Chapter 5 Chapter two

"Get up." he wakes up. dark.He straightened up under the sheet, wondering who spoke to him in that tone.Nobody dared to speak to him in that tone, never again; he heard it even when he was not quite asleep and woke up suddenly in the middle of the night when he was twenty, maybe thirty I haven't heard of it for years.arrogant.No respect. He stuck his head out of the quilt, got into the warm air of the room, and turned his head in the gloom with only one light source to see who dared to speak to him like that. A split second of fear—has someone gotten past the guards and security lines? ──The feeling was replaced by a burning desire to see who was so brazen.

The intruder sat on a chair near the foot of the bed.He looked rather strange; there was something new and unusual, indescribable, even foreign.He feels like a slightly distorted projection.Clothes were strange too; loose and brightly colored, though the same in the light of the oil lamp by the bed.The man was dressed like a clown or a jester, but with a face that was too symmetrical to look...serious?Scorn?That... foreignness makes things hard to figure out. He starts fumbling with glasses, but he actually sleeps with them on.The doctor gave him a new pair of eyes five years ago, but sixty years of myopia gave him a deep-rooted reflex, always looking for glasses that don't exist, every time he wakes up.He always thought it was a small price to pay, plus the current rejuvenation surgery... the drowsiness disappeared from his eyes.He sat up, looked at the person in the chair, and began to wonder if he was dreaming or seeing a ghost.

The man looked young, with a broad, tan face and black hair tied back, but that wasn't why he had spirits and the dead in his mind.It had to do with the darkness, with the black holes in his face, and that foreign face. "Good night, Administrator," said the young man's voice slowly and carefully.Somehow, that sounded like someone much older, so old that the Administrator felt suddenly so young.That made him shudder.He looked around the room.Who is this man?How did he get in?The palace should be impenetrable.There are guards everywhere.What happened?The fear surged again.

The figure of the girl from the previous night was still lying on the opposite side of the big bed, it seemed that it was just a ball under the sheet.Several hibernating screens sat on the wall to the administrator's left, reflecting the faint light from the head of the bed. He was terrified, but fully awake and thinking quickly.A gun was hidden in the bedside table; the man at the foot of the bed appeared to be unarmed.The microphones and cameras in the room are on standby, automatic circuits waiting for specific phrases to activate them.Sometimes he wanted to be alone, sometimes he wanted to record something himself, and of course he knew someone could break in, no matter how tight the security was.

He cleared his throat. "Okay, that's a nice surprise." His voice was steady and calm. He pursed his lips and smiled, pleased with himself.His heart—the heart of a young firebrand woman eleven years earlier—was beating fast, but not fast enough to be worrying.He nodded. "It was a real surprise," he repeated.Alright; done.Now the alarm bell in the underground control room has sounded, and the guards will fill the door in a few seconds.Or they wouldn't take the risk and instead unleashed the gas tanks in the ceiling, blowing them to suffocation with blinding smoke.His eardrums might burst (he thought, swallowing), but he could always get new ones from healthy opposition.Maybe he didn't even have to; rumors swirled that rejuvenation surgery might be added to body-part regrowth services. "Yeah, ok," he heard himself say, just to make sure the circuit wasn't commanded the first time or the second time. "It's a real surprise." The guards could arrive any minute now...

The man in bright clothing smiled.He bent his limbs strangely and leaned forward until his elbows rested on the ornate foot table.He moved his lips in what should have been a smile.He reached into a pocket of his harlequin pants and pulled out a small black gun.Pointing his gun at the Sheriff, he said, "Your orders are useless, Sheriff Kieran. You don't expect more surprises, and neither do I. The Vault is as dead as anything else. " Executor Kil'an stared at the small gun.He's seen more impressive water guns.What happened?Is he really here to kill me?The man was clearly not dressed like a killer, and it was a given that any serious killer would kill him in his sleep.The longer this guy sits here and keeps talking, the more dangerous he is, whether or not he's cut off from security.He may be crazy, but he may not be a killer.It's ludicrous for a truly professional killer to behave like this, when only an extremely high-powered, fully professional killer can penetrate the palace's defenses... So the Administrator Kieran tried to suppress his madly beating, rebellious heart.Where are the damn guards?He thought again about the gun hidden in the decorative bedside table behind his back.

The young man folded his hands, and the pistol was no longer pointed at the magistrate. "Mind if I tell a little story?" He must be crazy. "No, I don't mind. Why don't you tell me a story?" said the Administrator, in the kindest, kindest voice. "By the way, what's your name? You seem to have the upper hand on me." "I do, don't I?" said the old voice from the young man's lips. "Two stories, actually, but you know most of one. I'll tell both and see if you can tell which is which." "I—" "Hush," said the man, putting the pistol to his lips.The administrator looked at the girl across the bed.Only then did he realize that he and the intruder were talking in a rather low tone.Maybe if he can wake the girl up so she can draw fire, or at least distract her, he grabs the gun from the nightstand; thanks to the new treatment, he's much faster than he was twenty years ago... God damn guard arrives where it goes?

