Aleks Kotov
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Vol 8, Chapter 11
🕑 Added 2025-09-21 20:19:11 +0000 UTC"Let's… take a break."
"You can absorb an entire human lifetime of memories, but you can't absorb…" I flipped quickly to the table of contents. "An eighth-grade physics textbook?"
"That's different, humans are all the same. Once I ascended as a higher demon and learned to devour their souls, I found there was little left in them to surprise me. To me, you are all but copies of one another. But this knowledge… it is of a different order. Too abstract, too complex. We need to find someone who truly holds it, consume him, and then I will be able to grasp it."
"You don't need to grasp it. Just memorize. Leave the thinking to me."
A displeased growl rippled through the barbershop. Fortunately, only I could hear it.
"Next!" The word, spoken by a woman, cut through our silent argument.
I rose from the small, worn-out sofa and stepped deeper into the room, where a woman was sweeping up hair from the previous client. Curious. So many professions had vanished, yet barbers endured. Perhaps because few were willing to entrust a soulless machine with their head…
"Shave it all off, please," I asked, as the barber secured the cape around my neck.
The place I intended to visit was certainly not one where I could show up with a purple mohawk. Truthfully, I ought to have had the tattoo on my face removed as well, but that would take far too long. So, farewell to the violet mane… snip-snip.
I stepped out of the salon with my scalp bare. It didn't exactly improve my appearance, but at least now I could hope they wouldn't turn me away at the threshold.
At the very least, they would first hear me out before sending me off. Perhaps the tightly bandaged arm would even stir a touch of pity. If not, I had a secret weapon in the other hand.
Inside a cotton, eco-friendly bag clinked several very un-ecological glass bottles of rather expensive cognac.
The district I was headed toward wasn't luxurious, but it was certainly above average. The monolithic block of the residential complex loomed like a massive square, shutting out the sun and casting its courtyards into perpetual twilight. Underground parking. A small yard with flowerbeds, weak and withered from lack of light.
Getting onto the grounds posed no difficulty; thankfully, the place wasn't sealed off from visitors. Entering the lobby would also be easy—the digital code still lived in my memory. But beyond that, things became complicated. I would have to deal with the concierge, whose very duty was to filter out the unwanted. Depending on whether his superiors had scolded him recently, this filtering could be casual… or harsh. Harsh enough that even delivery couriers might be forced to leave their packages in the lobby.
If Yana was on duty, I expected no trouble. She usually turned a blind eye. But if Igor… well, then I would hope the cognac might placate the old watchman. And if not, I could always wait until his shift ended.
Hmm. Perhaps I should stop by a shop for a chocolate bar, just in case.
The minimarket was nearly deserted. A single gloomy worker lazily rearranged goods. Two automated checkouts stood silent. Unlike barbers, cashiers had not survived the new era.
Neither had natural products.
I lingered at the shelves, thoughtfully turning over chocolate bars. "Contains 20% more natural palm oil and 80% fewer trans fats. Ingredients: sugar, coloring, cocoa flavorings identical to natural." One might have been appalled, but on the other hand—even such a thing would have been considered priceless by the starving folk of the First Duchy. Mountains of food, unguarded. A land where one could die of obesity rather than hunger. For them, this would be legend. Paradise.
And yet it looked nothing like paradise.
I couldn't help but wonder where society had gone astray. At what point had we grown so indolent, convinced we had reached the final summit of progress? When had we decided to rest on our laurels, and by doing so, doomed ourselves to slide downward?
If I failed to find the answer, I risked leading yet another people to the same end. If, centuries later, the cycle closed and brought us back here—how much of it would be good, and how much ill?
My philosophizing was broken by the clatter of cans spilling onto the concrete. A girl of perhaps fifteen, in filthy sneakers, was scrambling straight up the shelves, sending peas and corn crashing to the floor. Perched precariously among stacks of beans, she pulled a spray can from her jacket pocket, shook it a few times, and doused the nearest camera with a heavy coat of black paint.
"Damn it, I'm the one who'll have to put all that back later…" the worker muttered in a dreary voice, but didn't make the slightest move to stop the troublemaker.
"Mind your own business! Your job is to stack shelves, so stack them before I ruin your uniform!" she shrieked, waving her spray can, then shouted toward the registers: "Zero, all set here!"
Smirking, I picked a pricier chocolate bar from the shelf and headed for the automated checkouts. Vandalism was nothing unusual these days. The police might not even show up—there were always bigger problems to deal with.
One of the two terminals had already been partially dismantled, its casing hanging from a single bolt. A skinny guy in sunglasses set aside an electric screwdriver, then nearly buried himself inside the machine, jamming a cable somewhere into its guts.
His tablet beeped, confirming a successful connection.
"Hacking the terminal?" I asked while paying for my purchase at the other checkout.
"Even if I am, what's it to you, baldy?" he snapped, already busy with his tricks.
"Maybe nothing to me. But if you rob the store, that guy over there's the one who'll get in trouble."
