouldn't enter it and would skip it? That's logical too. How should a programmer be? Methodical! Meticulously follow all the steps from start to finish. El entered the code 0000 and pressed the enter key. The emotionless metallic voice responded, "Processing data. Incorrect code."

Entering the code and processing the request, along with waiting for a response, took about six seconds. This means that it would take sixty thousand seconds for ten thousand attempts. That is a thousand minutes. That is just under seventeen hours. If you add time for eating, cooking, and using the bathroom, it is nineteen to twenty hours. And El sleeps four hours a day. And he is in no hurry. So, it will only take him one day. And that is assuming the correct code is closer to the end.

El entered the code 0001. "Processing data. Incorrect code." 0002. "Processing data. Incorrect code. Attention: you have used all three attempts available for the day. Please try again tomorrow or contact the developer."

Well, is not that great! Even the developer does not know what to do because of this damn amnesia!

If he enters three possible codes per day, the maximum number of days is 3333. More precisely, the ten-thousandth code can be entered on the 3334th day. 3334 days is nine years and change. Of course, El will not keep trying to guess the code every day. But it would have been easier if he could just remember it.

And what is there to remember? What code could he have set? Some date or year? It is unknown!

El remembered that today he stopped at code 0002 with the intention to continue tomorrow. And then his gaze fell on the safe. It also had buttons. The password for the safe immediately came to mind: 5941420. Why couldn't he remember the code for the door? Maybe the date he set as the password is related to those tragic events that caused his psychological trauma?

Well, we'll deal with that later. El entered the code, and with a click, the safe opened. El glanced at its door from the inside.

A pistol.

El stood frozen and trembled. What was a pistol doing in his apartment? He was an engineer, not a law enforcement officer! Maybe he jokingly mentioned to one of his lovers that maniacs and killers don't always look like they should, confessing to her while expecting her not to believe him. "No!" thought El. "I'm not a killer! I can't be a killer!"

Perhaps the answers to his questions awaited him in the depths of the safe?

No, there were new questions waiting there.

Because there was money inside.

Or rather, MONEY.

In the depths of the safe, there were numerous bundles of fifty-thousand federal reals. El counted the bundles themselves. Forty of them. Two million. Maybe he refused to collaborate with the Empire, subconsciously sensing that he did not need the money.

Two million reals for a professor with a salary of sixteen thousand. That's one hundred twenty-five months of work. Ten years and five months. Assuming he does not eat, drink, or pay for his apartment. For a guy who is twenty-five years old and did not start as a professor. It does not add up.

El Goar is a secret millionaire!

The facts need to be connected. A gun, two million in cash in the safe. Is El Goar a bank robber? Let's add more facts. The costume of the Gastanian Avenger with the mask. Immense strength, agility, and combat skills. The ability to climb walls.

He could rob banks. Physically, he could. But as a person, he would never agree to such a thing. El Goar is not a robber. Where the money and the gun came from are two more questions.

They can be left for later. Right now, El decided to take out the trash and just take a walk, maybe go to the store. Dressed up, he left the apartment, took out the trash, and then simply walked alone through the city, reminiscing about how even in his early youth, he loved walking alone in the sunny city--and he realized that he was an introvert. As he wandered through different streets, he studied the neighborhoods, storing them in his memory.

As El passed by the nearest gym, he pondered. His arms and legs were no longer as slender as they were after waking up from a coma, but it wouldn't hurt to further develop his muscles. El suspected that if he had phenomenal regenerative abilities and his muscles had partially recovered, then it was quite likely that a few workouts combined with a plentiful diet would help stimulate further progress.

He had to buy a voucher for a single entry and some sports clothing, fortunately, he had plenty of money with him. Which muscles should he develop? El remembered that he used to work out at the gym before. Ideally, he would like to work on all muscle groups. He recalled a circuit training routine that targets all muscles but progresses slowly, combining exercises for all muscles with cardio. Well, some muscles develop slowly, while others respond faster.

After three hours of training at the gym, El headed towards home. He entered a store and bought a bunch of vegetables, fruits, and soy milk.

Back home, just like during his escape, he felt ravenous hunger. He cooked and ate a whole pot of porridge, then used a blender to grind a liter of soy milk with nuts and seeds, creating a protein shake--a whole jar of it. After consuming it, he went to sleep.

El woke up four hours later, feeling well-rested and without pain or fatigue. His muscles had grown, but undoubtedly, they hadn't reached their previous level. It would take another four to five days of training to fully recover to his pre-accident state.

However, it would be better not to return to the gym he visited yesterday but rather go to a different one. A bright guy like El Goar was surely memorable from the first day, especially to the ladies. People would be greatly surprised if yesterday a skinny guy showed up for training and today a person with the same face but quite muscular appeared. It's better not to draw attention to his unusual nature. For the same reason, he should avoid going to work for a week--just a month ago, he was muscular, and now suddenly he became slender.

After attempting three codes, 0003, 0004, and 0005, none of which worked, El Goar headed to a gym in the neighboring district.

Chapter 4

A black tinted "Nine" car surrounded by eight motorcyclists pulled up to the main building of the Federal Security Department. The driver, leaving the car, opened the door, and a slender man in his seventies with rare gray hair slicked back and thick farsighted glasses, leaning on a cane, emerged from the car. He was dressed in a jacket adorned with numerous orders.

"Security, leave me," he commanded and entered the secret code on the door, then walked inside after the electronic buzz.

The old man passed by the sentry post, where the guards stood at attention, saluting him and saying, "Greetings, Comrade Lamed!" It's not every day that the head of state visits the Federal Security Department.

Walking down the corridor, Lamed pressed the elevator call button, and once inside, he took out a key that allowed him to go to the top floor, to the office of the department chief. The elevator door opened a minute later.

From the top floor, located just beneath the pinnacle, there was a magnificent view of the capital. From here, it was possible to survey it like a king observing his dominion from a castle tower.

The department chief, Colonel Zar Dekkar, sat behind his desk, sipping lemon tea and conversing with a gray-skinned subject, who stood with his back to Niru Lamed. The head of state had seen him before; he was one of the best operatives. The office gave a strange impression, as if the past and the future had merged within it. Antique cabinets filled with numerous books. Neon lamps in the corners, emitting a futuristic soft azure light. A round white table in the center, with a holographic projector hovering above it, displaying a large image of the globe. And a massive pre-revolutionary oak chair, resembling a throne, on which the colonel was seated. Holding a golden teacup and gazing thoughtfully at the rotating model of Earth, the colonel, illuminated by the neon light, resembled an ancient Norse god: an athletically built tall blond with his long hair slicked back and stern blue eyes. His face seemed carved with an axe. Golden epaulets adorned his silvery uniform, each with a huge eight-pointed platinum star. Above the chair hung a portrait of Dekkar in a golden frame, with the same cold Nordic gaze. The colonel noticed the entrance of Comrade Lamed, but he didn't divert his attention from the conversation with his subordinate.

"I greatly appreciate your contribution to the System, Agent 081. People like you are hard to find," Dekkar said. "I will be very sorry to see you leave our ranks."

"Nevertheless, Comrade Colonel, my decision is final. I insist: I am retiring."

"Greetings, Comrade Colonel," pronounced the head of state.

"Hello, dear Comrade Lamed," replied Dekkar, standing up and giving a slight bow.

"Greetings, Comrade Lamed!" exclaimed the tanned agent, turning towards the head of state and saluting.

"So," continued the colonel, "Eighty-First, I understand that at your age, it's difficult to undertake combat missions on your own. However, I can offer you a non-combat position in the Investigation Department or the arsenal. What do you say?"

"Comrade Colonel," Nir Lamed coughed lightly, "I have an important matter to discuss with you."

"Wait, Comrade Lamed," Dekkar calmly extended his hand, "I also have an important conversation. Wait for your turn!"

The Secretary General let out an offended croak.

"What can you do to me, old man?" could be read in the colonel's eyes. "I helped you reach the heights of power, and I can just as easily strip it away from you." The officer clearly enjoyed the opportunity to interact with someone who ruled half the world, treating them like a subordinate, as if he, Dekkar, were truly a deity who had descended to the mortal realm to play. Or perhaps he wanted to show that secretaries-general change, but the System, embodied by the Department of Federal Security, is eternal.

"So, Eighty-First, what do you think about the prospects of office work?" Dekkar continued as if nothing had happened.

"I appreciate the offer, Comrade Colonel, but I insist. I am retiring. I would like to spend more time with my grandchildren," replied the agent.

"I respect any decision you make, Eighty-First. I promise you a worthy pension. Now, hand over your weapons, badge, and identification," the colonel said.

The operative placed the mentioned items on the table.

"You may be free, Agent 081," Dekkar smiled. "I will take care of all the formalities."

"Thank you, Comrade Colonel," saluted the tanned agent and headed towards the elevator. Once he ensured that the lift had arrived and taken the retired operative into its depths, Dekkar extended his hand:

"So, what did you want, Comrade Lamed?"

"Comrade Colonel, you have been absent from the capital for a week. Where have you been all this time?" inquired Lamed.

"I traveled to my homeland to visit the graves of my ancestors," Dekkar dryly replied.

"Ancestors' graves are sacred. But let us get closer to the matter. I have a report from the military regarding the actions of your personnel, Comrade Colonel," Lamed informed with a hint of challenge in his voice, handing a folder to his interlocutor.

"Thank you, Comrade Lamed," said Dekkar, taking the folder and devilishly grinning, "don't tell me what my people should do. You may be the head of state, but within these walls, I am the master."

It turned out that Dekkar was simply born to be a careerist. He arrived in the capital fifteen years ago. Who was he back then? An unknown, modest, intelligent captain from the province. A bureaucratic rat.

But within a few months, he established connections. And it seemed like he had so much money, as if he printed it himself. Through bribery, manipulation, and blackmail, Dekkar quickly built his career and brought Nir Lamed to power, helping him win the internal party struggle.

However, it was not surprising that the unremarkable Dekkar rose to lead the Department. The System was led by a product of the System. It strengthened itself. The state machinery ignited a new star. From then on, Dekkar became the System.

Nevertheless, he stood out among politicians. A sportsman. A master of martial arts. He doesn't smoke or drink. At fifty-five, he looks ten years younger. He is so tough that he drives himself without a driver and walks without security.

Lamed's political rivals tried to eliminate the colonel, but they failed. They could not poison him as he only consumes his own food and drinks. Once, they hired the best killer -- a veteran of the "Sabretooth Cats" special forces unit, who also fought as a mercenary in the Gibborian civil war. The killer lay in wait for the colonel in the entrance hall when he returned after a long day of office work. Soon after, an ambulance arrived for the killer: his arms and legs were broken, he suffered a severe concussion, and they found his rifle shattered into four pieces with the cartridges thrown away. Mockingly, the colonel left him alive. There were rumors, which the killer himself denied, that the rifle barrel protruded from his rear passage. Soon, the perpetrators of the murder plot were found and sent to labor camps.

Everyone knew that Dekkar was a very dangerous man.

After taking over the Department of Federal Security, Dekkar combed through other government structures. In particular, he compelled the Ministry of Energy to send commissions to all nuclear power plants, which uncovered numerous deficiencies in the reactor constructions that could have led to a catastrophe. "Never again!" Dekkar sternly declared, and all the flaws in the constructions were eliminated, while those responsible for their construction and operation were sent to labor camps.

The colonel also took charge of the Ministry of Health. Audits were conducted in numerous hospitals and clinics, revealing a plethora of negligence in the functioning of medical equipment and drug supply. Dekkar initiated the notorious "doctors-as-killers" case, resulting in the imprisonment of numerous medical professionals.

Under Dekkar's leadership, the Federal Security Department apprehended a bunch of imperial spies and saboteurs, who soon disappeared without a trace. Any thoughtful person understood that they were executed. Rumors circulated that scientists and inventors working for the Department had created a multitude of gadgets that were decades ahead of their time, unbeknownst to the ordinary public.

The Chemistry Branch, which initially occupied a couple of laboratories within the Federal Security Department, expanded to an entire floor under Dekkar's tenure. They developed a truth serum that was administered to terrorists, subversives, and suspects of heinous crimes. Its effectiveness reached ninety-seven percent, with only three percent of the subjects proving resistant to it. The Chemistry Department also conducted experiments on the FSD personnel who volunteered, resulting in the creation of concentration boosters that enabled a scout to simultaneously monitor up to ten targets for twelve hours. The side effects included scatterbrained behavior and fatigue the following day since, until internal sources of concentration were discovered, the boosters borrowed energy from the body, and then the body demanded it back.

During the Gibborian Crisis, when the Emperor ordered the placement of nuclear missiles on the eponymous island, located several dozen miles from the Confederation's capital, Dekkar, through negotiations with General Lei Nuri, the commander-in-chief of the Gibborian forces, and the Empire's Prime Minister, persuaded them to remove the missiles. The end of the world was postponed.

