 
78

# Max Maximov

# To the Mars!

A man sat in the hallway near the wall of the flat and held a child tightly to his chest.

"Hush, hush, it's all right, it'll be gone soon," he whispered to his son.

A human figure stood beside them wheezing:

"I promise you this is the best you've seen..."

The creature repeated the phrase over and over again. The hoarse voice sounded to the child like a disgusting drawling moan.

"I promise you this is best you've seen..." said the creature," I promise..."

The child raised his head and looked into his father's eyes.

"She'll be gone in a minute," father said, looking right through his son. His father's eyes were misty.

"The best you've seen," the creature continued to wheeze behind the boy.

The child was weeping in terror. His father laid his hand gently on the back of his son's head and pressed his head tightly to his chest again.

"This will be gone soon," father repeated.

The hoarse voice sounded behind the boy, just a meter away.

"I promise you this is the best you've seen..." the creature continued to wheeze, "the best... the best you've seen... I promise..."

The child felt the creature's breath close to his ear. His father buried his face in the boy's shoulder. He stroked the back of his son's head.

"This'll go in a moment, son, this'll go in a moment," the man spoke in a trembling voice.

"The best you've seen," the creature muttered, "this is the best... I'm not cheating you..."

The creature repeated the same phrase. The child did not see the monster. He listened to the creature's inhuman wheezing as he cuddled to his father.

The child felt someone took him under his arms and pulled back. His father impotently loosened his grasp, and the creature lifted the boy. The child stretched his arms up and slid to the floor. He crawled aside and turned back. Someone looking similar his mother stared at him, rolling its head as if stretching the neck. The creature was completely naked. It's not Mum. Mother has beautiful rosy skin, and this is something pale and old. Mum has beautiful blue eyes, and this monster has two black spots instead of them. Father was sitting, his back against the wall, and staring at his belly. His mouth was open. Long and tacky slobber was hanging from his mouth.

"You're not my mother!" the boy cried, looking at the terrible woman with the black eyes. "Who are you?! Where are my parents?!"

Father began mumbling something indistinctly under his breath. The woman took a step towards the boy. The child jumped up and ran into his room, hitting his elbow against the doorjamb. He slammed the door. He grabbed the toy wooden sword his father had presented him with and sat in the corner of the dimly lit room, pointing he sword at the door. He was rubbing the injured elbow with his free hand. There was a grimace of pain on his face.

Every time when his parents were replaced by these creatures who looked like Mum and Dad, he hid under the bed and lay there until morning. In the morning the monsters left his parents' bodies and the boy, tired and broken, crawled out of his refuge. The real mum was making breakfast, and dad was usually still asleep.

After such nights he did not play with anyone in the nursery school, but sat on a chair and slumbered. When a nurturer asked him if he was ill, the boy replied that he simply did not get much sleep, because he was dreaming about terrible people.

This time he decided not to hide. The boy reached out his stuffed tiger and put it in front of himself. The tiger was looking at the door to the corridor, where the sound of footsteps came. Bare feet were slapping the floor and drawing near.

"I'm a knight. I'm not a little coward," the boy said in an undertone, still pointing his toy sword at the door. "I'm five. I'm not afraid of you anymore. I won't hide anymore. I'll get my parents back. My sword and my brave tiger are with me. We'll manage."

The sound of slapping feet died down. He knew it was behind the door. In boy's imagination the tiger growled at the door and attacked the demon! The only thing is it was just a stuffed toy.

"Why doesn't she come in?" the boy whispered to the tiger and got up from the floor. "Maybe she's afraid of us, too."

The tiger said nothing. He kept growling at the door.

"If she comes, we will attack," said the boy, "heroes should not be afraid of monsters."

***

Ivan, 18 years old

"We are all born naked. We come into this world with nothing. All of us have the umbilical cord cut and are given to our mothers. And after all each of us eats and drinks, sleeps and wakes up, feels happy and sad, falls in love and frustrates, learns and explores everything around... And everyone can become anyone," Ivan wondered, sitting hunched at the table in the kitchen. "There are no regularities or connections between the starting conditions and the future. To be born in a poor family is a matter of chance. But it's your choice to die rich or poor, it's the result of your activities during the time allotted to you by God or the universe, or... whoever determines that, I don't know. How many millionaires were born in poverty, and those who were born in a family of millionaires. There are many people who spent all the money and found themselves in poverty, once having been born in a wealthy family. I was born in a poor family, yeah, it's bad luck. I'm eighteen now, and I'm still poor. I hate it. I sometimes think other people don't worry about their financial situation. They are ready to suffer. How sad it is."

Ivan unscrewed the lid of glass pot and put strawberry jam in his tea. He stirred his tea with a spoon, continuing talking to himself:

"Everyone has the same hands. The starting point is the same. And everyone has the same ass. And initially everyone has the same head which is equally empty. So what's the difference? Why have I got nothing yet? Why should I be satisfied with what I have? And I have absolutely nothing. Actually, no, I have savings. And that differs me with my peers. Still, these savings are very little, and they should be used wisely."

Ivan took a sip of his tea. He stared out of the window. There was a team of workers in the street. They were repairing the road. Ivan looked down from the window at a man in an orange vest with a jackhammer in his hands. The man was unshaved, dirty and tanned under constantly scorching sun skin. This summer was hot, but it was coming to an end.

"I will graduate and apply for low-wage job," Ivan pondered, "I will be like father. Sounds funny. Why is he satisfied with the fact that he didn't manage to become someone important? He comes home after his work, sits down and watches TV. And drinks. And on the weekends he goes fishing and drinks again. Why doesn't it bother him he is unable to leave behind anything? Why isn't he afraid of spending his life without changing the world for the better? Why do I seek for it, but he doesn't? He says I'm still young, and this will pass. This is youthful idealism. But isn't it the thing that moves successful people ahead? Their idealism remains with them till old age, and because of it they succeed. They invent, fly to space, send satellites to other planets, treat cancer, write masterpieces. They all create something. Obviously, they also try themselves in different spheres and hope to conquer the mountains, make mistakes and change activities. They make mistakes again, lose money and time and change activities again, until something does work. Until they find themselves. Most likely, all the way people laugh at them and call them idealists."

Outside the worker put down his jackhammer and lit a cigarette. Another worker in the same orange vest came and squatted down. The first man gave the other one a light.

"There are no untalented people, there are people who have not found themselves yet," Ivan kept thinking, "many people die without finding themselves. I don't want to. But what the hell is the whole world telling me that I shouldn't seek my vocation but study just to become an engineer and build these houses. They harp about stability. My father has stability. Fishing on weekends and getting up at six in the morning to go to work for the ridiculous salary. A stable work with a stable fucking lunch at two o'clock. And then he goes home to drink stable beer and watch TV about politics or a concert. And then he will die stably, and no one will remember him. When I ask, "Why aren't you the boss yet, you've been working there for so many years?", he says. "Oh... comrade, you don't understand what you're talking about, you're too young to understand... it's impossible. "He considers me stupid. When I think big and dream about something bigger than we have, he treats it as idealism. Idealism is a synonym of stupidity for him. Never dream. Be like everyone else. Be a grey mouse and hold your stability. This all is youthful shit in my head, he says. I don't want to live his kind of life. I must find my place in life. And I must act, not reason. Start today. Now."

Mother came into the kitchen. She picked up an ashtray full of cigarette butts from the windowsill, emptied it into the trash bin, and put it back on the windowsill. She took a cigarette from her dressing gown and lit it. She stood by the open window, exhaling smoke into the street and watching the workers.

"Summer's getting over," she said in a deep voice and coughed.

Ivan raised the mug of tea to his mouth and took a sip.

"Summer's coming to the end, I'm telling you", continued his mother, "how long are you going to be idle, you, mediocrity?"

"I am not idle," replied Ivan.

"And how do I call you if you sit around and do nothing?" mother asked and puffed of the cigarette.

"I'm thinking," he said.

"You don't study, you don't work, you're always thinking," she said grouchy, what's the use of your thinking..."

"I have already figured out what I will do", said Ivan, "I have an idea."

"What's it like?" said mother. "Some kind of idiotic business again?"

"This time the idea is not idiotic, the costs are minimal, and the profit is almost one hundred percent."

"Oh, Ivan, Ivan... you're wasting your time. You should go to work. Or study."

"I have enough time to do it. Now I want to implement one idea."

Ivan swung on a stool and stared at the ceiling with shining eyes. Various images swirled in his mind. Now he draws a wad of cash in the store and pays with one banknote, then puts the wad back into the pocket. Now he gets in his car and goes on business. It does not matter what business is, the main thing is that business exits. He imagined himself talking to big shots and planning the business. He shakes hands with important people. They all smile and nod at each other. That was Ivan's idea of making good deals.

"You're naive, Ivan. You're stupid," mother said and flicked the ash into the ashtray.

"I'm not stupid, I just haven't had time to open up yet," the son uttered.

"We do not have enough money, father and I work hard with one day off per week, and you're just sitting and dreaming."

"Any achievement begins with a dream," Ivan said.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you?" mother asked.

"I will not follow in your footsteps," he replied.

"What do you mean?"

"You work from morning till night, and it doesn't give you the desirable results. You offer me to follow in your footsteps and live from one payday to another like you do. To graduate and work on construction with father on a meagre salary. If I follow your footsteps, I will come to what you have come to. It's logical. This is not what I want."

"Be thankful we have at least a little, many people have even less. Thanks to your father and me, you eat and you are dressed. It worth a lot in our time."

"In our time? Was there another time when the poor lived well? Any time is hard for the poor and good for the rich. Not only our time."

"Aren't you tired of believing in all your stories about your wealth and money?"

"I don't believe in money," said Ivan, looking at his mother. "There's no sense in money. If there's no idea, you're working on, money doesn't matter. They will disappear. They will be spent, that's all. Give a poor simple man money, and he will spend it quickly and become poor again. A rich person is someone who has an idea, a project he is working on, and money is a consequence of his work on the idea."

"Yeah, your life will be hard. How stupid you are, Ivan, living in your imaginary world", mother said, put out the cigarette and left the kitchen.

"Not harder than yours," Ivan thought, "you'll thank me later, when I succeed. It will be interesting to see how you react when I earn my first million."

Ivan finished his tea, washed the mug and put it on the shelf above the sink. He went to his room. There he turned on the computer by connecting two wires sticking out of the system unit, because the power button had gone long ago and sat at the table.

"Well, let's start," he thought, "such a brilliant idea just cannot help shooting."

After a few minutes, the old computer has booted up at last. Ivan opened the map and typed the word "pet shop" into the search engine.

"I'll make money just out of thin air," Ivan continued to think, "and then I'll come up with something more serious."

* * *

The boy took the tiger under his arm and tiptoed to the door of his room. He laid his sword on the floor and opened the door. He peered through the slot into the corridor with one eye.

"Do you see them?" the child asked the tiger.

The toy shook its head.

"Neither do I," the boy said.

The child opened the door wider and stuck his head out. There was nobody. There was a small puddle where father sat.

"We have to find them and make them get out of my parents' bodies," the boy said.

The tiger nodded strongly in response.

The boy picked up his sword and they went out into the corridor.

"Dad has a rope in his wardrobe. We'll tie them up." the child said.

They walked to the wardrobe near the front door. The child opened it and began to rummage through things. He carefully rummaged through the shoe boxes on the bottom shelf. Then he moved apart the jackets. The Tiger stood on the floor and watched the situation around.

"It's a good refuge", whispered the boy, still moving the jackets, "we could hide here and then jump out and attack the monsters!"

Accidentally, the boy uttered the last sentence aloud. His mother screamed from the kitchen. Exactly, the creature, that controlled her body, did. A long cry with a wheeze. The tiger growled, baring his teeth.

"Come on, let's hide," the boy said, grabbing the tiger, and slipped into the wardrobe. "This will be our element of surprise."

The child closed the wardrobe door from the inside. They were sitting between the hanging jackets.

"I haven't seen the rope", he whispered to the tiger, "let's figure out a new plan."

The tiger licked the boy's hand.

"We won't hit them hard not to hurt mother and father. Let's scare them!" the child whispered.

The tiger purred.

"I knew you'd like the idea," the boy said, "they'd get scared and leave mum and dad alone."

The woman stopped screaming and the flat was quiet again. But the boy did not dare to get out of the wardrobe to go and scare the monsters. He sat in the darkness between the hanging clothes, twisting the sock that had slipped off his foot. His other arm was round the tiger. His only friend and ally. He remembered his mother taking him to the nursery school yesterday morning. He asked her about cars. The thing is that cars drive because they have fuel. He didn't understand what fuel was. It's some kind of water, which is poured into the car. And mother herself did not know exactly what fuel was. They had no car. Mum said that only the rich had cars. The rich are people who have stolen a lot of money. Mum said the rich couldn't be kind and honest. Dad is poor. Dad works hard, but to make money means to steal, just like the rich do. Dad is honest. The boy wondered why the honest should be poor, therefore they are good, so they must have cars. He would like to have a car. And dad should have a car, but dad is poor and honest.

The child heard footsteps. Bare feet slapped the floor again. The tiger began to growl. The boy understood, that nobody except him doesn't hear his tiger. Let him growl. He sat quietly and watched through the crack in the door. A naked woman passed the hall and entered his parents' bedroom. The child stroked the tiger and shivered.

"She's in the bedroom," the boy whispered. "Now we go there and threaten the monster. Let's get out. We mustn't be afraid."

They crept out of the wardrobe. The boy stood in the long corridor, holding a stuffed tiger in one hand and a wooden sword in the other. He was looking at the bedroom door at the end of the hall, where the monster in his mother's body just entered.

"Come on, go," whispered the child.

He moved cautiously towards his parents' bedroom. He put his feet quietly, holding the sword in front of him. The bedroom door was slightly ajar. He approached to the door and tried to see through the crack, but it was too dark.

"I'm scared", he whispered to the stuffed tiger, "but if we don't save them from the monsters, no one else will."

Tiger looked into the boy's eyes.

"Mum and dad are the best people in the world. We'll go in and chase the monsters away. Right now," the boy said confidently and pushed the door with his sword. It swung open, and light from the corridor filtered into the room. The woman was lying on the floor on her stomach, her feet towards the door. Father was lying on the bed. The boy came quietly into the room. He went to his mother and squatted beside her. He studied her face. Mum's usual face. Not terrible. The woman was asleep. She breathed deeply through her nose. He watched her back rise as she inhaled, then fall as she exhaled.

"The monsters are away," he whispered. "They have gone by themselves."

The boy got up and went to the bed. He took the blanket that lay crumpled beside his father and covered his mother with it. He lay down beside her and hugged her. He put the tiger in front of the door of the bedroom.

"Guard us while we are asleep," he said to the toy, "if the monsters are back, we will fight."

* * *

Ivan thoughtfully looked at the package of hay for rabbits in the window of the pet shop. Nearby there was a cage with a huge chirping parrot. On the shelf above the hay, there were perches for birds. An ordinary stick, about thirty centimetres long that could be broken off from any tree in the street. The perch, the same as the hay, was packed in a plastic bag. Near the hay and perches, there were price tags.

"Can I help you?" the shop-assistant asked.

Ivan shook his head, not looking back at the girl.

"It is just a perch, but it costs as much as a loaf of bread," he thought. "and hay is even more expensive. It's nonsense, but I should make use of it somehow. If it's sold here, people buy it. It's logical, otherwise it wouldn't be in pet shops. The owner of these shops most likely buys hay and perches from a supplier in bulk. Where does a supplier get all this? He pulls sticks off the trees and puts them in perforated plastic bags? Where does he get the hay? Perhaps he goes to the nearest village and buys hay from the local people. Or maybe he mows and dries hay himself. That's all. Well, there's no other way? Or maybe these are special perches and hay? No, these are just branches and dry grass. If they keep this up, soon the air will be sold in packages.

Ivan approached the shop-assistant, who offered her help a minute ago.

"Hello," Ivan tried to look important, making his voice lower and more adult. "I represent the company "Ecofarm." We produce hay, feed and ... (he thought for a moment.) and other goods for animals. This is our family business."

Ivan invented his story on the move. A girl of about twenty looked at him in silence.

"I've seen some of your goods; I mean hay for rabbits and special perches for birds."

"Yes, we have it on sale," the girl said, "hay, by the way, is not for rabbits only. It is for many other pets."

"I can offer you the same goods twice cheaper than you buy them," Ivan said.

"How do you know how much we buy it for?" the girl asked.

"I do not know," Ivan said, "I do not care, but I can offer a price twice lower than your supplier."

"I see," she said, "I don't manage here, but you can speak to the boss."

"To speak to the boss?"

Ivan thought to himself:

"He won't take me seriously. He will consider me a schoolboy."

"OK," he said, "how can I contact him?"

"Let's go to the checkout," the girl said, "I'll give you his card. Call him and offer your goods."

They went to the checkout. Ivan was very nervous. Sweat broke out on his forehead. The girl reached over the counter and hid behind it. In a few seconds she appeared again and gave Ivan a business card.

"Here it is. Please, call, he might be interested," she said with a sweet smile.

"Thank you", Ivan said, took a business card and immediately put it in his pocket. "Good-bye," he said as he left the store.

Ivan stood in the street near the roadside. He was looking at the business card he was just given in the shop.

"I'm too nervous," he thought and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "It's such a small thing to be nervous about. What's next? It is necessary to get used to communicate with people. Now I need to speak to the shop-manager somehow. What should I say? How should I start? Perhaps, my proposal is stupid... When you just start thinking about your business, everything is so simple, and when you start doing something, everything... everything... is not so simple. Damned! What am I worried about? I must call. No, I'd better call tomorrow. I've already done a lot today."

* * *

Ivan came home. The smell of cigarette smoke hit in his nose from the doorway. Father was smoking in the kitchen. Ivan waved his hand, his father winked back.

"Open the window, smoke's everywhere," he said to his father, taking off the shoes.

Father reached for the window handle without leaving his stool and opened the window. Ivan went into his room, closed the door with a latch and sat on the bed.

"If I decided to start my own business, I often would have to communicate with people," he reflected, "I need to take it easier. Apparently, I have very low self-esteem, since I am so shy and think that I will be perceived as a child, as a schoolboy. And still, why do I care other people's opinion so much? Maybe this shop-manager will appreciate my idea. But nobody ever said that. My ideas have never been supported. My parents always say I'm stupid and dreamy. And as a child... I do not want to remember my childhood. How can I get my self-esteem up if I hear only reproaches? But I'm trying to do something, trying to achieve something. I've been saving up my school lunches money since seventh grade. My classmates laughed at me. And what's now? I have money, and I should invest it properly. I've been saving money for five years. And people laughed at me. Now I have some money, it's about seventy thousand, it's not very much, but the parents are very short of money now. And still my self-esteem is low as it is. Paradox. It seems like the right thing. But my behaviour is still standing out because of to my ideas and actions. All my plans for the future were ridiculed. When I didn't start smoking they laughed and considered me a coward. I just hated picking up cigarette butts or borrowing cigarettes from adults. I was right. But again, I'm not like others, so they believe I am an idiot. Yes, they had low self-esteem themselves. They humiliated me to make themselves seem stronger and more important. Friends and parents influenced me. Their influence was negative. And now I've started doing things that people do not do. I did not follow the standard path, and again I think that I will be perceived as different and ridiculous. I am dissatisfied with my appearance, skinny and tall. The voice is a bit young for my age. Okay, I've somehow resigned with it. But how to get rid of the fear of communication with people? I just have to go ahead. I'm scared, I'm shy, but I will act. No matter what happens. I'll just act. How to become stronger? Go through your fears. Get out of your comfort zone. How to find yourself in life? By siting and thinking? No. Only by acting. My father is a builder. How does he know he's a bad artist? A bad programmer? A bad director? He has no idea of his strong, yet undeveloped, rudimentary qualities. But he knows for sure that he will achieve nothing at the construction site. And he doesn't care. If I don't try different things, I'll never know what I'm capable of. How do I know if I'm a talented actor? By acting! I'll become an actor and check it out. How do I know if I'm a talented writer? By writing a book and checking it out. How do I know if I'm a talented businessman? By trying to start a business. I have an idea for my business. I can't wait any longer. I'll call the shop-manager now.