"Ha. Then why are you trying to stop me instead of him?" the hacker scoffed.
"Fair point." I turned to the worker, who was dutifully gathering the cans scattered on the floor. "Hey, don't you want to stop him?"
"I'm not paid for that," the clerk droned. "Why should I ask for trouble for no reason?"
"You afraid of this kid?"
"Not afraid, but… better not. Messing with minors is nothing but headaches. He could give himself a bruise and then they'd drag me through the courts. Let him do what he wants. I don't care."
"Exactly, now you're thinking straight," the boy chimed in. "And you, old man, how did you live this long without learning not to stick your nose where it doesn't belong? Or is that how you broke your arm—poking it where you shouldn't?"
I pressed my lips together. That, perhaps, was our greatest problem. Nobody cared about anything. Everyone was indifferent. Even about themselves.
"You know what?" I set my bag on the floor and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I've decided I do care. Let's go for a walk… to your parents."
"The cemetery, you mean? Sure, let's go for a stroll, if I bring the older boys—"
A sharp ping from Uni cut him off. My Uni. Incoming call.
"Who calls at a time like this?" I muttered through my teeth, lifting my hand off his shoulder. Unfortunately, answering with my bandaged demonic claw would be awkward.
I fumbled the tablet open with one hand.
The number was recognized and saved: Steward Krakow.
I had nothing to lose by answering.
"Speaking."
The screen lit up with the face of a plump man of Asian appearance. He squinted, then exclaimed:
"Whoa, I didn't recognize you! Good thing you shaved, that haircut would've gotten in the way of the helmet."
Helmet? Did he mean a VR one, or a real one?
"Why so quiet? Where's the excitement? I've arranged everything. But you'll have to switch locations—heard you had a run-in with a Night Snakes chapter?"
"Yes," I answered briefly, still trying to figure out what he wanted from me.
"No problem, the boss will smooth it over if you perform well. And if not… then I doubt you'll care by that point, right?"
"Right," I agreed solemnly, though I had no idea what I'd just agreed to.
"Excellent. Glad you haven't lost your spirit before the fight. Now, where was I? Ah yes. Katowice is off-limits for you, but no matter. With the boss's approval, any branch will take you in. In the end, does it matter where you connect from?"
Connection? So it really was about a VR helmet.
"It matters. I need a district built in the last twenty years, one where they didn't skimp on network infrastructure," I interjected.
"Ah, so that's why you went to New Moscow…" the Asian said thoughtfully, making me tense. Was he tracking me? Had he pulled my train ticket from the database? In theory, that was confidential information... but in our world, everything was for sale.
"Correct," I replied evenly. "You won't find better networks anywhere in Eastern Europe."
"Good. I'll notify the New Moscow branch. How much prep time do you need?"
"Two weeks," I answered quickly. By then I'd definitely be gone from here.
"You're joking, right?" his voice rose. "I went out on a limb for you! Five days, no more."
"Fine, five it is," I conceded, hoping that would be enough.
The man narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"You're not planning to bail on me, are you? Don't joke around. If you wanted out, you should've backed off earlier. You're already on the list. Trust me, behind the boss stands something you don't want to anger. Trouble with the Snakes will feel like a sandbox squabble compared to that. I'm not a believer, but… here's my advice: once you've shown up on their radar, you'd better behave and do exactly what's agreed. Are we clear?"
"Of course," I nodded, though I hadn't understood a damn thing.
"Good. Then we're fine." The Asian's face spread into a smile. "I'll send you the address and time of the fight. I hope I won't have to chase you across the whole city."
He disconnected without a farewell. The Uni's screen went dark.
"A gladiator, are you?" the kid asked. "And you're lecturing me about life, pff..."
"Who?"
"Man… you're out of it. I wouldn't bet on you. But that guy…" He pointed at the store clerk. "Don't bother feeling sorry for him. If he actually did his job and kept expired goods off the shelves, I wouldn't be able to pull this off—watch closely."
He unplugged the cable from the terminal and pressed his chip to the scanner.
The register wheezed through its speaker:
"Dear customer, we sincerely apologize for selling you expired goods. A refund has been issued in the amount of three thousand five hundred and one credit. Transfer… successful. Your money has been returned to your account. Have a pleasant day."
"One man for the whole store. You think I can really keep track of everything?" the clerk protested.
"Now you're definitely fired. Arrivederci, losers!" With a wave, the boy vaulted over the turnstile and was gone.
"Whatever. I didn't like this job anyway," the man grumbled, shuffling into the back room without finishing to pick up the scattered cans.
I silently lifted my shopping bag, mulling over the steward's words. It all sounded like some kind of unofficial or underground matches. Rumors of that had been around for years, but even I had never heard any solid details. I'd been inclined to dismiss them as urban legends, tall tales. Any sport lived on its audience. Underground streams could never be more popular than official ones, which meant such games were the domain of amateur beginners. Only one thing unsettled me… the whole story reeked too much of organized crime.