The colonel opened the folder and read aloud:

"Top Secret.

Report.

From the commander of the capital garrison, General Kabi.

To Comrade N. Lamed personally.

Comrade Lamed, your subjects, Professor El Gohar and civilian aviation pilot Nut Tari, escaped from imperial captivity, stealing a next-generation transport vehicle - a black helicopter-transformer. Undoubtedly, the acquisition and study of this device would have given a powerful boost to the Confederation's science and an additional trump card in any potential future war. However, Lieutenant of the Federal Security Department, Riv Daar, infiltrated Aerodrome No. 37 by direct order of Colonel Dekkar and stole the helicopter, returning it to its rightful owner - General Lei Nuri of the Imperial Army."

"What do you have to say in your defense, Comrade Colonel?" said Lamed.

"And why should I?" Dekkar frowned.

"Don't play the fool, Colonel," coughed Lamed. "You deprived us of an advantage in a potential war and returned it to the Empire. The blueprints of that model would have been very useful to us for mass production."

"Listen here, Comrade Lamed!" This time, Dekkar's gaze and tone had no trace of sarcasm. He was serious like never before. "The theft of an experimental helicopter is more likely a catalyst for the start of the war rather than an advantage. It could have posed a minimum of an international scandal with all its consequences. The best way to avoid a scandal is not to let it happen. That's why I ordered Lieutenant Daar to return the aircraft to its rightful owner."

"But what about its blueprints? They would have been useful to the Confederation!"

"Comrade Lamed, do you think I'm an idiot?" snapped the colonel. "Do you think I've been heading the Department for so many years, developing it, investing so much effort and resources, for nothing? My people have already dismantled the helicopter down to the last screw, taken numerous photographs and made drawings in all projections, and then reassembled it. It is all stored on a diskette. Which I have right here, thanks to Comrade Goar for creating the next-generation diskette. There are several backup copies in other locations as well. Look, Comrade Lamed!" The colonel pressed something, and the image of the globe above his desk changed to three drawings - projections of the helicopter.

"I'm glad you understand the interests of the state correctly, Comrade Colonel," said the Secretary-General, rising and leaning on his cane in his left hand as he shook Dekkar's right hand.

"And by the way, Comrade Colonel," Nier Lamed turned around as he was leaving. "Professor Ben Ahad, one of our atomic bomb developers, has turned to the propaganda of humanism and become a dissident. He has organized an underground movement. You need to infiltrate your own man into this circle who will report on his every move, and if necessary, arrest the professor and send him to the camps."

"Very well, Comrade Lamed," the colonel replied with a devilish smirk. "I will find such a man."

Chapter 5

For four more days, El visited various gyms in his "eight" and developed his muscles through circuit training. He had porridge and muesli with soy milk for breakfast, fresh vegetables and fruits for lunch, and a vegan pilaf made from rice, carrots, onions, and lentils. After his workouts, he would have homemade protein shakes for dinner. Within that week, he developed a physique with medium-sized muscles. El understood that in another month or so, he could become a true bodybuilder, a heavyweight athlete. However, it was problematic to find a bunch of different gyms to show up at a new one every day. He also realized that he was already stronger than most people in the world and, more importantly, faster and more agile. Having a huge muscular mass could make him bulky and somewhat unwieldy.

The time had come to return to work. El went to PhysTech to inform his colleagues that he had returned. The building perfectly matched his residual memories: a thirty-story giant made of red brick, housing both the institute and the dormitory where students and graduate students lived. On one of the walls, there was a mosaic depicting a young scientist in a lab coat and glasses, standing against the backdrop of a landscape resembling plants powered by four power stations: solar, hydro, wind, and nuclear. The power of the four elements from ancient scientific mythology had been resurrected here: the energy of water, air, the celestial fire of the sun, and the power of the earth's depths contained in radioactive ore. According to ancient myths, the gods created the world from these four elements. The scientist portrayed in the mosaic was surveying the midday perspective stretched out before him while holding a schematic depiction of an atom in his outstretched hand. He was proud of scientific achievements and had no need for any gods.

El entered the building, and the security guard let him through immediately without asking for his pass, as he recognized him. El called the elevator and went up to the twentieth floor. In the corridor, he noticed students who greeted him with words or nods, and he greeted them back, trying to remember their faces and names, mostly succeeding. Soon he reached the massive oak door of his own department. Among the announcements hanging on the wall, he saw the following: "Due to the disappearance of Professor El Goar, the head of the Department of Information Technology, until his return or the appearance of information about the missing, Professor Yar Alag is appointed as the acting head of the department." El opened the oak door and entered the department. Behind the desk, where a computer stood, sat a slightly hunched, tall, short-haired man with glasses - Yar Alag himself, the thirty-year-old professor at PhysTech.

"El! Dude! You're alive! You're back! I'm so glad to see you!" Yar stood up and patted El on the shoulder in a friendly manner. "Tell me, where have you been all this time?"

Although Yar was ambitious and eager to secure a high position, he would never betray his friend for the sake of advancement in the university hierarchy.

"I was held captive in the Empire's territory. I miraculously managed to escape," El explained, omitting the unnecessary details about his superhuman abilities, and shared the story of his escape.

"Well, you're back now. And I officially reinstate you as the head of the department. Sign the papers here and here." El signed several documents, and Yar stamped them. And in El's life, everything started to fall into place. He taught lectures and worked on computer development. He reacquainted himself with his neighbors. And he continued to engage in sports, mainly running along the sea and swimming right after. Once a week, he went to the gym to maintain his muscles.

El Goar decided for himself, "Forget about the past. It's unfortunate that I don't remember it, but it's not a tragedy. I should live not in the past, but in the present, and maybe a little in the future. Even though I don't remember what happened before, I have already regained my identity. I know who I am, and my professional skills have also returned. And what happened in my childhood and youth is no longer as important."

El's life had completely settled into its familiar routine. He renewed his subscription to the "Truth of the Confederation" newspaper, which was mandatory for all citizens. There it was, the manifestation of totalitarianism - the state forcing citizens to read propaganda publications. Although El took it all calmly - the main thing was to live peacefully and earn a decent living, and ideology didn't play the primary role in politics.

Friday arrived, along with the sixtieth anniversary of the revolution. It had been ten days since El returned home. During this time, he had tried thirty codes for the lock on the second room, from 0000 to 0029, but none of them worked.

The Ministry of Education of the Confederation organized a celebration for students and professors from all universities at the Pirren Heights, located in the center of the capital. Upon reaching the parking lot on the hills covered in emerald grass, El parked his car and stepped out. The celebration took place under the open sky. The vast area had a dance floor, banquet hall, stage, and several game rooms. Security greeted guests at the entrance to the complex and checked their tickets, which were obtained by paying in their university's trade union. The air at the Pirren Heights, unpolluted by industry and exhaust fumes, intoxicated, evoking vague pleasant memories of El's homeland, the City by the Sea, where good ecology also prevailed.

In the game rooms, student organizers were busy with various activities, mainly competitions related to knowledge of party history and Comrade Lameda's biography. The banquet tables were laden with drinks and snacks.

It was evening, and the twilight sky was illuminated by a few lonely stars. The atmosphere was filled with romance. El tuned in to his own feelings and realized that he could sense the emotions of others on some energetic level. The view from the Pirren Heights was beautiful: the lights of the city against the backdrop of the approaching evening, forests, the Andoza Sea, and the lanterns along the waterfront. Particularly captivating was the light resembling both the northern lights and ball lightning at other heights, about twenty miles above the city--above the nuclear power plant. El remembered that this was what radiation glow looked like. He wondered if other people could see it or if it was just his ability.

El whispered to his neighbor:

"Excuse me, do you see something shining above the hills?"

"Comrade, are you drunk or high? Don't interrupt people's cultural relaxation," the annoyed neighbor replied. - There was a clear answer to his question.

Musicians, students from the conservatory with wind instruments, violins, and cellos, took the stage. Behind them were young men in jackets and girls in white blouses and black skirts. The choir. The stage gradually filled up. More and more students, graduate students, and professors arrived--some by bus, as the stop was nearby, some by their own cars, some by taxi, and some on foot. As the audience gathered, the buzz of voices grew louder.

Exactly at eight o'clock in the evening, the event organizer, a bald, overweight elderly man clearly belonging to the party nomenklatura, took the stage. As he approached the edge of the stage, the murmurs gradually subsided. The party member spoke:

"Comrades, students, professors, and graduate students! Welcome to the celebration of the sixtieth anniversary of the revolution! Let's begin with the Confederation anthem." Everyone who was seated stood up.

The orchestra played the prelude, the basses rumbled, violins and cellos joined in, and then the choir began to sing:

The Confederation will rise and unite,

Freeing our world from the bourgeois plague's blight.

Freedom, equality, brotherhood we hold dear,

Values we share, let them be crystal clear.

When the peoples march forth with bravery and might,

Toppling tyrants draped in darkness of night.

Fight on, brothers, for what is just and right,

Heed your fathers' command, their wisdom and insight.

Comrade Lamed has assumed the seat of power,

A role model, a father, our guiding tower.

Comrade Lamed, our proud eagle in flight,

Spreading his wings, casting shadows of light.

From scorching jungles to snowy terrains,

The toiling people breathe freely, breaking their chains.

Cast off, brothers, the bourgeois foes we disdain,

Lamed and the party lead, forging a new domain.

In the profound ideals of communism's flame,

We see the future of our nation, untamed.

Faithful we shall remain to our Motherland's name,

Ever loyal to the party, our eternal acclaim.

The hall erupted with applause. Smiles lit up the faces of those in attendance. El sensed the genuine enthusiasm, the fervor for the idea, that prevailed among most of the guests. Many students and professors literally lived by the ideals of communism. El Goar himself, though a party member, did not share their exuberance. Externally, he tried to do everything like everyone else, but internally, he remained an individualist, following his own path.

"Please take your seats," the organizer announced. And everyone who had chairs sat down. "I declare our festive evening open. Let's begin with contests dedicated to the history of the party and the biography of Comrade Lamed."

However, these contests did not interest everyone. Some were mostly drawn to the drinks, others to the food, and for some, especially El, it was the slow dances with the ladies, mainly the female students, but also the young female teachers. The banquets also had their allure. Although El did not drink alcohol, he enjoyed good food.

However, there were no slow dances yet, only fast ones. Well, Comrade Goar was also enthusiastic about the fast dances. He danced them much more energetically than everyone else present. His keen hearing caught the conversation of two girls a couple of meters away, spoken in hushed tones.

"Who is that handsome, tall, dark-skinned guy?"

"A young professor. El Goar from the Department of Information Technology."

"What energy! What charisma! Do you think he is with someone?"

"Unlikely. I think if he had someone, he wouldn't have come here alone."

"El Goar... He resembles the ancient Sun god, Goar. Forever young, passionate, and sunny! And to be a professor at such a young age! A desirable companion! He should be mine!"

"Easy there, my friend. I'm sure he would prefer to talk to me."

"They've paired me off without my consent," El thought, and he moved away to avoid listening to how the girls, deprived of male attention, divided him. Fortunately, a rumba dance competition began, in which El decided to participate. He took first place and won a golden pen. Realizing that he would have to wait a long time for the slow dances, he went to the banquet hall and began searching with his eyes for his comrades. His closest friends, Yar and Tom Karen, a graduate assistant, were sitting at one of the tables. Tom had recently returned from a scientific conference held in one of the neutral countries and brought back a trophy - magazines with comics about superheroes, popular in the Empire and countries formally independent from it. Among the empire's inhabitants, three superheroes were particularly popular: Thunderstrike, Titan, and Cockroach-Man.

Thunderstrike, Titan, and Ant-Man were popular superheroes in the Empire. Thunderstrike, also known as Lance, was not entirely human but a demigod, descended from Goar, the Sun Father, an ancient god. According to ancient mythology, most gods were born from Mother Earth, the goddess Arad, and the Sun Father, Goar. The Sun god was not unfamiliar with human affairs - he had affairs with other goddesses and even mortal women.

In the comic books about Thunderstrike, it was depicted that the pagan gods were still alive, and the Sun Father took on a human form and entered into a close relationship with a girl named Mara Zayad. She gave birth to a boy named Lance, who grew up with his single mother and took her surname, unaware of his father's identity. Lance displayed strength, agility, and endurance from a young age. In his youth, he gained invulnerability, the ability to fly, and shoot lightning bolts. Motivated by the injustices in the world, Lance became a superhero and adopted the alias Thunderstrike.