Ivan began to feel his pockets for his phone.

"What is it?!" he exclaimed and sprang out from the bed.

"Who said that?" he looked around.

"Who says all this? Who uttered this phrase: 'Ivan began to feel his pockets for his phone'?!"

Ivan was frightened. He's heard a voice.

"Who's speaking?" Who said: 'I've heard a voice'?!"

He sat down on the bed and tried to calm down.

"Yes, I sat down on the bed," he said. "Who are you and why are you commenting my actions?"

A smile already appeared on Ivan's face.

"What the hell is going on? Is this a joke? Yes, I sit with a smile, but who said that?"

Ivan stood up.

"Stop commenting my actions!" he said and briskly walked out of the room.

Ivan went into the kitchen where father drank beer and watched TV.

"Did you hear that?!" he asked his father.

"What do you mean?" father asked.

"The voice says that Ivan went into the kitchen where father drank beer and watched TV." He said.

"What?" father said. "What are you talking about, man?"

"You haven't heard anything but me just now?" Ivan asked.

"I hear the TV," his father said, staring blankly at his son.

"Well, just a second, it is necessary to do something," said Ivan.

Ivan turned off the TV.

"There! Did you hear? Just someone said in announcer's voice that I turned off the TV!" Ivan cried.

"What are you doing, I'm watching the match," father grumbled, picked up the TV remote and turned on TV.

"Did you hear anything or not?" his son asked again.

"No, Ivan, I haven't heard anything, you'd better smoke less weed with your friends," father smiled.

"I don't smoke or drink at all, if you didn't know," Ivan said.

"Well done, son. So we raised you well. Now let me watch the football on my only day off, okay?" father got back to his beer.

Ivan turned around and left the kitchen without a word.

"It's gone," he thought. I left the kitchen and didn't hear the announcer said it. Auditory hallucinations? Or what was it? I couldn't get so much nervous at the pet shop to go nuts. Well, I worried a little, that's all. But hallucinations are too much!"

Ivan returned to his room. He sat on the bed. He looked around.

"Hey!" he said.

There was no answer. Ivan thought

"And if I have schizophrenia?" .

"Voice, are you still here?" he asked again.

Silence.

"And if there are ghosts?" Ivan thought. "Or something else, something mystical. How can I sleep after this?"

"Voice, if you actually were, please, answer me."

Ivan sat silently and waited for the answer. The voice gave him the creeps. He climbed onto the bed with his legs and wrapped his arms round his knees.

"Someone described my actions," Ivan thought "or rather, did not describe, but spoke them aloud at the moment when I committed them. I was like a character in a book. Or maybe not at the same time, maybe I did what he described? It was like the author was telling me what to do. And then he just disappeared."

Ivan felt very poor. He felt a lump in his throat, and his heart pounded. He grew hot and cold. He was very scared. It seemed to him that someone invisible was looking at him. Someone was in this room with him. Someone who might want to hurt him. The creature whose voice he had heard knew all about him. These thoughts made Ivan's eyes darkened, he felt lack of air. Ivan got up from the bed and went to the window, barely moving his feet. He leaned out into the street. He felt a little better now, but the feeling that someone was behind him, pressed strongly on the consciousness. He breathed deeply and constantly looked around to see if a stranger were in the room. A monster, a demon, a horrible creature from another dimension that planned to drive him mad. Every time he turned, he looked round the room, Ivan calmed down a little. Then he leant out of the window again, until after a few seconds his body got goosebumps from the invisible gaze behind his back.

* * *

The child was walking hand in hand with his mother. They were crossing the road. They were returning from the nursery school. Mum was late, and he was the last one to pick up. She was in a hurry, and walked a little ahead of him, pulling him by the arm. They crossed the road and turned round the corner of the house. They walked along the pavement passing the entrance halls, stepping over small puddles left after the recent rain. The boy counted the entrance halls.

"...four," he thought, "our is the fourth."

They turned off the pavement and walked to the front door. Mum dialed the code and they went inside. They went upstairs and found themselves near the elevator. The boy pressed the button, and the elevator doors opened.

The child stared at his mother's face as they drove to their floor. Mum was angry today. He could see it in her face. But it was his mother, not that awful woman.

"Every time after the monsters' visit, Mama is angry in the morning," he thought. "she doesn't talk or look at me."

The elevator doors opened. They reached the flat, and mother unlocked the door. The hall was dark and smelled bad. The boy took off his jacket and hung it on a hook. He sat on the floor in a corner and began to pull off his boots. Mum quickly took off her shoes and went to the kitchen. The child, without unlacing his sneakers, somehow pulled them off and went to his room.

"Where did I put it?" he thought, looking at the toys scattered on the floor.

"Ah, here you are," the boy said and went to the tiger lying beside the children's table. The tiger smiled when he saw the boy. They hugged, and the child put the tiger on the floor and sat down in front of him.

"We were brave last night," the child said, "we didn't get scared, and the monsters went away."

The tiger nodded.

"But they'll be back. To defeat monsters, we need to banish them forever," a boy said and looked round room again searching for his sword, but it was not there.

"Maybe I left it in mum's and dad's room," he thought.

The boy raised and took the tiger in his arms.

"Let's get our arms back, and then I'll tell you the plan I came up with in the nursery school," the boy said, and they went out of the room into the corridor.

There was smoke coming from the kitchen. The boy knew this smell well. Parents constantly smoked in the flat. The child darted across the hall and before reaching the kitchen turned to his parents' bedroom.

The curtains were drawn, and the room was dark and gloomy. Dad was out. The parents' bed hasn't been done. The blanket lay on the floor where they had slept that night. A wooden sword lay beside the blanket.

"Fine," the boy said and raised his weapon.

"Darling!" mother called. "Wash your hands and come to eat soup!"

"I'm coming!" he shouted back.

"Wait for me in our room," he said to the tiger and walked briskly into his room. "Today we will gather an army against the monsters and defeat them forever."

The boy placed the tiger next to the teddy bear and the hedgehog. He laid his sword beside them.

"Tell them what you saw last night. I will eat and come back," the boy said to the tiger. "if you meet toy soldiers, invite them to join our army."

The tiger did a serious face and nodded to the boy.

"Darling!" mum called again.

"I'm coming! Coming!" he shouted back.

The child left the room and went to the toilet.

"Mum is talking to me again," he thought as he turned on the tap and adjusted the water. "It's fine."

He was soaping his hands and wondering how they would fight the creatures who stole his parents' bodies at night. The plan he had made up in the nursery school seemed perfect to him.

"What if the monsters don't come today?" the thought struck him. "Although," the child continued reflecting. "If they wouldn't come today, they will come some other time."

Having finished washing his hands, he dried them with a towel and went into the kitchen. A plate with chicken soup was waiting for him on the table. The mother was sitting on a stool.

"Your second dish is in the microwave," she said quietly. "I'm going to take a nap."

"Of course, mum,"' he replied and sat down at the table.

The boy ate his soup and went over his plan in his head. He was no longer afraid of monsters. It was the first time expected them, and he would be glad if they had come this night.

* * *

Two days have passed since Ivan heard the voice. The voice troubled him no longer, but he kept thinking about it. The fear let him go, but every night he was sleeping with the light on and the door open. Ivan decided that if this happens again, he will go to the doctor. He hadn't called the shop-manager yet.

It was evening. Father was sitting on the sofa with a bottle of beer. Mum dozed off in her arm-chair. Ivan was sitting on the floor and leaned to the sofa. He was drinking raspberry tea, his favourite drink. The lights were off, and only TV screen light illuminated the room. He and his father were waiting for a football match. Ivan was not very much interested in the sports, but he enjoyed watching big sport events. When their country competed against another country, it grew more interesting. Before the match they showed news that should have finished already. The journalist talked about the upcoming global financial crisis, and then about the company "Kamenev and partners" and its successful work.

"Businessman Kamenev announced creating a new generation of electric vehicles," the journalist said. "At the press conference they put forward an innovative solution..."

"These rich people are in the TV again," father growled, "Have I come here to watch their sleek faces?"

"Come on, dad, I can't hear it," Ivan said.

"There's nothing to listen to!" father kept growling. "They said the match would start at ten o'clock, and the news hasn't finished yet. We, honest people, are to listen about the rich thieves and how they have invented something new."

"Kamenev is not a thief,"Ivan said.

"Yes, Yes, of course, they all are not thieves at all," father said with a grin.

"What makes you think he's a thief?" Ivan asked and looked at his father.

"What? Do you know how many millions he has?" father said, and took a sip of his beer.

"I've read his biography, and you?" the son asked.

"Me? And what new should I read there? Another rich bastard. He has money enough to buy anything, but he is trying to invent something because he wants money is never enough. They have millions, but they want more and more."

"Maybe money is not his aim this time." Ivan said.

"Oh, yes, there you go again! A rich thief doesn't try for money? You are impossible to talk to, you're just repeating the same thing," father said irritably.

"You did not answer what made you think he is a thief." Ivan asked again.

"Because you can't make millions by honest work!" father raised his voice. "It's impossible to get so much money a month just by working every day and producing something, creating something. A simple man can't earn so much in a lifetime as your what-was-his-name..."

"Of course, it is impossible, if you just go to work and do something with your own hands, as you were told to do. Yes, you cannot become rich, but if you go beyond the limits and come up with something new then you can."

"You'll figure out where to steal something."

"No, you achieved nothing yourself and you cannot admit, that almost all, who have achieved something are honest people in fact. It's easier for you to say that if a man has money, he is a thief, and you are such an honest hard worker! You're justifying yourself. You justify that you never aspired to anything. (father's smile faded.) It is easier to accuse successful people than to move towards your goal! You cannot admit someone received his millions or billions by means of his mind and benefit to society, because if you admit this will mean you are stupid, you could not do things as they could, although we were all born in similar conditions! And you think they're all thieves!"

"You, child! Have you completely lost your mind to speak to father in such a way?" father uttered seriously.

"You, poor in spirits, think that the rich are all thieves, that they are evil. But in fact, evil is people like you! All the achievements of mankind were made by the rich, or the powerful, or the inspired scientists, businessmen, writers, artists. All these people had a lot of money, their money or money of those who believed in their ideas and invested in them! They got much money for their torment! Of course, there are thieves, but they are far, far less! Speaking of the rich, I do not mean politicians and officials!"

"You stop right now! Let's keep it down here, okay?" father was getting angry.

"No, it's not okay! It annoys me when people like you call the rich thieves! Who do you think is driving progress? Poverty? Ghetto? Beggars? How can you help the world and make it better if you can't even help yourself? If you can't even provide yourself? How are you going to help society? Your family is poor, and what will you think about first? About how to develop our world or how to snatch a piece of yourself somewhere? You steal metal from the construction site and sell it to your men, that's just what stealing from the country is."

"It's not stealing, it's the way to feed my family! And feed you, by the way! So shut up or else..."

"No, I'll finish since I've started. I've been thinking about it for a long time, and so, anger, regression and theft are just where the poor are, not the rich ones. The rich are wise and good people. They're more generous than you and me. They spend billions on charity every year. How much money have you spent on charity in your life? Not at all! Kamenev got rich because he wrote a code which allows anyone to open an account in any bank in the world without leaving his home. You wouldn't understand it, but those who have a lot of ideas and think scaled, used his idea, and it made their business easier. He improved the world. Now he wants to get rid of fuel and make electric cars. He also has a project for solar energy power plants. This will improve the environment and reduce the cost of transport. And you say he's a thief? He made money by doing a useful thing to the world, and that thing improved our society. And he continues to do the same. He is not trying to get richer; he is simply carrying out his ideas, and as these ideas improve the world, money sticks to him. And you think that his goal is money, but for the rich in spirit, money is just a tool. Money is a goal for beggars like you! The rich don't work for money and wages like the poor! The rich work on ideas and projects!"

"You! Get out of here! I'll slap you now, you, smartass." Father got up from the sofa and Ivan did the same.

"I'll kill you, is it clear, kid?!"

"Clear, Clear," Ivan answered quietly.

"Go quickly away to your room!"

"I'm eighteen, actually." he objected cautiously, he understood he was out of line and father could slam him.

"That's it, kid." father leaned over and set the bottle on the floor.

"Okay, okay." Ivan muttered and left the room.

Ivan walked briskly into his room. His father did not follow him.

"And thanks to the rich they will fly to Mars... and will cure cancer..." Ivan thought to himself, closing the door on the latch.

* * *

Ivan walked down the street, holding the phone near his ear. He was very nervous, listening to the long beeps from the speaker. In his heart he would have been glad if no one had answered at the other end.

"Hello," Ivan said in a serious tone. "My name is Ivan. I was given your number at the pet shop. I'd like to offer you some hay and..."

He fell silent, because he was interrupted by someone on the other end of the phone.

"For rabbits", Ivan said timidly after a couple of seconds.

...

"Yes, hay for rabbits. Our company can arrange deliveries to your pet shop. Is it interesting for you?"

...

"Why not? I can offer it cheaper..."

...

"I see. And perches for parrots?"

...

"I see."

...

"Fine. Goodbye."

Ivan stopped. He stuffed the phone with the cracked screen into the pocket of his jacket. He felt very absurd.

He called the manager of the pet shop and offered hay for rabbits. And perches for parrots. The director did not even at first understand what he was called for. A schoolboy is calling and offers partnership. A child decided to start a business. A smartass. A clown. Perches for parrots... Such thoughts swirled chaotically in Ivan's mind. Suddenly he felt very ashamed. He imagined how ridiculous he looked, and what the shop-manager whom Ivan did not even see has thought of him.

Ivan was depressed. He spent so many days tuning in to this conversation, replaying possible questions and answers. And he's been knocked off in less than thirty seconds. The business idea failed. He has to invent something new.

Ivan stood with a puzzled look and looked at the passing cars.

"People have so much money," he thought, "where did they get these cars? I feel like coming straight to the very first man, grab him by the throat and ask "well, tell me, tell me, where did you get so much extra money to buy yourself such a car? What do you know that I don't?!" Just millions of cars, expensive or not. It seems like everyone knows where to get the money except me, my family and friends. Damned!

"Hello, Ivan," the young man said and held out his hand.

"Oh, Sergei, hi," Ivan said, waking up from his thoughts.

They shook hands.

"Why are you standing here? I'm walking and see you standing here and looking somewhere. I waved, and you do not see," Sergei said with a smile.

"Ah... Yeah... Just mulling over some business," Ivan said.

"What are you doing? How are you? We haven't seen each other for six months," Sergei said.

"Well... so... I started some business with partners, but the negotiations were unsuccessful and I left it. I'm now trying to do things on the move as they say," Ivan answered and smiled, scratching his head.

"Cool! And I just came from the Uni," Sergei said.

"What did you do there? And... you... Have you enrolled somewhere?" Ivan asked.

"Yes, in spring. To a free branch," Sergei answered, "and now I went for a class."

"Well done. What do you want to be?"

"I will build railways. More precisely, participate in the design."

"That's cool, Sergei, congratulations!"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Well... Do they pay good money at your railways?"

"Oh, leave it," Sergei smiled. "There's no place where they pay good"

"Yeah", Ivan said with a long sigh, "I see".

"But the work isn't too difficult. I'll sit at the office. I won't have to carry heavy things," Sergei said.

"Yes, it's better than nothing, to get at least something in this life," Ivan said.

"That's it. And how are things with you?" Serega asked.

"Well...I'm trading so-so, it's a long story..."

"Right, Ivan, well... I'm happy for you, what can I say... I'm glad you were able to manage something. People said you were hopeless, and I always said that Ivan would still show himself. Honestly, I'm really glad you've found your way."

"I'm glad you went to University. If your dream was to design railways, of course."

"Well, I cannot say it was my dream, my mother already works there, maybe she will give me a promotion after the Uni, but there is no opportunity to dream here."

Sergei stretched his hand to Ivan.

"I'll go, I have plans for today, it was nice to meet you. Let's go out someday? We can call the guys from school. I haven't seen them since we graduated. That's not right."

"We surely can," Ivan said, shaking him by the hand, "call on me."

"OK," Sergei said.

"Good luck."

They went different ways but in a moment Ivan turned back and looked at Sergei.

"There is no opportunity to dream here," Ivan quoted Sergei's words to himself. "They all speak the same. Don't they feel disgusted? I remember he dreamed to be a pianist. And now he's studying to be an engineer. His parents help him find a job. And he will work there from Monday to Friday until he retires. There'll be no room for dreams. Dreams are for the naive, for the stupid. It's good that not all the people are like that. There are exceptions. It is good that there are naive dreamers. Otherwise, there would be no pianists in the world. And many more men who would not be. And a man would not fly into space, if someone did not start to dream of flying to the stars in the first place.

* * *

Ivan came in the flat. There was nobody at home. The parents were at work. His father still did not speak to him after what Ivan had told him. But he did not worry about it. He believed he had said what he thought. Ivan took off his shoes and went to the kitchen. He put water on the stove to boil to make tea (electric kettle was broken, and they have to wait for the salary to buy a new one.) and turned on the TV. The speaker said it usually took about ten years between the global financial crises. Ten years have passed since the last crisis, and now the stock prices of all companies are falling rapidly. What was that? A temporary decrease of the stock market or the beginning of a new global crisis?

"Should we care?" Ivan told to himself, "the crisis or not, we still have no money. We won't get poorer."

The news was over. The advertising began. They showed children's clothes for autumn. Clothes and prices flashed on the screen.

"Who is all this for," thought Ivan. "Who will buy it for such a price? You buy a jacket in the autumn for such a price, and in spring it is already small."

Suddenly an idea hit him. They kept talking about children's clothes on TV, but Ivan did not listen.

"It's brilliant", Ivan's hands were shaking with joy, "All of us are poor here. The neighbours are poor. There are poor people in the house across the yard, too. And in house across the street people have no money either. The neighbourhood is poor. And there is the same situation at mother's work. When I was at school the guys dressed as they could. I must use it! What is the target audience here? Who can afford to buy new things for the children here? Valentina Sergeevna with her children Sasha and Misha? Not a million years. Or that woman from the fifth entrance with many children... Not at all...."

Ivan opened the fridge and pulled out a jar of jam and soup.

"If I go to the next neighbourhood and use some of my savings to buy cheap children's autumn clothes there, and then try to sell it here, then... then I see no reason why they wouldn't be bought at additional small interest."

He took a plate from the shelf above the washbowl and began to pour soup into it with a ladle.

"My prices will be low and poor people will buy clothes for their children. And those poor people from whom I will buy clothes, and whose children have already grown out of these clothes, will receive at least some money from me. Everyone gets profit. Everyone benefits. Everyone is all right. These people get money; those people get clothes and I... and I get money, too! It's real benefit to people. What a good idea to create a social store! Since we have only the poor in our poor neighbourhood, it is necessary to work with the poor. To work at their level."

Ivan put the soup into the microwave. He looked at the water in the pot. It was not boiling yet.

"It didn't work with the hay and the hell with that. What kind of hay at all? How could I make such a stupid thing up and phone the shop-manager? Don't you need sticks for parrots? Oh! Oh, really! And why? Maybe you will buy hay?"

