# Enge

Григорий Андреевич Неделько

Перевод моего рассказа "Энгэ" о разрушающих и спасающих реальность на английский.

Engé


Everything we are is the result of our thoughts.


(Buddha)


And the last will be first...


(Gospel)


On that fateful day, Pavel Efimtsev's hallucinator started acting up.


"Darling, it seems my modulator is out of order," said the tall, dark-haired man with vague features as he fiddled with the adjustment knob.


"What? Again? You just had it fixed a few days ago... It's no surprise, everything"s a mess with you," replied Pavel's wife, Victoria, a medium-height red-haired beauty and a star of glossy magazines.


"My dear, what am I guilty of? I didn"t cause myself a concussion."


"You were born with one," Victoria muttered as she sat down in front of the mirror and began to comb her luxurious long hair.


"Huh? What?" Pavel didn't hear and tugged at the adjustment knob again, which was under his arm. "Yep, it"s definitely malfunctioning. The contrast doesn't change, brightness control is impossible... And there"s some interference in my vision."


"What kind of interference?"


"I don't know... Everything looks gray and hopeless-it"s like someone poured dark paint over the world."


"Somewhere he learned to be metaphorical," Victoria thought, twisting her lips. "But then again, he has always been a bit "creative"-that is, detached from reality, unadapted. And it seems he still hasn"t realized that I"m leaving him..."


"Alright, I"ll contact the repairmen again," decided Pavel. He approached his wife and leaned down to kiss her, but she turned away. "Is something wrong, Vika?"


"I told you not to call me Vikusya-I"m not some stray provincial girl," she snapped while continuing to comb her hair. But the woman was being sly: she had come to Moscow City from a peripheral town whose name Pavel couldn"t pronounce. "Do you want me to be honest? Everything is wrong. You are wrong, this apartment is wrong, my whole life is wrong! That"s why I"m going to change it!"


"But how?"


"Oh God! How stupid can you be?"


"I'm leaving you." She tossed the comb onto the table and stood up.


Pavel was stunned-he hadn"t expected this.


"But... where to?"


"It doesn"t matter. You"ve always been indifferent, that"s why you"ve lost me in the end."


"Wait, darling, we still need to..."


"I"m no longer your "darling"! If you must know, I"m going to Max Filimonov. He has loved me for a long time and is waiting for me, while I waste my time and youth next to you-a person who won"t appreciate me. And those can never be returned."


"But..."


Victoria interrupted him again.


"We're not suitable for each other-no matter how clichéd that sounds. Who are you? Nobody. A small fry at some modulator manufacturing company. I am a well-known model. You lack the money or opportunity to support me the way I deserve. Do you understand?"


He didn't understand.


Victoria waved her hand, put on her boots, threw on a jacket, and left the apartment.


"Should I wait for you for dinner?" Pavel shouted after his wife.


"Idiot!" came the reply.


Surely the whole building heard that. Now there would be whispers and talks... They had long predicted their separation, though no one said it directly. But among Pavel's friends, conscientious individuals felt it was their duty to warn him. Including Max Filimonov...


Max! Old faithful friend... who took his wife!...


Pavel was in turmoil. He wanted to sit down, close his eyes and think everything through. But there was no time left-he had to go to work.


Max Filimonov, the head of a company that sold hallucinations, earned his position through blood and sweat. And, of course, he wasn"t going to give it to anyone else-that's why he fired all his friends from high positions and replaced them with strangers.


"Friendship creates competition within an individual"s world," Max would say. He didn"t need such competition.


Right now, the slim blue-eyed brunette with well-groomed nails was at home. He was quite worn out from yesterday: meetings, discussions, conversations, signing papers, more meetings... and so on in circles. Actually, almost every day of his life was as busy. So once a week Max would take a day off to relax peacefully, sipping whiskey while lying on the sofa and watching holograph television.


It was during this pastime that he was interrupted by a call in the background.


"Hello," Max drawled in a voice that clearly reflected annoyance and irritation.


"Hello. Hi! This is Pavel Efimtsev."


"Now this is the last person I needed to hear from," the businessman thought, grimacing.