"Listen now, young man!" he roared. "I just want to know, what do you think you're doing! Huh?" His voice -- loud enough to fill the halls and plazas without amplification -- echoed through the room.Damn, the guards in the security center in the basement should be able to hear it even without a microphone.The girl on the other side of the bed didn't even move. The young man grimaced. "They're all asleep, Administrator. It's just you and me. Now, this story..." "Wait..." Administrator Kil'an took a deep breath and pulled his feet back under the sheet. "What is your purpose here?"

The intruder looked surprised. "Oh, I'm here to get rid of you, Administrator. You're about to be wiped out. Now..." He put the gun on top of the footstand.The administrator stared.It's too far to grab it, but... "This story," said the intruder, sitting back in his chair. "A long time ago, in a place far away from the gravitational field of this planet, there was a magical world where there was no king, no law, no money and no property, but everyone lived like a prince, behaved very well and everything No shortage. These people live in peace, but get bored, as heaven will be after a while, so they set out on missions of good works; you could say charitable visits to people whose lives are not so good. They Also always try to bring them the most precious gifts in their eyes, knowledge and information. While they spread information as much as possible, because these people are weird, they hate class, hate kingdom... hate all priesthood... even the Leaders." The young man smiled coldly.So do administrators.He wiped his forehead and moved back on the bed, as if wanting to be more comfortable, his heart still beating wildly.

"Well, there was a time when a terrible force threatened to destroy their good work, but they resisted and won, and ended up stronger than ever. If they cared so much about power for their own sake, they'd be terrified, They felt only a little apprehension, which was normal given their level of power. One way they wielded that power for fun was to intervene in groups, thinking they might benefit from experience, and in many groups The most efficient way to do this here is to find a leader. "Many of them became the personal physicians of great leaders, with medicines and remedies that seemed like magic to relatively primitive people, ensuring that great and good leaders had a higher chance of survival. They liked working this way; you You know, offering life instead of dealing with death. You might call them weak, but since they're so reluctant to kill, they might agree with you, but they're as soft as the ocean. And, um; ask any sea captain the sea How harmless and weak."