Ivan laughed, realising all the nonsense of his first project. The first project that he tried to implement. Because before that he had many ideas which never worked.

The microwave beeped, and Ivan pulled out a hot plate of soup. He touched the soup with his finger, it was cool.

"As if this microwave was designed specially to heat up the plate, not its content," Ivan thought.

He turned off the stove and went to his room to eat.

"I'll try to make an advertisement on the Internet that I will buy children's clothes in bulk," he thought as he walked down the corridor. "I will invest one-third of my savings in project."

Ivan went into his room, thinking about the details of his new idea, put the plate on the computer table and sat down on a chair.

"You? Again?!" he shouted, jumping up from his chair.

Ivan went to the centre of the room.

"Yes, as you can see, I went out to the centre of the room," he said to the voice. "Let's comment on something else."

Ivan was unafraid, although he was alone in the flat.

"Really, I'm not afraid", Ivan said and then added, "Are you the author?"

"Yes," the voice said.

"Well, the author. Yeah. Great. I knew it. I'm going mad," Ivan said tranquilly.

"I am the author of this book," the voice said again.

"I supposed that. What if we're all characters in someone's story? Why haven't I heard you before?" Ivan asked.

"You can hear me only when I want you to."

"It is clear that the author likes to get in touch with his characters."

"This isn't my first book, and I don't usually engage in dialogue with my characters but this time I get in touch with you."

"Wow! What's your name? ".

"Max Maximov".

"Wow! I thought of something like that, and it just happened! I have so many questions! How will this story end?!"

"I don't know yet; I haven't finished it."

"Can you kill me at the end?"

"I can if I want to make a sad ending."

"No. Please, don't. You're kidding, aren't you?"

"No, I really haven't decided whether to kill you in the end or not."

"Max... Max ... What should I do to make everything okay? Can you write that I, for example, found money on the street or something like that?"

"I can write anything, look..."

Ivan's legs gave out, and he fell to the floor. Ivan slapped his thigh, paused for a few seconds, realising what had happened, and then screamed:

"I believe! I believe! Bring it back."

"Wait till I write," I said.

A second later Ivan's legs could control his legs again. He sat on the sofa and looked somewhere upward.

"Max, please, don't joke in such a way, all right?"

"Ok."

"Why did you contact me?"

"Just because. This is my book, and I'm free to do whatever I want."

"Can anyone else hear you?"

"It's just you now, but I can write whatever I want. If I want, I can make your entire world hear me."

"It is not very pleasant to realise myself depend for everything on man that can do me anything he wants. I hope you are kind."

"I'm kind, don't worry. But to me you're not human, so I don't care what happens to you. I have to go now. I'm tired of writing this text, and I want to have some tea."

"Wait! Wait! Will you contact me again?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I will want tomorrow."

"Give me money, please. Write that I found a purse, at least a small one."

No one answered him. Ivan waited a couple of seconds and asked me again:

"Max? Are you there?"

"What am I saying?" Ivan thought, "he's here, of course, he's writing my thoughts now. My head is going around. I need to tell everyone about it! But who will believe me?

Ivan rubbed the back of his head.

"What if I'm mad?!" he said aloud. "How can I prove to myself that this conversation happened?! No idea. When I thought I was a character in the book, and then the author... this Maximov spoke to me.

"But my legs gave out. I fell, it was true. He wrote so, and they gave out. So it's not my fantasy or the voice in my head. Although suddenly it seemed to me that I fell, and I did not fall actually? But if somebody is reading it now... That's it! The reader! If I am a character of the book, someone is to read about me now? This man can turn the page back and make sure, that voice was and I really fell. But I can't. Ah, nuts. Max said he hadn't finished the book yet. But if someone is reading it now, then he has already finished it. In the reader's world, the book is finished. And in the world of Maximov, it is still in the process. And in my world... my world is a madhouse."

* * *

Having finished his soup, the child put the plate in the sink, on top of a pile of dirty dishes, and took a second dish out of the microwave. Sausages and potatoes. He had sausages almost every day for lunch. The parents did not buy meat. Meat was very expensive, and sausages were cheap.

"Why do they go to work if they still have no money," he thought, biting off a tasteless sausage. "I'll have a lot of money when I grow up. I'm not just going to work. I'll buy a car for my dad and will buy all the toy blocks I find in the store. Or maybe mum and dad work poor because of monsters? Maybe if I chase the monsters away, they'll have a lot of money. Soon I'll find it out."

The child ate all the potatoes and half of the sausage. He threw the other half into the bucket. He put the plate by the sink, because there was no more room in it for it was filled with the dirty dishes.

The boy went out into the corridor.

"Thanks, mum, I ate everything," he said, peering into the bedroom.

Mother was lying on the bed and said nothing.

"Asleep," he thought and closed the door of her bedroom. "Monsters steel their energy. Dad's probably asleep at work, too."

The child went to his room and sat down next to his stuffed toy friends - a tiger, a bear and a hedgehog.

"Did you tell them everything that happened last night?" he asked the tiger.

The tiger nodded and let out a low growl.

"Will you help us in the battle against the wicked monsters?" the boy asked.

The stuffed toys nodded.

"Great", the boy said with a smile, "we're stronger together. I'll tell you my plan now."

The bear pointed to the box.

"What is it? What do you mean?" the child asked, and then realised what the bear meant. "Yes! Soldiers! We need to pull and arrange them. Let them listen, too. They'll help us. They can fight best of all!"

The boy took the box and shook the plastic soldiers out. Small red warriors jumped out from the box onto the floor. There were about twenty of them. They were all in different positions. Some of them were even riders; some held a spear, or a sword or a bow.

"Form a row!" the child commanded.

The soldiers began to form a line in front of the boy. Thirty seconds later, they stood straight, each with his weapon ready. The soldiers waited for a command. The child surveyed the formation.

The stuffed toys approached the boy who was sitting in front of the plastic army. The tiger jumped into the child's arms.

"Soldiers!" the boy appealed. "The wicked monsters steal my mum and dad's bodies. We must drive the monsters away. I can't do it alone. I always hid under the bed when scary people with ugly faces came instead of mum and dad. I'm not alone now. The tiger, the bear and the hedgehog are with me now. I ask you to help us to win terrible monsters. We can't save our parents without you. And I love them very much."

The soldiers listened to the boy in silence.

"Are you ready to fight for me?" the boy asked the plastic army.

"Yes!" the soldiers said in unison.

"Are you ready to die for me?" the child asked again.

"Ready!" the team shouted cheerfully.

The child smiled.

"Our army is getting bigger and bigger," he thought.

"Listen to me carefully, friends," the boy began. "I've got the plan. When the monsters steal mum and dad's bodies again, we'll tie them up. Last night tiger and I tried to find the rope, but it was not there. We looked in the wardrobe and couldn't find it. Today I stole skipping ropes in the nursery school. Not exactly stole, but borrowed, I will bring them back, I promise! I really-really need skipping ropes right now. I'm not a thief. I'll put them on a shelf near the dining room, and no one will notice they were missing. Well, what I was talking about... Ah, the plan... so... we'll tie the monsters with skipping ropes!"

The boy looked at the stuffed toys, then at the soldiers again.

"That's the plan," he said, "you probably think, how are we going to tie them? Yes, it will be difficult. But I will threaten them with my sword. They'll put their hands up, and we'll tie their legs and then their hands."

The toys listened to the boy attentively.

"And ne-e-e-ext," the boy drawled. "We'll tell the wicked man and woman to let mother and father go! Are you with me?!" the boy shouted.

"Let's chase the monsters away!" the soldiers answered in unison.

The stuffed toys nodded confidently.

The boy was delighted and clapped his hands. Then he grabbed his stuffed friends and hugged them.

* * *

"Well, I am a character of the book," Ivan thought, sitting on the sofa in the room, "and now, it turns out, somebody is probably reading me, or rather, not me, but this story. They are using smartphones or maybe tablets."

"Hey, reader!" Ivan looked around, as if expected to see someone. "Yes, Yes, you! I'm talking to you. Hi!"

He flopped down on his back. He lay staring at the ceiling.

"Reader, just imagine you are reading all this at home, or in transport. And I'm here. Imagine what's like to find out you're a character in a book? Maybe I'm crazy."

A smile appeared on Ivan's face.

"Listen, reader, do you have any troubles now? Certainly, you do. So, your troubles are just nothing! A trifle! You are real, and it appears that I am just letters. I wish you could answer me. Although... if the book is not finished yet, then you are not supposed to hear me at the moment. Or more precisely, you can't imagine me in your head now, and I was actually talking to myself all the time. Maybe, I should pretend nothing happened and live further? I'll just forget about it. No, how can I forget? I'd better see a doctor."

Ivan sat down at the computer (it was turned on.) and typed in the search engine the phrase "what should I do if I hear a voice in my head?" He clicked the first link. The link led to a medical blog, where the author wrote about schizophrenia. Ivan looked through the article and stopped at the symptoms of the disease.

"Auditory and visual hallucinations", he pointed out.

"What is more likely?" Ivan thought. "To be a character in the book or to be a schizophrenic? It must be fun for a reader to watch me now, especially if the book is true."

Ivan flipped through the entire site, glancing at the text.

"I need to read something else on this subject."

He opened the next link in the search engine. This time it led to a website of a private clinic. The title of the article was, "I think I have schizophrenia. What should I do?"

Ivan read the article carefully. It was about the causes of the disease, its symptoms, the age group at risk and the treatment. Ten minutes later, after he had finished reading, he got up from the computer and went to the toilet. He opened cold water and washed his face.

"Here we are," he thought and sat down on the edge of the bath. "No, of course, we can assume this is a book, but it is impossible. I'm probably just schizophrenic. What's better? Being mentally ill or being a character in a book? I guess to be ill is better in this case; at least I'm real. What if I'm a character in a book about a schizophrenic? It's a double disaster! No, I have to admit I'm sick. And I need to see a doctor."

Ivan returned to his room and sat back down at the computer.

"I can't get into this private clinic. Their prices are too high. I have to go to a free state clinic."

Ivan took out his cell phone and dialled one hundred and three. After a few rings, a woman answered.

"Hello," Ivan said. "I urgently need a doctor!"

...

"I don't even know how to say it. I'm hallucinating."

...

"He says I'm not a real person; I'm a character in a book. And people all around turn out to be its characters, too."

...

"If the ambulance comes, will they take me to hospital?"

...

"I see. I'm not ready to go to hospital yet."

...

"How do I sign up? I don't visit hospitals and don't know what to do there."

...

"So, if I have such a problem, they'll just make me an appointment with the doctor immediately?"

...

"And if there are many people waiting in line?"

...

"I see, thank you, goodbye."

"I shouldn't forget the insurance policy." Ivan thought.

Ivan jumped up from his chair and ran into the hallway. He opened the file drawer and rummaged a small stack of papers and pulled out the right one. He folded the sheet four times and put the insurance policy in his pocket. He put on his shoes and ran out into the staircase. He went down the steps without waiting for the elevator and ran to the state clinic. It was five-minute walk from their house. Ivan was running. As he ran, he thought what he would say to the doctor.

Approaching the building of the clinic, he stopped for a moment to regain his breath so he could explain everything to the doctor calmly, without breathing hard. Ivan went inside. At the far end of the hall, he saw a woman in a white coat sitting at a reception. He walked up to her.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," the woman said and put down the magazine she was reading.

"Well, I don't even know what to begin with," Ivan said, "I was hallucinating. I heard a voice. It was more than once. The voice I hear tells me all sorts of nonsense."

Ivan spoke softly, so that people round him did not pay attention to him. The woman looked at him in silence.

"I called one one zero three", he went on, "and they told me to go to your clinic, as I understood. And they said I'll be examined by a doctor without a preliminary record or an admission ticket, or whatever it is necessary to have, I don't know. What should I do? Will the doctor see me?"

"Well," the woman said, "hallucinations..." (she thought for a few seconds). "I think you need to see the doctor on duty first, he'll see you without an appointment. The insurance, please.

Ivan handed over the insurance policy. The woman took it and began typing something on the computer. Half a minute later she returned Ivan his insurance along with the admission ticket.

"The office number one hundred and one," she said.

"Where should I go?" Ivan asked.

"Go on the left. There's a door near the stairs. If the doctor is out, please, wait."

"Thank you," Ivan said and went in the direction he was showed.

He went along the corridor. People sat on chairs to the left and to the right, waiting. When he reached the end of the hall, he turned to the right and came out to the stairs. Near the stairs there was a door number 101. The door swung open and a woman came out.

Ivan looked into the room.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," the doctor said.

"May I come in?"

"Please."

Ivan went into doctor's office, sat down on a chair and put the ticket on the table.

"How can I help you?" the doctor said.

"I have hallucinations," he said.

The doctor looked at Ivan precisely and asked:

"What are they like? Describe them."

"Auditory. I hear a voice."

"How long has this been going on?"

"A few days."

"And what does that voice tell you?"

"It may seem strange..."

"It is already strange that you hear a voice. Tell it like it is."

"Indeed," Ivan smiled," well... first, the voice was describing my actions."

"So it was repeating what you were doing?"

"Not exactly, he, as the author of the book, stated all my actions. As if our world were a book and the author wrote it."

"You do something and then you hear the description of your actions? Am I right?"

"Yes! I heard it. Then it stopped and then started again, and I spoke to that voice."

"Did it get in touch with you?"

"Yeah. He said he was the author of the book."

"What book?"

"I tell you, our world is a book. And he, this voice, is the author. All that is happening now is as if he is sitting and writing. Or maybe he has already written and is reading now. Or maybe it is not he who reads, but the reader who reads, if the book is already published. Most likely he is still writing it, he said the story wasn't finished yet, so... Yes, he is probably writing. It's complicated... it gives me brain pain when I start thinking about it."

"Let's be logical." the doctor said, "if the author is writing this book and all these conversations, such as ours, for example, it turns out that he is now talking to himself out there, outside our world, or, as you call it, outside this book, where we exist. Right?"

"Well... it turns out so. He writes my thoughts and words, and yours, too."

"Yes, and everything we say or think is put in words on paper now for the reader to read."

"I think not for the reader to read because they haven't received the book yet, it's not finished."

"So, things that haven't been described, or said, or thought out, somehow must not exist until they are described or spoken by the characters or by the voice of the author. Right?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know the colour of the walls in this office now?

"Yes, I see them."

"But the author did not describe it. We didn't talk about the colour of the walls. The reader and the author cannot know it unless we have spoken of it. But you see the walls. You know what color they are. It turns out that you know more than the author. So you are not a figment of the author's imagination, otherwise, he would know everything that you know. So you can remember many moments of your past, which are known to no one. You're a real person, just like me."

"Well... I don't know... your proof sounds a little strange. Maybe the author described the walls of this room; we just did not hear it. He could also describe my past, but we don't know that. Maybe he described my childhood at the beginning of the book, for example. Or maybe he is writing a parallel story we can't know about."

"Well," the doctor rubbed his chin.

"And one more thing! Once my legs went numb. And then I began to feel them again!"

"You just stopped feeling your legs for no reason?"

"Not exactly. The author said he could write anything in this book, and to prove it he wrote that I couldn't feel my legs, and I stopped feeling them, and then he wrote that I could feel them again, and I felt them. That's the point."

The doctor silently looked at Ivan for a while, and Ivan looked at the doctor. He rubbed his chin again, apparently thinking about what he'd heard.

"What?" Ivan asked.

"What an interesting case," the doctor said, "can you get in touch with this author now?"

"I don't know, but I can try."

"Try."

Ivan looked up and said:

"Max."

"Is his name Max?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah."

"Why are you looking up? Do you think he's above?"

"I don't know, but I imagine that, yes, he looks at everything from above."

"I see. Well, I won't interrupt. Talk to him."

"Max," Ivan called me again.

"What?" I decided to answer because I thought it was funny.

"Hi, so, I have come to the doctor with this problem," Ivan told to me.

"I see. You know, I've just written about it," I answered him.

"Yes, exactly," Ivan grinned.

"What does he tell you?" the doctor asked.

"Nothing special yet," he answered.

"Ask him why I can't hear him." the doctor said.

"Because I don't want him to hear me," I said to Ivan.

"He doesn't want you to hear him," he told the doctor.

"Why not?" the doctor asked.

"Because this character is not interesting to me," I told Ivan. "I did not write his character in general before your visit here, Ivan, this doctor did not exist at all. He exists only at this moment, while you're talking to him. When you leave the room, he'll disappear."

"He says he is not interested in you," said Ivan, "and you were not in the book before I came to you, and when I leave you will disappear."

"But I remember my yesterday and my past very well," the doctor said.

"Tell him that he remembers it because I just wrote it," I said.

"You remember that because the author just wrote it in such a way," Ivan said.

"I see, and what will happen to me when you leave the room?" the doctor asked. "Shall I die?"

"No, you just disappear, you will be in oblivion, you will not be, I think," Ivan said.

"That's right," I said.

"Try to leave the office," the doctor said. "and count to ten."

"OK," Ivan said.

He got up, went out into the corridor, and slammed the door.

"I'm still here," the doctor's voice came behind the door a few seconds later, "I haven't disappeared anywhere. You can come back."

"He didn't disappear because the scene with him isn't over yet," I told Ivan.

He walked into the doctor's office and sat down on the chair again.

"Do you hear a description of your actions now? Did he describe the way you went in and out of the office?" the doctor asked.

"No, now I can only hear him talking to me," Ivan said, "I heard the description of my actions only twice, but it passed quickly."

"I see", the doctor said. "Let's go to extremes. Now ask the author to write something for I could believe you. Make sure that it is all for real or, conversely, not for real. For example, let him write, that a gold bar appears on my table, oh, no, not this way... Let's try something more delusional, more impossible. For example let him write that I have become... a monster or something extraordinary. Tell him that. Ask him to do so, and you will see that he has no power to influence our world. If he affects anything, it is only within your consciousness. He'll start looking for a reason or an excuse, why I can't be a monster."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Ivan asked.

"Of course, don't worry."

"Max," Ivan said and looked up again.

At that moment a nurse peered into the room.

"Do you have Kozlova's file?" she asked.

"Oh, Tanya, come in, please," the doctor told her.

Tatiana came in.

"Can I help you?" the nurse asked.

"Yes," the doctor said, "we've got an interesting case here. The young man hears voices and claims that we are all characters in the book."

Ivan looked at the nurse in embarrassment.

"It's really interesting," the nurse said and smiled sweetly.

"Now you just stay here. If you notice something unusual, inform us immediately," the doctor said to Tatiana, and then turned to Ivan. "Here is the second witness. She came by accident but just in time."

"How brilliant I am," Tatiana said playfully.

"Well, let's go on," the doctor said.

"Should I call the author?"

"Yes, Yes."

"Max," Ivan said, "can you hear me?"

The nurse glanced from the doctor to Ivan with a puzzled smile.

"Max, can you prove these people and me that you are not a figment of my imagination?" Ivan asked.

The office fell silent. The participants of this mini experiment, exchanged glances with each other.

"No answer?" after about thirty seconds, the doctor asked.

"He doesn't always answer," Ivan said.

"I see," the doctor said.

"Do you still need me?" the nurse asked.

"I think we don't, Tanya, you may go," the doctor said.

"What do you want?" there was a voice in Ivan's head.

"He's here!" Ivan exclaimed.

"Great! Tanya, please, wait a minute."

"All right," the nurse replied and sat on the chair.

"But it's not him!" Ivan said fearfully. "Max? Is that you? What happened to your voice?"

"What do you mean, 'not him'?" the doctor asked.

"What do you want?" the voice repeated.