A school friend. Childless husband. A loser-in life, at work, and in bed. Owner of a wonderful, delightful, unique wife, whom he couldn't keep. Max had pursued Vika for several years and finally struck gold. At the moment when her tense relationship with Pavel reached breaking point, a wealthy, handsome, and charming man was right there to support her-and gifted her a night of unforgettable love. It was then that Victoria realized she had made the wrong choice between the two friends back in high school. But now everything had changed... Max had changed too; he wasn't just going to stand by like Pavel. No, he was the head, the leader, the chief. If he didn"t realize this, he"d never achieve the heights from which he viewed the world today.


"Pash, I don"t have much time," Max said without blinking, lying effortlessly. He spoke casually and reluctantly. "What do you need?"


"Is Vika with you?" Pavel asked worriedly.


"No. But she will be soon. And anyway, it"s none of your business."


"How is it not my business? I"m her husband!... "


"Ex-husband."


"We haven"t divorced yet..."


"That"s just a matter of time... Oh, sorry, I have another call coming in on the second line," Max lied again and hung up.


So he called to sort things out? Probably the last bears in the sparse forests of Earth succumbed to extinction. Max smirked. Or was he just worried about Vika? In fact, it was already nearly eleven, and she still hadn"t returned. Something must have happened to her...


Trying not to think about that, Max leaned back against the couch, sipped his whiskey, and fell back into the world that the hallucinator so kindly "painted" for him. In that world, orange tones prevailed, cybernetics had advanced to unbelievable heights-Max's hands and penis were replaced with artificial ones because the natural ones weren"t reliable enough. Also, people there had wings and flew over the city, high in the sky, like birds. The greenhouse effect spoiled the nearly idyllic picture, but scientists promised to solve it soon. And Max believed them-after all, it was 2165.


In 2043, Victoria Dobrovolskaya's life was far less cloudless. To start with, medications that everyone had to take if they wanted to survive in the changed climate kept increasing in price. Humanity invented new ways of generating energy but didn"t think about the consequences. Emissions into the atmosphere became deadly for many animals. Just like in some science fiction novel, ersatz creatures replaced them. The air was contaminated. To survive, people initially wore protective clothing, and later invented special pills. Red, long, and flat-each morning, Victoria started with its intake. She was affluent enough to regularly buy the "x" preparation-as the pills were called-while some people still walked around in helmets and protective suits. Vika felt a mix of pity and disdain towards them.


Her high heels clacked on the asphalt. The sun-a hot orange-yellow ball-blazed in the blue sky. Residents streamed out of fifty-story buildings, hopped into aerodynamic cars, and shot off into the clouds. Someone sped past on aerial skates, making Victoria flinch and glare disapprovingly at the teenager. At that moment, something jabbed painfully in her back.


"What are you doing!" She turned to look, but an unknown object jabbed sharply into her spine again.


"Quiet. Keep looking ahead," a dry, cracked voice hissed. "This is an electric gun. If you want to live, shut up and go where I tell you."


Inside her, everything froze, her legs went weak, and her throat dried up. She had never been so scared before.


"Alright, I"ll do whatever you say," Victoria managed to whisper, "just don"t shoot."


"Head to the shopping center," commanded the stranger-apparently, it was a man.


Vika couldn"t believe what was happening. Her mind stalled somewhere between truth and fiction. Still, she walked in the direction he indicated. The whole world seemed to grow soft and unnatural, and only the clicking of her heels pierced through that wall of sound, reverberating: it"s real-it"s real-it"s real...


Pavel sat in front of his computer, squirming in his chair. He couldn"t shake off the scene of parting with his wife. His head was filled with various, conflicting thoughts. He dialed his wife's number multiple times, but she wouldn"t pick up. Didn"t want to talk to him? Or had something happened to her? How could he find out?...


Once again, Pavel tried to detach himself from all problems and worries, sat straight, and tried to think. In his world of 2124, they had long invented a keyboard that responded to mental waves. But to type on it, one had to focus and scroll phrases in their mind. And Pavel could only think about Victoria...


He looked at the screen.


"Vika... Where did she go... Why did she leave? It's my fault!.. I need to find her!!..."


He hurriedly erased that "creativity," then glanced around: no one, as usual, paid any attention to him. A full office of people with indifferent eyes.


Still, the thoughts displayed on the monitor drove him to make a decision. Before, perhaps, he would never have dared ask for time off from work-but before his wife hadn"t left him.