Then again, why should I care? All I had to do was get to "myself," squeeze every detail about Dastan out of him, and leave. To hell with matches, official or not—my old career was over.
Pulling up a diagram of a calorizer engine on my tablet, I headed toward my district, barely watching my step.
***
"Who are you here for?" A woman's voice carried across the lobby just as I raised my finger to the elevator button. Ah, right. Damn. I'd gotten distracted and punched in the door code automatically.
"I'm here to see a friend. Business—reenactment business. Wanted to discuss a falconet replica with him," I said, turning toward the pretty blonde behind the counter. Lucky. If Igor had been on duty today, he'd already have raised a fuss.
"Ah, I know who you mean… But looks like he forgot to warn you. He's not in today." Yana tilted her head thoughtfully.
"He's not? That's strange. Where is he then?"
"I can't say. He left yesterday and hasn't come back since. I'll note down that you came by…" She shrugged lightly and bent over her tablet.
"No need. Can I ask a tiny favor? Let me know when he returns." I pulled a chocolate bar from my bag.
"Better keep it yourself." Her smile was tight, and she shook her head.
Whoa. Quite the opposite reaction from what I was used to.
Because you're not a charmer anymore, Astarot laughed wearily.
Pfft, fine, we'll come at it from another angle. What do I have brains for, after all? The other "me" is still the handsome one, right?
"I insist. It's not about getting your number. You may not know, but he recently quit esports—after those losses, no less. Maybe he tries not to show it, but deep down he must be troubled."
"The whole building's seen just how 'well' he hides it," Yana snorted with irony. "Fine. On one condition."
"What condition?"
"As his friend, you'll have a serious talk with him about his lifestyle." Her voice was sharp.
Wow, she was genuinely angry. What had Randall done to rile her up this much? She'd always seemed to like me before.
"That's exactly what I intended," I replied gravely.
She sighed.
"Then give me your number…"
Five minutes later, I left the building with new promises and new mysteries. It was utterly unclear where Randall had vanished to, how long he'd be gone, or where to find him.
Still, since he had been living in that apartment and had been there at least yesterday, it meant he was bound to return eventually. All I had to do was wait. In the meantime, I could rent a room and dive into reading… the sheer amount of material available made my head spin.
"No, nolo, not that…" the demon grumbled immediately.
"Don't whine."
"Have you forgotten? There is no magic in this world. To return, you'll have to pay, either with souls or with lives. You'd better prepare sacrifices in advance."
"In a big city, people die often; I'll just visit a hospital, there I'll gather enough life force for the ritual."
"Then, then… you wanted to visit your mother," the demon quickly countered.
Amazing how his intelligence seemed to improve the moment he tried to avoid studying.
Getting to the suburbs would take over an hour, but housing there would be cheaper, and I wasn't exactly rich. So… why not?
"All right, but on the way we're running through nuclear reactions."
*****************************************************
◆ A Few Hours Later, Suburbs of New Moscow ◆
Another surprise awaited me at my mother's suburban house. When I rang the bell, a middle-aged man opened the door. From the kitchen came children's voices and the sound of a news broadcast.
"Does Margarita Ivanovna live here?" I asked bluntly.
"Huh? No."
"Strange. Your address, Stolypin Street, house eighteen?"
"Yeah."
"Odd." I pretended to double-check my tablet. "I had it down that she lived here."
"And who are you, exactly?" the man asked, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.
"Sociologist. Conducting a population survey. When did you move in?"
"About six months ago."
"And the previous owner…"
"Never met her," he cut me off. "Her son sold the place."
"I see." I tried to sound neutral, though unease was creeping in. "And you don't know…"
"Don't know anything. You're asking too many questions."
Before I could reply, a rather stout woman pushed him aside.
"Go on, go mind the kids, I'll handle this. Sorry about my husband. The neighbors already pestered him enough about Margarita Ivanovna, so he's cranky."
"Neighbors?"
"Yes, they were surprised too that she left so suddenly, when she hadn't planned to. People often asked about her."
"And you don't know…"
"I know her son said she went to relatives in Kislovodsk, because the air here was too polluted. I thought it odd, mentioning bad air to the person you're selling the house to, ha… Must've been honesty."
"Yes… honest," I forced out, as a very bad feeling washed over me.
We had no relatives in Kislovodsk.
"I could take the survey in her place, if you like," the woman offered, breaking my train of thought.
"Sorry, but we only survey pensioners."
"What a pity… Have you heard the latest news?"
"Which news exactly?"
"Why, about the killer, of course. Another body was found today in the park. Now we're afraid to even let the children outside; and what are the police doing…"
"Yes. Horrible," I nodded, preparing to leave, when she suddenly added:
"… now, if it were a policeman's heart cut out, they'd find the culprit in no time…"
"Could you tell me more about that?" I asked quickly, abandoning my intent to leave.
Comments
Johan Timmers
Tftc
PVersusNP
Damn Randall’s screwing the protagonist’s life up!