The second superhero was Titan, also known as Tin Kammer. He was a millionaire who inherited his father's company, which manufactured tanks and other combat machines. During a tank test conducted personally by Kammer, the tank was destroyed by a regular howitzer, leaving Tin as the only survivor but paralyzed from the waist down. After investigating, Tin discovered that a top manager, involved in a conspiracy with the communists, had orchestrated the flaw in the tank's defense to target the company's CEO. Tin Kammer began developing a device that would allow him to walk again and created titanium-powered leg braces that not only enabled him to walk but also protected his legs from bullets. He later developed a titanium suit with a built-in flight apparatus and adopted the superhero name Titan.

The third superhero was Cockroach-Man. He was an ordinary biology student specializing in entomology and an orphan raised by his grandmother. Despite his exceptional intellect, Dar Nerek was physically weak and regularly paid off local bullies to avoid trouble since he couldn't afford to move to a better neighborhood. Dar had a particular fascination with cockroaches, admiring their strength, agility, endurance, and radiation resistance. He decided to create a super-roach, the strongest and most resilient of its kind. Unfortunately, during a radiation experiment, the super-roach escaped its terrarium and bit Dar himself. He experienced an incredible surge of appetite, devouring a whole pot of food and falling into a coma. When he woke up, he discovered that he had grown two additional arms, and his body had become stronger and more muscular. He acquired the abilities of a super-roach and took on the identity of Cockroach-Man. To conceal his additional arms, he learned to cross them on his chest so that they would not be noticeable under his jacket.

Titan, Cockroach-Man, and Thunderstrike joined forces and founded an organization called the Brotherhood of Vengeance, where they welcomed other superheroes. However, these three were the most popular.

"I wonder why no one wanted to become a superhero in real life?" Yar pondered.

"It's quite simple!" Tom replied. "In real life, there isn't a single person with superpowers," at these words, El silently chuckled.

"But not all superheroes possess superhuman abilities!" Yar objected. "One can use advanced technological gadgets."

"If someone decided to become a real-life superhero, their identity would quickly be exposed," Tom replied, well-versed in comics. "Criminals would easily blackmail them, threatening their family and even forcing them to commit crimes. And law enforcement could do the same, having a reliable soldier or punisher. If there were technological advancements that could turn an ordinary person into a superhero, everyone would be after them, from criminals to the government. And if a real person had slightly more powers than usual, instead of enduring all this charade, they would join the authorities--police, military, or intelligence agencies."

"Moreover, the state has a monopoly on violence," El interjected. "Only it has the right to punish criminals. If an ordinary citizen confiscates stolen goods, they themselves become thieves. If they carry out a death sentence, they become murderers. If they detain someone, it's an unlawful deprivation of freedom."

"That's precisely why if superheroes existed, they would join law enforcement agencies," Tom concluded.

"But in my opinion, Thunderstrike, the son of the god of the Sun, is a very telling example," El said. "Superheroes are nothing more than gods and demigods that emerged in enlightened times when people began to massively abandon religion. Even the most educated, logical, and rational individuals tend to believe in something. If not in God, then in dark forces, witchcraft, or extraterrestrials. And if not in them, then in superheroes."

"Pay attention," El continued, "to the fact that all superheroes lack parents, or at least a father. Just like many literary heroes. If we recall the basics of philosophy, this corresponds to the concept of a hero as a semi-divine being with no roots in our world."

"And if you take a closer look at the great trio of superheroes, it's obvious that they were initially failures," Yar said. "One grew up with a single mother, the second was a loser who couldn't stand up for himself and was also an orphan, and the third was a disabled person..."

"Hold on, Yar," El interrupted his remark.

"Sorry, dude," Professor Alag lowered his gaze. "Forgot that you're an orphan too."

"Alright, let's move on," El replied, mentally adding, "And if you only knew that I was disabled too..."

"So," Yar continued, "why is it often the case that comic book heroes are people... who have had bad luck? The majority of comic book readers are escapists and socially awkward geeks. By immersing themselves in these stories, they affirm their own existence. Athletes, on the other hand, don't need to seek affirmation through comic book reading; they are already strong and confident. In our country, botanists don't particularly like comics because they prefer reading books. After the eradication of illiteracy orchestrated by the communists, our nation became the most literate in the world and lost interest in comics, which it considers trash for semi-literate peasants. Moreover, the theme of beings related to gods is not particularly popular in an atheistic state."

"Well, who knows, Yar," Tom cunningly objected. "El himself said that even educated people tend to believe in something divine. In our country, there are no comics about superheroes, but there are urban legends about them!"

"What kind of urban legends?" El asked curiously.

"For the past few years, rumors have been circulating in the capital about a superhero nicknamed the Red Avenger," Tom replied. "I didn't believe in them much until a friend of mine told me that he was once drunk and walking home alone when he was attacked by thugs. But the Red Avenger jumped off the roof of one of the buildings and dealt with them like kittens."

"Well, he was drunk," El objected. "Most likely, it distorted his perception, and ordinary policemen, probably more than one, handled the thugs."

"I doubt it," Tom said. "He described the Red Avenger in great detail, and the description perfectly matches what the rumors say: black suit, hat, mask, and a cloak made from a red banner..."

El's mind was triggered by the description of the superhero's costume. But an event occurred that distracted him from forming a clear mosaic in his head. The long-awaited slow dances finally began. El moved towards the dance floor, looking for a girl to dance with and, potentially, to get to know.

Among the lonely girls, he tried to find someone more serious. Some, judging by their energy, were looking for a guy for casual relationships. But El felt that he had gone through that very reboot that Yar had once talked about. This time, he ignored the brightly dyed girls in short skirts.

His gaze caught one young lady. Tall, slender, with dark chestnut curly long hair resembling a sea wave and wide brown eyes. She was dressed in a black evening dress, and with her modest and intelligent gaze, she stood out among the other ladies present at the event. She appeared to be a couple of years younger than Goar himself.

"Miss, would you like to dance?" El asked, approaching her.

"Is that a question or an invitation?" she replied, laughing.

"And what would the answer be depending on the choice of either condition?" El also knew how to respond to a question with a question.

"Well, if it's a question, then the answer is yes. And if it's an invitation, then the answer is also yes."

"Let's go," El extended his hand to the lady, and she took it. El Goar spun her around in the dance.

"You're a programmer, young man, aren't you?" the girl asked.

"Yes. How did you guess?"

"You calculate all possible options depending on the given conditions. The brains of programmers are tuned to that. It comes with experience."

"You have a great understanding of people," El complimented.

"Thank you," she softly smiled. "What's your name, comrade programmer?"

"El. El Goar."

"I've heard about you. A person who became a professor at the age of twenty-three, a brilliant engineer and developer. Pleasure to meet you, Comrade Goar. I'm Zura. Zura Ahad. A graduate student at Andoza State University, a nuclear physicist."

El had heard the surname Ahad somewhere! He strained his memory. Exactly! Ben Ahad - a very famous scientist. A doctor of science, professor, teaching at the same place where Zura is studying for her graduate degree, at ASU - Andoza State University. He was born sixty-three years ago, shortly before the revolution. In the late fifties, based on his work on atomic fission, a nuclear bomb was created. The father of elementary particle physics and the corpuscular-wave theory of light. Thanks to him, the Confederation has an advantage in the future atomic war, if it ever happens. After the nuclear bomb tests on the Desert Islands, several hundred people died not far from them. Horrified, Ben gave up research related to the defense industry and turned to peaceful atom, as well as delved into philosophy, developing the theory of neo-humanism and a new concept of history in which he denounces the current regime. Rumors circulated in scientific circles that he had become a prominent dissident.

"Are you related to the laureate in nuclear physics, Ben Ahad?" El cautiously asked while dancing with Zura.

"I'm his daughter."

Wow! Ben is sixty-three, and his daughter is just in her twenties. She was born when her father was around forty. A late child.

"It seems science runs in your family, Zura. Was your mother also a scientist?"

"She was," the girl replied, lowering her gaze. "She passed away a year ago from chronic kidney disease."

"My condolences," El responded. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"And what about your parents, Comrade Goar?"

"I'm an orphan. Both my parents died when I was only six. They were killed in a car accident when a drunk truck driver crashed into them, and I grew up in an orphanage. I understand your pain, miss Ahad. If we're talking about professions, both of them were scientists as well. My father was a physicist, and my mother was a biologist."

An awkward silence fell.

"You're twenty-five, right?" Zura broke the silence.

El nodded.

"You're not my advisor, and you're only two years older than me. You must not call me so formally."

"As you wish, Zura."

"Have you been living in the capital for a long time, Comrade Goar?"

"You also don't address me so formally. Just El. After finishing boarding school, I left Gasta and moved here. I initially lived in a dormitory, and then, when I turned eighteen, the state gave me an apartment as an orphan."

"Yes, the state takes care of you. I live in a communal apartment. Besides me and my father, there's a young family with a child and a lonely alcoholic. Four rooms, two of them are ours, my father's and mine. How many rooms are there in your apartment, Comrade... El?" Zura seemed a bit hesitant at first to call El by name.

"Two. Well, actually, one."

"So is it two or one?"

El pondered. He did not want to tell a girl he had known for a few minutes about the door with a coded lock that he himself could not open. It was as if the slow dance had ended, and an energetic rumba had begun.

"Let's go, have a seat," El suggested, leading Zura to the banquet hall where his friends were sitting. During the time they walked, an answer took shape in Goar's mind. "I'm currently renovating the second room. It's used for storing tools and materials, not suitable for living. And here are my friends. Professor Yar Alag and graduate student Tom Karen. Zura Ahad, my new acquaintance, a graduate student at the University."

Yar looked Zura up and down with interest, then leaned over to El's ear and whispered, "Good luck, Comrade Goar."

"What were you discussing here?" Zura asked.

"Urban legends," Tom replied. "My friends don't believe in superheroes, but I know a guy who was saved by the Red Avenger."

"Oh yes, the Red Avenger exists," Zura smiled mischievously. "I've seen him myself, and he saved me too." With these words, she looked at El with interest. Yar and Tom exchanged glances.

"Well, you two can talk to each other for now," Yar smiled. "We won't disturb you." Yar and Tom stood up and moved to a neighboring table.

"I wouldn't mind eating," Zura said. "Can you call the waiter and order something for us?"

"Sure, open the menu. I would like a potato salad with mushrooms and corn, freshly squeezed orange juice, and lentil patties."

El glanced at Zura, and she looked back at him. El could almost see the gears spinning frantically in the girl's head. She sensed that something was off.

"Do you eat meat?" she finally blurted out, realizing what had surprised her.

"I don't eat meat," El replied.

"You're a vegetarian?"

"Yes. More precisely, I'm a vegan."

"Wow! I thought they were all thin as skeletons due to protein deficiency, but you have such muscles. Come on, admit it, do you secretly eat meat at home when no one's watching?"

"Protein is found in many food products, not just meat. And no, I don't eat it. So I'll order a potato-mushroom salad and lentil patties for myself, and I recommend the same for you."

"Well, if you don't want to eat meat, don't eat. But order me rice with chicken fillet or fish."

"I'm afraid you didn't understand," El smiled. "Veganism is more than just a diet. It's a philosophy and a way of life. When a person buys meat, whether for themselves or others, they are financing the killing of animals. The more people refuse to fund slaughterhouses, the less market demand there will be for meat, and the fewer animals will be raised for slaughter."

El remembered his previous encounters with girls. A third, if not half of them, would silently get up and leave upon finding out that not only does he not eat meat, but he won't feed it to them either.

"You know," Zura said thoughtfully, "Your approach is worthy of respect. My father has been preaching the philosophy of humanism in recent years, saying that we should be more compassionate towards our loved ones. If you think about it, mercy should be shown not only to people but also to animals."

At least for Zura, El Goar turned out to be more interesting than chicken fillet or fish. Who knows, maybe he'll be able to persuade her to join the green side?

"Order me the same as you," the girl concluded.

After El and Zura finished their meal, Zura unexpectedly confessed to herself that everything was very delicious.

"Those who say that veganism is austerity are either lying or don't understand," El responded. "On the contrary, it's on a plant-based diet that people begin to discover new tastes."

"Your diet is very nutritious, El," Zura admitted. "After such a hearty dinner, I want to go home and sleep. It's a pity the buses don't run well at night, so I'll have to take several transfers."

"I have a car. I can drive you home."

"I would be grateful."

In twenty minutes, El drove Zura to her home and escorted her to the door. She quietly opened it with her key, so as not to wake anyone.

"It seems like my father and the neighboring family are asleep," Zura whispered. "And the drunkard Dar went to his job as a night watchman."

"And can we have some privacy in your room?" El asked, interested.

"Why not," Zura replied. Unexpectedly, one of the rooms opened, and a sleepy gray-haired man in his sixties came out wearing a robe. He had a mustache and tousled hair.

"Zura, you're finally home," he said. "I couldn't sleep, I was worried about when you would arrive. And the transportation is unreliable..."

"Dad, at the party, I met this guy. This is El Goar, a professor at the Institute of Physics. He gave me a ride in his `Eight'."