Pavel approached the young petite Sveta, the secretary, and said that he urgently needed to see Evgeniya Vladimirovna.


"Efimtsev is here," Sveta said, contacting her boss via intercom.


"What does he need?"


"I don"t know."


A short pause followed.


"Okay, let him in-but only for a minute."


"Thank you." Pavel nodded gratefully and entered the office.


Evgeniya Romanova-a tall, stately, striking woman-Director of the company "Gluk & Co," turned upon hearing the sound and looked at her employee with a blend of pity and disdain. In her world-a world of wealth and luxury ruled by oligarchs where everything was measured by the size of an individual"s gold reserve-there was no place for losers like Efimtsev.


"You see, Ms. Romanova..." Pavel started but hesitated.


"Yes, I"m listening, Mr. Efimtsev," she urged him on.


"You see... I"m in a situation: my wife... she, in general... she left for someone else," continued Pavel. "But that"s not even it. Vika... she"s gone. I called her on the phone, but she won"t answer. I fear something happened to her..."


"Understood," Evgeniya said with a well-articulated, commanding voice.


"Could you... let me go? I"ll make up for it, I certainly will!"


"In this month..."


"Of course, in this month!"


"Don"t interrupt. For the entire next week, you will stay late after work for three hours. Are you okay with that?"


Without hesitation, Pavel answered:


"Yes, of course. Thank you very much!"


He stood uncertainly. And only when the boss said, "You can go," and turned away, did he awkwardly bow his head and rush out the door.


The holographic TV was showing advertisements. With a presence effect, these commercials looked even worse.


"...Order a real hallucinator with all the setup functions for your future child. The 'smart' security system will protect the remote buttons from accidental pressing. The alarm will notify you of the state of your baby. Moreover, the new g-modulator includes features such as temperature measurement, pain analysis of any origin, detection of injuries and wounds. The device comes equipped with a mini-phone, allowing easy contact with a doctor or advisor from our hotline if necessary. We remind you that all hallucinations from 'Gluk & Co' are insured. Maintenance is free for the first three years. 'Gluk & Co'-your reliable beacon in a dark world..."


"Yes, yes, yes," Max said irritably. "We know all that: our modulators are the best... Order right now and get a gift..." He used a mental effort to turn off the holograph TV.


"Hallucinators are your children"s future!" suddenly boomed a loud computerized voice from outside. "Humanity destroyed its own world. The Third World War not only devastated the planet but also faith in the future. It stripped us and our children of all prospects and opportunities, including the most important one-the chance to live..."


"May you rot!" Max rose from the couch and walked to the window. On the way, he listened to the ad for g-modulators that had become a nuisance:


"...But 'Gluk & Co' gives newborns a new destiny. A destiny they deserve. A destiny without war, without radioactive fallout, without clouds of smoke and ash, without deaths and sorrow! Acquire our hallucinations, and the fate of our ancestors will no longer hang over our people! 'Gluk & Co'..."


"... it's easy with us!" Max mimicked, shutting the window. Only then did he remember that this year he installed voice sensors on the windows, so he could simply have commanded: "Close." The man swore and went back to the couch when the doorbell rang. "What the hell! Can"t a man get some rest?"


There was a monitor embedded in the wall near the door. On it, with great displeasure, Max saw Pavel, nervously shifting from foot to foot and looking around.


"What does this neurotic want again?"


"Who is it?" the businessman asked, not opening the door.


"Max, it's me, Pavel! Let me in!"


"What do you want, Pash?"


"Open, it's important! It concerns Vika!"


"And what does it concern?"


"She isn't answering her calls."


"Not surprising. How could she stand him all this time?"


"She just doesn"t want to talk to you. And excuse me, I have to go..."


"But, Max..."


"Pasha, don't you get it? Go away."


The entrepreneur listened in silence-no sound: Pavel was silent. Satisfied, Max was about to step away from the door, but it turned out that his friend was merely gathering his strength.


"Max, open immediately, or I"ll break down the door!"


The owner of the apartment smirked, but then Pavel, standing in the corridor, pounded on the door so forcefully that Max's grin turned into a discontented frown.


"Open," he commanded.


The door, responding to the owner's voice, swung open. Pavel, bursting inside, failed to maintain his balance and tumbled to the floor. Max picked him up and grabbed him by the chest.