The voice was rough. Low. He sounded hostile with hatred.

"Max? What's wrong with you?" Ivan asked.

"It's not Max," the voice said.

"Ask him to do what we were talking about," the doctor said.

"I like the idea with the gold on the table better," Ivan said.

"Let it be gold," the doctor agreed, "it is even stupid to make a monster from me."

"Max," Ivan said, "Oh, that is not Max, but... how do I address you? Who are you?"

"It's none of your business," the voice barked and at the same moment a bar of gold appeared on the table. The doctor looked at the gold, then at Ivan.

"Is it a joke?!" the doctor jumped up from the table.

The nurse stared at the gold that had just appeared from nowhere.

"I told you it was just a book," Ivan said. "now there are no doubts."

The doctor took the bar of gold into his hands. Suddenly his head began to turn around.

"Help!" he shouted. "What's going on?"

His neck rotated a hundred and eighty degrees. The doctor was already making strange noises, there were groans mixed with hoarseness. Ivan could see the back of his head and the skin curled round his neck. The doctor's hands were broken at the elbows. He faced Ivan. He put his fingers in his mouth and slowly tore his cheeks. Blood ran down his back. The nurse's face got white, she was seised with terror and unable to move.

"Tanya," the doctor hissed indistinctly through his torn mouth.

He went into a slight crouch and immediately jumped on the nurse. They fell on the floor. The doctor dug his teeth into her lips, trying to tear them away. The nurse screamed in pain and rested her hands in his face. There was blood everywhere. Ivan jumped to the doctor and tried to pull him away. A woman in a white coat peered to the office towards the noise. When she saw the bloody scuffle, she screamed and immediately slammed the door.

"Help!" Ivan shouted, grabbing the doctor by the waist. "Somebody, help!"

The doctor tore off the girl's upper lip with an abrupt movement of his head, spat it out and bit Tatiana's throat. The cry of the unhappy nurse did not cease for a second. The doctor bit her again and again, spitting the bitten pieces of Tatiana on the floor. Ivan grabbed a chair and hit the doctor on the chest, which was arched as a wheel. Ivan swung again. At that moment a security rushed into the office. Without hesitation, he grabbed the doctor by the head and began to pull him away from the girl, but all in vain. The nurse stopped making any sounds. Blood mixed with saliva bubbled from the hole in Tatiana's throat. The red puddle beneath them spread out into the corridor. Other patients stared at this terrible scene with horror through the open door. Some people stayed watching, and others ran away in panic. No one came to help. Spitting out another piece of the nurse's flesh, the doctor spun around and slammed the security. The old man staggered aside. Ivan stood with a chair in his hands, preparing to strike the distorted creature. The doctor stood in front of them. His white coat was red with blood. Ivan took a few deep breaths, brandishing the chair, but soon realised that the doctor froze. He stood like a wax figure. The security came to his senses and shouted:

"Hit him, what are you waiting for?!"

Ivan lowered the chair. The gory man, his elbows twisted, his bones sliced the skin of his arms and sticking out, just stood there, frozen. Blood dripped from his torn mouth. Tatiana's body lay at the doctor's feet. A bubble rose from the hole in her throat. Ivan put the chair down.

"What's wrong with him?" the security asked.

"I don't understand," Ivan said and walked round the doctor.

Some other hospital staff rushed to the office. A few people in white coats crowded at the door.

Ivan felt to be in zero-gravity. There was white void around. It was like a white room, but it was not clear how far the walls were and what size the room was. Ivan was floating in space. The space was filled with oxygen. The temperature was about twenty degrees above zero. There air pressure was like on earth.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Max! What was that?! Where am I? What the hell are you doing? Did you decide to mock me!" Ivan shouted. "Why did you do all this?!"

"Hold on, I didn't write all this," I responded to Ivan.

"Who then?! Did you see what happened?!"

"I did. The last thing I wrote was how you went out of the office and then came into the office," I said.

"And then?!" Ivan could not calm down.

"Then I went to bed. While I was writing about you running to the hospital, it was already night here. I usually write five thousand letters a day. I wrote my quota and went to bed. Now I opened the book file and saw that the text was changed. I didn't write the damned episode."

"Who wrote it?! Where am I?! What's happening?!"

"I saw what was going on with you and carried you into the void, because I don't know what to write next or how to continue the story."

"Take me home and make the whole story with the doctor turned out a dream!

"Don't be bossy here, okay?"

"I'm not, I just don't understand why this is all for? If you can, make my life normal and leave me alone!"

"I can leave you alone, I can even delete the file with this story now."

"Hold on. No. I don't mean that. Just bring me back to my world, to my room, and let me live my ordinary life."

"Do you realise that you live and move through the story and life, if it's more comfortable for you, because I don't leave you alone?"

"Yes, I understand, but..."

"If I leave you alone, you'll disappear. So don't ask me to. Anyway, I'm sitting here talking to myself. From the outside it probably seems strange."

"It's interesting, of course, but I feel like I'm a real person, and don't care if you're talking to yourself or not. After what I went through today, I don't have much to worry about! Please bring me home. I'm not comfortable hanging here."

Ivan was in his room. He was sitting at the computer table and having tea with jam.

"Thank you," Ivan said.

"You're welcome," I said.

"Will these horrible events continue in my world?" Ivan asked.

"No, they won't," I said, "there's probably a panic in the hospital right now; I haven't written yet that the doctor is alive and everything is all right. But I will."

"Write, please, otherwise they will come to me with interrogation. It would be logical to write the explanation after such a case," Ivan said and took a sip from the mug.

The doctor is alive. Nothing happened. Tatiana is also alive. Everyone except Ivan have forgotten what had happened.

"I've written."

"Thank you."

"So you talked to a person who wrote the piece with the doctor?" I said.

"Yes," Ivan said, "and that man was very unpleasant. His voice was... I don't know, just nasty, angry, as if he hated me, but I don't know why."

"I could see. I've read this piece."

"You told me this is not your first book."

"Yes, but there was nothing like that before."

"Maybe you're going mad? Maybe, you are crazy?" Ivan asked.

"Maybe, you're crazy?"

"Me?"

"Yes, Ivan, you sit in your room and communicate with the voice in your head. You are convinced that your life is a book. I convinced you. Maybe you're just schizophrenic. Which of us looks like a psycho more?"

"You know, I've got an idea..."

"What?"

"Only a reader of the book can objectively say whether I am a character of the book or am simply insane," Ivan pondered. "If I'm a character of the book, the readers are probably reading it and they know what's going on, but I don't. Can't a reader tell me if I'm in a book or just sick?"

"But the book hasn't been published yet," I said.

"We think the book hasn't been published yet, but for a reader it's already future, and now he or she is reading all we are talking about. For them the book has been published. If the reader exists, of course. I still think that I'm not crazy, though... but who the hell knows, I am in a mess already."

"For the book to reach the reader I must at least finish it first. Okay... it doesn't matter, what matters now is that I'm pretty sure I didn't write the story with a doctor. I went to bed and got up in the morning, and, in fact, it's morning now and I'm talking to you. I didn't get down to writing the previous episode."

"Could you make it morning for me too?" Ivan said and looked out the window. It was dark outside.

"I want to finish this chapter and write that you went to bed. It is very convenient to finish the chapter with the hero fallen asleep, although it's rather trivial."

"Indeed, I would be glad to fall asleep, but how can I sleep after such a nightmare. By the way, have you ever thought you had a split personality?" Ivan asked.

"No."

"And did anybody interfere with your book before?"

"No. Nobody."

"What if you're possessed by a demon?"

"Are you kidding? It's not a split personality, and demons don't exist. I'll find out what it was or who it was. Maybe you can help me with that."

"Me? How can I help?" Ivan was surprised.

"If this one will come back again and begin to write the story, try to talk to him."

"How should I talk to him if that guy's writing everything, including my lines?" Ivan asked.

"I don't know. Just talk to him and try to find out who he is. You're the only one who's been in touch with him."

"All right, I'll try."

"Thank you."

"If I help you deal with this, will you help me?" Ivan took a sip of tea.

"We shall see."

"I want to get out of poverty, let me do it."

"You can't just get out of poverty. You have a long way to go. I won't give you easy money. Easy money always implies hard work, which is not visible from the outside. You will go further through the story, through your life, and you will act. Only having passed the test, you can succeed."

"So you won't write money for me?"

"No."

"Will I succeed?"

"I don't know, I told you, the book isn't finished yet."

"Then why should I help you if you don't want to help me?"

"Why not? Perhaps, I will help somehow."

"Money?"

"No."

"What else can you do for me?"

"There are many positive factors on the way to success besides money."

"How dim you are! You do not say anything concrete. All right," Ivan said with displeasure.

"Will you find out who he is?"

"I'll try."

"Don't forget this is your problem, too."

* * *

The child sat on the floor and built a tower of building blocks. The stuffed animals watched him silently from the bed. The soldiers came to the door and stood facing it. They were impatient to rush into battle against the enemy. The boy put a block on a block and looked at the children clock. He didn't know how to use it, but he knew when to go to bed. At nine o'clock in the evening, his mother calls him to wash and brush his teeth. He knew what nine o'clock looked like. Nine o'clock at night is when the little hand is on the left, and the big one is on the top. Now the position of the hands on the dial was incomprehensible for the boy, which meant that it is still too early to sleep. It was dark outside. He knew he was going to bed soon, but he didn't know exactly when. As he put the blocks one on another, the boy thought about how great it was to be an adult. Adults know the time and can go anywhere alone. And they can buy themselves chocolate and juice. Also adults fear anything. Unlike adults, the bay was growing more and more scared, the daytime courage slowly evaporated. He knew the night was getting closer and closer. And with the night, demons might come. And where do they come from? The parents of Vitalik, his friend from the kindergarten, din't turn into monsters at night. Their faces don't change, and they didn't have those terrible black eyes. Vitalik had an ordinary mother and an ordinary father. The child finished the tower and went to his bed. He sat down on the floor.

"Is it tall?" he asked the tiger, pointing to his building.

The tiger nodded, and the boy smiled.

"Soon my mother will call me to wash and brush my teeth," he said, "and then we will go to bed. But we won't fall asleep. We will lie and wait. Then we'll sneak out of the room and attack the monsters, if they come today."

The animals looked at each other.

"Are you afraid?" the boy asked.

The animals nodded.

"Uh... I'm also scared now. It wasn't so scary in this morning."

The boy climbed up on the bed and sat down between his plush friends.

"I'm not in the mood to play," he said. "We'd better just sit down."

They sat in silence on the bed until the door opened and knocked down the soldiers who stood facing it. The child shuddered. Mother looked in. The normal mother.

"Why are you so quiet?" she said softly.

"Just sitting there," the child said.

"It's time to wash and go to bed," mum said.

"I know, I know."

"Come on, it's almost nine o'clock," she said, leaving the child's room.

"It will begin soon, " the child said to the beasts. He picked up the soldiers. They were angry and grumbled about being hit by the door. The boy put them to the side of the door in a pile and left the room.

In the hallway, he bumped into dad. He had just returned home.

"Hi, man," the father held out his hand to the child. "How's the hero today?"

"Actually I'm a knight," replied the boy, and then added: "It's good, I'm going to bed."

"Go then, you'll get up early tomorrow to go to kindergarten," said father.

"Beans and chicken for dinner!" mum called from the kitchen.

"That's nutritious," father drawled and went into the kitchen.

The boy went to the toilet and turned on the water tap. He washed his face, and then squeezed toothpaste onto his children toothbrush. When he was brushing his teeth he listened to parents talking in the kitchen. He didn't understand all they were saying, but he was clearly aware that dad was very tired today. Dad had some problems at work or he was accused of something there. Then again came incomprehensible words. In the end, mother asked in a frustrated voice: "And live off what? Dad asked how much money they had. Mum answered some unknown number. One hundred, thirty and five hundred, maybe nine hundred. The boy couldn't understand how much it was. The child deliberately brushed his teeth slowly, so as to overhear their conversation as much as possible. What if he learn something that would help defeat the monsters? Dad said he was going to the store, and mum answered not to take the expensive one. He also asked how much was left. The child again didn't understand what was it that left and forget the word. Mum answered they had some, but she didn't want to use it today: "Today I need to sleep; yesterday was a hard night."

"Are you all right?" mum asked, looking into the toilet.

"Yes," said the boy, closing the water tap.

"Go tell daddy good night and go to bed," she said.

Father was standing in the hall with his bag and was putting on his shoes.

"Good night, dad," the boy said and hugged his father.

"Good dreams, bandit," he said.

"Where are you going?" You just came home, didn't you?" the son asked.

"I'll be back, I just have to call on a shop," said the father, " that time I've forgotten the money."

"Come on, I'll put you to bed," mum said to the child.

"Warm up the food for now," father said as he left the apartment.

"OK... I put him to bed first..."

Mum and the boy went into the children room. He quickly jumped into his bed and covered himself with a blanket. The animals lay nearby. Mum kissed him on the forehead and turned off the light. She closed the door, leaving a small gap so that it would not be too dark in the room. The light from the corridor spread on the floor of the boy's room.

"The main thing is not to fall asleep by chance," he said in a whisper to his friends.

The tiger mewed, and the other animals nodded.

"Let's wait a little." The boy sat up on the bed and covered himself with the blanket so that only his head protruded. For ten minutes he sat in silence.

"Where's the sword?" he suddenly remembered and began to look round the room. The floor is a mess. Toys are scattered. He couldn't see much in the gloom.

"You stay here. I'll go find the sword and order the soldiers to line up against the door.

He got off the bed and knelt down. He peered into the darkness. He crawled a little towards the table and sat. He looked round the room.

"So when I was building the tower I had no sword," he mused, "before that I had dinner. And before dinner, I think I saw it under the table."

In the darkness the child crawled to the table and felt under it for the handle of the wooden sword.

"Found it!" he whispered loudly.

"Arrrrr," came a happy voice from his bed.

The boy got up and went to the door. He squatted down and was about to start lining up the soldiers when the front door opened in the corridor. Father came in the apartment with a package. The boy leaned against the wall and peered through the gap at his father.

"He looks the same as usual," the child thought.

Father carefully put the bag on the floor, sat down on the night table and took off his shoes.

The child looked at his father. Father did not notice him. Having undressed, he picked up the bag from the floor and went to the kitchen. From the kitchen came faintly audible sound of the TV. The boy turned to the animals.

"We'll wait until they go to bed," said the child, "and then we'll go to sleep ourselves. And if the monsters come, we will fight."

The quiet conversation of the parents mingled with the voices from the TV. The child stood near the door, trying to overhear.

* * *

Ivan was in the metro. He stood with his hand on the handrail, his head rested on his shoulder. Though it was lunchtime it was not very crowded, but there were no empty seats. Ivan was dozing, because he could not sleep at night. The image of the bloodied doctor never left his mind. He lay in bed until morning, occasionally falling into half asleep.

"What if someone suddenly turns into a monster?" thought Ivan. "Who is writing this book now, Max, or that evil man? He can easily write some horror right now. How to live on with it is unclear. I should just keep doing what I was doing, regardless of all the problems? There's nothing left. I'm strong. I have character. Nothing will stop me on my way to success. What if I didn't go out at all yesterday? Maybe it's all just one big hallucination. How can I tell the real world from an illusion? Maybe I'm still at home in a fit of schizophrenia, and it seems to me that I'm going to buy goods? Or maybe I'm in a hospital for mental diseases right now, drugged up? Theoretically, this is possible, but is it a reason to stop and not go to my goal? No, nothing will stop me. And if this business doesn't work out, I'll come up with a new one. I will try everything until I die of old age. And then in my old age I will tell myself that I tried, tried to succeed and failed. There are people with no arms, no legs who manage to achieve something, so why won't I do it?»

A few minutes later, he got off at the needed metro station. Ivan went up the escalator, then through the underpass and found himself on the street in an unfamiliar area. Ivan looked around. He noticed a huge Billboard. The inscription read: "the Party of Akim Bogdanov. It's better with us!"

"The poor in spirit are always blaming others for their problems," thought Ivan, "my dad loves to blame the government. He thinks someone owes him something. Does anyone really think that by choosing this Bogdanov, people will live better? The time when the authorities could help common people is long gone. The government has forgotten about us, about ordinary people. And the sooner one understands this, the sooner one will take matters into his own hands. It's of no use to think of the authorities as an assistant. As soon as you realise that none will help you, you start to seek ways and try to survive. When you realise that everything depends on you, you begin to grow. I believe in that. Why no matter who I discuss it with no one can understand me? It's so simple to understand that no one needs you and no one will give you anything. It doesn't matter if it's right or wrong. This is a fact these days. But after all everyone wants to hope for someone. I even began to hope for Max to help me. He said he might be able to help. And if it won't help, I'll still be moving towards my goal. Though, I'm moving now. If there be help then good. If not, damn this help. But it would be foolish in my situation not to ask him for money. What if he did? I'd invest them in something. But I can do it without him. It is not a prerequisite for my success."

Ivan took the phone out of his pocket, dialled the number and put it to his ear.

"Hello," he said after a few seconds.

...

"Yes. Is it the house across the street?"

...

"Okay, I'll be right there, will there be an intercom?"

...

"Good."

...

"Yes, in two minutes."

Ivan put the phone back in his pocket and walked along the pavement towards the highway. Having wait for the green light, he crossed the road. About twenty meters ahead was a residential building. He walked round the house and found himself near the entrance. A woman in her thirties looked out of a window on the first floor.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," answered Ivan.

"Dial zero, four, key, twenty, ten."

Ivan dialled the code and opened the door. He went into the staircase and came to an elevator. The woman opened the door of her flat and invited him to come in.

"Take off your shoes and come in," she said.

Ivan pulled off his shoes and followed the woman into the children room. She opened the wardrobe and began to lay out children's clothes on a bed.

"You need clothes both, boys or girls?" she asked.

"Yes," said Ivan, "for nieces and brothers," he lied for no reason to.

"How old are yours?" she asked.

"Well... it depends."

"Is everything age-appropriate?"

"Of course, do not worry, we have many children in the family."

Ivan decided not to tell her about his idea of reselling things. The woman was carefully arranging blouses, trousers, t-shirts, and jackets on the bed. Ivan was already mentally calculating the profit. He imagined how he would resell it all at a fifty percent mark-up, maybe even seventy percent.

"Well," said the woman, "you can take t-shirts for hundred each, and these trousers for three hundred, and these" she paused, "no, these three hundred and these – well, let it be a hundred and fifty."

Ivan looked at the clothes.

"It's a little smudged," she said, pointing to her jacket. "But it's not a problem."

"The main thing is there are no holes," said Ivan.

"There are no," the woman said.

"That's good."

"Well, here are four jackets for five hundred each.

"Very well," he said "let me take all that you have laid out."

"Yeah, I'll do the math," she said.

The woman took the calculator she had prepared in advance and began to count.

"I'll put up ads on the entrances," thought Ivan, looking at the laid out things "I'll look for clients only in my neighbourhood. If I sell all this, then I'll make another purchase. Again, in the same way, I will advertise that I buy worn clothes and find a seller. Or I can just go to the yard where mothers walk with their children and offer to buy their children's old things. Perhaps, it would be even easier."

"Five thousand two hundred," the woman said.

Ivan took out his wallet and counted out the money. The woman took it and put it on the table.

"I'll pack it for you," she said.

"Then I can make a website and sell it all," Ivan continued thinking, while the woman put things in bags "I will work with the poor. Cheap goods for the poor. First I need to come up with the name of the store. Although... it's too early. What if no one buys anything? No, it won't happen, anything has its buyer. If the price is good, everyone will buy it. The main thing is the price. Do people need these things? Of course they do. So they will be willing to buy them. The main thing is to set the right price so that poor people can benefit from it. So that it'll be good for them"

"That's it," the woman said.