"El Goar, I've heard about you," Zura's father said, extending his hand.

"Professor Ben Ahad." "I've also heard about you." El replied, shaking his hand. "A laureate in the field of nuclear physics and a great humanist. It's an honor for me."

"I understand people, and at first glance, I can tell that you're a good person, Comrade Goar. Take care of my daughter and don't let anything happen to her."

"Dad, I'm sure Comrade Goar won't let anything happen to me."

"Pleased to meet you, Comrade Ahad," El said. "And almost forgot. Zura, we should exchange phone numbers."

"Go ahead," Zura replied, taking a pen and notebook from the nightstand in the corridor.

"143-36-38," El provided.

"And ours is 434-57-94," the girl responded. "Why aren't you writing it down?"

"I have a good memory for numbers. As a programmer, I'm also a bit of a mathematician. 434-57-94. I've already memorized your number."

Having said goodbye to the Ahad family, El headed home. At home, on Friday night, he labored over the schematics of more advanced computers and fell asleep at 3 AM. He woke up on Saturday at 7 AM, feeling refreshed and well-rested, as always. Four hours of sleep were sufficient for him. He attempted to enter the code for the second room. Three options: 0030, 0031, 0032. None of them worked.

After having breakfast, El decided to watch television. He opened the TV program guide for the Confederation's first channel. Here's what was being shown:

-- 7:00 AM - News

-- 7:30 AM - "Health" program

-- 8:00 AM - Song of the Year '88

-- 8:30 AM - News

-- 9:00 AM - Army Daily Life

-- 9:45 AM - Rural Hour

-- 10:30 AM - Meeting of the Central Committee of the Communist Party

-- 12:00 PM - News

-- 12:30 PM - "Forge of Heroes" - Feature film

-- 2:00 PM - News

-- 2:30 PM - Gifts of the Sun

-- 3:20 PM - "World Fire to Inflame" - Feature film. During the break (4:00 PM) - News.

-- 5:20 PM - "Communists in the Empire" - Documentary film

-- 6:00 PM - Replay of the Central Committee of the Communist Party meeting

-- 7:30 PM - Glory to the Patriots!

-- 8:30 PM - Goodnight, Kids

-- 8:45 PM - "The Peasant Woman and the Locksmith" - Feature film

-- 10:00 PM - Speech by the Presidium of the Youth Organization of the Communist Party

-- 10:45 PM - "The Adventures of Gastan Cavalier" - Short feature film for adults

-- 11:30 PM - News

Judging by the film starting at a quarter to eleven, rumors that there is no sex under communism have been disproven by the mass media.

As for other channels, they were airing roughly the same programs.

El got up, turned on the TV, and then returned to the couch. The news began. Against the black and white city panorama, the anthem of the Socialist Republics Confederation played. Technically, the anthem should be listened to standing, but El didn't care about that rule - no one would notice anyway. Although there were urban legends circulating in the capital that not only humans watch TV but TVs can also watch humans through special cameras developed by the Federal Security Department. But El, well-versed in technology, laughed at these stories.

The news wasn't anything special. Typical stories about how good life is for ordinary people when the communists are in power: bountiful harvests, labor productivity increasing in geometric progression, several new artificial satellites launched, and perhaps the current generation of confederates would be able to leave the Earth's boundaries and spread communism to other planets.

El didn't believe in the colonization of other planets, but space travel could have other, more practical applications.

The Confederation could launch a nuclear bomb into orbit and give the Imperial capital a solid hit from space.

El decided to call Zura and arrange a meeting. Then it dawned on him that the girl was probably still asleep. So, he first went to the sea for a swim, and only then called Zura and invited her to the movies and a restaurant.

Chapter 6

The film they went to see was called "Pirates of the Gibborian Sea." It amazed Zura because it was the first film she had seen in 3D format. The plot was quite interesting: a pirate captain was hunting for the treasures of the Inquisition and battling ancient sea gods. Then El took Zura to the restaurant "Conquistador's Haven." He ordered rice with beans and several different salads for both of them.

"El, maybe you don't remember, but we crossed paths two years ago."

"And when could we have done that?"

"When you saved me from hooligans who wanted to harm me. For you, it was just one case among dozens, maybe hundreds, but for me, you're that one. I know who you are, El Goar."

"And who am I?" El himself wanted to learn something new about himself. Maybe Zura would tell him what amnesia erased.

"You are the Red Avenger! A superhero who operates in our city. I hinted at it yesterday, but you didn't respond."

"Where did you get that idea? Superheroes don't exist."

"They do. The Red Avenger saved me two years ago. And now I'm sure it's you."

"I've heard what he looks like. The Red Avenger, if he indeed exists, wears a mask and a hat that covers his face."

"I remember the voice of the Red Avenger, his figure, and his intense black eyes. And there are also nonverbal communications. Posture, gestures, facial expressions. The Red Avenger became my knight-savior. And after talking to you, I realized it's you."

"An interesting theory, but I'm not a superhero."

"Double life, secret identity," sighed Zura. "I knew you wouldn't admit it. You surprised me back then with immense physical strength and agility, how easily you dealt with four hooligans, like children."

El pondered. It seemed that Zura knew about his incredible abilities. So why continue hiding their presence?

"Yes, I'm very strong and agile, and I can take on a gang of hooligans."

"So, you don't deny that you're a superhero?"

"I don't deny it. But I don't agree either."

"How is that?"

"I lost my memory," El confessed. "I was flying in a helicopter when we were hit by anti-aircraft fire. I was the only one who survived, but my brain was damaged. So I remember very little from my past, and I have no idea where these abilities came from. As for being a superhero... I have a Gastan Avenger costume at home, and there's also a red banner hanging, which could be made into a cape. I could have been the Red Avenger. But I don't remember."

"That sounds more like the truth. As for the abilities--I'm a scientist and I don't believe in superpowers arising from bites of radioactive cockroaches. I suspect you've had them since birth," Zura confidently stated. "But I also don't believe in people being born from gods, like in comics about Thunderstrike. It's most likely that you were artificially created. It becomes evident when we look at who your parents are."

"And what do you know about my parents?" El exclaimed, surprised and somewhat excited.

"I found a small article about you in the Great Federal Encyclopedia. Your mother, Dara Goar, was a biologist, conducting experiments on rats, aiming to create a super rat, strong and resilient."

"Like Dar Nerek wanted to create a super cockroach in the comics?"

"Something like that. And your father, Kir Goar, was a physicist studying alpha radiation. And it can cause mutations. I believe that you were the main project of your parents, a mutant, a superhuman. Your parents died nineteen years ago in a car accident: they were hit by a drunk truck driver. There were several articles in the Gasta newspapers about the truck driver who crushed an old 'six' along with the young scientist couple and their little child."

"But what about the child? Here I am, alive and well."

"Was there a boy?" Zura smiled. "Are you not an imposter? I don't think so: young children often are the only ones who survive car accidents, and you have increased resilience if you survived a helicopter crash. I think you were born this way, and surviving a car accident was not difficult for you."

"Quite possible," shrugged El. "I can heal myself with the power of my own energy."

"How so?"

"By controlling my own energy. Our brain controls the body, and the mind controls the brain. Hence the logical conclusion that the mind controls the body, and with the power of the mind, we can heal the body."

"Listen, El, can you use the power of your mind to heal others?"

"I remember very little about what I can do."

"As I mentioned, my mother died because of kidney failure. I have a bad inheritance in this regard, with salt deposits in the kidneys since childhood, and I've had pyelonephritis several times. I'm afraid that with age, I might develop a chronic kidney disease. I'm not sure if I'll live to retirement."

"I can't guarantee anything, but I'll try to heal you," said El, as he placed his hands around Zura's waist. He felt a wave of excitement coursing through him - it had been several months, he couldn't remember exactly how long, since he had embraced a woman. Trying to push those thoughts aside and focus on the healing process, he sensed his nervous system merging with Zura's. Just as he felt every organ in his own body, he could feel hers too. Directing his attention to her kidneys, he channeled Qi energy towards them and felt them come alive, functioning more actively, while the pain transferred to El himself. After five minutes, Zura felt significantly better, and El withdrew his hands from her waist.

"Is it all better now? My pain has greatly diminished!" exclaimed Zura.

"I've initiated the process of restoration in your body. Right now, you're much healthier, and within a week or two, your body will recover completely on its own," explained El.

"But why are you holding onto your own waist?" asked Zura.

"I've taken your pain upon myself," replied El.

"And is it for a lifetime?" inquired Zura.

"No, of course not. I recover very quickly. I'll be back to normal in two or three hours. I'm actually heading home," replied El.

"El, you escorted me home yesterday. Maybe today I can accompany you," suggested Zura.

"Why not? I live nearby, on Lamed Avenue," replied El.

Within a few minutes, they arrived at El's apartment.

"Interesting," Zura said, surveying the room. "So many books, an experimental computer, and your superhero costume. That's how I remember you. You used to appear to me in my dreams wearing it," she ran her palm gently across El's face. In response, El stroked his hand through her curly hair. Gohar's hand descended down her back, and further still. He felt the blood rushing to his manhood.

"I want you, Zura," he whispered passionately.

"And I want you, El! I have desired you for two years ever since you saved me. Even though I might be one of many you have saved and you don't remember me, you are the only one for me. Even though I haven't seen your face, I remember the fire in your black eyes, your well-built figure, and your vibrant and charismatic voice. For two years, I have yearned for you and fantasized about you on lonely nights, Red Avenger! I imagined you even when I was with other men."

"But I have amnesia," El replied, gently yet energetically caressing Zura's buttocks. "If it weren't for that, I'm sure I would remember you too. I don't recall any other women with such a deep and serious gaze."

"I have something deep as well," Zura continued, slipping El's hand into her panties, and he felt her vagina becoming moist.

"What a coincidence, my dear," El smiled. "I have something big," he pointed to his rising member.

"Wow! It's really big," Zura replied, unbuttoning Gohar's pants and removing them.

"That's because I'm big myself, and everything about me is big," El smiled, unfastening the girl's white blouse, revealing her breasts of the third, or maybe even fourth, size in a lacy black bra. Excited, El vigorously tossed the blouse onto the back of the chair, while Zura took off his pants. El removed Zura's skirt and continued caressing her buttocks. His penis felt like it was about to burst from the abundance of blood. Zura pressed herself passionately against El, unbuttoning his shirt and then removing his underwear. Gohar also pulled down the girl's panties and threw them aside. The panties landed right on top of his superhero costume hat.

"Are you on birth control?" El asked.

"Yes," Zura nodded.

"I believe you."

El lifted Zura's legs up, and his large, tanned member entered her. Thrusting vigorously, he licked and nibbled on Zura's swollen nipples. After some time, El felt hot waves coursing through his body, and he groaned and moaned for nearly half a minute.

"It seemed to me that male orgasm lasts much shorter," Zura exclaimed in astonishment.

"Don't forget, I'm a mutant," El smiled. "I can control every part of my body. I can prolong the orgasm."

"It seems you don't have complete control. You came in just ten minutes. I thought with your immense strength, you were capable of more."

"It's because I haven't had sex in a while. I experienced an orgasm in ten minutes, yes. Did I finish? No!"

"What do you mean?!"

"I mean, I'm just getting started!" El continued thrusting his hips.

"Aren't you supposed to recover?"

"I control my body. I can have multiple orgasms."

The next act of love lasted almost an hour. El was ready to continue, but Zura said she needed a break. El agreed and went to make tea. Fifteen minutes later, Zura suggested they continue.

"How about you try being on top?" El suggested.

"I don't have any experience with that," Zura confessed.

"I have plenty of adult magazines. They have all sorts of things." Zura studied the magazines for a while, then assumed a cowgirl position. El caressed her back, feeling her spinal cord, experiencing every part of her body. It occurred to him that he had entered into a full nervous contact with Zura. He could feel the same sensations she did, experiencing her feelings, because El's brain functioned as a receiver. And perhaps a transmitter as well.

"Don't you want to experience a male orgasm?" El asked.

"How?"

"It's one of my abilities. During a nervous contact, I can experience your feelings and transmit mine to you."

"Let's give it a try."

While Zura moved on top of El, he cupped her breasts with his hands. He felt not only his own sensations but also Zura's when her breasts were caressed. And it doubled his excitement.

After about twenty minutes, El felt he was close to climax. But he also sensed that Zura was far from it. So, he commanded his body to hold off the orgasm until Zura was ready. And after five minutes, when she was ready to experience convulsions, El allowed his member to release. Both of them had a synchronous orgasm, both male and female.

"Wow, that was incredible!" Zura gasped for breath.

"You're the first person I've offered this to in many years," El admitted. "Because you're the first person who knows about my superpowers."

"Maybe we should try something else from the magazines."

"Do you know what a blowjob is?"

"Nope." Well, of course, growing up under communism, you wouldn't know much about these things.