"What do you think you're doing?" the beautifully manicured man hissed.


"Vika... don"t you understand... something might have happened to her..."


"Something happened to her years ago because of you. But now everything's fine. She"s free from you and can finally live the life she deserves."


"But, Max..."


"Forget her. Do you understand?"


The businessman released his grip on his friend, but as soon as he did, Pavel lunged at him, fists flying. Max then turned around and punched Efimtsev in the face. Pavel fell again, this time hitting his head against the wall. He stared at his former friend in confusion. Blood streamed from the nose of the defeated man.


Max winced in pain and shook his arm in the air. Then he went to the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and tossed it to Pavel.


"I can't spare you a 'handy doctor,' sorry, I need it myself. Now get out."


Pavel got to his feet, clutching the towel to his chest.


"Wipe yourself there. Come on, clear out." But that wasn"t enough for him, and Max added, silently following the retreating Pavel: "And don"t mention her again, got it? She doesn"t exist for you anymore!"


And he closed the door.


The automatic door slid aside. Pavel stepped out onto the street in his 2124 year. Wiped his face with the towel and tossed it into the nearest trash bin that cheerfully opened. The man wasn't particularly concerned about how he looked. The rupture of relationships with an old friend, which, as he now realized, had been brewing for quite some time, also didn't trouble him. It was Victoria-she was who he thought about. Over and over again, his thoughts returned to his wife. Something inside that had bonded with her over the years they"d spent together told him: it"s not that simple. She wasn"t not answering because she didn"t want to. She couldn"t. And she couldn"t because... Here, Pavel's imagination drew several scenarios, and he didn"t like any of them. Was she hit by a car? Kidnapped? Shot? Attacked by a dog?...


He shook his head, trying to straighten his thoughts. The main thing was not to worry...


"Sir, you"re bleeding," said a passing girl.


"Yes, but I don"t have a 'doctor' with me."


"I have one. Here, take it."


Pavel was surprised by such kindness and responsiveness but still took the device. He treated his nose and, when the bleeding stopped, returned the "handy doctor" to the girl.


"Thank you."


"You're welcome... What happened?"


"I spoke with a friend."


The girl-probably hailing from a kind, idealistic world-looked at Pavel with confusion. But he didn"t feel it necessary to explain his words-turned to leave and shuffled toward the car.


Halfway there, his phone rang.


"Yes, I"m listening."


"Pavel Efimtsev?" spoke an unfamiliar dry voice.


"This is I. What"s...?"


"Shut up and listen," interrupted the unknown interlocutor. "Your wife is with us. If you want to see her alive, you must come to Transformologists Lane, 12. Is that clear?"


"No, I...?"


"At your place, I wouldn"t hesitate. So, will you come, or should we start cutting pieces off her?"


At that, a second incomprehensible voice, also unknown, could be heard over the line. The first person confidently told the second, "I know what I"m doing," before returning to Efimtsev:


"So, what"s your decision?"


"I"m coming," Pavel replied quickly, without a moment"s doubt.


"Excellent. Remember the coordinates, I won't repeat them a second time. Entryway five. Code: 4687. You'll go up to the seventh floor and ring the doorbell twice on the left apartment. Got it?"


"Got it. A..."


But he didn"t finish. The stranger dropped a brief phrase, "In that case, we await you," and cut the call.


There was no number on the door to the left, but judging by the adjacent apartment marked as 1229, this one would be 1228.


For a few seconds, Pavel stared at the ancient elektrisch doorbell with a button. He was quite astonished that someone still used such a device. But there was no time to ponder that: they were waiting for him, and it was unknown what they were ready to do for... But for what? Efimtsev couldn"t come up with a single rational explanation for what was happening. Finally, summoning his courage, he pressed the button twice.


The door opened almost immediately. A thin, short man clad entirely in black, wearing a mask over his face, gestured for Pavel. Efimtsev glanced around-they were all alone, no one was watching-and entered the apartment. The thin man slammed and locked the door himself.


"Another blast from the past... Where have I ended up?!"


"Undress and go in," said the thin man, disappearing into the only room.


Pavel kicked off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket, and followed. In the middle of the room sat his wife, Victoria. The man peered closely, but didn"t see any bruises or scrapes on her face.