Ivan took two full bags of clothes.

"Thank you," he said and went into the hall.

The woman followed him out of the room.

On the way back to the metro station Ivan was again imagining how he would get rich. How he would help the world by redirecting money flows to the benefit of society and the development of our planet.

"I will be rich," he thought "I will be able to help our civilisation, and this requires a lot of money, because the poor will not be able to help anyone, even themselves."

* * *

Ivan, 20 years old

Ivan did not like company; he was an introvert. All he needed for comfort was his room, a computer for getting information, a bed, a chair and thoughts. The dreams of conquering the world, of earning millions and billions in his future were always with him. Behind these ideas lay good intentions. The money itself did not make sense to Ivan. He saw money as a tool. A tool for implementing his projects. He wanted to change the world for the better, and this requires money. When he makes his billions, he can invest in science. In the development of cosmology and quantum physics. Go conquering other planets and micro-worlds of quantum space. Learn all the secrets of the universe. To understand who we are, where we came from, and where we're going. This is all despite the fact that I told him he was a character in my book. That he is not a real person and the world round him is not real. It is just a set of letters, put together in sentences that are now reproduced in your mind, my dear reader. All this does not stop Ivan. He continues moving towards his goal in spite of this. Maybe he just accepted he doesn't really exist. A strange character. Strange and kind, though I didn't mean making him kind. I like him. I had ideas about killing him at the end of the book, but now I don't know if I should do it. Now it seems to me that Ivan is beginning to live his life, apart from what I want to write. Or rather, he tells me what to write next. It's like I'm writing it all myself, and it's like I'm just looking at everything that's going on. Ivan is my character, but he partially has his own will. Trying to earn money and achieve high results in life. I said I might help him, but I wouldn't do it. It's a little unfair on my part to Ivan. But I'm the author of this book and created it, which means I can do whatever I want. I'll see what he does next, where this plot, which is beginning to get out of my control, takes him. And I like it, I'm glad I'm not completely in control of my book, it makes it even more interesting to write. I am an author, and I have to lead Ivan through the story myself, as I did in my previous books with other characters, but here I feel that I can't do it, or maybe I just don't want to. Describing Ivan, I feel to be sitting next to him and eavesdropping on his thoughts and conversations. His thoughts on the subject of wealth are somewhat similar to my thoughts. Ivan believes money should serve for the benefit of society and he should earn as much as possible to direct this money to the development of his world. The money in the accounts of the oligarchs does not make sense for his planet. They do not start development of their world by paying for labour. For a scientific work that will help people build their bright future. Without money, you can't conquer Mars and go to a neighbouring star system. Ivan dreams of creating a project to conquer Mars in the future. Even if he didn't succeed in colonising the Red planet in his lifetime, he would start the process, and after that new ones who are alike him would come and continue his work, using his experience and mistakes in rocket science and terraforming. It is good there are many billionaires in Ivan's world, such as Kamenev, who invest in innovative technologies. Ivan wants to be the same. Even now sitting in a dark room on the sofa, he thinks about his projects, when looking at his friends dancing to a composition he does not know. There were four of them: two girls and two guys who were partying in the living room. Ivan looked at the silhouettes of twitching drunken people, slightly illuminated by the monitor screen. The song ended, and a couple merged in a passionate kiss. Sergei jumped to Ivan on the sofa, took a can of beer from a box on the floor, and opened it.

"Why are you so thoughtful?" Have a drink," Sergei handed the can to Ivan.

"You know I don't drink," Ivan said and smiled.

One of the girls sat down on Sergei's lap.

"We haven't seen each other for two years, you could have an exception for our meeting," Sergei said.

"Well done for not drinking," the girl said to Sergei.

"Oops, you say it as if I'm an alcoholic," said Sergei cheerfully and took a sip from the can.

"How's the studying going?" Ivan asked.

Another song started. The second young couple began dancing a slow dance.

"Sasha, turn it down a little!" shouted Sergei.

The guy went to the computer and turned the music down a little.

"The studying? Sergei turned to Ivan. "So-so... average. The main thing for me is to get a diploma, so that I can be taken to my parents' office."

"Is it impossible without a diploma?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What about your connections?"

"They won't help. I need a degree to be an engineer and even my mother can't help here. They won't hire me."

"Got it. Do you and Katya study together? asked Ivan and looked at the girl sitting on Sergei's lap.

"Yes," she said.

"We even sit at the same desk," said Sergei.

"I see."

"What about your love life? Do you date somebody?"

"Well... I seem not to have time for it. I date nobody. There was a girl that year, but... we dated for just a couple of months, nothing serious.

Sergei took a big sip of beer.

"You went to school together, didn't you?" Katya asked.

"Oh, Yes, we did," Sergei said cheerfully.

"Why didn't you enroll with Sergei?" Katya asked.

"I have my own views on education. More precisely, not on education, but on what happens after it," said Ivan.

"Ivan is a businessman," said Sergei.

"What do you think will happen after the graduation?" Katya asked.

"A salary of twenty thousand rubles," Ivan answered without hesitation.

"This is at best," said Sergei, "but there are no other options. We were unlucky to be born in a rich family. At least the work will not be manual."

"Yes, this is certainly an advantage in our city," said Ivan.

"What about your business?" asked Sergei.

"It's going up the hill slowly," said Ivan.

"I've been told you sell clothes."

"Yes, I've already opened two shops."

"Well, I've no words," said Sergei and again took a sip from the can.

"Shop is a big word," said Ivan, "they are more like stalls."

"Still cool."

"What about finances? Profitable?" asked Sergei.

"Mostly yes," answered Ivan, "in the worst months I get about eighty thousand net profit from each shop. And so on average... well, maybe two hundred thousand. It once was five hundred thousand, but only once."

"How much?!" Serega said surprised, and then added: "Well, you're a rich guy, Ivan. But I'm happy for you."

"You may have seen one of my stores on Kosmonavtov Street, in the yellow house, there's a sign saying 'Socialmag'."

"Yes, I know," said Katya. "Is it yours?"

"Yes, and there's another one in another neighbourhood."

"My mother buys clothes for my younger sister there all the time," Katya said.

"It's a small world," said Sergei.

"It's not a small world; it's just that we all live in the same neighbourhood," said Ivan.

"How did you do it?" Sergei asked.

"That's a long story, to put it briefly, I began to buy children's worn things, but in good condition, and resell them."

"Where did you buy them?"

"First I advertised that I would buy things and I bought them. Then I just went to the next metro station, got out and went to the nearest yard with playground where mothers walked with their children and asked if they would sell old things.

"Is it that simple?" Sergei asked in surprise.

"Everything in the world is simple in general. There is nothing difficult. You want to do something; you go and do it. But people try to complicate things themselves."

"Do you still buy clothes directly from the mothers on playgrounds?

"No," Katya answered instead of Ivan. "My mother sells old things to them. Is that your pick-up point at the..."

"At the corner. Yes," said Ivan.

"In one place you buy clothes, in others you sell," Sergei said.

"Yes, and I don't even need advertising. Mums on the playgrounds do it for me for free. Word of mouth," said Ivan.

"Amidst the global crisis, you organised a business," said Serega.

"The crisis is already coming to an end," said Ivan. "And all these crises are artificial. We have a permanent crisis in our country."

"This is brilliant," Sergei turned to Katya, "our Ivan amidst the highest peak of unemployment and poverty organised social shops for the poorest."

"But not for the poorest, still we do not live in a ghetto," corrected Ivan, "but in general you're right."

"Where do you live now?" asked Sergei.

"I moved out. I rent a one bedder," said Ivan.

"Oh, I wish I moved out too," said Sergei.

"So what are you waiting for? Go start a business too," told Katya to Sergei.

"Oh, no, I'm not like that; I can't do it," he said.

"How do you know?" asked Ivan. "Have you tried it already?"

"No."

"To say to yourself 'I can't do this,' you have to take a piece of paper, take a pen, sit down, and write the numbers from one to thirty in a column.

"So what?"

"And then next to each number or number to write your projects that you tried to implement but did not succeed. Projects where you lost time and money. I had seven projects. And the second project with clothes shop. After the clothes, I tried a lot of things, and nothing worked as good as it. I tried to resell phones, traded in the foreign exchange market, even tried to sell hay... although... the hay was before the clothes, but nothing really worked there. To cut a long story short I will not list everything, but one of these seven attempts became profitable. So what was I talking about? Oh, yes, about the attempts. How many projects on which you stumbled and lost money or time can you write, Sergei?"

"You know how many," said Sergei, displeased.

"None at all," said Ivan.

"No, I can't do anything; I know that for sure," Sergei concluded.

"How can you know anything if you've never done that? If you were never wrong, because there was no place to be wrong at."

"I just know, that's all. There are different types of people; some are able to become successful, and some are not," said Sergei.

"That's all is nonsense. There are no such rules in our universe. You just made that up for yourself."

"If it were that simple, everyone would be rich and successful."

"Everyone around me is rich and successful."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone who believes in themselves is rich and successful. Everyone who acts and is unafraid to try out something is rich and successful. Everyone can do it."

"No, it's all nonsense. It's easy for you to say, you've already come to some result."

"When I was poor, I thought as I do now. What separates the rich from the poor is not the amount of money, but the way of thinking. Everyone can start thinking like a rich person and succeed. And this is exactly the rule of our world."

"You're a romantic, Ivan."

"No, I'm a realist," Ivan said sharply. "What I say is reality, and what you say is justification. 'I can't, I don't like this...' What are these words? They are complete nonsense."

"How can I start up something now? People will look at me like a fool. Parents will not understand if I change something dramatically in life."

"In the future, you'll regret not doing it, but you won't be able to rewind the time."

"Well, I don't know."

"Change your mindset first."

"Are you saying that if I start thinking differently now, I'll have money?"

"Yes, but not right away."

"How am I supposed to think?"

"At least you should dream of something large-scale. I now dream of going to Mars. More precisely, not myself, but to send an expedition that I will organise."

"Why Mars?"

"Because Mars is the most habitable, although there are still interesting moons of Saturn and Jupiter. Over time, there'll be no more free space for humanity on Earth. There'll be not enough food and water. And if there were a cataclysm like the one that killed the dinosaurs, we would die out altogether. Having inhabited two planets, mankind will have more chances to save our consciousness and all acquired experience for further building of even greater developed civilisation, that would learn from its own mistakes.

"Mistakes? What do you mean?"

"Wars and hatred for each other if in General, but we're not about me, we're about you. You asked what kind of thinking a successful person should have and how to start thinking this way. I can answer if you promise to try to do what I suggest."

"Well ... you can try."

"As I said, set yourself a goal. You must see where you are going. A person without a goal will drift senselessly through life, and then in old age will not understand what he came to. After you set a goal, imagine yourself in the future, which you would like to get. Not the future of someone you can easily become because your mum can get you a job, but someone you really want to be. Most people hate their jobs and their way of life, but they've come to it themselves. This is because they just float through life. They don't set goals for themselves. Work should bring joy; you should not wait till Friday and on Sunday evening go to bed with horror, knowing that there are five days of journeys to the place where you feel bad. But the majority lives like that. They don't try to change anything. To every opportunity they say 'I can't or don't have time'. Every time you want to say 'I can't', say instead, 'I can if I try'. Instead of 'I don't have time', say 'I'll find the time'. You will be surrounded by negative people who will slow you down with their distrust and skepticism. Don't listen to anyone. Listen only to yourself and your dream and never be afraid of defeat. Then everything will work out. Nothing is impossible in the world.

Ivan finished his speech. They sat in silence for a few seconds.

"He wanted to be a pianist," Katya said.

"I remember. Well, this is already something," said Ivan "you are a pianist, and I want to green Mars. Both have complex ideas."

"Yes, I would like to become a pianist, and it would be great to earn doing it," said Serega, "a lot of fans, money, fame, concerts."

"You have to constantly visualise it, think about it, imagine all sorts of situations: how you sign an autograph, how you go on stage, how you give an interview, and so on."

"Is that all I need?" asked Sergei. "It's easy, I can do it. But I doubt it will help."

"No, it's not all, it's just the beginning. By the way, any professional pianist once was not a professional."

"So what?"

"If someone has become a professional pianist, it means that it is possible, and so can you."

"Well, thank you for believing in me."

"As long as you believe in yourself. In addition to dreaming and visualising, you must perform actions. You must continue to train in your spare time, as you did at school."

"Everything is great, but where can I find this free time for it?"

"Don't be like them repeating 'I've no time.' Everyone was telling me about time. There are twenty-four hours in a day! It's very, very much. But you don't have time."

"Well, no."

"Do you understand what you're saying?"

"What?"

"You just said: "Ivan, I think I will deprive myself of my successful life, my hidden dream, my happiness and the happiness of my family, because I do not want to look for time. I don't even want to try to set aside time for my dream."

"All right, all right, let's drink... to the pianist!" Sergei took a sip from the can. "Well, I'll find time to go to my music school. And I promise I'll try. But what's next?"

"The next step is to find out which path leads from an ordinary person to a star on the stage. What are the key points. I suggest we go from the opposite."

"How's that?"

"Imagine you are already a star and perform on big stage. You gave a concert. What preceded your performance there?"

"Obviously," Sergei wondered, "obviously I was called there by producers, the event providers, or whoever makes it, I don't know for sure."

"Yes, the event provider called you. And what do you need to do to get invited by the event providers to this big concert hall?

"I think it is necessary to have so many funs that there'll be not enough room for them in a smaller concert hall, so they would call me to a larger hall."

"Yes, if there's no room for the fans in the concert hall, then the next one will be bigger. But it all comes down to the very first concert hall, the first performance. There will be many smaller halls before the bigger one.

"Theoretically, yes."

"Well, what do you need to do to make people come to your performance in the very first, in the smallest concert hall?"

"I need to make these people want to hear me play live."

"But they won't want to listen to you live until they hear you on the record. So, we must somehow convey to people your music. What are the ways?"

"I could post my compositions on social networks, I have many friends there. Still I can ask Sasha to make me a site, where I will share playing techniques, tell about how I came to music..." Sergei looked at Katya: "Listen, on this fresh ground there are loads of activities to do! I can start teaching people techniques because I graduated from music school and I have the right to! I will also upload my notes for those who'd like my music and would want to learn it. Even more! I will be able to send out offers to different cultural centres and concert halls where I could perform, let just five people come, so what! And I can announce the performance in social networks!"

"Tomorrow morning don't forget this mood. You are drank now, and I see your eyes lit up, but tomorrow it all may seem unnecessary to you," Ivan said.

"No, no, I must try, I really wanted to be a pianist and why not? You only live once. I will combine it for a while with studying, and then with work. Let's see if it works!"

"Of course it will work you are very talented at writing and playing."

"Does it mean you've got the same plan with your Mars?" Katya asked Ivan.

"Yes, but it is much longer than Sergei's. There are more milestones to go through, and it may not come true in my lifetime."

"This requires a lot of money," said Sergei. "are you going to earn them with clothes?"

"Of course, no. My stores are just a springboard. Since the beginning of the global crisis, I spend almost all the money to buy shares of the Kamenev's company. Now they are growing by leaps and bounds. By the way, the shares can be added to that list of thirty attempts."

"Stocks?" Sergei grimaced.

"Stocks. They have fallen in price during the crisis, and it is still profitable to buy them," Ivan repeated.

"Has it fallen that significantly in price because of this crisis?" asked Sergei.

"The word 'significantly' is an understatement. They fell ten times exactly, at the peak. Recently began to grow. I think when the world comes out of the crisis; the shares of his company will return to their former value and continue to increase in price.

"And if it doesn't work out?"

"There are no other options. Crises occur on average once every ten years. After every crisis the market gradually recovers."

"You've been buying these shares cheap for two years? You're tricky. How did you know about this?"

"About what? About shares?"

"Yes, about everything. About shares, that can be bought cheap during the crisis, that it is necessary to buy Kamenev's shares, how to buy them and where. About all that."

"I've seen what rich people do. Many people create and invent something. Many trade and produce. Many hold shares of large corporations. I've decided that if I want to be rich, I need to learn what the rich do. After all, if you want to be rich, you don't have to learn how to weld metal or to paint ceilings, or do the brickwork, or fix plumbing, and so on. You will become a hostage of your skills and will eventually work as a plumber or welder. Everything was clear about the clothing trade: I bought cheaper here, sold more expensive there. But it's no when it comes to shares. I found someone on the Internet who understands this paid him money and he taught me. Now I can invest all my money earned from selling clothes in stocks. And why Kamenev? Because I support his views on technology development."

"What's next?"

"The chain is very long. Now I want to establish a company. I have ideas for developing small modules for living on Mars or another similar rocky planet."

"What are they for?"

"It's like accommodation units for scientists and workers."

"Interestingly."

"There's also a problem with the survivability of electronics in space radiation."

"Do you realise what enormous billions you need?"

"No. I have money to start my research, and it's not billions. And then, having formed the general concept of my company and showing the initial result, I will be able to attract investors. I hope I'll be able to."

'Well, as I listen to you I feel that against the background of your plan, my dream of becoming a famous pianist is not so stupid. And you truly believe what you say?"

"Yeah. We'll go to Mars and live there. It may be in the distant future, but I want to mark the beginning. After all, someone has to start it. Basing on the developments that my company will make, people in the future will create their own ideas and projects for the conquest of Mars. They will build their technology adding them to ours. Perhaps my entire crew will die on the flight there. This can also happen. But there will be an understanding of what we did wrong, and the next expedition will avoid these problems. Although, most likely, there will be new problems, but it will be a move forward. One technology will develop one from another, just as jet planes developed from the first hang glider. It was based on the idea of flying. And then a bunch of different technologies: electricity, radio, jet engine, a tearshaped wing... I can list endlessly. All this was superimposed on each other, and gradually a modern aircraft was created."

"Yeah, I agree with everything, we really need to start somewhere. Well, Ivan, I hope my music will someday be played on the Red planet.

"It will be play."

Ivan was walking home after meeting his old and new friends. Sergei lived in half an hour walk from his house, and Ivan usually took taxi to go that far, but this May night he decided to take a walk. It'd just stopped raining. Ivan walked along the wet pavement and enjoyed the fresh air. There was nobody on the street, which was not surprising: it was Sunday, or rather, already Monday, and people will soon get up for work. The city was asleep. The city lived according to the schedule, according to the pattern, according to the rhythm. Ivan got out of this rhythm, he felt out of the system. He is the master of his time. He decides when and where to go, when to go to bed, and when to get up.

"And why do I help Sergei?" Ivan thought, watching his step. "Why do I advise him? He's not the main character in this book. Maybe he doesn't exist at all. I've seen him only twice over the years, so he came to life in this world only twice, and now his mind is blurred somewhere back there on the pages. As well as other people, or even not people but... How to call them? Projections in the reader's brain? The author's imagination? Part of the author's mind? Just letters on paper? But I see myself and everything round me now. For me, all this is reality. But for some poeple I'm just letters. I can't imagine anyone reading all this now, reading what I think, and seeing me as the letters on pages, but on the other hand by rejecting this I will have to admit that I am mad, there is no other explanation for what is happening to me. He didn't finish the book, he said so. So if I'm talking to the reader, it's not in real time. If this book is published, then yes, the reader sees me now, but now at this particular moment when I walk down the street, the reader does not hear me. He would hear it later if the book gets published and finished. What would become of me then? If the book ends, will I disappear? When the author stops writing it, where will I end up? In oblivion? And will I appear again when someone reads this book? Will I be resurrected in the human mind? And if a huge number of people read it, will, my copy appear in every human mind? But it won't be me anymore. I'm afraid that I'll disappear, because I'm just a figment of someone's imagination. It is so frightening that the author may simply stop writing, and there will not be no me. There'll be nobody in my universe. I have so much to do for our world yet. The world may be a fictional, but I have no choice, there is no other world, there is only one. And in general, I must try not to think about it, otherwise the whole life loses its meaning."