"It's oral sex."

"When someone sucks a penis?"

"Yes."

Zura took El's erect penis into her mouth and began energetically sucking it. El, by touching her head, transmitted his sensations to her brain. After a while, a wave of pleasure washed over his body, and El moaned. Zura also moaned, experiencing El's orgasm.

"I never thought I would climax from such an activity," she confessed.

"That's because I'm full of surprises, Zura."

"We'll see what you have in store for me tomorrow," she replied. "But for now, it's time to sleep." Zura fell asleep, resting her head on El Goar's muscular, tan chest. He also drifted off to sleep.

El once again had a dream, something similar to a scene from the past, but again unreal. He found himself in a laboratory, floating in a cylindrical glass tank the size of a shower cabin. He splashed in the liquid, which clearly contained oxygen because he could breathe it. Then a snouted man in ancient armor approached the tank and said something in an unfamiliar language. After that, he reached under his collar, slightly lifted his hands, and his skin began to peel off from his neck. He reached up and removed the skin covering his head, revealing... Well, it wasn't a human! The creature most resembled a giant salamander or a toad. With a deep bass voice, it spoke something in the same unintelligible language. Its face, or maybe its visage, looked stern and frightening.

El woke up in horror. Zura, who had been sleeping contentedly on him, also woke up. And as always, he had only slept his usual four hours. What to do now? First and foremost, the second room. He checked the codes from 0033 to 0035. No luck. He could start working on programming the new operating system, "Doors-88." After spending a few hours writing code, El began preparing breakfast. Zura woke up then.

"Good morning, darling," El smiled.

"Hello, dear. How did you sleep?" Zura asked.

"Excellent. My sleep requirements are significantly lower than yours. I managed to tinker with the new system and prepare breakfast."

"Muesli with soy milk and porridge?"

"That's right. Please, have a seat at the table."

Zura went to the bathroom, dressed and freshened up, then sat at the dining table. El spoke:

"When you're done eating, let's go to the rooftop. I want to show you something interesting."

"Something more interesting than what happened last night?"

"Not that much, but you'll be surprised too."

After the meal, they climbed to the attic. El opened the rooftop access with his key, climbed up the ladder, and then reached out his hand to help Zura up.

"This spot is one of the few in the area that offers a fairly good view," El said, gesturing towards the city panorama. "What do you see on those hills, a couple of dozen miles away?"

"A nuclear power plant. So what?"

"Now, close your eyes, place your hand on the back of my neck. Concentrate. And look at it through my eyes!"

Zura did as instructed. El connected their nervous systems. He felt Zura's emotions--the enchanted smile and slight shock.

"I see a silvery glow. It shifts like ball lightning and oscillates in the air, like the northern lights. It's a beautiful sight. Enchanting. But at the same time, something terrifying."

"I see the radiation glow, Zura. I know others can't see it. You could say that glow symbolizes the essence of progress. Alluring, beautiful, carrying great prospects, but also dangerous in the wrong hands. And I can feel your emotions. You're experiencing the same."

"Nervous contact allowed me to feel the emotions you experienced just now. You seem excited and somewhat frightened."

"Pay no attention to it. I had a nightmare."

"By the way, El, may I ask an intimate question?"

"Go ahead."

"Why is your penis circumcised? Did you have to remove the foreskin due to inflammation? Or did your parents, despite their scientific degrees, adhere to the barbaric traditions of the New World aborigines - mutilating infants?"

"I don't remember. I have amnesia, after all. But something vaguely reminds me that my parents followed certain traditions."

"Do you yourself adhere to any traditions? Do you believe in God, El?"

"No, I'm an atheist, like the majority of Confederates. I recall a great man saying that the traditions of dead generations weigh on the minds of the living like a nightmare. Do you believe in God, Zura? Do you follow any traditions?"

"Not so much traditions and rituals, I prefer to adhere to ethical commandments. I believe in God. I follow the religion of my people."

"And what is your ethnicity?"

"I am Iberian. We are one of the small peoples of the Empire who, in ancient times, arrived at monotheism."

"And what do Iberians usually look like?"

"Roughly like me, what else? Usually brown eyes, curly hair, typically black, chestnut, or red. For us, God is not an anthropomorphic entity but the Higher Mind that establishes the laws of the universe."

"So, for you, the laws of physics, chemistry, and biology are the laws of God?"

"It seems so. Perhaps that's why there are so many scientists, doctors, and inventors among us."

"Tell me about your faith, Zura," El asked with interest.

"For us, God is the unified mind dissolved in the Universe. While other nations believed that gods lived in the heavens, we believed that God is nature and the world, and that humans live in the heavens. At the same time, God can manifest in anthropomorphic form."

"Really? How?"

"According to our faith, there are nine heavens, and each has its own earthly firmament. Holy people who accepted the One God reside in the first heavens. Some theologians say they are angels. The other celestial realms are also inhabited by people, a total of seven. Our world is the fifth one, under the middle heavens. Our world is Arad, the Middle Land, the Middle Realm. It is precisely in the center, between the upper heavens of the holy people and the lower world populated by savage creatures."

"Savage creatures, meaning devils?"

"Some theologians say yes, devils, demons. Other theologians believe they are simply a wild, warlike people resembling tritons or frogs, and the Ninth Heavens is a swampy realm.'"

"Continue," El's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. Something in the girl's story had caught his attention. "Where did your faith come from? Who was your prophet?"

"Davur the Radiant, who descended from the upper heavens and dwelt beneath the other skies. He taught us the commandments of 'do not kill,' 'do not steal,' 'do not commit adultery,' 'honor your parents,' and others."

"And you believe that he truly descended from the heavens? In our enlightened age?"

"Yes!" Zura's words carried a hint of aggression. "Our people have never renounced their faith, undeterred by exile or the fires of the Inquisition. We hold onto the hope that one day the Messiah will descend from the upper heavens and end the injustice and horrors of our world: hunger, disease, wars, and crime!" Zura sounded quite fanatical. El disliked fanaticism in any form, but at this moment, he found himself agreeing with Zura's position, as he suspected she might be right. "Our people have been restricted in their rights," Zura continued. "In the Empire, the independent States, and here, in the Confederation, obstacles have been placed in our careers and university admissions simply because we refuse to renounce our faith. However, in our atheistic state, abandoning one's faith will not help. It is enough to have the ethnicity 'Iberian' recorded in your passport or even in your birth certificate, indicating that at least one of your parents has that origin. To enter university, you must be the best to meet the quota. Some people buy documents with a more convenient nationality through bribes. But I will never renounce my ancestors!"

"I understand you, Zura. Even though I am a representative of the indigenous population of the New World, I also belong to a national minority here, on the land of my ancestors. When I applied for a graduate program, the professor who examined me wanted to fail me simply because I am a person of color. He whispered to me, 'You are a descendant of savages, Goar, while I am a descendant of conquistadors. I don't think science is the place for you.'"

"And what did you do?" Zura raised an eyebrow. "I appealed the decision, underwent additional exams before a commission, and achieved the highest score. You always must strive for your goals and overcome all obstacles!"

"Yes, even the bureaucratic machine can yield to us if we are determined to overcome the barriers it creates."

"Do you know why your faith intrigued me?"

"And why?" Zura's lips curved into a slight smile.

"I believe it could be true. Ancient people lacked a scientific language to describe the world, so they spoke of nine realms and nine celestial spheres beneath them. But it seems to me that the celestial beings your religion talks about are extraterrestrials."

"Oh, come on!"

"It's quite plausible. They are compared to angels. I've come across articles about beings in white garments, similar to angels, who made contact with humans and extracted information and language from their minds. And there have also been articles about reptilians--extraterrestrials resembling lizards, toads, or frogs."

"Yes, I've read similar things!" Zura recalled. "That there is a secret society of reptilians disguising themselves as humans and covertly taking control of our planet! It aligns with what our sacred books say about the hostile inhabitants of the Ninth Heavens!"

"And now I will tell you about the nightmare I had. I was floating in a glass reservoir in some laboratory. A person with a broad forehead, thick eyebrows, and a huge mouth approached me. And he took off his face, revealing a mask. And underneath, I saw the face of either a frog or a newt! Reptilians were experimenting on me! It seems that's where my powers originated from!"

"El, it was just a dream! Don't pay attention to it!"

"I don't think so," El shook his head. "Through dreams, my memories break through the dam of amnesia. This dream was exactly like that."

"I have an idea, El. Firstly, your body is flawless!"

"Thank you, darling," Goar beamed with satisfaction.

"That wasn't a compliment. Your body doesn't have a single mole, pimple, wart, or scar. Humans have at least one of these things. Your incredible strength and agility. Your intelligence. Are you even human?"

"What else could I be?"

"A reptilian."

El paused for a moment. What if he himself was a reptilian, hiding among humans, and had forgotten about it due to amnesia? No! It was impossible! The face of that frog in the dream seemed eerie to him, not friendly or attractive. Besides, he could feel every organ in his body. Human organs. He was undoubtedly a human!

"Zura, I can establish a neural connection with you. Take my hand. I will let you feel every organ in my body. I am a human. Close your eyes."

Zura took El's palm and closed her eyes. El transmitted his somatic sensations to her.

"Yes. I know the anatomy. You are human," she delivered her verdict. "It seems that you were under the control of reptilians, but amnesia allowed you to break free from their influence."

"It's good that I am free now."

"Then we will harness your abilities for noble purposes," the girl's eyes lit up. "We will uncover the truth and overthrow the global reptilian government!"

El was slightly taken aback by Zura's enthusiasm, but he nodded in agreement.

Chapter 7

In the evening, El was working on developing the core of the "Door-88" system. The next morning, he tried various combinations on the lock, ranging from 0036 to 0038. All unsuccessful attempts, which was not surprising, considering less than four-tenths of a percent were tested. After breakfast, El went to give lectures.

In the elevator of the Physics Institute, he suddenly bumped into Zura.

"Hello, my dear," she smiled radiantly, kissing El, fortunately, as there was no one else in the elevator.

"Hi, Zura. What are you doing here?" El asked, returning her kiss.

"I've become an assistant professor at your physics department. To be closer to you," she replied.

"I'm glad to see you, both here and at work," El said.

"Likewise," Zura smiled. "I've been reading newspapers devoted to unidentified and anomalous phenomena. There were articles about some people secretly killing reptilians and dissecting them. There are even photographs. Look," she took out a newspaper clipping from her purse, showing a picture of a man in a white lab coat dissecting a giant humanoid creature resembling a frog.

"Oh, my God!" El exclaimed.

"What?" Zura asked.

"It's exactly like the creature from my dream! They really exist! Those were my true memories!"

"Yes, indeed. They interrogated that creature before the autopsy. It turns out the reptilian conspiracy has already succeeded. They rule our planet. All world leaders are either reptilians themselves or their puppets. And they conduct genetic experiments on humans. Probably, they endowed you with their genes, turning you into a super soldier meant to help them maintain power."

"But now I am a soldier fighting on the side of humanity. They no longer have control over me."

The elevator screeched to a halt.

"Well, this is my floor," Zura said, stepping out and blowing a kiss to El in the air.

El headed upstairs to his floor. Upon reaching the lecture hall, he began a lecture on the "Shark" programming language, of which he was the main developer. He talked about arrays, loops, and searching through arrays using the loop method.

"So, remember," El proclaimed, pointing to the board filled with array element numbers. "In programming, counting always starts from zero, not one. The first element in an array is called the zeroth element, the one following it is the first, and so on. Here's a question for you. If an array has a hundred elements, what is the number of the last one?"

"Ninety-nine," answered one of the students, raising their hand.

"Correct," El smiled.

"Comrade Goar," another student spoke up. "So, if a programmer tells a girl that she is his 'first,' does it mean she is actually the second?"

Laughter erupted in the lecture hall. El, smiling, continued, "Yes, Kan, there is a certain logic to that. And if the girl is also a programmer, she will definitely understand. If not, then it becomes a misunderstanding due to a slight language barrier."

Light laughter echoed through the room again. But moments later, no one was in the mood for amusement. The door opened, and silently, people dressed in black entered. A young, dark-skinned, short-haired man in a jacket and tie, wearing black sunglasses, accompanied by two individuals in black camouflage uniforms, armor, helmets, and carrying rifles.

"Federal Security Department," the jacket-wearer declared, taking out a small red booklet from his pocket, displaying the symbol of the Confederation--a sun emblem with an eight-pointed star composed of a diamond and square, with two swords inscribed within it. "Lieutenant Riv Daar. We need Professor El Goar."

The students collectively pointed towards their teacher.

"Come with us, Comrade Goar," the lieutenant said dryly. The armed individuals behind him approached El, twisted his arms, and handcuffed him. Then, prodding him forward with their rifle butts, they ordered him to walk with them. The students looked at each other, at their professor, and at the people in black, bewildered.