He breathed a sigh of relief-but immediately tensed up when three figures approached him from different sides. All were short, all slender, and all wore black clothing and masks. Strange, menacing masks with faces drawn on them that seemed washed away by acid rain. Features blurred into something unrecognizable, resembling puddles of mud. Efimtsev didn"t notice any weapons on the approaching individuals-possibly they weren't armed, or they had hidden them under their clothing.


Their voices matched their appearance-equally "depersonalized." However, they were distinct: one was squeaky, another dry, the third hushed, and the fourth, hoarse.


"Finally we meet, Mr. Efimtsev," said the owner of the hoarse voice.


"Really?" Pavel was astonished and puzzled. "You wanted to see me?"


"Of course! It would be remiss of us to invite your wife-who was so kind to share many interesting facts about you, including your phone number."


"Of course, she was terrified! But what did you do to her?-thoughts shot through his mind. "Okay, calm down," he tried to reassure himself. "Victoria is fine... it seems. She looks well... I"ll get her out of here; I don"t know how, but I"ll rescue her! The main question now is why I"m needed..."


"Hmm... But-what do you know about the world, Mr. Efimtsev?" asked the Squeaky Voice.


"Which one?"


"And again right on target!" exclaimed Hoarse. "I told you we weren"t mistaken."


"Not mistaken about me? I don"t understand..."


"First, answer the question I asked," said Squeaky Voice. "What do you know about the world? Any world."


Pavel glanced at his wife. When he had come here, he had even entertained the wild thought that she was in cahoots with the kidnappers. But now, from her frightened, bewildered gaze, he understood: everything that was happening shocked and intrigued her no less than it did him.


"About any world? Well...," Pavel stretched, unsure where to start. "Our real world was destroyed as a result of the Third World or Nuclear War. The entire territory of the Earth became contaminated and ruined. No one saw salvation from the hell that arose, but one clever scientist named Zoldenberg had a revolutionary thought: if consciousness defines existence, then changing consciousness will change existence. Thus, he developed hallucination devices, also known as g-modulators. These devices implanted illusions of a different world into the brains of newborns. More precisely, the world in the little human"s consciousness changed, and they began to live in it, rather than on the poisoned Earth. Angels and demons, aliens and mutants, robots... anyone could 'live' in worlds created by the hallucinator-it all depended on predispositions, fantasies, desires, and aspirations of the person. And yet despite their differences, the worlds did not contradict one another but somehow interacted. How, scientists still do not fully understand. But they say it"s like space resembles time. For one person, minutes can stretch endlessly, whereas for another, they fly by in moments. Yet both will live and act in the same world, without interfering with one another. Something like that... Naturally, once grown up, people learn the truth-well, that the world is essentially fake-still, nobody wanted to live in a contaminated, death-laden chaos."


"Bravo!" Hoarse applauded "applauding" without his palms meeting.


"Yeah... Wait," Pavel suddenly recalled. "What do you mean, as it"s written in books? Are you saying all of this is a lie?"


"How should I put it..." interrupted the kidnapper with the dry voice. "The hallucinations do indeed exist. They really alter perception while simultaneously altering reality. It's just why is it needed?"


"Well, how could you... You wouldn"t want to live in a world ravaged by the Third World War, would you?"


"Of course not," said the fourth, speaking with a hushed tone. It appeared to be a girl. "But that's not where we live."


"What does that mean... Ah, I understand: g-modulators..."


"No." Squeaky shook his head.


"You"re starting to disappoint me," Hoarse said.


"I still don"t understand..."


"Fine, let"s start from afar," proposed Squeaky...


As time passed, anxiety amplified. Initially, Max reassured himself that nothing happened, but after several hours, it was undeniable-something was definitely wrong. Where was Victoria? Where had she gone? Surely something had happened to her. Just this morning, she planned to move in with Max, but now, it was already afternoon, and she hadn"t arrived. Had she changed her mind? Chose a complete loser over a successful businessman? No, that couldn"t be! Not in her character. Besides, Vika loved Max, and he knew that. So what was the issue?


What if it was all that loser Efimtsev"s fault? In a fit of jealousy, he hit his wife, and now she lies somewhere in a hospital, in intensive care. Or at that jealous idiot"s house. Or worse...