"Max," Ivan said softly and looked around. In the distance, he saw the silhouette of a man. He was coming towards Ivan.

"He doesn't answer," thought Ivan, "he hasn't answered for two years, I wonder why? Maybe it's over, and he won't contact me again. In the future, I'll forget what happened and the story of the doctor who killed the nurse, although I'm not sure if this can be forgotten. In any case, it would be great if the author left me alone. In the future my brain will convince itself that it all was just a dream or a hallucination or whatever. He will find a logical explanation for this."

A passer-by approached Ivan. A strong old man, about two meters tall, with a short grey beard.

"Excuse me," said the passer-by, "can you help me?"

"Yes, what's the matter?" Ivan asked.

"I'm looking for a place," the old man said, taking a wrinkled sheet of paper from his pocket.

Ivan took the paper with a printout of the district map.

"I need to get over here." He pointed a finger at the house depicted on the map in the form of a square.

Ivan looked at the map, trying to figure out where was the place the passer-by had pointed out.

* * *

Ivan slowly regained consciousness, his mind was returning from the void. His head was pounding with pain. Lying on the floor he stared at the ceiling frowning. He gradually remembered what had happened. The last thing he could dig up in his memory was a sharp pain in his ribs and a terrible smell that was wedged into his head. Then darkness. Ivan tried to move, but realised that his hands were tied behind his back. They were so swollen that he could hardly feel them. He tried to move his fingers to stretch his limbs. Having looked around he realised that it was a small room with brick walls, cold stone floor, no windows and only one door. The room looked like a basement. A light bulb hung on a wire on the ceiling, barely illuminating the room. Ivan was shivering with cold. He didn't know how long he was lying there. He tried to get up, but the sharp pain in his ribs would not let him stand up.

"He seem have kicked me hard," she thought.

Ivan rolled onto his stomach and pressed his legs to his chest. He sat down on his knees with difficulty. His head was so dizzy and buzzing. A bed stood against the opposite wall of the room. And there on it lay something resembling a man. Ivan tried to focus his eyes. From the man's chest stuck out a wooden stake. The man was wrapped in some black material. He leaned sideways against the wall and stretched out his legs, tied from feet to knees with a thick layer of duct tape. The hands were twisted in elbows behind his back and tied all the way down, apparently, also with duct tape. The left hand was near the right elbow, and the right hand was near the left elbow. He tried to build a picture of what had happened.

"This old man," thought Ivan, "the map... I looked at the map, and he hit me in the side."

Ivan blinked quickly, trying to dispel the blurring in his eyes.

"He struck like a bull... The old man is strong... and then the rag. He must have soaked it with something. Yes..."

Ivan closed his eyes. He tilted his head back and felt a cold wall.

"It's him again!" He realised suddenly.

"Max!" Ivan shouted "it's starting again! He's here again! He's writing again!"

He took a few deep breaths trying to get hold of himself and not to panic. The body on the bed began to move. It squirmed like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

"Hey," Ivan said to the wounded man.

He was quiet.

"Are you alive? How did you get here?" asked Ivan and thought:

"How did he get here? A stupid question, obviously, just as I did," he thought, "we have to wait until Max gets back. We'd better hope this one won't have time to write anything terrible. Max will come back and fix everything. He'll get me out of here, like he did back then with the doctor."

Ivan heard a click. Then the room door swung open. The same old man came in. Without paying attention to Ivan, he went up to the man, wrapped in strange rags, without any difficulty took him in his hands and shouldered him like a rolled-up carpet. The stake was still sticking out of the man.

"What do you want?" Ivan asked, but the old man immediately left the room and slammed the door.

"I just have to wait," he kept repeating, "it's not real."

"Who are you?" Ivan said aloud, "why do you need all this? Why are you interfering with this story?"

He took a deep breath.

"Why did you write that? Leave me alone."

He looked at the bed in front of him. He rotated his shoulders, trying stretch it and warm himself.

"I have to tear the duct tape," he thought and began to look round the room for something suitable.

There was nothing in the room except an old metal couch with a mattress on it. Ivan, leaning against the wall, softly fell on his side and crawled to the couch. Somehow he sat down with his back to the bed and tried to feel the legs of the couch with numb fingers. He began to move his entire body awkwardly, a little rising and falling and turning slightly to the left and to the right. He soon realised that it wouldn't work. He lay back on his side and looked at the bed, hoping to see something sharp in it.

"Maybe its corner." He thought.

Just as he did a minute ago, he turned over on his stomach, pulled up his legs and, being on his knees, Ivan crawled to the corner of the couch. He turned his back on it and began rubbing the tape.

It was hopeless, the corner was rounded and just slid over the tape. Ivan looked at the pockets of his jeans.

"Oh, he took the phone," he thought.

Ivan once again looked round the dark stone room, hoping that something would come to his mind.

"Exactly!" he whispered and lay down on his back.

He began to rub his hands against the stone floor.

"I'll do it... I've no choice" he said to himself.

In a few minutes, Ivan took a pause. He lay panting on the floor, staring at the dim light bulb.

"How clever of him not to find something more durable to tie me up! You can't hold me with duct tape."

Having had a rest, Ivan continued to rub his plastic shackles. Wriggling his body, he rubbed his hands against the rough stone floor.

"Last time your eyes hung out," a voice said.

Ivan froze.

"Your eyes fell down your blood covered cheeks," the voice continued.

"What do you mean?"! What do you want?!" Ivan shouted.

"But he fixed it, he rewrote everything. I'll be happy to repeat it."

"Say your conditions, let's make a deal! If you want to communicate through me with Max, tell me what you need, and I'll tell him!"

"What do I want?"

"Yes, just say what you want!" cried Ivan.

"A room in the body."

"What?!"

"If he erases what I wrote again, I will delete this book and erase all the files on his computer."

There was another click, and the door opened. The old man came into the room. He was standing in the doorway. Ivan still lying on the floor silently looked at the old man, who was carrying a small purse that looked like a woman's. Soon the man came to him, put the purse on the floor and seated Ivan against the wall.

"What's your name?" Ivan asked.

The old man did not answer, but sat down next to him and pulled out a lipstick from his purse. He took off the cap and held the lipstick up to Ivan's face.

"Oh, you bastard!" he jerked his face away. "Don't even think about it!"

The old man reached into the purse again and pulled out an awl. In horror Ivan stared at the sharp metal object.

"Good, good!" Ivan shouted in fright. "Come on, do what you want!"

The old man held the awl to Ivan's adam's apple.

"Don't... please, I'll do whatever you say," Ivan said quietly, pressing his head to the wall.

Without removing the sharp point from his's throat, the old man brought the lipstick to Ivan's face and began to paint his lips. Ivan looked at the man with fear and hatred. The man ran pressed lipstick to his lips, smiling happily. Ivan studied his wrinkled face.

"I will get untangled and kill you" thought Ivan. "I'll break off a bed leg and shove it down your throat, you crazy bastard."

The man finished painting Ivan's lips and put the lipstick and awl in the purse. He began to gently stroke Ivan's cheek. Ivan looked at him with contempt. Soon the old man got up from the floor, picked up his purse, and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Ivan shouted and began wiping his lips on his shoulder, smearing lipstick over his face. "Did you have difficult childhood?! Do you lack imagination to come up with something better?!"

Ivan again lay down on the floor and continued to rub the duct tape.

"What did you mean by 'place in the body'?" he asked, still squirming on the floor. " In whose body do you need a room?"

He tried to spread his hands behind his back. It worked. The amplitude of his hand movements increased.

"A little more," he said to himself.

"But this author wrote me all this," thought Ivan, "and the fact that I figured out how to get out is also written by him, so he knows what I'm up to. So he can let know this crazy old man about it. Maybe he wants me escape?"

Ivan again tried to spread his arms to the side. Almost finished. He rolled onto side and tried to free one hand. He could see his elbow, his hand moving freely behind his back. A little more...

"If the author lets me escape, what's the point?" Ivan continued to reason. "It looks like some kind of game, some kind of entertainment, where I was the main player. And someone just watches it all, reading a book, enjoying their time after a hard work day."

"You see that I am almost free," he said, "you write it yourself. What's the point of all this?!"

Clenching his teeth and straining so that a vein appeared on his forehead, Ivan pulled his hand out from behind his back.

"In whose body do you need a room? In mine?" Ivan bent his hands at the elbows, stretching them. A tingle ran up from his fingers to elbows.

"Or in Max's body?"

Ivan sat down and began to tear the tape off his feet.

"Keeping quiet, don't you? Okey, then. Your morbid imagination will sonn come here in the shape of that old man, and I'm going to show you how the metal bed leg breaks through a human skull. There'll be a show for you. Just you wait... and you, and readers, and authors, no matter how many of you are there, you will all see it or read... You already know the good Ivan, now please meet the evil Ivan. I'm not a whipping boy. Just you wait..." Ivan unwound the duct tape from his legs and stood up. Determined, he walked over to the bed, kicked off the mattress, and put the bed on its side against the wall. The legs were bolted on. Ivan looked at the nuts, which were set tight on the bolts. He tried to unscrew the nuts with his fingers, but they would not move a millimetre. Ivan, biting his lip, looked round the room, as if something new might be there. Then he put the bed on four legs and put the mattress on top. He began to pick up the pieces of duct tape. He gathered them up from the floor and shoved them under the mattress. He knelt down beside the bed, so that he could not see his feet and folded his hands behind his back. He looked at himself.

"It doesn't look like there's no duct tape," he thought, "now I have the advantage. Unless, of course, he doesn't know that I got free."

Ivan was sitting by the bed, waiting for the man to come. I was thinking over his plan, how he would suddenly jump out of the cell and slam the door from the other side. If this lock closes itself at all. Or maybe not to slam, but just run, without wasting time? But where to? Ivan had no idea what was behind those walls.

"I won't be sitting like this for long," he thought and stretched out his legs. Then he got up and went to the door, so that he was at the side of it. "If I stand here, I could hit him unexpectedly as soon as he opens the door."

Ivan stood in front of the door.

"Or maybe attack from here. It will be awkward to hit him from the side."

He put one foot slightly back and sat down on the floor.

"Yes, from this position I'll give him a good punch. And then run. No, if he gets confused, I need to finish him off so that he can't get up. I can't miss the initiative. And then run.

Ivan jumped forward and tried to hit the door

"Just like this, I guess. Uh... I wish I knew how to fight."

He rehearsed his attack on the old man for a little while, and then just stood by the door, waiting for him to come.

"And if he comes tomorrow?" Ivan thought.

"Hey!" come on!" he shouted. "I need the toilet!"

Ivan stood in a battle stance opposite the door. It would open inward. He wasn't scared. He just wanted to end it quickly. Deep down, Ivan knew that Max would save him whatever happened now, everything would end well. He's the main character in this book and can't just die in the middle of the story.

"Take me to the toilet!" Ivan shouted again.

He stood for a few minutes opposite the door, preparing to strike as soon as it opens, but the old man was in no hurry to go in. Ivan lowered his hands. He stood for a moment, staring blankly at the door, then tried the doorknob. Closed. What else could you expect? Ivan put his ear to the door. I can't hear anything. He lay down and leaned his cheek against the cold floor. He looked through the crack under the door. Through the narrow opening, he saw the opposite wall in the corridor. Ivan got up, went to the bed and dragged it to the door. He propped the door against the bed.

"The floor is rough" he thought "I think I can stand it."

Ivan was sitting on the bed. He decided that the best option was to barricade himself here and wait for Max to return. It felt like several hours. Ivan did not think about what kind of person this old man was, what kind of place he was brought to, where it was and in what neighbourhood. It didn't make sense. He just had to wait for Max to fix everything.

There were footsteps outside the door. Ivan immediately jumped off the bed and braced his hands against it, kneeling on the floor. The lock clicked. In a few seconds, the bed slid back a couple of inches creaking on the floor. He pushed with all his strength, not allowing the bed to slide even further. Despite Ivan's best efforts, he was slowly pulled away with the bed. The old man put his hand through the crack in the door, then his shoulder, and then his head. Ivan jumped up on the bed and punched the man in the face. The man grabbed Ivan by the collar of his jacket with one hand and threw him on the floor, flinging open the door so that the heavy metal couch slid easily into to the side. Ivan quickly got up and tried to kick the old man in the groin, but hit him on the thigh. The latter, with a sudden movement, seized him in his powerful arms and threw him on the floor. He sat on Ivan and grabbed him by the throat with one hand. Ivan tried to take a breath, clutching the old man's forearm with his hands. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the indifferent expression on the face of this elderly man sitting on him.

Ivan woke up because of a sharp smell that made his head ache. The man took the glass bottle away from his face. The bright lamp shone in Ivan's face. His hands are shackled at his sides. He couldn't move his legs either. Ivan squinted, looking round. He was lying on the bed, completely tied by the straps. He raised his head and saw near him a table, on which wine corkscrews were neatly laid out. The elderly man grabbed him by the hair and pressed his head against the bed. He put a strap on Ivan's forehead and tightened it. Ivan with bulging eyes looked at the old man, fumbling in some tools.

"We're going to open you up now," the man said softly in a deep-set voice.

"What?!" he screamed in fright.

"Like a bottle of wine," said the man. "We'll screw it in and pull it out, then screw it in again."

The old man turned to Ivan, holding a corkscrew in his hand.

"Please don't!" Ivan yelled hysterically. "I'll give Max whatever you want! If you want a room in the body you'll have it, whatever that may mean! Stop, please!"

The old man held the corkscrew to Ivan's eye.

Ivan closed his eyes and screamed at the top of his voice.

"Max, stop it!"

He gritted his teeth, clenched his fists; he was preparing for the pain he was just about to face. He breathed quickly through his nose. After a few seconds, Ivan slowly opened his eyes and found out he was in the zero gravity. Round him was the white void.

"I'm right on time," I said to Ivan.

"Thank you! Thank you!" Shouted Ivan, short of breath. "God, I thought he was going to hurt me or even kill!"

"Calm down," I said.

"How can I calm down?!"

"It's all right now."

"You saved me at the last minute!"

"Yes, you're lucky this time."

"What do you mean this time?"!

"You don't want to know."

"Say it!"

"I've already rewritten this scene three times."

"Yes! Precisely! He said that if you delete what he writes again, he will delete the book!"

"I read it. I won't delete anything else, but I couldn't leave what I had already removed."

"Why not?"

"The other one sent you to this maniac several times."

"Great. Now I know that you rewrote my life. What's next?"

"There were things you'd better not remember."

"What kind of things?"

"Oh, how my head aches..."

"What kind of things?" repeated Ivan.

"Like I said, you don't want to know."

"Did he kill me in previous versions of the text?"

"Well, let's just say... this old man was able to carry out his plan with corkscrews, but did not kill you."

"Then thank you for deleting it."

"You're welcome. But I'm afraid I won't be able to do it any further. I don't want to risk the book. I'll have to mix my story with his nonsense."

"So you know what he wants? That someone who writes when you're not there. You read what we talked about, didn't you?"

"Yes, I read it."

"A room in the body! Max, I think he and you are one person."

"Unfortunately, that seems to be true. I can feel it."

"He wants a room in your body."

"Thank you, I've already figured that out."

"And your other personality communicates with you through this book. Through me!"

"But in a strange and perverse way."

"Maybe he's trying to push you like that. Trying to interfere with what matters to you."

"That's right."

"He's trying to force his story on you, his will. I see it this way."

"Yeah... and there's more of him in my life. He writes to me."

"What does he write? Where does he write?"

"Here in the book." There's a second story here.

"Second story?"

"About a boy. I don't know what he means by that. I've deleted it a few times, but he's writing again."

"What boy?"

"I don't understand."

"What does he write?"

"Describes a life of a child. This is nuts."

"What are we going to do about it? After all, this is my business, too."

"Wait, Ivan, it seems there's someone in my apartment, I'll be back later."

"Stop, bring me home!"

"That's it; I'm here."

"Wait, don't go!"

"I'm already back."

"How did you get back?"

"Time flows differently in my world and yours."

"Um... That's quite ligica." Said Ivan. "So that's why it seems to me that you have not contacted me for two years?"

"Yes, in fact, I just wrote that two years have passed, and they have passed for you."

"You just said something about some footsteps at your house."

"But in my world it was yesterday. Though, you don't notice the moments when I'm not writing the book. Time passes evenly for you. I saved you from that crazy old man yesterday. Then I heard footsteps in the apartment and went outside."

"Were you home alone?"

"Yes, my wife and children are in the country.

"Who was there?"

"I don't know, Ivan, but I think I'm going crazy. I can't sleep at home alone anymore. Several times I woke up in unfamiliar places, and I do not remember how I got there. I lose pieces of my life. This has never happened before. And those headaches."

"I'm sure it's all because of him."

"He's trying to drive me crazy."

"Have you tried seeing a doctor?"

"No, I have to finish this book first, if they put me in a madhouse, I'm not sure I'd be able to write there. It is very important for me to finish this story."

"To finish making up my life..." said Ivan. "It's funny to hear all this. Someone writes everything I do here, leads me through the story so, that it seems to me I take all the decisions myself."

"You're taking them all yourself. In the beginning I gave you certain parameters, settings of your personality, then you move further as a character. It's hard to explain, but the living characters, like you, lead the author through the story. I can't deviate from the decisions you've made, because it wouldn't be logical."

"Didn't you help me with the shops? I earn ten times more than all my friends, it seems something unreal."

"No, I didn't."

"But you wrote all this about shops, and about stocks and everything that I have tried in my life."

"You don't understand, Ivan. What I wrote were just things natural for your personality. What I have written results from your motives. If you wanted to succeed, I couldn't write anything else. I wrote you success, but it's your credit. In my world, everything works exactly the same way as in this book, people achieve what they are aspires to. Your income is a consequence of your thinking. I wrote something that would be logical based on your goals. In other words, you achieved all this because you went to it and dreamed about it. If I were to make you a beggar now, it would be illogical and inconsistent, basing on your way of thinking.

"But you wrote my way of thinking."

"Yes, so what? These are basic set parameters. All characters in the books have initial parameters. Characteristics. Character, to put it simply. Further, they behave in different situations basing on these parameters, basing on their character, but not on what the writer wants. In my real life, it's pretty much the same."

"Got it. So you have to finish the book, which makes me happy. More precisely, we have to finish the book. I had terrible thoughts that you might cut the story here and I would disappear."

"You, Ivan, will sooner or later disappear, I can't write this story forever."

"Then what will become of me?"

"I don't know, obviously you won't be here, that's all."

"I am afraid of such an outcome," said Ivan.

"But it's inevitable. We are all mortal. There was time when there was no me, and in the future there'll be no me again. No one can know for sure where we will go after death. Only you will be able to come back to life in people's minds when they read the book. Unlike you when I die, I die forever.

"Well, thank you," said Ivan, "You've reassured me. Okay, there's no escaping death, that's understandable, but sometimes it's scary to think about it. What should we do now? Do you have any idea what to do with this second author? He's going to ruin our everything, and if he gets full control of your body and his personality becomes the main one, then I don't want to know what the hell he'll write to me. He even can delete the book.
"I don't know. We must somehow try not to let him into the story. If he wanted to delete the book, he would have done it long ago. To begin with I'll set the password on the computer. Maybe this will work."