"No need to panic, comrades," the lieutenant spoke. "You will be fine. This is solely our business with Professor Goar."

Of course, El could easily handle all three representatives of the Department, but he didn't want to neutralize them in front of witnesses. Besides, he was curious about what exactly the Federal Security Service wanted from him. There was nothing else to do. El went with the agents. They escorted him to the elevator, and then, to the astonished gazes of students, professors, and staff, they led Comrade Goar through the hall and shoved him into a car - the same "Eight" as Goar's own car nearby, only black and with tinted windows.

"We monitor prominent scientists like you, Professor," the lieutenant said. "Frankly, I thought you were dead. Did you live in the Empire?"

"I was a prisoner of war."

"Did you collaborate with the Imperial intelligence or army?"

"Colonel Maur wanted to make me work for the Imperial army, but I escaped from captivity."

"We should question you about this in the Department."

The car passed by Victory Park, which was built after the young Confederation won the civil war. Against the backdrop of the park, full of ponds and playgrounds, colossal buildings and monuments of the revolutionary leaders loomed.

"We've arrived," the lieutenant stated after a while, parking in front of a high-rise building behind a metal fence. The inscription on the fence read: "Department of Federal Security. Unauthorized entry prohibited."

"Yeah, if it said 'welcome,' I'd gladly go there," El said sarcastically.

"Enough chitchat," the lieutenant demanded, gesturing for El to get out of the car. The soldiers led him further. They passed the guard post and reached the elevator. The lieutenant called it and pushed El inside, pressing one of the buttons. They arrived at one of the upper floors. A sign on the door of the office where they brought El read: "Interrogation Department."

El realized he was in trouble. This situation could potentially ruin his career, his quality of life, and even his life in general. When El escaped from captivity, he forgot one thing: in the Confederation, to put it mildly, they don't like former prisoners of war. If a person surrendered instead of dying for the Motherland, they are considered a traitor. And if they managed to escape captivity, things get much worse: they are assumed to be recruited by enemy intelligence agencies, making them a spy! As a result, the best-case scenario would involve labor camps, and the worst-case scenario would be execution. However, if he was extremely lucky, they would exile him to the hundred and first kilometer, prohibiting him from teaching at institutes.

Behind the door, a huge dimly lit hall was visible, with a massive table and a lamp at the end. A person, or rather a silhouette of a person, sat behind the table. Due to the semi-darkness and the light shining from the lamp, it was impossible to make out their facial features. El was seated in a chair in front of the table, and his handcuffs were removed, but titanium shackles immediately clamped onto his wrists. El tried to free his hands from the chair along with the shackles, but even his immense strength was not enough to break free. If things went wrong, the only way out would be to stand up, flip the chair over his head, and smash it against the head of one of the security agents.

"Sensors," Lieutenant Daar commanded. Two henchmen immediately attached sensors with suction cups to El's forehead, hands, chest, and abdomen. The sensors were connected to some electronic device. A polygraph, El guessed.

A malicious bark sounded. Two more security agents in black entered, each holding a huge Doberman on a leash, barking furiously towards El.

"No, comrades, you won't intimidate me so easily," thought El, looking straight into the dogs' eyes and sending them the signal, "I am the master. You must not bark at me."

"Voice!" commanded the black silhouette, and the dogs barked furiously once again.

"I am the master. I am the leader. Only listen to me. Don't listen to them," El sent a new signal. The dogs calmed down once more.

"Stupid bitches! Voice!" commanded the dark silhouette, but the dogs whimpered.

"What's wrong with them?" the silhouette wondered.

"To hell with the dogs!" the lieutenant barked. "We'll do without them! Begin the interrogation, inquisitor!"

"Welcome to the Department, Comrade Goar," said the dark silhouette in a smooth voice. "I am the interrogator of the Department."

"How should I address you?"

"Oh, my name is of no importance. Just call me the Inquisitor. I will ask you a few questions. You will answer them under the truth serum and the lie detector's control."

"Why both?"

"As a precaution, Comrade Goar," the Inquisitor replied. Under the light of the lamp shining directly in his eyes, it was impossible to distinguish the expressions on the Inquisitor's face, but from his voice and the impulses emanating from him, it was apparent that he was smirking. "Colonel Deckard's idea. Without his approach, the Department would not have reached the heights it has now. First, we will test the lie detector's response to your statements, then we will inject you with the serum, listen to your account, and finally, interrogate you under the serum on the polygraph."

"There is no truth serum. It's all urban legends."

"It's foolish to deny the traditions of your own people, Comrade Goar," the Inquisitor said, taking out a large syringe filled with acid-green liquid from the desk drawer. "Zarpadein is an extract from the leaves of the tropical zarpadeya plant, which some indigenous tribes of the New World used during the initiation ritual to induct young boys into manhood."

After a candidate for warriors and hunters underwent trials, the shaman would give him a potion brewed from zarpadeya leaves, and the young man had to drink it and then swear allegiance to the tribe and the leader," the Inquisitor continued. "Those with impure hearts who took the brew could not make that oath and were disgracefully expelled from the tribe. Their fate was unfortunate, Comrade Goar. They either perished from hunger and the claws of predators or formed gangs. There were a few individuals on whom the potion had no effect, and they deceitfully became warriors of the tribe. There are legends that one of the conquistadors passed on the secret of the potion to the Holy Inquisition, but there is no evidence to support this."

However, the Department fully utilizes the fruits of progress while not forgetting the legacy of the past. Our chemists have managed to extract pure zarpadein extract, which acts instantly and has an effectiveness of 97 percent.

"Let's start by checking the lie detector's reaction to your answers, Comrade Goar. You can only respond with either "yes" or "no" to all questions. Let's begin. Are you El Goar?"

"Yes," came the reply, with a steady signal and a green light.

"Are you a professor and a doctor of physical-mathematical sciences?"

"Yes."

"Are you a Gastanian?"

"Yes."

"Were you born in the capital city?"

"No."

"Were you born in the Republic of Gasta?"

"Yes."

"Very well. We know the polygraph's response to your truthful answers. Now we need you to lie. Respond with falsehoods to my questions. So, are you a doctor of historical sciences?"

"Yes," was the answer, and immediately the polygraph emitted a screaming signal, and the red light lit up.

"Are you a woman?"

"Yes," accompanied by a screaming signal and a red light.

"Were you born in the capital city?"

"Yes," resulting in a red light and a screaming signal.

"Are you a Gastanian?"

"No," triggering the same reaction from the polygraph.

"Excellent. Now we will inject you with zarpadein and have a heart-to-heart conversation. Our truth serum acts almost instantly and works on ninety-seven percent of the subjects."

A man in a white lab coat wearing a face-covering mask approached. They took a syringe and injected its contents directly into El Goar's vein.

"I am unique," thought El. "I must be resistant to this serum and be among those three percent." Suddenly, he felt a pleasant warmth spreading through his veins and throughout his body. His brain was enveloped in a pleasant hazy mist, his pupils dilated. He had an urge to speak, to speak a lot, and to speak only the truth. The parts of his brain responsible for cunning and deviousness fell asleep. Critical thinking shut down, bringing his mind into a state akin to his childhood, but with all the knowledge of an adult.

"No!" The remnants of El Goar's critical thinking fought for survival deep within his consciousness. "Stop! Block! Brain! Cut off the influx of this filth!"

Consciousness was no longer able to figure out how to prevent the spread of the potion, but the despair-ridden subconscious immediately communicated to the body how to cleanse itself. His heart roared like a fighter jet engine before takeoff. Veins and arteries pulsated frantically, and blood rushed through them like a swift, raging waterfall, passing through his kidneys, which also kicked into high gear.

"What's happening to him?" the Investigator asked. "His pulse is skyrocketing, exceeding two hundred! And his blood pressure too! Is this an allergic reaction to the foreign protein? Should we administer adrenaline, Doctor?"

"It doesn't seem like it," the medic replied. "In anaphylactic shock, decreased pulse and blood pressure are more characteristic. Administering adrenaline could kill him."

"Damn it! We need him alive! If it's not an allergy, then what is it?"

"Most likely, it's individual intolerance. In general, each person's body reacts differently to zarpadein."

El felt the restraints on his mind loosening. His pulse gradually returned to normal, and he felt pressure in his bladder area, but he commanded his brain to temporarily block out these sensations. His pupils constricted, but with sheer willpower, he forced them to dilate again so that the state security agents wouldn't suspect that zarpadein had left his veins. El Goar was once again the master of his mind and body.

"He's stabilizing," the medic observed. "It seems like the initial reaction to the unknown substance has passed. Judging by his pupils, he doesn't belong to the three percent of people resistant to zarpadein."

"Very well," the Investigator stated, his voice indicating a satisfied smile. "Let's proceed with the interrogation. Your name and profession?"

"I am El Goar, a professor at Phystech, a computer developer, and a programmer."

"Did you live within the Empire's territory?"

"No. I was held captive in a military hospital there."

"How did you end up there?" "I was flying in a helicopter over Gibborah, and we were shot down by a SAM launcher."

"Why were you flying there?"

"I don't remember. I have amnesia."

"What injury did you sustain?"

"A concussion. I was in a coma for about three weeks."

"Did you collaborate with the Imperial army?"

"Colonel Maur offered me cooperation, but I declined."

"How did you escape from the hospital?"

"I found unattended soldier's clothing in one of the wards, changed into it, pretending to be an Imperial soldier, and walked into the block where the prisoners were held. I freed our pilot, Nute Tari. Together, we stole an unattended Imperial helicopter and headed home, to our Motherland."

"Patriotism is commendable, Comrade Goar," the Investigator said with satisfaction. "Now let's see how your words stand up to the lie detector. I remind you that you can only answer 'yes' or 'no' to all questions."

El pondered. Now he had to deceive the lie detector. How could he do that? It was easy! The answer was right in front of him and turned out to be childishly simple! After all, it was a lie detector, not a mind-reading device! And he had to answer only "yes" and "no." The polygraph reacted to lies when using those words. So how could he bypass its principles? After hearing the Investigator's question, he would simply ignore it and then, MENTALLY, ask himself an obvious or absurd question with an obvious answer and verbalize that answer out loud. For example, if the Investigator asked, "Do you have superpowers?" El would ignore the question, mentally ask himself, "Is Comrade Lamed Gastanian?" and honestly answer "no" aloud.

"Let's begin then. You are El Goar." "Yes," a steady sound, the polygraph's green light.

"You were in a coma due to a concussion?" El ignored the question and immediately asked himself mentally, "Are we currently in the FSD?" and voiced an honest answer to his own question: "Yes." Green light, steady sound.

"Did you leave the military compound other than by helicopter? Were you in the city?" El asked himself mentally, "Did I walk on the Moon today?" and answered aloud: "No."

The following questions duplicated those already asked to El. He responded to the state security agents with only what they themselves wanted to hear. When the interrogation ended, the Investigator stated: "We need to discuss something with Comrade Lieutenant. The rest of you, leave us. And you, Comrade Goar, wait in the corridor." "I'd love to, but I'm chained to the chair," El retorted. "Remove the shackles, put on handcuffs," the lieutenant demanded, and the FSD soldiers complied. "To the corridor with him!" They escorted El out. His bladder reminded him of its presence. And then it dawned on El that an opportunity to escape had arisen. "Comrades of the state security," he addressed his escort. "I wouldn't mind using the restroom." "Under escort only. We will accompany you there." There was nothing to be done. El, in handcuffs, moved along the corridor with two FSD soldiers. The escape attempt failed: the windows were fitted with iron bars. Of course, El had enough strength to break them, but that would raise the alarm. He could render the soldiers unconscious, but in case he and the escort didn't return, it would alert everyone else.

After some time, El was led back to the corridor. Lieutenant Daar was standing by the Investigative Department's door, holding a modern gadget--a electronic cigarette. Judging by the smell, there was no nicotine in it, and the lieutenant's face didn't resemble that of a hardened smoker. It seemed that he had never really smoked, and the nicotine-free e-cigarette was only for the purpose of looking cool. Another officer stood nearby. "Hello, Comrade Goar," he smiled. "Commandant Treg. You have passed the truth serum and lie detector test." At these words, Lieutenant Daar barely contained his laughter. "What's the matter, Lieutenant?" "Oh, it's nothing, Comrade Commandant. I remembered a joke. But I cannot tell it. I've arrested myself for it." "Let it go," waved the senior officer. "So, Comrade Goar, I have consulted with the lieutenant and the interrogator, and the verdict is: your actions do not constitute a crime. You are being sent to the propaganda department and then home." The commandant escorted El to the propaganda department, where he detailed what Colonel Maur had offered him, how he had rejected his proposals, and, omitting the details, recounted the story of the escape, saving Nute, and hijacking the helicopter from enemy territory. After that, El was driven to the Physics Institute, where his car was parked, and he was released in all directions. Classes were already over, so he had to go home.