Max tried to dismiss that last option. Instead, he pulled out his phone and dialed his acquaintance, Evgenia Romanova.


"Gluk & Co," Sveta answered.


"This is Max Filimonov. Connect me with Evgeniya Vladimirovna."


"One moment..."


Sveta checked something in her records, then said: "Director"s office." On the screen appeared a determined, groomed, beautiful face.


"What"s the matter?" inquired Evgeniya.


"Vika is missing."


"Where could she have disappeared to?"


"If only I knew! But she was supposed to come in the morning, and she hasn"t shown up. She isn"t answering calls, nor is she calling back. Recently, her husband came to see me-we got in a fight."


"With Efimtsev, I presume?"


"Yeah."


"And?"


"He left empty-handed with a broken nose. But that's not the point. I suspect he did something to Vika. She surely told him about our relationship. He might have blown up and hit her. And after that-anything: he miscalculated his strength, or she bumped her head against the corner of a table when she fell..."


"I understand your concern, Max, but I can"t help you with anything. Yes, Efimtsev told me his wife was missing. Under that pretense, he even got a day off from me, although before he"d barely dare to look in my direction."


"And you don"t know where he is now?"


"Unfortunately, no. My advice to you, Max: call the police."


"Yes, I guess that"s what I"ll have to do."


"Then for now. I hope everything gets sorted out."


"Thanks."


He broke the call and, without wasting a moment, dialed the police. On the screen appeared a tired, disgruntled face of a law enforcement officer. Apparently, Max had distracted him from some important task-playing a computer game or something similar.


"Probably his world is unpleasant too," Max thought.


"Police."


"I want to report a murder."


"Murder? Are you sure?"


"Or an attempted murder. In short, this is a serious matter. Max Filimonov speaking."


"Yeah?" said the policeman with the same expression that clearly showed weariness with ongoing affairs. It seemed he didn"t recognize Max-the famous businessman and public figure. "Who attempted to kill whom?"


"One acquaintance of mine-a distant acquaintance," Max hedged just in case, "got angry with his ex-wife. The thing is, she fell in love with me and was planning to leave her husband... and..."


"I understand. What"s the victim"s name?"


"Victoria Dobrovolskaya."


"Uh-huh. Clear. Do you know where the incident occurred?"


It was time to go all the way.


"At their home." Max provided the address. "Please do everything possible..."


"Don"t worry," the indifferent-voiced police officer said, "we"ll send people right away."


"I"m a wealthy man," Max stated, "a businessman. I can cover any penalties."


"And we will set surveillance on him," added the police officer right away, "on this... what did you say his name was?"


"Pavel Efimtsev."


"On him. Thank you for your vigilance."


"Goodbye."


The officer grunted and ended the call.


Max sighed with relief. He did everything he could. Of course, there was the option of sending some of his acquaintances to Efimtsev, but the police nowadays worked much faster and more effectively than before. Therefore, that tactic didn't make sense. Soon, they would catch Pavel, and within the next couple of hours, he would be confessing-progress had also improved the interrogations system.


Satisfied with himself, Max leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and commanded the music center to turn on. He increased the volume nearly to the limit, and to the stringed rhythms woven with piano chords, he sank into daydreams. The room had soundproofing installed, so there was no need to fear disturbances from neighbors.


"...What happens when someone's modulator breaks?" asked Squeaky Voice to Pavel.


"He temporarily enters the real world," the latter replied.


"We should consider that the correct answer. But why then didn"t you appear in the real world?"


"Why didn"t I appear? I..." He froze mid-sentence. Looked around: wallpaper from the last century; streaks on the walls; curtains in a style so antiquated it couldn"t even be termed "retro"; a window-not at all ultra-modern or armored; a wooden table; wooden chairs...


"Where am I?" Pavel asked, turning to the owner of the hoarse voice.


He laughed.


"Now I know Pavel Efimtsev. You are in the real world."


He couldn"t believe it. This was some sort of mirage, a bad dream... It would all end if he just wished for it. Perhaps if he pinched himself, he'd wake up...?


"Are you saying this is how the world actually looks?"


"Exactly," affirmed Hoarse.


"So after the War..."


"There was no War!" declared Squeaky. "And there won"t be."


"As for that, it depends on our new friend," Hoarse said conspiratorially.


