Аннотация: Arrival of the senior Hackets. The decision to stay. Hunting and fishing with my grandfather.
Chapter 8. They know everything!
Igor (Mendoir, September 2360)
Grandpa
So the new school year began, but Nasar and Azanti did not go to school. Grandfather went to the director and arranged for us to extend our holidays for two months and that he would study with us himself. We only went to the mnemograph, the rest of the time we spent fishing or hunting. Grandfather bought us three light carbines and taught us how to hunt. The compact and lightweight 6.5 mm carbine, weighing only 1.5 kilograms, was incredibly convenient in hunting "mukliks", so named for their characteristic sounds. In the foothills, you could often hear their "kli-kli-mukli-kli-kli-mukli" and see their ears sticking out of the grass. The animals are extremely cautious, and they only let themselves in at 300-400 meters. If you get closer, they hide in holes, and those are like a maze, all the hills are covered with them. So you have to shoot from four hundred meters, and from that distance you can still hit a small target.... But, as my grandfather says, "You have to teach a reasonable person to shoot, and the sooner the better." So he took the three of us into his fold, and we spent two weeks at the city shooting range, where grandfather taught us how to shoot, take care of weapons, properly load and unload, calibrate bullets, and monitor battery charge. In general, I fully taught the lessons of marksmanship. Remember, kids! The main thing in marksmanship is not an eye or a sharp eye, although they are, of course, also important. The main thing is endurance and proper breathing. You have to feel yourself, watch your breathing, and then no goal will escape you. A real sniper is always calm when shooting - everything around him can collapse, explode and go crazy, but the shooter must be able not to be distracted by this. When hunting, you should not let the excitement capture you - the beast feels your desire to kill it, starts to get nervous, and this can cause a miss. Be calm - imagine that you are a grass, a bush, a tree. You're impassive, but you keep a sharp eye on your prey. A shot and the prize is yours!
I start reading all the emotions around, but I react to them mechanically. Consciousness calms down and you look at everything as if through the sight of a rifle. For the first time in my life, I used the combat mode of consciousness to prevent a brewing fight between classes - in our school, the ninth and tenth grades decided to sort out the relationship in this way. My appearance scared not only the pretty grown-up guys, but also the teachers.
As Nasar said:
"Your eyes have become like two laser sights-cold and scary. Like a droid. It was impossible to look into them..."
At that time, I simply crushed the elders with logic and a look, then I moved away from the silent brawlers and returned to a peaceful mode of consciousness.... How I was overwhelmed! Mixing laughter and tears, I threw a natural tantrum in a corner and then dumped into our shooting range, where I sat down until the evening with rifles.
The teacher called the high school students "brainless varrens" when I broke away from her embrace and left. Then they came to apologize for their unworthy behavior, the whole crowd. After all, the Turian method of clarifying relationships was cultivated at school: there are complaints - welcome to the gym in the ring, find out there, and do not arrange an ugly mass brawl at school. And it worked great with all kinds of intelligent school students. Humans, Asari, Turians, Batarians, and Drells all found this way of resolving claims quite appropriate, if, of course, the verbal arguments ended. So, I rebuilt my consciousness into a combat one, and I succeeded. The lightweight and comfortable carbine, with low recoil and good 2x optics, allowed me to shoot 95 out of 100 at a 150-meter range and hit the "muks" from four hundred meters. Nasar was doing well too.
Our artist is not shining yet, and anyway, she has plenty of other advantages. She doesn't like hunting, she feels very sorry for the animals, even to the point of tears. Her grandfather does not force her, on the contrary, he teaches her to notice various subtleties in nature, to see nuances with her artistic perception. She sees details that we don't even notice. Azanti simply fell in love with her grandfather, and the old admiral reciprocated the love of the little Batarian, calling her his granddaughter and responding when she calls him grandfather. Natoli is simply shocked by the behavior of the strict admiral! And I'm glad - I feel like Arthur just got younger inside, what a cheerful fire his eyes are burning. An avid hunter and fisherman, he received a huge patrimony on Mendoir to realize his passion. And even if you can't hunt on the plains, hunting in the foothills, for nazumi and mukliks, is quite enough to satisfy a hobby. I remember a recent conversation between him and my grandmother, where they decided to stay with us on a permanent basis.