An excited Zura was waiting for him at home. "El!" she exclaimed joyfully. "You're alive! And free! Word has spread around the Physics Institute that they took you right from the lecture and brought you to the FSD." "Yes, that's exactly what happened. I was held captive by the enemy. But they found no evidence of a crime in my actions and released me. Let's go to my place. I think there will be interesting material on TV." As they reached the fifth floor, the news program was just starting. Upon entering the apartment, El immediately turned on the television to the first channel. The anchorwoman, Riva Saar, was reporting: "Professor El Goar, who was believed to be missing, has returned unharmed from captivity in the Empire. The Imperial military offered him a large sum of money, a private house, and an expensive car in exchange for cooperation. But Professor Goar did not fall for the bribes of the decaying Empire. Comrade Goar did not sell our national secrets to the enemy, as he stands above such actions. He did not accept a wealthy, privileged capitalist life because he is interested in ensuring a prosperous future for all of us! He has returned home for the ideal, having barely survived captivity, to continue building communism. Hurray, comrades! The word of the hero of these events!"

On the screen appeared El himself, speaking with the following words:

"Can one betray an idea? Can one betray their own dream and sell out to the potential enemy for material wealth? Every capitalist thinks only of themselves. But we, comrades, think of the common good. What is abundance for one person? A drop in the ocean! What is abundance for all people? Communism, comrades, universal freedom, equality, and brotherhood!

"But there is another reason why I didn't agree. Because I carry the banner of progress, comrades, and progress carries great prospects, but in the wrong hands, it is dangerous! If my inventions were to fall into the hands of the Empire, a new war would engulf the world! But they are ours--and they will lead us to the victory of communism, comrades!"

"You give a beautiful speech," Zura smiled, listening to El's words. "Much more charismatic than Comrade Lamed himself. Maybe it's time for you to become the general secretary?"

"I'm burning with desire," El replied sarcastically.

"Don't take offense. I understand that politics is a dirty business for you. By the way, why were you released from the Department so quickly? Did you tell them everything as it happened?"

"Not entirely. They did use the truth serum on me, but I neutralized it in my blood. They also used a polygraph, but I deceived it."

"And how did you deceive it?"

"It's child's play. I ignored the questions they asked and mentally asked myself different ones, then answered them out loud."

"El, you managed to distract the interrogator's questions," Zura looked at him with a mild shock. "That's not child's play. That's the level of a professional agent."

Goar stared at her with no less surprise. Was he an agent? Whose? The reptilians'? His memory immediately presented him with another recollection.

There, under the intoxicating twilight sky of an ancient world, untouched by industrial smog, he trotted up to the camp of a small legion detachment, consisting of several officers. Sitting next to them on a stump was the familiar shaman of the barbarians, the tall blue-eyed blond with a sharp nose, a massive beard, and braids, and on his head proudly sat a horned helmet. One of the grim-faced officers turned out to be familiar too--it was the same reptilian from a recent nightmare, conducting experiments on El! And next to them sat a coughing guy who had recently turned thirty.

"They say one doesn't wait for seven," the shaman grumbled. "Where have your demons been carrying you, El?!"

"Apologies, sir. I dropped by to visit one familiar woman."

"Well, you are a young man, I understand," the shaman furrowed his brow. "I hope you won't bring forth a multitude of genetically modified children into this world. Who knows how dangerous a bandit, or even a dictator, can grow from such without proper supervision."

"It's hard to wrap my head around," coughed the young man. "Across the ocean... cough... there is also a developed civilization... cough... much more powerful than our Empire... And when I attended the gymnasium, we were taught... cough... that only savages live there. Konstakhi... Oh, your full name is difficult to pronounce."

"Well, I also have a shamanic name--Natipakshush, although it's even more complicated. You can call me by the shortened version--Konstlar. As per the customs of personal and family names."

"Konstlar, I need a medicine, the recipe of which is known only to the priests of the Order of the Moon. They charge exorbitant amounts for treatment."

"And they keep a monopoly on knowledge," the shaman summed up. "Medical knowledge should be accessible to all."

"You promised to send the best infiltrator to deliver the book with recipes of healing potions and mixtures."

"And he has just arrived," the shaman replied. "El, it's your turn. The task is simple. Sneak into the temple fortress. Penetrate the holiest of holies. Steal the sacred book. And, personally for me, the recipe for the elixir of oblivion."

"What is this elixir?" the sick man asked.

"It erases memories from the past ten minutes. The priests use it, for example, during interrogations," the shaman replied. "They promise the victim freedom if they tell everything, and then simply erase the memory of it. They can even kill your comrade and erase the memory of that event. I collect various recipes; they will be useful... to my tribe."

El saluted. He removed his legionnaire helmet and donned a silver cloak with a hood, making him resemble a priest of the Order of the Moon. The armor itself remained inconspicuous beneath the cloak. Under the cover of twilight, El swiftly ran towards the base of the fortress, crafted from white stone, which appeared pale gray under the evening sky.

Ensuring there were no patrols below, El began to climb the wall. He inserted his powerful fingers into the crevices between the blocks of white stone and pulled himself up, placing the tips of his boots in the gaps. The silvery moon sailed grandly across the sky, like a light sailboat, and its light illuminated El as he climbed. Fortunately, there was an elevated platform above, obscuring the view of the wall. Reaching it, El surveyed the surroundings: no one. With his left hand gripping the railing, he swung himself inside.

Having sneaked along the wall, El noticed a lone patrolman, a temple warrior clad in chainmail and a crimson cloak embroidered with a golden bull's head. He approached silently from behind, grabbed him by the neck, sent a sedative impulse, and the fighter lost consciousness. El lifted the body and placed it on a cart with supplies, covering it with a nearby carpet. Then, with a hood over his face, he walked openly across the temple platform, mimicking the stride of a priest. The warriors noticed him but paid no attention to the armor concealed beneath the cloak in the semi-darkness. El reached the inner tower, where the solitary guard initially allowed him to pass but then, following him, suddenly shouted, "I don't know you, priest!" and attacked. El swiftly drew his gladius from its sheath and parried the oncoming blade, then struck the guard's forehead with his left hand, rendering him unconscious. He had a few moments. Retrieving a lockpick from his pouch, El picked the lock hanging above the Holy of Holies and entered the chamber. The air was scented with incense and melted wax. On the altar, shaped like a bull's head and surrounded by candles, lay the book, and on one of the shelves was the scroll containing the recipe for the potion of forgetfulness. El quickly grabbed both relics and packed them into a hermetic cellophane bag he retrieved from his pouch, then swiftly dashed out of the tower. The temple warriors had already raised the alarm, but El, reaching the opposite wall, jumped from it into a small lake located beneath the fortress. The packaged book and scroll remained unharmed.

"What are you thinking about, darling?" Zura asked.

"I recalled something like a strange dream where I was a spy, a professional agent. It was an unrealistic dream; I was a legionnaire in an ancient world. Sometimes such absurd dreams occur. We need to distract ourselves from them. How about having sex?"

"I'm in. But I haven't taken my contraceptive pills today."

"I have them in my nightstand too."

"Maybe we should use a condom?" Zura suggested, taking the mentioned item out of the inner pocket of her jacket. "I'm tired of taking hormonal pills. I don't want to poison my body with them. In general, I prefer to take medication only as a last resort."

"That's the right decision. With proper nutrition and a healthy state of mind, our bodies can heal themselves."

"Yes, El, it's easy for you to say with your self-healing abilities. But you're right."

They engaged in sex for several hours. Afterward, Zura fell asleep in El's embrace. Just like him. He woke up, as usual, four hours later. He tried codes from 0039 to 0041 on the second door, but to no avail. He continued working on the core of the "Doors-88" system. He prepared breakfast for himself and Zura. Afterward, he took the "eight" to PhysTech. After work, he drove Zura home, and she suggested having dinner together with her father.

"Do you have any vegan products?" El asked.

"We have potato with mushrooms, pea soup. I can make a salad specifically for you and add seeds as a source of protein," replied Zura.

"That sounds tempting already."

At the kitchen table of the communal apartment, Professor Ben Ahad sat eating potatoes with meat. In front of him stood a bottle of tequila and a small glass.

"Hello, Professor Ahad," El greeted him with a nod.

"Hello, El," the physicist rose and shook his hand.

"Please, have a seat. Zura told me you have a separate apartment?"

"That's right. Two rooms, but I had to close the second one due to personal circumstances."

"I would also like to have a separate apartment," Zura dreamily said. "To obtain one from the state, I'm thinking of going to cultivate the Gardak Desert."

"What are you talking about, Zura?" Ben interjected. "That's work for convicts. It is they who are building the Transgardak Highway, adapting infertile lands for agriculture, and laying a pipeline to bring arctic glacier water to the deserts."

"And soon the desert regions will turn into a blooming garden, Dad. But it can't be done by the hands of prisoners alone. In addition to them, there are volunteers working there, mostly sent by the Youth Organization of the Party. And as you know, they are given separate apartments for that."

"So, my daughter would be building a pipeline in the desert alongside convicts? No way!"

"It's her personal choice," El defended Zura.

"No, it's all because of our rotten state. It's unable to find the necessary number of professional builders, they send prisoners and young people!" Professor Ahad became emotionally agitated. He poured another glass of tequila and quickly emptied it. "This is the cruelest state in the history of humanity, El," Ben continued. "The empires of antiquity, the kingdoms of the Middle Ages, and the states of the New World aborigines were not as terrifying as the Confederation. Here, real slavery is present--the use of convict labor that violates all human rights. But if we look deeper, we will see that all citizens of the Confederation are slaves of the state. What is worse: the exploitation of man by man or the exploitation of man by the state? You decide, El," the professor poured himself another glass. "The ideologists claim that we have built socialism. In reality, our society is close to feudalism. The party holds a monopoly in the government. State monopoly in production is evident. Society is far from classless. The cruelest era has come. And that means the end is near for this world. The Confederation is the kingdom of Satan. But as it is written in the sacred books of our people, the Messiah, the Horseman of the Apocalypse, must descend from heaven, capable of parting the seas, and with him will come legions of angels. The Messiah will pass a terrible judgment upon the sinners. Then he will cast them into hell, and for the righteous, paradise will come on Earth."

It turned out that Ben was as religious as Zura, or rather, Zura became so under the influence of her father, and possibly her mother as well. However, the Iberians, although they can be fanatical, believe not blindly but rationally and critically, partly because their people consist mainly of intellectuals.

"El, do you believe in the Messiah?" Professor Ahad asked, slicing smoked fish for himself as a snack.

"I only believe in myself, Professor. I also believe that it's not yet time to break a functioning system. It is a unified and indivisible organism. The system fights for its survival by eliminating hostile elements, and in that case, it's better to be on the side of the system because if you destroy it, complete chaos will ensue."

"Understand, El, if you don't break the system, it will break you," Ben replied. "You are a young man, and you haven't seen much. I was a boy during the times of revolution and civil war. I am well acquainted with the realities of Andoza in those years, while you grew up, so to speak, in a stagnant period.

Our authorities claim that the most terrible regime for humans is capitalism. If you delve into it, our system is the same capitalism, but coming from the state. Do you understand, El? There is no fundamental difference between the Confederation and the Empire! Everything fits into the theory of historical formations; these are different versions of the same structure! Only the arrival of the Messiah will move the world into the next formation, where there will be no more wars, and the entire planet will become a unified rational state, where each individual can realize their potential, where there will be no tyranny and exploitation of labor."

"You have an interesting philosophy, Professor Ahad," El replied. "Perhaps I will study the sacred books of your people and your works on humanism. But for now, it's time for me to go home."

Shaking hands with the professor and giving Zura a goodbye kiss, El left the apartment and headed home.

Another week passed. El gave lectures, drew electronic circuits, wrote programs, met with Zura, and had heartfelt conversations with Professor Ahad, who seemed to have replaced his own father, who had died in a car accident many years ago. He was trying different combinations for the door code. In a week, he had tried variations from 0042 to 0062, but none worked. El did not despair. He had tried less than one percent of the possible combinations.

A hint came in one of his dreams. El was sitting in a restaurant with a girl. She was tall, slim, with dark curly hair, and seemed to be a Gaskan, just like El Goar himself. He vividly remembered that he was twenty-one years old at that time, and the girl was twenty.

" And why did you bring me here?" she asked.

"Don't you remember what today's date is, my dear?" El responded with a question.

"Um, isn't it the anniversary of our meeting? Usually, girls remind guys of such things, but your memory for numbers and dates is much better than mine."

"No wonder, I'm studying to be a programmer," he smiled. "And yes, today is the anniversary of our meeting. When we first met, back in our school years, I was sixteen, and you were fifteen. And now, I have composed a poem dedicated to this date:

On the date, I recall,

Eighth of January, that's all.