"The password on the computer is not a problem to crack."

"I agree, but it's worth a try."

Ivan thought to himself:

"Oh, how lucky other characters in other books, who are written by sane writers, not alike my schizophrenic writer."

"I hear you, watch your mouth. I can hear everything. Or else I'll make up something unpleasant to you. For example, Ivan got to Antarctica naked for half an hour.

"Okay, okay, I'm just kidding," he said quickly.

"Don't be afraid, I'm joking, too, and you've had enough of this agony for now."

"Maybe it's time to bring me back to my room." Ivan said discontentedly.

"Yes, just a second.

Ivan was in his flat. He was lying in a soft bed under the air-conditioning. The lights were off in the room...

"Wait, Max," Ivan began, "I'm afraid of the dark. Let's write that the light in the room was turned on, but not too bright, rather just dimmed. Well you know better how to describe that."

"Don't give me orders."

"Well, I'm sorry, well, please write that there was a dim light, I'm too lazy to get up to turn on the lamp."

A lamp turned on the table, illuminating the room slightly. Ivan fell asleep in his bed, having survived the grave events that no one from his world would have believed. Gradually, he sank into sleep, letting go of this terrible day and leaving it somewhere behind, on the pages of this fictional universe.

* * *

Ivan woke up round noon. He lay in bed for a while, remembering crazy yesterday's day. Then he got up and went to the toilet, where he washed and brushed my teeth.

He stood in the kitchen and looked out the window at the children playing on the Playground. There was a loud click of the kettle. Ivan poured boiling water in a cup of tea brew, then he put a spoonful of sugar with two spoonful of strawberry jam. He sat down on the sofa and with the motion of his hand turned on a huge flat-screen TV that hung on the wall. Economic channel. The newscaster talked about the successful launch of new solar power plant that substituted the old nuclear power plant, which has come to an end.

"So? Was it today?" thought Ivan, then jumped up and ran into the room. He turned on the laptop. The keyboard backlight shone with different colours. Ivan went into his stock market trading terminal. The stock price chart of Kamenev and partners showed a record peaks after the successful launching of the first solar power plant.

"Well, my bet played," thought Ivan "but I could have lost a lot of money, after all, all my capital is in the shares of just one company. That's' the bot, Kamenev! How glad I am I was not mistaken in you. If the rest of the power plants were replaced with his solar ones, then his other shareholders and I will be fabulously rich. God, I'm so happy. I can't believe it..."

Ivan sat down on the bed.

"Awesome!" he shouted, just now realising that his capital had increased several times this morning.

"Awesome!" he shouted even louder. "A‐Ah!"

Ivan abruptly jumped out of bed and again stared at the chart quotes.

"If the new power plant will provide all people with what they need," he muttered to himself, "then the other plants will be replaced as well, and even more people will invest in his company. Or it may even get state support... then!.. his stock will increase manifolds, and I'll ... I'll get even richer, too! I expected it; I predicted it, as well as many who know the topic, but I can't believe..."

Ivan banged his fist on the table.

"You did it, Kamenev!" Ivan walked round the apartment, thinking aloud. He couldn't restrain his emotions. "You're son of a bitch!"

He went into the kitchen and took a sip of tea.

"If he replaces the power plants all over the country, then... that's his company will have so much money! I need more shares! I need to buy more of his shares!"

Ivan sat down on the sofa.

"Okay, it's okay, I've to calm down. Hell, my five million turned into eighteen! Into eighteen, bitch! I can buy anything now! No, it's time to wait till they grow even higher. I shouldn't buy anything now. They'll keep replacing power plants! I need to buy more shares, with all the profit I'll buy more shares."

Ivan looked at the TV. Ignoring what was being shown, he was lost in thought, he counted his future millions. Ivan had forgotten about all the problems that surrounded him, and about yesterday. He dreamed of the future. The dreamer as he was would never face defeat.

* * *

Ivan left the house. He came down a little after the euphoria caused by the realisation that he had manifolds increased his capital. Thoughts of the two opposing personalities of the writer working on his story began to fill Ivan's head.

"So they're fighting for control of Max's body," he thought as he sauntered down the pavement, "and I was caught in the middle. Everyone tries to write their own. Apparently, they can't communicate with each other outside of this book. Although maybe they can, through some correspondence. But the correspondence doesn't matter. This book is important for Max and that second is pressuring on it. He will not delete the book. No. He's trying to write his own story. Or to spoil the Max's story by those ridiculous scenes. What if he delete the book? No... apparently, the book is a kind of indicator. The one who possesses the bigger part of Max's body will be writing more. How can that second author show Max that he dominates in the body? To write this book against Max's will. To do everything contrary to Max's will. But why is the struggle unfolding in the book? More precisely, through the book. Because Max is the writer, and the book must be something that completely fills the writer's thoughts. That's what the other one is targeting at. At striking at Max's innermost. I think that's how it works. It seems logical to me, although... I'm thinking in terms of a sane healthy person but these... these loonies... I don't know what's in their heads. The hell with them, I think now I get a more or less clear picture of the situation. Okay, let's assume that everything I've just thought about is the truth. Let's assume it is. Well. The question arises: "What can I do in this situation?" After all, I am, in fact, the link between them. Maybe we should try to get that other guy to talk to us. But he doesn't make collaborate."

"Max," Ivan said softly.

"Max also answers, only when he needs it," Ivan thought for a couple of seconds "and I know he's here. Someone is now writing about me walking down the street and thinking."

Ivan crossed the roadway and found himself near a porch of the building with the signboard 'Legal Aid Center'. He went up the steps, opened the door and went inside. Several people were sitting in the hall. Ivan had an appointment so the queue did not matter to him. He looked at his watch.

"Hello," the girl behind the counter said with a tight smile.

"Hello," said Ivan "I have an appointment with Makarov for one o'clock."

"Just a second," she said and put the phone to her ear.

"Oleg Yuryevich, a one o'clock appointment came," she said in a few seconds.

...

– Good.

...

"Yes, already."

She hung up the phone.

"Come this way, please," she said, pointing to the door.

Ivan went into the office. A man in his forties, dressed in a formal suit and tie, sat at a heavy wooden table opposite the door.

"Hello... (he glanced at the computer monitor) Ivan Alexeitch," said the lawyer, "my name is Oleg Yurievich. Have a seat."

Ivan sat down on the chair opposite the lawyer.

"How can we help you?" said Oleg Yuryevich and took a pen from the table. Ivan's attention was drawn to the gold watch he wore on his wrist.

"I need to register a company," said Ivan and looked up from the watch to the eyes of the lawyer.

"Great. Have you seen the list of the necessary documents on our website?

"Yes, I have everything prepared," said Ivan.

The lawyer took a form from a drawer.

"What will the company be engaged in?" Oleg Yuryevich asked and prepared to write.

"A design bureau... no, it's more like a research and production center," Ivan said.

Oleg Yurievich wrote something in the form.

"What will be the form of organisation?" the lawyer asked.

"An open joint–stock company," said Ivan.

"There will be additional difficulties and expenses with the issue of shares," the lawyer said.

"I know," said Ivan.

"Good. Are there other co-founders besides you?"

"No."

"Have you already chosen the name of the organisation?"

"Yes," said Ivan, "Green Mars."

"Green Mars" said the lawyer, writing down the name on the form, "just a few more questions, and we'll see what documents you have with you."

* * *

Sitting near the half-open door the child continued eavesdropping on the conversations of his parents for about half an hour. If he had gone to bed, he would have fallen asleep immediately and missed the monsters coming. As the TV volume was loud, the boy could not make out what they were talking about. Soon the voices of mum and dad faded. Realising that there was no point in further eavesdropping, the child went to his bed and addressed the animals:

"I can't understand what's going on there. They fell silent. We need to go scouting. We can't go all together, it's inconvenient. One of you can come with me."

The tiger miaowed and leaped into the boy's arms.

"The rest of you wait here."

The boy went to the soldiers and began arranging them quickly on the floor, but this time a little further from the door, so that it wouldn't be so easy for the monsters to defeat their army. Having had arranged the soldiers, he took the tiger under his arm and the sword in the other hand. Quietly he went out into the lighted corridor and crept to the kitchen. The kitchen door was closed. From behind the door came the sound of some TV show. No parents' voices were to be heard.

"Are you ready?" he whispered to the tiger.

The tiger nodded his head.

"If we are seen, we will run straight to our room and fight," said the boy.

He slowly opened the door and peered into the kitchen. His father sat with his back to him. He could only see the back of his head. Mum wasn't there. Suddenly he heard a rustle behind him. He turned abruptly and saw a woman coming out of the toilet. She was that creature with the black eyes. She was wearing a dressing gown. The woman reached for the boy, but he backed away and found himself in the kitchen.

"Dad!" cried the child.

But father sat like a wax figure and did not move.

"Dad!" The boy was shaking his father's shoulder. The sword and the tiger fell from the child's hands.

The father looked at the boy with indifference, and after a moment he smiled, showing his yellow teeth. The woman went into the kitchen. She was standing in the doorway, so the child couldn't get through. The boy went to the window. The terrible old looking woman took a few steps towards the child. He squatted down, closed his eyes, and began to cry with fear. Then he felt a touch on his head. The woman grabbed him by the hair, but he jerked his head away and crawled past her. He sprang to his feet and ran to the front door. He tried to open the lock by turning the tight handle, but it wouldn't budge. He could feel the danger behind him. He turn around. The woman trudged along the corridor, approaching him. The boy crying and shaking ran to his room, kicked the soldiers on the way and got under the bed. He couldn't calm down. His sniffing could be heard all over the room. Through the tears in his eyes he saw the legs of the creature that had possessed his mother's body. It went to the bed, knelt down, and lowered its head. The boy came face to face with this demon, looking into its black eyes and screaming in horror. The creature reached out its long, bony hands under the bed and clung to the child. He kicked, trying to loosen his grip, but it was all in vain. He was dragged out from under the bed, writhing and screaming, and lifted into the air. He could no longer look into the creature's black eyes and looked away. Somehow, raising his hands up, he managed to slip to the floor and immediately rush out of the room. The child was back again at the front door of the flat. He turned the lock handle in all directions. Suddenly something clicked in the door. The boy put his weight against the door and it swung open. Without looking back, he ran barefoot in his pajamas out the door and down the steps, passing flight after flight. Once on the ground floor, he paused and listened for footsteps upstairs. The entrance was quiet. No one followed him. With his fists he wiped the tears from his face and went down to the street door. He pressed the button and pushed the heavy metal door open with his shoulder. He walked a little away from the entrance and looked up. There was a light from the kitchen of his third-floor flat. The boy stood in the street and did not know what to do next. He was cold. At this time, a neighbour who lives on the floor below approached the entrance.

"Andrei, what are you doing here, why are you barefoot?" the man asked.

"Mum and dad were taken by monsters" the boy muttered through tears.

"What? What monsters? Come on, I'll take you home." He took the boy in his arms.

"Don't go there! Don't!" The child began to cry even louder.

A woman neighbour leaned out of a first-floor window:

"What's happened with you?" she asked.

"Well, there's Andrei all alone on the street," said the man.

"How come that?" the woman asked.

"Please don't take me home," the boy said to the man holding him.

"He says there are monsters," the man said to the neighbour in the window.

"There is where?" she asked.

"At home! There are the monsters took my parents and the tiger!" the child was crying.

"Kolya, take him to the entrance," said the woman neighbour.

"At least let's go to the entrance," the man said to the boy.

"Won't you take me home?" the boy asked, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"No, let's start by going to the entrance. It's cold outside."

The man with the child in his arms went to the entrance door, dialled the code and went inside. In the entrance, near an open door to her flat stood the neighbour. She squinted at the light from the bright ceiling lamp.

"Are you okay?" she asked the boy kindly. "A big boy like you shouldn't cry."

"I'm going up to his parents" the man said to the woman.

"Of course, of course," she said and took the boy in her arms.

* * *

The child listened to people talking. He couldn't understand all the words the adults were saying. There were a lot of people in the room. The boy heard the neighbour quietly tell someone that mum and dad were out of their minds. That they were on something... this word he never heard and did not remember it. The man said he saw syringes in the apartment. Maybe dad wanted to cure mum with an injection? The man also said the police were on their way. Andrei sat on the sofa in the living room of that woman neighbour from the first floor, hugging his knees and looking at the fuss around, not understanding what was happening.

* * *

Ivan, 25 years old

Kamenev was sitting in front of Ivan at a long, rectangular mahogany table. To the left and to the right of him sat two more men. Ivan kept touching the corner of a paper in front of him, bending and unbending it in every possible way. The assembles here listened attentively to one of the speakers.

"...but there may already be local life forms, and to preserve them is our direct responsibility. Preserving and sturying. That's all I wanted to say." Finished his speech an elderly man in military uniform, with medal on his chest. He sat to the left of Kamenev and looked at the tablet computer on the stand opposite him.

"Yes," said Kamenev. "before people landed on Mars, we cannot categorically say that it is a lifeless desert. The development of instructions on what to do in case of detection of microorganisms or a larger animal is entrusted to your Department, Pyotr Gennadich. After all, we are explorers. Pioneers, so to say, which means we have to make a set of laws regarding the issue of contact with extraterrestrial life."

Pyotr Gennadich marked something in his electronic tablet.

"About the heating of the planet..." said a man in the white coat.

"Yes, Klim," Kamenev nodded approvingly.

"At the last meeting, we considered the option of dropping bombs on Mars."

"It wasn't the best idea," Kamenev said.

"I agree," Klim said, "and my calculations show that the entire world's nuclear stockpile is not enough to heat Mars by a single degree. If you launch all the bombs in the world, the resulting energy will be equal to what Mars receives from the Sun for a couple of hours.

"Not taking into account the radiation," Ivan added.

"We came to this at the last meeting," said Kamenev. "I suppose you have other theories?"

"Yes," Klim said, "we can try to heat Mars with sunlight, cause global warming there, similar to what is happening on Earth."

"Global warming on Earth is caused by the greenhouse effect," Ivan interrupted Klim "there is a problem with the atmosphere on Mars; you all know that."

"We know, we know," Klim said, "the atmosphere of Mars needs to be made even thicker so that it will be like of Earth, and the atmospheric pressure needs to be increased. At the early stages of life formation on any planet, it is extremely necessary to keep water on its surface, which is possible only with a much thicker atmospheric layer. Now the atmosphere of Mars is so thin and it retains heat so poorly that water can exist on the surface of the planet only for short periods of time. If you take a glass of liquid water and pour it on Mars, part of the water will freeze, and the other part will turn into steam. In any case, it will not remain in the liquid state for long. Theoretically, if we could pump some of the greenhouse gases from Earth's atmosphere to Mars, then it would be possible to warm the planet to such a state that large amounts of liquid water comfortably exist on it, as it did there three billion years ago. The thicker the atmosphere, the more stable the atmospheric pressure and temperature on the planet, which means that the water will also be stabilised."

"Almost all the water at the poles is in glaciers. It may not stabilise if we don't help" said Ivan.

"Wait, wait," said Kamenev. "Klim, we began with how to heat Mars. We will come to the problem of liquid water later today. Since you put forward this theory, tell us better how to cause global warming on the planet?"

"It's simple. To cause a greenhouse effect, you need to condense the atmosphere," Klim said and smiled, looking round the meeting participants.

"How?" Kamenev drawled. "By pumping petrol from Earth? This is nonsense."

"No. By starting producing super-greenhouse gases on Mars. By building plants to produce these gases. In hundreds of years, Mars could warm up. I did some rough calculations, but for the next meeting I can prepare accurate data on time and costs."

"Hundreds of years is no time for us," said Pyotr Gennadich.

"All right," said Kamenev, "do your calculations, and next time you will acquaint us with more details."

"One of the problems is that Mars already contains greenhouse gases," Ivan said, "the same CO2. The main thing here is not to overdo it. Don't forget to take this into account, Klim, or the planet will be so overheated... One Venus is enough for us in the Solar system."

Klim nodded thoughtfully, looking away.

"But won't the Mars lose its atmosphere again, even if people will be able to create it there? After all, low gravity may not hold it," Kamenev said.

"It will," Klim said "but it will take millions of years. I will also give the exact calculations at the next meeting."

"It turns out that Mars's atmosphere was naturally evaporated?" Kamenev asked.

"Yes," said Klim, "it is still evaporating, as you say. But very slowly. Three billion years ago, Mars had rivers and lakes. And here's the question: there used to be water before, and now there is no water. Everything is frozen. What happened?" Klim stared at Kamenev. He looked at the young scientist with eyebrows raised, waiting for Klim to continue his monologue.

"Say it already," Kamenev said in a few seconds, "I have no idea what happened there."

"Mars is losing 180 grams of charged atmospheric particles per second," Klim said. "This is enough to make the entire current thin-layer atmosphere disappear over the entire history of Mars, but it doesn't explain the loss of the earlier, denser atmospheric layer."

"So?"

"Well... actually, I don't know what happened," Klim said.

"In short," Kamenev slightly slapped his hand on the table, "Klim, you are charged with calculations on the greenhouse gas."

"I believe that serious plans for the development of the planet can be built only when man first steps on the Red planet and can explore it independently, without resorting to probes and satellites," said Peter Gennadich.

"That's what we're preparing an expedition for," Ivan told him.

"We are aware of that," said Kamenev, "It is truth that to make the first step to the development of the planet, we need to send people there. But this does not mean we do not need to conduct theoretical research on the issue. Before starting practical actions, we need to choose theoretical directions. When we understand how to make Mars habitable in theory, we will start looking for technical solutions to bring this theory to life."

Kamenev paused for a few seconds, then continued:

"Gravity," he said, "is another major problem. Even if we recreate the atmosphere, people would not be able to live on the planet with such a low gravity. The muscles will atrophy, and mothers will not be able to bear the foetus in such conditions. We can't reproduce there."

"There is an idea to develop a special suit that gives resistance to movement," said Ivan. "In this suit a person will feel like on Earth. On Mars a person in this suit will weigh as much as on Earth, but without the suit. But the problem of development of the foetus in a mother's womb remains unresolved. Also the suit will not affect the work of internal organs."

"And blood circulation," Klim said.

"Yes," said Ivan, "the problem of gravity is unresolved. And I think it will remain that for many years to come. Of course, by the suit alone we will not solve the problem. What health problems can occur when a person is living on a planet with low gravity? We can only find out after we send people there and they stay there for a while. Only the empirical method will give us the answers."

"And will raise new issues," Klim added.

"Next," said Kamenev, "the radiation on Mars. I believe that this problem will also be solved if the atmosphere is restored there."

"Not exactly," Klim said. "Due to the almost complete absence of a magnetic field, the solar wind will irradiate all living things. Theoretically, in the first stages of Mars exploration, people could place their colonists in caves. A thick layer of Martian soil will protect organisms from the influence of the star.

"Any ideas for restoring the magnetic field?" Kamenev asked.

"No, not yet. Neither we nor our colleagues abroad have solutions," Klim replied. "In fact, in my opinion, the problem of radiation is the most important. If it were not for it, then, having restored the atmosphere a little, it would be possible to walk on Mars as on Earth, you'd just have to dress warmer. A winter jacket and boots with cotton pants... and of course an oxygen tank on one's back. You could imagine you were on Everest."

"I see," said Kamenev. "The next is creating an aquatic environment. Almost all water of Mars is concentrated at the poles in ice caps."

"There are ways to melt them," Ivan said.

"I hope, not by dropping atomic bombs on them?" Kamenev smiled and the corners of his mouth lifted.