"Archie, tell me, are you so eager to participate in local life... aren't you going home?"
"Tell me, Liv... tell me, what awaits us on Earth?"
"Well... we have a house there. Where we lived for many years and where our children grew up."
"Olivia, but it's empty! There's not even a cat in it. And here we have everything! All of our people are here, everyone we love is here, even Stephen visits the guys more often than we do. So what have we forgotten on Earth? Longing? Loneliness? What?! Olivia, look at you! It's like you've lost twenty years, you've blossomed, you're glowing! Why should we leave here? We don't even have any friends left on Earth! What about our house? Back on Earth... What will happen to him? And what about the house? It's just a pile of rocks, it's useless without tenants. We'll hire a company to keep an eye on you, because you don't even have flowers there, Liv!
"So, are we staying?"
"Yes, Liv, I'm in favor of staying! Do you agree with me?"
"You old fool! Of course, I agree! But, Arthur, where are we going to live?"
"Liv, our savings are enough to buy a whole city here, not like a small house across the street."
"Arthur, there's no house there!"
"So we'll put it on!"
Since then, the house of my grandfather and grandmother has been standing in front of our house. And grandfather, with all his fervor, is engaged in its arrangement, attracting us all little by little. Azanti paints paintings that his grandfather puts on the walls. I embroider small pillows that my grandfather laid out on sofas and armchairs. The boys brought live perennial flowers from the foothills, and grandma planted them in pots, placing them on the windowsills. Kaadi and mom went to Gagarin, and there, in a shop with an Azari, they bought very beautiful curtains. Kassia and mom went to Gagarin, and there, in a shop with an Azari, they bought very beautiful curtains. Grandma, in company with Ratnait, arranged flower beds, and now she has a flower garden no worse than our doctor's. My soul is just singing! If there is happiness, then here it is, around me, I can touch it with my hands!
We're lying in the grass, on a slope. At a distance of about six hundred meters from us is Muklikov hill, I practice long-range shooting. I have a praying mantis in my hands, an eight-fold optical sight with a built-in ballistic calculator and small removable bipods are mounted on it. But now the calculator is disabled, and I'm learning to shoot on my own. My grandfather is lying on the left, holding a monocular rangefinder in his hands. Nasar is on the right, holding army binoculars. Azanti is sitting three meters behind me, and what's in her hands? That's right, the album! The hill is clearly visible through the optics, and it is still empty - the mukliks saw us on the slope and hid. However, one appeared, stood on its hind legs, ears pricked up, looked around, and flew over the hills: "Kli-kli-mukli, Kli-kli-mukli." At the same time, the animal shuddered all over its body in a funny way.
"Igor, calm down. Distance: half a thousand and thirty. Wind: five, headwind. Drop: twelve down," Grandpa mumbled.
I am calm, emotions are suppressed. I put the risks in the crosshair, and there's an animal in the crosshair, and I clearly realized: I'm going to miss, 530 meters is almost the maximum distance for the praying mantis. Fuck you, bitch, fuck you! goosebumps crawl down my spine. What should I do?! What if... I turn on the combat mode and spread my wings. Emotions turned off, the picture slowed down, the chirping of pseudo-grasshoppers turned into a mournful rasp, you can hear the rustle of a pencil on a pipe, Nasar's heavy breathing and grandfather's voice, as if from a pipe, low, low.
- Wind: three sideways oncoming, on the right.