Amidst the rainy plains,

I encountered you, my flame.

Amidst the meadows green,

Amidst the winds, serene,

I met you on that day,

My passion, my life's ray.

On the date, I recall,

Eighth of January, enthralled.

The heavens and the seas,

Shall bow down to you and me!

"How beautiful! It's wonderful!" exclaimed the girl, kissing El. "Darling, I want this date to become our double anniversary," El said, pulling out a small box from his jacket pocket. On it was a golden ring with an initial engraved. "This was my mother's ring, she wore it in her youth. But she no longer needs it. And you share the same name as my mother, the initial matches. My dear, will you marry me?" Overwhelmed with strong emotions, El woke up. He always referred to the girl as "darling" and "dear," but never by her name. What was her name? And then he slapped his forehead, just like his mother! Her name was Dara. Something deep in his soul suggested that Dara wasn't the right name for this girl, but El remembered his own birth certificate and the name listed as his mother's. Dara was indeed Dara. El pondered the ending of the poem. "The heavens and the seas shall bow down to us." Only a young, naive, enthusiastic dreamer could write such lines. It made him wonder, "What happened in the few short years that turned me from a romantic young man into a hardened cynic, more at ease with computers than with people? Of course, a cynic is a disillusioned romantic. But how could I become disillusioned so quickly?" There was another question: Did Dara accept? Judging by El's emotions, it seemed she did. Then why was there no marriage stamp in his passport? El tried to strain his memory, but events eluded him. Only the emotions came back. Something terrible happened a couple of years later. If El drank, he would have drowned himself in alcohol, but instead, he immersed himself in work. He spent six months in therapy. Did he get divorced? Did he become widowed? Either would explain the absence of a marriage stamp in his passport. Something happened when he was twenty-three. And at twenty-five, he renewed his passport without any new stamps. It was because he threw himself entirely into work back then that he became who he was now. But what happened to Dara, his wife? Maybe it didn't matter? The less you know, the better you sleep. Now he had a relationship with Zura. As for the date... It could very well be the key to the electronic lock. El approached the door to the second room and repeated, " On the date, I recall, eighth of January, that's all." He entered the code: 0108, which he could use after several weeks of trial and error. And he heard, "Processing request. Incorrect code." "Damn you, cursed door! Harra?da!" El angrily shouted, hitting it with his fist, smashing his fingers and drawing blood. "Harra?da twice! Why?! I feel it emotionally! This date was important to me!" El sat down to catch his breath. His hand would heal soon. But what about the code... El was generally a freethinker, and although he had moderate patriotism, he was also interested in the history and culture of the Empire. If in the New World the date was written in the format "month-day," then in the Old World it was "day-month." There were still two attempts left for today. El entered the number 0801 and pressed enter. The metallic voice crackled, "Processing request. Correct code. Welcome." Surprisingly, the door opened silently, considering its size.

"How beautiful! It's wonderful!" exclaimed the girl and kissed El.

"Darling, I want this date to become a double anniversary for us," El said, pulling out a small box from his jacket pocket. It held a golden ring with an initial engraved on it. "This was my mother's ring; she wore it in her youth. But she doesn't need it anymore. And both you and my mother share the same name, so the initial matches. My dear, will you marry me?"

Overwhelmed by intense emotions, El woke up. He had only addressed the girl as "darling" and "dear," never by her name. How did he call her? And then he slapped his forehead with his palm--just like his mother! Her name was Dara. Something deep inside told him that Dara was not the right name for this girl, but El remembered his own birth certificate and the name listed as his mother's. So she will be Dara.

El pondered the ending of the poem. "The heavens and seas will submit to us." Only a young, naive, enthusiastic dreamer could have written those lines. El wondered, "What has turned me from a romantic youth into a hardened cynic who gets along better with computers than with people? Of course, a cynic is a disappointed romantic. But how could one become so disillusioned so quickly?"

There was another question: Did Dara agree? Judging by El's emotions, she did. Then why wasn't there a marriage stamp in his passport? El tried to strain his memory, but the events remained elusive. Only the emotions surfaced. Something terrible happened a couple of years later. If El had been a drinker, he would have drowned himself in alcohol, but instead, he immersed himself in work. He spent six months in therapy. Did he get divorced? Or did he become widowed? Both scenarios explained the absence of a marriage stamp in his passport. Something happened when he was twenty-three. And at twenty-five, he changed his passport, without any new stamps. It was because he threw himself completely into his work back then that he became who he was now. But what happened to Dara, his wife? Maybe it did not matter? The less you know, the better you sleep. Now he was in a relationship with Zura.

And then there was the date... It could very well be the key to the electronic lock. El approached the door to the second room and muttered, "I remember the date for a reason--January eighth." He entered the code: 0108, which he had reached after weeks of trial and error. And he heard, "Processing request. Code incorrect."

"Damn you, cursed door! Harra?da!" El exclaimed angrily, striking the door with his fist and bloodying his fingers. "Twice harra?da! Why?! I feel it emotionally! This date was important to me!"

El sat down and caught his breath. His hand would heal soon. But what about the code... El was generally a freethinker, and although he possessed moderate patriotism, he was also interested in the history and culture of the Empire. If in the New World, the date was written as "month-day," then in the Old World, it was "day-month." He had two more attempts for today. El entered the number 0801 and pressed enter. A metallic voice crackled, "Processing request. Code accepted. Welcome." And the door, surprisingly silent for such a colossus, opened.

El examined the contents of the second shelf and read the sign above it: "Medications and stimulants. For non-genetically modified individuals only. Genetically modified organisms are inherently endowed with properties provided by the medications." Let's look at each one separately.

The "Ant" stimulant. Let's read the instructions. "Enhances the physical strength of the user, allowing them to lift weights several times their own body weight for up to eight hours. After the effects wear off, a minimum of 10 hours of sleep and ample nutrition is recommended."

The "Owl" stimulant. "Allows the user to go without sleep for an entire night, remaining alert and able to see in the darkness as if it were twilight. After the effects wear off, a minimum of 12 hours of sleep is recommended."

The "Hawk" stimulant. "Temporarily corrects nearsightedness and farsightedness, enhancing vision up to 400 percent. The effects last for 8 hours. Rest for the eyes is required for the following 12 hours. Watching television and working on a computer are strictly prohibited, and reading is strongly discouraged, as it may result in intermittent glaucoma attacks for the next day."

The "Incubus/Succubus" stimulant. "Depending on the user's gender, your body emits pheromones that make you incredibly attractive to genetically unmodified individuals of the opposite sex. Recommended for seducing enemy agents."

The "Asp" stimulant. "Intended for use in combat. When adrenaline is released, it significantly speeds up the nervous system, giving the user a sensation of time slowing down during combat, enhancing reaction speed. Rest is necessary six hours after consumption."

The "Abstinent" stimulant. "Nullifies the effects of alcohol and prevents possible hangovers the next day. Useful for engaging subjects in intoxicated conversations. No side effects."

The "Titan" stimulant. Significantly boosts the immune system, allowing the user to destroy all harmful bacteria and viruses. The immune system is weakened the next day, so it is advisable to stay at home and avoid contact with others for 12 hours to prevent infection by contagious diseases.

El pondered, "In theory, I possess all the abilities that these medications provide. Well, now I realize that I can see well in the dark too. And alcohol doesn't affect me? Maybe that's why I don't drink?"

And where did all these bombs and stimulants come from in the first place? Probably from the reptilians. And it's clear that the drugs were intended for non-genetically modified individuals, not for El. Is El Goar himself a contact? Does he have his own network of agents? Do non-genetically modified humans serve the reptilians too? Then where are all these agents? Well, the room brought more questions than answers. Just like what El saw beyond it.

In the corner of the room, there were bags filled with sawdust, and on the table stood a device resembling a kitchen blender, topped with a cylinder and clearly packed with electronics. El pressed the power button. A baritone voice with metallic clang sounded, "Greetings. You have activated the 'Horn of Abundance - Nanotech' food synthesizer. Please fill the input bin with sawdust or grass and state the food you wish to synthesize." El took one of the bags, poured its contents into the bin, closed it, and said, "fried potatoes with onions and mushrooms." Immediately, a portion of the sawdust hummed into the bin, and a metallic scraping sound came from inside the device. Soon, the doors of the device opened, revealing another bin filled with the ordered dish. "Enjoy your meal," said the metallic voice. El tasted it. Real fried potatoes with mushrooms and onions.

What if I try synthesizing meat? El thought. He took the bin to the kitchen and transferred its contents into a pot, then placed the bin back into the synthesizer and closed it. There was enough sawdust in the device. El said, "Steak." The metallic voice replied, "Attention! You are about to synthesize an analog of an animal-based product. Protein, fat, and carbohydrate ratios are within the normal range. Harmful cholesterol content: zero. Warning: Do not consume real animal-based products as they are products of violence, and consuming them is a crime. Proceed with synthesis?" "Yes," El answered. And the familiar scraping sound echoed. The synthesizer opened, revealing a steak that was indistinguishable from the real thing, cooked to a high degree. The familiar baritone voice said, "No animals were harmed in the production of this product. Enjoy your meal." El tried it: completely edible and very delicious. Finally, it dawned on him why he could eat meat without guilt in the hospital and in the diner. When he realized he was consuming animal corpses, he was almost repulsed. But he had been consuming it even before. Just not real meat, but synthesized meat--and technically, he remained a vegan because the imitations he consumed were not obtained through the killing of animals.

Judging by the device's name, it incorporates nanotechnology, while modern science is only beginning to master it. Obviously, this is also a product of reptilian technology, provided to the vegan agent. This means that every individual is important to them.

On the neighboring table, there was another gadget of similar size to the previous one, resembling a money counting machine in a bank. Several packs of blank A4 paper were lying next to it. El activated the device. This time, an electronic female voice spoke, "Insert clean paper into the receiving tray." El did so. The device continued, "State the amount you wish to print." The amount of what--money? "One hundred thousand reals," El uttered. "Imperial or federal?" the voice clarified. "Federal." "Establishing connection with the Confederation Central Bank server," came the response. "Receiving response. Connection established. Registering used bill numbers in the existing database to avoid duplication of bill numbers." A sound resembling money being counted in a bank machine resonated, and soon a stack of five-hundred-real bills emerged from the tray on the other side. "These banknotes are legal tender within the Confederation's territory. One hundred thousand federal reals have been printed. Spend them as you see fit." El pondered. Now it was clear where the money in his safe came from--it was from this machine. But where did it come from?

The situation reminded him of an old joke: "Comrade Kaar, where do you get the money from?" "From the bedside table." "And where does it come from in the bedside table?" "My wife puts it there." "And where does your wife get it from?" "I give it to her." "And where do you get it from?" "Well, from the bedside table."

Once again, answers to old questions gave rise to new ones. The device clearly used the "Tisipi-IP" communication protocol, created by El Goar himself. And it had access to the Confederation Central Bank's database. It seemed that reptilian agents had also infiltrated the management of the Central Bank.

Only amnesia had rebooted El's brain and made him a free individual with super soldier abilities.

Why could he use all this money? He remembered! He had patented numerous inventions in the field of information technology--and had encountered a cumbersome bureaucratic machine that nitpicked at everything and essentially hindered progress. Throughout history, there had always been one universal lubricant for this machine: money.

El put a few five-hundred-real bills in his wallet--they might come in handy--and transferred the rest to the safe, then closed the door to the second room.

Harra?da - "damn" in Imperial language.

Gymnasium - school in antiquity

Gladius - antique sword

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Аннотация: Начало перевода книги "Неприкаянный. Красный Мессия" на английский, силами ИИ и отредактированного мной после. The Cold War era. A young programmer and inventor named El Goar, who has lost his memory, regains consciousness in an enemy territory hospital as a prisoner of war. In his dreams, he sees fantastical worlds resembling both the past and the future. Discovering supernatural abilities within himself, El manages to escape captivity. He strives to restore his memory and uncover the origins of his extraordinary powers. However, the answer proves to be far more unexpected than he could have imagined. In one of his dreams, El witnesses a scene from the past: a mysterious reptilian alien conducting experiments on him in a secretive laboratory. Rumors reach him about reptilians using vaccinations to chip children and render them infertile, with the goal of making the planet suitable for conquest within a single generation. After taking action, El is recruited by special services naturally linked to the extraterrestrials. Meanwhile, the oppressed populace awaits a Messiah who will end the prevailing injustice in the world. El becomes intimately involved with the daughter of a prominent dissident scientist and finds himself torn between loyalty to the System and the ideals of freedom. During special missions, he crosses paths with a mysterious eco-activist girl from the northern regions, with whom he once had a relationship. In one of these missions, El uncovers the secret of humanity's origin. The book contains scenes for mature audiences (18+)

Elijah Gutman : другие произведения.

The Restless One. The Red Messiah