"Yes, I see," said the administrator, leaning back a little further, placing the pillow farther behind his back, to check his position relative to the cabinet where the gun was hidden on the nightstand.His heart pounded in his chest. "The other thing these people will do, as opposed to dealing with life rather than death, is to offer the leaders of certain ethnic groups below a certain level of technology a gift that these leaders cannot buy with all their wealth and power; The cure. Rejuvenation." The administrator glared at the young man, curiosity suddenly overpowering fear.Was he referring to rejuvenation therapy? "Ah; starting to make sense, isn't it?" the young man smiled. "You're right. That's exactly what you're doing, Administrator Kieran. You paid for it last year. And you—if you remember—promised to pay more than platinum. Do you remember? ,Humph?" "I... I'm not sure." Administrator Kil'an stalled.Out of the corner of his eye he could see the nightstand where the gun was. "You promised to stop the slaughter in Eurikan, remember?" "I may have said I would reconsider apartheid and immigration policies—" "No," the young man waved his hand. "I mean massacre, magistrate; remember the death train? The exhaust actually ends up coming out of the rear carriage." The young man's lips moved in a sort of sneer, and he shook his head. "Are there any memories evoked? No?" "I don't know what you're talking about," said the administrator.His palms were sweaty, cold and slippery.He wiped his hand on the sheet; if he got the gun, it must not slip off.The intruder's gun was still lying on the foot table. "Oh, I think you know. In fact, I know so." "If any member of the Security Force commits any act of violence, they will be thoroughly—" "This isn't a press conference, Administrator." The man leaned back slightly in his chair, away from the gun on the footstand.The administrator tensed up and began to tremble. "The point is, you made promises and didn't keep them, so I'm here to fulfill the terms of the penalty. You were warned, Administrator, that what can be given can also be taken away." The intruder leaned back further, looking around the darkened suite , nodded to the administrator, while resting his hands behind his head. "Say goodbye to all of this, Magistrate Killan. You will be—" The magistrate turned and elbowed the panel to hide it, and part of the nightstand spun around; he pulled the gun from its clamp and turned to point at the man, finding the trigger and snapping it off. Nothing happened.The young man was watching him, his hands still on the back of his neck, his body rocking slowly back and forth. The administrator clicked the trigger a few more times. "Those will be more effective," said the man, reaching into his coat pocket and dropping a dozen or so bullets on the bed at the administrator's feet. The shiny bullets rattled and rolled in a heap on the sheet.The administrator stared at them. "...I can give you anything," he said, tongue heavy and dry.He felt his bowels begin to loosen, then tighten desperately, suddenly feeling like a child again, as if the rejuvenation had gone too far. "Anything. Anything. I can give you more than you can imagine, I can—" "Not interested," the man said, shaking his head. "The story is not over yet. You know, these people, these kind, good people who are weak and prefer to deal with life... When someone makes a promise to them, even if the other party kills after the promise, they still don't like to pay with death. They would rather Second best thing with magic and precious sympathy. So these people just disappear." The man leaned forward again, leaning against the foot table.The consul stared at him, trembling. "They—the good guys—will make the bad guys out of sight," the young man said. "And they'll hire people to find the bad guys so they can be taken away. These people—the collectors—like to inflict the fear of death on those they collect, and tend to dress..." He gestured at his colorful attire. "... very casual. And of course—thanks to the magic—they have no trouble getting into the most heavily guarded palace in the world." The administrator swallowed, and with a hand that was shaking wildly, he finally put the useless gun down. "Wait," he said, trying to control his voice.His sweat stained the sheets. "You mean—" "The story is almost over," interrupted the young man. "These good guys—you call them weak, as I said—will root out the bad guys and take them away. They put them in a place where they can't do any harm. It's not heaven, and it doesn't feel like a prison. These Bad people, they sometimes have to listen to good people tell them how bad they are, they never get a chance to repeat the same mistakes, but they can live a comfortable, safe life and die peacefully... Thanks to these good people. "And while some may say that these good men are too weak, weak and good men will say that the crimes committed by these bad men are often so terrible that there is no known way of making them feel the pain and despair they create. One, so what's the point of redistribution? That's just another hateful way to put death on the tyrant's life." The young man showed a disturbed expression briefly, then shrugged. "Like I said; some people find them too weak." He took the small gun from the bedside table and put it in his trousers pocket. The man stood up slowly.The administrator's heart was still pounding, but his eyes were filled with tears.The young man stooped to grab some clothes and threw them to the magistrate, who grabbed them and hugged them to his chest. "My proposal is still valid," said Administrator Kieran. "I can give you—" "Job satisfaction," the young man sighs, staring at the nails of one hand. "That's all you can give me, Administrator; I'm not interested in anything else. Get dressed, and you've got to get out of here." The administrator began to put on his shirt. "Are you sure? I believe I've even invented a few vices that the Old Empire didn't know about. I'd be happy to share them with you." "No, thanks." "Who are those people you're talking about?" the administrator buttoned up. "May I know your name?" "Just put on your clothes." "Well, I still think we can come to some sort of agreement..." The administrator buttoned his collar. "That's ridiculous, but you're not a killer, so I should be grateful, huh?" The young man smiled, as if picking something out of his fingernails.He stuffed his hands into the pockets of the clown's trousers, and the administrator kicked off the covers to reach his trousers. "Yes," said the young man. "It must be scary to think you're going to die." "Not the most pleasant experience," the administrator agreed, pulling up one leg, then the other, in his trousers. "I can imagine, though, that it would be a great relief for you to have probation." "Hmm." The administrator laughed shortly. "It's kind of like being stuck in a village and thinking you're going to be shot..." the young man quipped, facing the administrator at the foot of the bed. "...and then told that your fate is emigration at best." He smiled.The administrator hesitated. "Emigration: by train," said the young man, drawing the little black gun from his pocket. "A train carrying your family, the people in your street, and the people in your village..." The young man adjusts something in the little black gun. "...and in the end there was nothing left but engine flames, and a lot of dead people." He smiled coldly. "What do you think, Magistrate Killan? Like this?" The administrator stopped moving, staring at the gun wide-eyed. "Those good people are called 'civilization,'" the young man explained. "I always thought they were too weak." He stretched out his hand, holding the gun. "I stopped working for them some time ago. I work independently now." The administrator was speechless, looking into dark, aged eyes over the black barrel of the gun. "Me," said the man. "His name is Sharidian Zarqawi." He pointed the gun at the administrator's nose. "You are sentenced to death." He fired the gun... the administrator threw his head back and screamed, and the bullet pierced the roof of his mouth before exploding in his head. Brains spilled on the ornate bedside table.The body fell into the soft sheets, shook a bit, and kept spurting blood. He watched the blood gushing out.He blinked a few times. Then slowly, he took off his gaudy clothes.He stuffed his clothes into a small black rucksack.He was wearing a one-piece shade-colored garment underneath. He took the flat black mask from his pack and hung it around his neck but didn't put it on.He went to the head of the bed and tore off a small transparent patch from the sleeping girl's neck, then returned to the dark corner of the room, putting on the mask as he went. Using the night vision goggles, he opened the security system control panel and carefully removed several small boxes.Then, lightly and slowly, he walked towards the erotic paintings covering the wall, behind which were hidden the administrator's emergency escape routes leading to the sewers and the roof of the palace. He turned slowly before closing the door, looking at the curve carved out of the bedside table covered in blood.He smiled coldly, with a hint of uncertainty. Then he disappeared into the depths of the black stone wall, becoming part of the night.