It seems that my grandfather uttered this phrase for half an hour. I aim the scope, muklik stands, the ears turn slowly, the crosshair is slightly to the left and higher. Words cannot convey my state - my head is like a calculator, the equations are solved by themselves, it is only necessary to pay attention to a particular problem. I pull the bracket -BOOM! - the butt pushes into the shoulder, I see a bullet flying, hitting muklik in the neck, just below the head, piercing through, throwing out a reddish cloud at the exit. The animal falls, its hind legs twitch. There are zero emotions of my own, only the joy of my grandfather and sister is felt nearby. I close my eyes, take off my shield. Oh-h! Rollback started!.. I want to jump and jump, yell and fool around! With an incredible effort, I hold myself in place. Nasar whispers fervently in my ear from an excess of feelings:
"Well, what a good fellow you are!"
Grandfather's voice:
"Clever boy, Igor!" and there is love and pride in feelings.
We switch places with Nasar: a friend lies down in my place and looks at the scope, and I pick up binoculars.
This army binoculars is a good thing: comfortable, in a soft plastic case, non-breakable, with a built-in rangefinder, as well as wind, humidity and temperature sensors. It's both day and night, and it also has a thermal imager.
"Nasar, my boy, breathe! Breath control, inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale! Clever boy! Imagine that you are a holly bush. Standing here, rustling the leaves, you're calm and unperturbed," Grandfather says slowly. You don't care about the mukliks, let them run. Under the recitation of his grandfather, Nasar calmed down, serenity crept into his feelings.
"Distance: five thousand forty. Wind: two, sideways, on the left. Drop: eleven down.
The sound of sight rollers is heard. Nasar is calm, his breathing is even. I look through binoculars - not far from the lying one, another muklik sticks out, anxiously looks around and, shuddering, pulls: "Kli-kli-mukli, kli-kli-mukli!". Silence, the soft whistling of the wind in the grass, even Azanti is sitting, not drawing. DAMM! I'm startled. Muklik is thrown back, he shudders a couple of times and falls silent.
"Ah, I got it, I got it!" Nasar shouts. We jump up, hug, laugh, shout and jump at the same time.
"Ah, well done! Oh, my beauty!" Grandfather shouts, laughing. "Come here, my hunters, my grandfather's delight! - and hugs us both.
Azanti looks at us, feeling a little envy and, for some reason, regret. Grandfather turns around, looks at her, smiles, lets us go and sits down next to her. Hugs her and speaks softly:
"Hunting can be taught. Yes, it's long and tedious, but you can make a hunter out of anyone! And you can't teach how to draw like you, granddaughter. So you're a hundred times more expensive than any hunter!"
Azanti clings to her grandfather's side and looks at him with love and adoration. And you magpies, what are you waiting for? Now Nazumi will appear - you will only say goodbye to the loot! Come on, get after the shot!"
And we are skipping, shouting and hooting, rushing towards the hill, followed by the glances of grandfather and girlfriend.
A month later
Somehow, unnoticed, the old admiral gathered all the youth of the town around him, organized several interest groups and sections. He smacked the headmaster, the huntsmen, and the mayor. Our director was so enthusiastic about my grandfather that he used him as an example whenever he could. At the initiative of my grandfather, all responsible colony workers, heads of services and the colony's leadership were gathered. At the meeting, my grandfather demolished the civil defense system, saying that the measures taken were criminally insufficient for a rich colony in the border region. The population is not trained and is not learning, reasonable people do not know how to behave in certain situations. A third of the colonists are former military personnel, but their experience is ignored. He gave his speech for about forty minutes, and the whole colony listened to him on the broadcast. The management got into it, realized it, and immediately, without departing, as they say, from the cash register, appointed grandfather the senior civil defense officer of the entire colony and obliged him to provide all possible assistance.