"What do you mean?"


"Engé," was Hoarse's short reply. "Non-hallucinating. These are people who, despite having g-modulators implanted in their brains, can see the true world. Not the one given to them by hallucination manufacturers and the government covering for them, but the one that exists in reality, not in our imagination. Such people are rare. Their ability manifests itself at different ages-you recently began experiencing it. Recall the manifestations of the real world you mistook for malfunctions in your modulator? You even contacted the repair shop, but..."


"How do you know?!"


"Don"t you understand? We have been monitoring you-for quite a while now. According to calculations and research, you are one of the most promising potential Engé. And scientists were right."


"But... but," Pavel tried to gather his thoughts, "the service center fixed my hallucinator; it just broke again."


"It wasn"t broken-it was working fine! You started seeing the real world."


Stunned and confused, Pavel contemplated his next question for a considerable time. All this while, the figures in black were silent. Finally, Efimtsev spoke:


"Tell me, why do people, when their modulators break down, see the same world?" At that moment, he grasped it all. "You"re lying. You"re all lying. You want to confuse me, trap me in your nets, so I"d work for you..."


"At first, he even seemed smart to me," noted Shushed.


"No one is deceiving you!" said Squeaky, looking straight into Pavel's eyes. "No one except your own government, which profits off you. Off selling modulators, pills, and all sorts of other items existing in substituted realities!"


"When the hallucinator shuts down due to malfunction," Hoarse continued, "a secret system activates that projects a specially recorded world into your consciousness at that moment. That"s why you think you see the real world-what you"re actually watching is... a movie."


"A three-dimensional film," Shushed added.


"And the real world," Squeaky said, "is right here. It is coming closer. And you can no longer stop this process."


Following his gaze, Pavel dashed to the window. He pulled back the curtain, peeked outside-and recoiled in horror: cars rolled along the asphalt roads. They rolled, instead of hovering in the air! And people weren"t dressed like that at all. Everything-everything felt different! Somewhat muted, subdued. The buildings maxed out at twenty stories tall. Furthermore, in that world, trees still grew.


In that? Or maybe in this one...?


The police burst into Pavel and Victoria's apartment with blasters drawn. The worker seated at the backdrop didn"t know Max Filimonov, yet his superiors were well aware of him. They explained to the police officers that they needed to act as efficiently as possible. They interpreted that as instructions for immediate combat action. If they caught Pavel now, they would bind him tight, throw him into an aerodynamic car, and bring him to the precinct, where they'd rigorously extract the "truth" from him. But Efimtsev was nowhere to be found. They, along with his wife, had seemingly vanished into thin air.


"What shall we do, Captain?" inquired a portly young sergeant from the world where earthlings cooperated with alphians.


The captain-a man with grey brows and a stern face-responded without a shadow of doubt:


"Contact the precinct-let them provide the suspect"s coordinates."


"But that"s prohibited..."


The modulators implanted in heads right after birth also acted as tracking devices. Thanks to them, the state knew where any of its citizens was at any given moment. Using this information was banned, but the situation at hand was entirely special.


"Did you not hear what I said?" questioned the captain, "living" in a totalitarian, worldwide state governed by the police-metal ringing in the officers' tone.


"It is imperative to ascertain the coordinates of the suspect!" replied the sergeant, in uniform, pulling out his phone to dial the precinct's number.


... "No, no, no," Pavel whimpered, backing farther from the window. "No, this... is impossible. This isn"t true! I don"t believe you, I don"t believe you! You did something to my modulator; you interfered with it!"


"Pavel..."


"Shut up! We"re leaving! Do you hear me? We"re getting out of here! And don"t try to stop us-I have a blaster," Efimtsev lied, "and I..."


"In the real world, there are no blasters." And Squeaky shook his head again.


Pavel reached out for his wife's hand. She took it in her little palms and stood from the chair.


Squeaky blocked their path, but Hoarse firmly said:


"No. Let them go. They will return. Someday they will definitely return."


Squeaky stepped aside, allowing Pavel and Victoria to pass. After fiddling with the lock for a bit, Efimtsev opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Turning around, he saw Hoarse watching him-but the latter no longer wore his mask. The face of a young, resolute man with large brown eyes gazed back at him. And Pavel was almost sure that the voice of this guy had changed too; it was no longer hoarse but resonant. All the others in the apartment had undergone metamorphosis as well...