That's where he turned around: he requested a list of all the retirees in the colony with their military specialties, distributed them among the colonists, built a mock-up of the town on the outskirts of Leonov, and bought electric markers with his own money (these are automatic machines like paintball machines). And he started training. He was given an assembly hall at the school for lectures. At first, it was difficult, but then the people got involved, and the registration for the grandfathers' training ground was two months in advance. Moreover, not only various combat situations were trained on it, but also emergencies, such as fires, floods, and so on. Doctors, including Ratnait and Dahi, gave lectures on emergency care for any of the races represented in the colony. Grandma, being a naval security officer with the rank of lieutenant colonel by profession, organized an analytical counterintelligence service on an optional basis, mobilizing local hacker youth into it. The whole Strafer gang was on the extranet, in Tael's company, monitoring various mercenary forums and making sure that the name "Mendoire" didn't flash anywhere. The huntsmen, led by their chief, Toliyat Tanris, gave lectures on the flora and fauna of the planet to everyone without exception: what grows and lives where, what of all this can be eaten.
The cunning drell tricked his grandfather and the company back then. The Tyrannodon would never climb into the bushes, and when Grandpa pinned the huntsman with arguments, Drell confessed, laughing. The grandfather appreciated the joke, but warned that he should not do that anymore, but honestly tells what and how in the steppe, and most importantly, how it is possible and necessary to survive there.
The colonists accepted most of the innovations well, and some even enthusiastically. Such, for example, as exits on foot raids. This is when teams of colonists, with minimal equipment and provisions, had to perform certain tasks in the wild part of the colony. They organized a sweepstake on this, and the whole colony was happy to watch the ordeal of the next lucky ones, inventing exit scenarios on the go. These scripts were then sent to my grandfather by mail, and he used them without a twinge of conscience. Such raids, with my easy submission, began to be called partisan, and the raiders, respectively, were called partisans. And all this is for a while and in the spirit of competition.
Of course, the colonists couldn't be compared to the regular army in terms of training, but grandfather trained them not against the army, but against pirates. These brothers were never famous for their preparation, but they took on numbers and bestial cruelty. The five of them suddenly piled on top of one another, robbed, killed, took women and children as slaves, and fled. That's the pirate tactic. The mercenaries, of course, will go through the colonists like a knife through butter, but how many of those mercenaries... The military does not like to become a mercenary, whether among humans or other races. The attitude of the regular army to mercenaries is appropriate, as to the degraded, who betrayed the idea. The attitude of the regular army to mercenaries is appropriate, as to the degraded, who betrayed the idea. That's the way it is with all the Citadel races, and I agree with that.
Together with the brothers, a whole crowd of classmates and friends are currently studying. Even those who had no intention of joining the corps said they wanted to learn how to be strong and skilled. I have to keep an eye on my homeworld while my brothers protect everyone. In general, the youth in the colony maintained an active position. Something like, "We want to fly to the galaxy, see, learn, and definitely return home. The native world deserves to flourish, and for this it needs experienced and skilled residents." Every morning they flock to our village and, after intensive training under the supervision of their grandfather, they run cross-country, every day for a different distance. Oh, the enemies and the various tatis will wash their faces in blood, coming to our colony in three years. I flatter myself that this will be enough to make my dream come true....
Two more weeks have passed
Today we went fishing. There's only a week left from our extra holidays, and somewhere inside I already miss my classmates. The guys called, they were wondering when we would appear - I told them that soon, wait. I'm not much of a fisherman, I don't have what I need for this activity - the silent patience to wait for hours for a bite. I love catching big fish with my hands, but fishing with a fishing rod is not my thing. Come on, whatever, I'd rather sunbathe or read while Grandpa and Azanti are sitting with fishing rods. Our artist turned out to be an excellent fisherman! She has a lot of patience, as well as attentiveness, and the ability to wait for the right moment. So Nasar and I let it down in this regard, well, that's okay, it's not a big deal.
We go upstream and there, in a large pool on the river, we catch mud workers. They are bigger in the river than in the Mirror, so you have to fish with gloves. If he grabs it with his claws, it won't seem enough. They were called mud workers because of their gray color and their habit of burying themselves in sand or mud along the armor. The water in the river is cold, twenty-five degrees, despite the heat, and you don't dive for a long time. Nasar generally climbs onto the rocks after a couple of dives, his teeth chattering. At 39.4, it's bitterly cold in this kind of water, but the stones are hot, and he warms up quickly. There were screams downstream, we exchanged glances and ran to look at what was happening. There, grandfather was shaking along the shore, the rod in his hands bent almost into a ring, the line stretched so that the ringing could be heard. Azanti was jumping nearby with a net in her hands.
"Grandpa, grandpa, pull to the shore! I'll take him in a net!"
"I can't, it's too strong, it's coming out!" the grandfather wheezes, but slowly and surely pulls the fish to the shore.
Azanti saw her in the clear water, her eyes became five kopecks, and she felt scared, turning into fear.
"Grandpa, how big he is!" and she froze, clutching the net to herself. Who did they catch? We need to help... I sit cross-legged on the shore, combat mode, mentally reaching out to the stream inside myself. And here it is, my biotics, my nerves are buzzing, I glow with a blue-green dim light, a seething ocean of energy wraps around me like a whirlpool. I really want to spread my wings wide, but it's too early. I look at the water and feel a mighty fish in it, this aquatic creature is one and a half meters long, maybe longer. I wrap her in bundles of power, squeeze her, feel her struggling in the grip of biotics, and slowly begin to pull her out of the water. The main thing now is not to lose concentration, not to let yourself be knocked down, otherwise a fish that has fallen into the water can jerk violently, and even injure grandfather. My head popped out of the water, then my whole body, and I slowly dragged it to the shore and let it go over the pebbly beach. From a height of one and a half meters, the fish flops onto the shore and begins to beat. Grandpa takes a stone, comes up from the side and hits her hard on the head. The creature stretched out and trembled slightly.
"Ugh!" the grandfather says, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "What a hulk! Who is this, my little ones?" Nasar, slowly walking around the fish, answers.
"Leaftooth, Grandpa!" It's never been this big before, you're the first! We need to give the head to Master Gartog, he will process it and hang it over the bar with your name on it. Master Gartog is the same Krogan, the co-owner of our club, a passionate hunter, fisherman and bartender at the same time. The entire bar in the club is covered with the heads of various animals, fish, and birds. All the city hunters, if they shoot something unusual, drag it to him, he embalms it and hangs it on the wall, with a description of whose trophy it is.
Our fish's head will soon decorate the wall in the bar! Snuffling and grunting, the four of us load the fish onto Grandpa's bike. He has a huge one and looks like a flyer, not a bike. One seat behind the driver and two in the fairings on the sides at the back. It immediately subsides, the mass converter changes the tone of the hum.
"Wow! How much weight does it have?" Scratching his head, Grandfather says. "Tell you what, my little ones, I'll take him alone, I'll come for you later, and you'll wait for me here. Ok?"
"All right, Grandpa" I answer. Azanti and Nasar simply nodded in agreement. Grandfather flew away, and we went to the backwater to catch mud workers. Azanti, I know a recipe for fried mud crab legs that you can soak in oil. Let's go cook. The kids are still coming.
November 2360
Early in the morning, I do my morning workout - this is my usual morning activity, for four years in a row. In the window, in the light of the lanterns at the intersection, you can see a large group of boys and girls of all races, who are warming up under the guidance of their grandfather. I would have joined them, but Grandpa told me it was too early. Despite the fine drizzling rain and the cold air, no one stopped classes. The grandfather moves at a distance of five meters from the line of young people, and they synchronously repeat all the movements after him - an absolutely fascinating sight. Somewhere out there, in the ranks, are my brothers and their friends Tanir, except Ivan, as well as Bina and Basma. The predatory plasticity of military gymnastics performed by the order is something I have never seen in my previous life. It seems that this is not an old soldier and a crowd of young people aged 13-14 years, but a pack of some kind of predators or primitive hunters dancing a strange, fascinatingly dangerous dance in absolute silence.