"No, I don"t want to think about that!"


They dashed for the elevator, and Pavel pressed the dirty black button. Someone had scrawled a curse word next to it in chalk.


"Where am I?-a relentless question tore at his consciousness. -What is happening?-And immediately following those thoughts: -Run! Get away! Without looking back, without thinking! Run!"


They climbed into the lift that reeked of urine. Pavel pressed the button marked "1." For some reason, he counted fifteen buttons, although there were two hundred floors in the building.


"There were two hundred..."-that thought slipped through again.


Bursting outside, they looked around, and their gaze landed on a tall fifteen-story red-and-white building. The spouses tried to locate a car, but it was nowhere in sight-the aerodynamic vehicle had vanished.


Pavel stood in place, glancing around.


A frightened Victoria approached her husband, taking his hand. Everything that happened didn"t add up in her mind. She looked at Pavel and suddenly thought: "How could I hurt such a good person? A person who saved me from captivity, risked his life for me..."


"What did these... people want from us?" after a short silence Vika said.


In response, Efimtsev only tightened his grip on his wife"s hand. He would have liked to know the answer to that question. And perhaps he would have known-if he had stayed...


"How will we get home?" Vika posed another question.


"We'll figure something out," Pavel replied.


And slowly-they no longer had the strength or desire to run-they started descending the street...


Under the window, police sirens wailed. The one who had once been Squeaky peeked out of the window.


"This jerk called the police!"


"It can"t be, it"s not him," said the former Hoarse. "I suspect it"s his buddy Max. He probably got worked up about Vika being missing and called the police."


"Boss, are we doing something wrong by abducting her?" timidly voiced the ex-Shushed. "I think Efimtsev would agree anyway..."


"You think, but experience and research say otherwise. How many mistakes did we make? And all because we tried to play nice. When something extremely valuable is at stake for a person, they are willing to believe anything and agree to any terms just to ensure no harm comes to the object."


"But we weren"t planning to harm either him or her. Moreover, we wouldn"t do anything this time..."


"Exactly-this time. But there"ll be others... Enough. I"m tired of arguing!" the boss interrupted the dialogue, then commanded: "Everyone, put on the portable hallucinations."


"What world are we escaping to from the cops?" asked the former Squeaky.


"Doesn"t matter. Choose one yourself today."


"Yeah, the boss seems upset," whispered the one once called Dry.


The one who had previously been Shushed discreetly nodded.


"Squeaky" fished out a small remote with several buttons, pressed one. And in the next second, the room distorted, floated, and transformed beyond recognition.


When the police kicked down the door, no one was left inside. Only the wind rustled in its mysterious language, pouring in through the open kitchen window featuring a high-tech design.


After being informed that the police found no traces of either Efimtsev or his wife, Max Filimonov again called Evgenia Romanova. She expressed her sincere regret over the incident and wished Max to stay strong.


Unable to find comfort, the businessman pulled out a bottle of whiskey from the bar and began drinking straight from its neck. He had already contacted his detective and gangster friends, who promised they would do everything possible to find the couple. But Max suspected that this "possible" wouldn't be enough. An extremely unpleasant gnawing feeling settled in his heart, tightening his chest. Unwilling to relent, it whispered that all searches would be futile. No, it wasn"t merely a feeling but a foreboding. But where did it stem from? Anyway, this question seemed unnecessary because deep inside, Max had already reconciled with what was happening.


The dawn had already "tinkled" when Victoria woke up. She discovered she was lying on a bench, and next to her, on an identical bench, her husband was sleeping. They were in a park. "Park"-a word long forgotten in her world. Just like "grass," "bushes," "trees"... of which there were plenty here. Groggy, she didn"t realize what was happening. They were in a park, surrounded by genuine autumn vegetation. But where did it come from? After all, the War had destroyed everything...


Only then did Vika consider the possibility of the hallucinator being affected.


"Maybe it broke down, and that"s why it"s showing all this rubbish. I need to tell Pasha." Victoria absently glanced at her wristwatch-it read 11:05. "Wow, I overslept!"


Stretching, she stood from the bench and walked over to wake her husband.

Clean white clouds drifted across the endless blue sky... [Translation: January, 2026]