It may seem - what do humans and Turians have in common? Completely different species. And military gymnastics is suitable for both them and people, because the way to move is dictated by weapons. But it is the same for all races of the Citadel Space, there is even a single standard for calibers, types of mass generators, containers with metal mold powder. The handles are replaceable, with the possibility of fitting a certain type of arm, and must be included in the delivery package.
In general, the Bioware was rigged up with ammunition - a metal bar, from which a piece is chewed off and a bullet is formed ... Nonsense! In reality, there was no bar - there was a plastic container with metal powder, which was squeezed into a formatter, and in it, under the influence of a mass field, a bullet of the right size and shape was formed. And most importantly, for high-quality weapons, the form chamber could change and form bullets of different shapes, weights and lengths. The compression force for sintering powder also changed, this affected the type of bullets: armor-piercing, shock or, for example, petal. It wasn't until I got to know railguns in this world that I figured out how to heat weapons. The heat source turned out to be a form chamber - it created the heat that needed to be removed. In civilian models, a powerful radiator served to remove heat, but in the military, thermal clips were used. Indeed, why would a hunter shoot in bursts? However, my father's carbine served as an amazing example of mixing civilian and military products. This "Mantis-B" was not only bicalibre, that is, it had two barrels, under 6.5 and 11.3 mm, but also had, in addition to the radiator, a nest for thermal clips, which was limited by the laws of the Citadel. Therefore, the nest was tightly screwed with a special plug... but, as the folder says, if a reasonable person's hands are not growing out of his ass, then it's easy to turn a civilian model into a military one. And thermal clips are standard for all types of weapons, from pistols to heavy machine guns. He could also fire bursts, though only from 6.5 mm, but with four types of bullets, while his pulse power was regulated: from 1 to 2.5 kJ for 6.5 mm and from 10 to 15 kJ for 11.3 mm. The large caliber had only two types of bullets and could not fire automatically. In general, megapushka!
My father said that after comparative tests of the carbine, as a promising type of sniper rifle, the military seized it with a pincer. But the politicians fucked it up, the senators were strangled by the toad to arm the infantry with guns for eight thousand credits. So our marines are running around with fucking M7s for eight hundred credits. It's shit, of course, it can't shoot at all without thermoclips, but it's cheap. And the carbine went into production as a civilian hunting rifle, with a sealed socket for thermal clips and the automatic firing mode turned off... but, as they say, if only there were hands!
When a local gunsmith in Gagarin brought a batch of these carbines for testing, the folder, howling with delight, took Dahi with an Anchor and sped off like a madman! He returned clutching a suitcase with a carbine to his chest, as happy as if he had won the lottery instead of pouring twelve grand into a cannon. The others looked just as pleased, and it was often possible to observe, for example, how Anker would take it out of the trunk, lovingly stroking it, unfolding it, putting it to his shoulder, aiming, then folding it and putting it back in the trunk, softly muttering something affectionate in Batarian. Just like with a child. At the colonial hunting forum, Dad boasted about what a cool cannon he had managed to buy - and the excitement took hold of the people! Over the next six months, the merchant sold twelve batches of such carbines, so now the entire male part of the colony and half of the female part go with them, and the dealer gave the Dad a fifty percent discount on everything, as a favorite customer. My grandfather, by the way, has the same carbine - his father gave it to him immediately after the decision to stay.
I hear my grandfather's voice, which means that gymnastics is over, and now the young people will run away to cross-country. I wonder how much Grandfather will solder them today? Well, at least five km, that's for sure, they haven't run less for a long time. Jokes and laughter can be heard, slaps and the rustle of light boots on wet grass - young people lined up in a column and ran into the forest.
And for some reason, I remember a dream I had recently. At first, I see an unusually beautiful Asari in him. Of all the beautiful blue ladies I've ever seen, they look so much like a succubus. She looks at me strangely with her unusual blue eyes and smiles. She has eyebrows, though they're painted, but that's what quite a few Azari do, especially those who live near people. For some reason, I don't feel emotions. Who is she? Is it really Liara?..
Then, strangely, with a gap, I see a once beautiful city, now littered with rubble, with burnt trees standing here and there. We are walking in a large group, consisting of representatives of almost all races, through a beautiful park in the past. The park is filled with smoke, and the acrid smell of burnt wood is mixed with the suffocating smell of burnt plastic and flesh. This terrible stench of burnt meat seems to permeate everything around, it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, it makes you want to spit. The sentients walking nearby are armored and heavily armed. I see several Turians, humans, Asari, and a Quarian, and she is not in a space suit, but in the usual light armor of the Alliance, only on her legs converted to the ankle of a Quarian. The park ends, and a pile of debris appeared out of the smoke - what it was originally is not entirely clear. There are bars of reinforcement sticking out everywhere, with pieces of concrete remaining in some places. The ground begins to shake rhythmically, as if from the steps of a giant, the whole group immediately spreads out and hides between the rubble. Camouflage cloaks flash by, and instead of a group of sentients, it's just a mountain of debris again. The beautiful Azari and I are sitting under the same cape, her lips are moving, I am reading over them - she is whispering a memorial prayer. She turned to face me, and under the glass of her helmet, I see her eyes full of pain. Wet tracks ran down her cheeks. I touch her helmet with an armored glove and say something that I don't understand myself, as I'm deaf. I touch her helmet with an armored glove and say something that I don't understand myself, as I'm deaf.
A strong gust of wind blows the smoke away, and a wide street opens up to us. A hefty black machine is stomping on it, slowly rearranging its six paws. It can be seen that it is damaged, in some places the armor is dented and twisted. It's half a kilometer away, and it's not as big as the one the Keepers showed me, but it's also big-about eighty meters high. It's like a walking twenty-five-story building.
From behind a pile of rubble on the other side of the street, a group of three massive machines drives out. Most of all they resemble tanks, only, for some reason, on wheels, small turrets with long thick gun barrels sticking out of them are visible from above. The turrets aimed their guns at the reaper, and a heart-rending roar filled the air. Continuous trails of torn and twisted air stretched from the guns, they rested in the middle of the black body of the creature. The Reaper swayed, fragments and pieces of armor flew from it, it turned, growled, turning towards the tanks. With a lucky shot, a hefty layer of armor was chipped off from the reaper, and with a roar that covered the howl of the cannons, it crashed into the ruins, crushing them. Clouds of dust floated down the street. But the reaper did not give up, a dazzling ruby ray shot out from its lower part and rested on the tank on the far left. He stood for a while surrounded by a sparkling film of a power shield, a moment later the shield burst, and the beam touched the armor, there was a loud hiss, sparks flew, and the tank disappeared in a blinding flash. We were hit by a shock wave, a pile of debris and small stones. The other two tanks did not stop firing, so the tracks converged on one place of the already damaged reaper armor, broke through it, and the shells began to hide inside. Suddenly, the reaper straightened up, leaned on the dilapidated building standing at the back, seemed to glow white from the inside, and the rear part exploded with a bang, collapsing the building to the end. The Reaper, thrown back by the explosion, blazing with crimson fire from the joints of the armor, collapsed along the street, raising a cloud of dust.
I squatted down, and my hand touched something soft.... I look down and see a very young girl, almost a girl, Azari - she's probably not even thirty yet, her body is half covered with debris. She's wearing a once-white, but now purple-brown unik, a bar of rebar sticking out of her chest, and a black-brown pool of congealed blood around her body. Pain and surprise were frozen in his wide-open lilac eyes, his left arm was torn off, and the handle of the Apostol was tightly clenched in his right hand. The shotgun itself is crumpled and mangled. I reach out and close her eyes. Inside is a cold, heavy lump of hatred and pain. A hand touches my shoulder, and I start and wake up.