"No," said Ivan, "there are several more interesting ways. And by the way, it is a great success there are these glaciers. So, the first way is to bombard the Martian glaciers with the nearest asteroids. Redirect the asteroids with special engines so that they fall on the ice cap. The heat release will instantly create millions of tons of meltwater."

"Is that really an option?" Kamenev shook his head. "The second way, I hope, is more humane?"

"The second way," Ivan began. "As you know, white clour reflects infrared waves. Glaciers are white. We just have to make them black, and they will heat up naturally."

"How do we paint?" Kamenev asked.

"Sprinkle the coal crumbs or cover it with special polymer sheet," said Ivan.

"Sounds doable, prepare both options for the next meeting, terms, costs, opportunities," said Kamenev, then looked at Pyotr Gennadich. "What about life and gardening? This is in your department, Gennadich."

"We need to create organisms that can take root on Mars," the old cosmonaut began his speech, "and this task is likely to be solved faster than all the other. Now we are experimenting with synthetic microbes and bacteria. In the near future we will be able to modify the genomes of bacteria as we wish. These microorganisms will perform functions very different from what mother nature gave them. They can already survive in an oxygen-free environment. The mosses and lichens we created will populate Mars. After that the soil of the red planet will naturally be saturated with humus, and it will be possible to grow higher forms of plants."

"So you already have such organisms in the lab?" Kamenev asked.

"Of course," said Pyotr Gennadich, "come and see us some day and I'll show you everything."

"I will," said Kamenev. "Well. The next is preparing the first team of colonists..."

* * *

Ivan and Klim went out from the Kamenev's office. It was lunchtime. There was a terrible traffic jam on the road. Someone was honking and shouting obscenities through the car's window as if it could change something.

"Do you have a car?" Ivan asked Klim.

"No, what for? To waste time honking like they do? I've no nerves for it," with a nod, Klim pointed at the traffic jam.

"You are right, let's go to the metro?"

"Maybe in a café first? I could eat a bite."

"Yes, we can go to a cafe," said Ivan, "I just have to call my office and tell them I'll be late." Ivan reached into his pocket, took out his phone and began to type a message to his deputy.

"I like these Kamenev's meetings less and less. We sit and discuss banalities that only interfere with my work."

Ivan sent a message and put the phone away.

"Yes, that's the truth," he replied, "but I can understand him. He does not understand all this at a subtle level, but he invests money."

"Well... That's right."

"He must know what his investment is spent on. Let's go to the metro station, there is a shopping centre near it, they fry steaks there."

"And coffee. I'm jonesing for a coffee" Klim said with flashing eyes.

They moved along the traffic jam that stretched for several kilometers. It had rained recently, and Ivan's nasal receptors felt the smell of wet asphalt. He enjoyed the feel of the city after a downpour. Every time after a thunderstorm, he sought to walk. Even if there were no reason for it. But isn't a beautiful weather a good reason?"

"How are your colonists?" Klim asked.

"All according to plan."

"Five more years of training?"

"I think more, maybe seven."

"Aren't they running crazy in isolation?"

"No, it's fine. We didn't just take people off the street. The selection was carried out thoroughly. Only those will fly, who show themselves the most level-headed in the simulation of a spacecraft. Or prehaps they will all pass this test."

"Have they been there for six months?"

"Five. There is still a month left, after which we can imagine that the flight to Mars is completed."

"And if one can't withstand it, can he abandon the experiment and leave the simulation ship? For example, I wouldn't be able to spend six months in isolation with ten other people. I'd go crazy."

"That's why, Klim, you will never set foot on Mars."

"Oh, it's not like you will ever do it."

"There," Ivan pointed to a sign at the end of the street, "Steakdom", that's where we're going."

"Are you sure there's coffee in there?"

"Show me where there's no coffee?"

"Well, you never know."

"I wonder if Gennadich rides the metro?" asked Ivan.

"Who the hell knows."

"Are you in touch with him?"

"No, I only know him from work. We don't drink beer together."

"His explanations of extraterrestrial bacteria and other organisms are quite interesting," said Ivan, "it's obvious that he sincerely believes in it."

"I believe it, too," Klim said.

"So do I," Ivan grinned. "But it's not a belief."

"Yes, it is common sense and logic."

"Indeed."

"It's possible we will find life in the caves there," Klim said.

"I've been thinking about it, too. If there is a network of caves, there may well be underground rivers and lakes. It may be that after the Martian cataclysm that destroyed life there billions of years ago, those who lived underground did not even notice anything. If it gets cold and radioactive on the planet surface, do you think some angler fish or antarctic squid that swims at a depth of seven hundred meters will understand that something has gone wrong on the surface?"

"It doesn't even know what 'surface' is. It's the same as if someone told you to imagine the fourth spatial dimension! Length, width, height, and something fourth... You don't know what they are asking you, but that doesn't mean there isn't a fourth spatial dimension. The same is true for the squid. Its whole world is just black ocean."

'I agree," Ivan nodded, "that's how it can be on Mars. The organisms in the bowels of the planet in an underground lake keep living as they used to. How do you know that if you hadn't been there?"

"There's no way. Rovers only ride on the surface, and that's all."

"So maybe we'll find someone there in the future."

"I wonder if our civilisation is the most intelligent." Klim suggested. "I mean, we are the maximum that can be in our universe by level of development. After all, someone must be the most developed, why not us?"

"How will you know?" Ivan asked.

"The only way to know that is to reach the peak where further technological development is limited by the fundamental laws. For example, when a civilisation learns about the speed limit in the form of the speed of light, then it becomes the most developed. Our communication systems transmit information and useful signals at the speed of light; further development is impossible. We have hit a fundamental law, we have reached the maximum."

"Well... There are things to develop: life expectancy, new energy sources, the speed of movement in space..." said Ivan.

"This is clear. Medicine, energy... the computers produced will get more and more intelligent, machines will run on electricity in the future, but again this does not change anything. These will all be the same cars. It is not something new – not teleportation, for example, which, in my opinion, cannot exist because of fundamental limitations and laws. The development of humanity will continue, but within the discoveries that have already been made."

"You don't think like a scientist," Ivan said. "Think big, dream, imagine."

"And because of it we receive no signals from space," Klim went on thinking, not paying attention to the words of Ivan. " Galaxy is full of life, there are lots of planets inhabited by living organisms, but maybe there is just a handful of technologically advanced civilisations in the universe. It takes millions of years and a happy combination of circumstances for life to evolve from a bacterium to a creature that uses the power of electricity. If the meteor hadn't killed the dinosaurs, intelligent life might not have appeared."

"Oh, if I only we could find a no intelligent life, it would have changed our perspective to everything. It would shake the very foundations," said Ivan.

They stopped at a large puddle.

"Let's jump," Klim said, "like we used to do when we were kids."

Ivan jumped and flew up. He started waving his arms awkwardly, trying to level his position in the air. On looking down he realised he was slowly rising higher and higher.

"Ivan!" Klim shouted, flying after him.

"What's happening?!" Ivan shouted.

"I don't understand!"

He saw a bird twitching in the air and floating in weightlessness. Some cars flew up, smoothly lifting off from the surface. The drivers got out of their cars, but continued to gain height. Some were screaming in fear. Ivan waved his hands, pushing off the air, trying to change the vector of his movement and go down. Klim caught up with him and grabbed his leg.

"It won't work!" shouted Klim. "We need to push off from something!"

"There it is again!" Ivan was shocked that all happened so of a sudden.

"Again?!" Klim was surprised.

They reached the fourth floor of a building that was about ten meters away from them. People, cars, shapeless masses of water from puddles, benches, leaves, rubbish, sand and pieces of earth were flying in the air. People began shouting all over the street.

Klim took off his heavy trench boot with one hand and gave it to Ivan.

"What for?" Ivan asked.

Then he pulled off the second boot, muttering under his breath: "We are rising slowly, there is enough mass to stop the linear momentum..."

"Throw them up on the count of three," Klim said.

"Got it!" shouted Ivan.

"One, two, three!"

They simultaneously threw their shoes up. Their flight direction instantly changed to the opposite. Holding each other, they were descending to the ground, against the traffic of everything else that hovered in space.

"Don't move when you land, okay?!" shouted Klim.

"Yes!"

As they neared the ground, Klim let Ivan go and fell into a star pose, spreading his arms and legs to the sides. Ivan did the same.

"Gravity has disappeared," Ivan said.

"It can't be."

A few seconds later, they touched the pavement and lay there still.

"Don't accidentally push off," Klim said.

"Let's go home, should we?" Ivan suggested.

Several more people landed near them.

"Do you know what's going on?!" one of the men asked.

"Ivan," Klim began, ignoring the stranger, "let's kick off from this fence and fly to the entrance."

"Yeah."

They pulled themselves smoothly up to the garden fence and flew over it, with their hands gripping the metal fence bars.

"Let's head for the door," Klim said.

They joined hands and slowly pushed off with their feet in the direction of the entrance of a residential building located twenty meters away from them. Once near the entrance door, Ivan knocked on the concierge's window, holding the door handle with one hand so as not to fly away.

"There doesn't seem to be anyone," Klim said.

A strong wind rose in the street. Several whirlwinds were forming right on the road. The hum was drowned out by sirens and people screaming. The sky was clear and the sun was shining. Ivan randomly dialled the apartment number. A few seconds later, the intercom rang. The wind was growing stronger.

"Maybe they will open!" cried Ivan.

The entrance door opened and he was almost carried away by the wind. He was holding the door handle with one hand, dangling horizontally. Klim, grasping the door, took Ivan by the hand and pulled him inside. A man in his sixties was levitating in the doorway. He grabbed Klim by the collar of his clothes and pulled them both into the entrance. Now there was a real storm outside. The iron door fluttered in the wind like a flag.

"Hurry up!" the concierge shouted. "To the basement!"

They pushed off from the wall and flew to the opposite end of the entrance, to the door leading to the basement. The concierge took out from his pocket a bunch of keys.

"Do you know what happened?" he asked, turning the key in the lock. "Weightlessness is all around!"

"Gravity has actually disappeared," Klim said, "but that's not possible. There's no explanation."

The wind was howling and rumbling in the street. They flew up the stairs leading down. The concierge slammed the iron door and locked it.

"Are there windows in the basement?" Ivan asked.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

They flew down the stairs and found themselves in a dark room. The hum of the wind became a little quieter. A few lights flickered on the ceiling. Through the gloom, Ivan could see pipes coming out of the concrete floor and digging back into the walls and ceiling. The huge basement occupied the entire space under the house.

The concierge took a torch from his pocket. They were hovering half a meter above the floor. The lights went out, and the basement was completely dark.

"Shit," Klim said.

The torch beam jumped from wall to wall. Something started whistling in the door. The sound grew louder.

"The air is escaping," Klim said.

"Come on," the concierge said and pushed off towards the basement door. Ivan and Klim flew after him, navigating by the only light source - the torch.

"There's really a crack," the concierge said.

On the left side, from the top corner to the door handle, there was a gap of several millimetres between the door jamb and the door itself.

"It looks like there's a vacuum behind the door," Klim said.

"We need to close the gap," said Ivan, "can we find a sheet of plywood or a wooden plank?"

"We'll take a look," the concierge said.

They flew back to the basement. The concierge was using his torch to scan the floor.

"There," said Ivan. "Something is flying. Heck. Just a rag."

They moved deeper into the basement. Dust and small rubbish hovered in space. The concierge continued to cut the air with the beam of light. They found nothing useful, just a plastic bag, a bucket, newspapers and some sawdust.... All this stuff hung as if on invisible threads tied to the ceiling.

"Any suggestions about what happened?" Klim asked.

"Gravity has gone," the concierge said, still peering into the darkness, "but I don't understand why it's whistling and the storm like this started."

"It's not exactly a storm," Klim said. "If gravity has stopped, then the air has been sucked out into space."

"What should we do?" the concierge asked.

"I don't know," Klim said.

"I don't even know what to say," Ivan replied. He understood what was going on, and whose will was for it, but decided not to explain anything to his fellow sufferers.

"Even if we patch the crack, there air won't be enough for long," the concierge said.

"There," Klim pointed one of the pipes that came out of the floor. It was cased with wooden planks. Klim flew to the pipe, grabbed the edge of a plank with both hands and propped his feet on the floor. He tried to tear the plank off. It wobbled on several nails that were hammered to other planks that formed a square box round the pipe. The others flew up to Klim and also grabbed the plank.

"Tug," Klim said.

Together, they tore out first one edge of the plank, and then the second.

"I hope it fits in," the concierge said.

They flew back to the door. The door crack was covered with frost along the contour.

"So there's outer space just outside the door," Klim said.

"Why space?" the Concierge didn't understand.

"Because there's space," Klim repeated.

The concierge placed the plank against the crack. The plank was immediately pressed against the doorjamb, and the whistling stopped. But just a few seconds later, something started whining again. The sound was slightly higher in pitch, but not as loud.

"It still howls," Klim said, "but at least not as loud as before."

"Is there no air?" the concierge asked, looking anxiously into Klim's eyes.

"No. Also it's cold there."

"How cold is it?"

"About minus two hundred and seventy degrees Celsius."

"What?"!

"Ivan," Klim said, "are you all right?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"You're weird. Do you have an opinion on what's going on?

"No."

"There, on the street, you said that it was "again." What did you mean?"

"Minus two hundred and seventy?!" The concierge began to realise the hopelessness of the situation.

"I don't know," Ivan replied to Klim.

The room began to shake. Like an earthquake with magnitude of twelve on the Richter scale. The concrete wall hit the people hanging in space with great speed. Ivan flew to the side screaming in pain. Grasping his bruised shoulder, he looked around in the gloom and saw the torch hovering a few meters away and illuminated the ceiling. If there was such thing as "ceiling" now. With a grimace of pain on his face, Ivan pushed off with one foot from the wall and flew towards the torch.

"Klim!" he yelled.

"I'm fine," the voice said from the darkness.

Ivan grabbed the torch and immediately pointed it in the direction from where Klim was shouting. He was hanging upside down relative to Ivan. A red balloon floated past Klim. Ivan saw several smaller balls.

"It's not my blood," Klim said.

Ivan glanced round the basement with his torch and saw the concierge frozen in midair. Red matter was coming out from his cracked head, and then collecting in small balls that flew in different directions.

Klim went up to the concierge.

"Are you alive?" He shook him lightly by the arm.

The concierge hung breathlessly in the air. Blood continued to flow out from his head, forming small red balls.

"Is he dead?" Ivan asked.

"I don't know."

"What was that?"

"It's hard to say. Perhaps the ground shook when we collided with some sort of object."

"If gravity has disappeared, the Earth will break up into pieces," said Ivan, flying up to Klim.

"As well as the Sun," said Klim "but why just Sun... The whole universe! Unless, of course, it's a dream."

"Will the door hold on?"

"I have no idea. It's under a few tons of pressure. But with every second, this pressure weakens."

"Because the air comes out through the crack?"

"...we won't be here much longer."

Klim put his hand on the neck of the concierge who was hovering near them and tried to feel his pulse.

"We have to bandage his head," Klim said, "the blood flows out. I think he's still alive."

"Let's use the shirt."

"Yeah."

Klim took off his windbreaker and carefully placed it to hover near him. Then he pulled off his t-shirt and placed it next to the windbreaker. Ivan lit them with a lantern. Klim tore the t-shirt and wrapped it round the concierge's head, then pulled on the jacket over his bare torso and zipped it up.

"It's oozing a little," said Ivan.

"You know, I don't believe this is real. This all cannot be, because it cannot. That's all."

"Perhaps."

"You're kind of weird, I think you know something."

"From where?"

"You're too calm, and your phrase 'there it is again' makes me think..."

"I don't know anything. This is just absurd, some nonsense."

There was another whistle from the door.

"Okay, all right. So we're going to die soon?"

Ivan looked at Klim, shooting the torch beam at the ceiling.

"As it happens, yes," Ivan replied calmly.

"And you're perfectly calm."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"When we run out of air, we'll suffocate, or maybe the damn door will be knocked out and... We'll suffocate anyway."

The whistle from the door crack now sounded more like a hum.

"It will hurt," said Ivan without any emotion.

"It will."

"Won't it be a quick death?"

"You'll be convulsing for twenty seconds."

"There are worse types of executions."

"Did someone sentence us?"

"To some extent, yes."

"Who?"

"Anyone born can consider themselves to be condemned to death."

The hum changed to a low hiss. The air was leaving the basement faster and faster.

"Ivan (Klim paused), what's going on?" he said softly.

Ivan shrugged, spreading his hands a little to the sides.

There was a crash sound. At the same moment, three people were sucked out of the basement. Klim flashed in front of Ivan, shouting something inarticulate. Flying through the entrance hall, Ivan hit the wall corner with his foot, stuck there for a second, pressed against the wall, and then he was carried out into the boundless outer space. The sharp pain of a broken shin etched into his brain. He opened his mouth, trying to scream but air squeezed out of his lungs into a vacuum. His ears were ringing, and eyes were stinging so painfully that the spasm in his broken leg faded into the background. A huge reinforced concrete building hung near Ivan. Clenching his fists, he glanced towards the sun. The round disk lost its regular geometric shape and became like a spreading patch of yellow paint. Shapeless and ugly. The absence of gravity stirred everything in the universe, deprived of the usual contours and outlines. The fundamental law on which everything we can understand was based has now ceased to exist. The matter have spread limply in space. Ivan lost consciousness.

* * *

Once in his kitchen, Ivan fell on the floor, clutching his leg.

"Kill me! I can't live like this! This is enough!" he shouted. The leg was intact. He lay panting and stared at the shin.

"You're all freaks. Emotional cripple... both authors and readers... All of you who watch this! I hate you! You are enjoying the suffering of characters! You're having fun. More and more sophisticated methods are used. Will the editor be happy? You hear, Max?!"

He rubbed his eyes.

"What else should I go through?" He asked. "What else should I feel to make the reader happy, to amuse him by looking at all this? But who cares what I say... I'm just letters."

"I can't talk now," I said to Ivan, "he doesn't give me time."

"You write all this in order to sell this poor book of yours! As many sales as you can make! What's that got to do with me?! Why me?!" Ivan shouted into the void. "You're not crazy, you're just a pervert!"

Ivan turned on his back and sprawled on the floor, arms outstretched.

"End all this... I hate you."

* * *

Ivan, 35 years old

"Our sonny arrived," said mum standing in the doorway, "take off your jacket, you hasn't come by for a long time. Father, go meet our pride!"

"Mum, stop it," Ivan said.

"Come here." She took his jacket and hung it on a hook.

The father stood in the kitchen doorway smiling and looked at his son.

"Hey there, dad," said Ivan.

"Hi," father drawled, and they shook hands.

"This is for you," he handed the package to his father.

"Oh, what do we have," father looked into the bag. "I see a cake, well, put the kettle on, mother."

"A cake? But I've made salads! Meat is in the oven! We'll eat properly first," she said.

"I won't stay long, it's an important day today," said Ivan. "I'll have to stop by the office, and the driver is waiting."

"You mean Vadik?" mother asked.

"Who else?"

"You should have called him, too."

"I suggested, but he said he'd better sit in the car and watch a film."

They went into the kitchen. Ivan sat down at the table.

"We're watching on the news about you," mother said, taking the plates out of the cupboard. "All the neighbours know about you. They are constantly asking us "how Ivan is doing", and we answer that the business is booming and that our sonny is all right."

"Could you open the window; you've smoked here again," said Ivan.

"Now, now." Father reached for the handle and opened the window.

"I made your favourite salads," mother kept repeating, busily setting the dishes on the table. "Caesar salad with crab sticks and chips. Your father went fishing on Saturday..."

"There's no fucking fish," father said. "just chicken feed."

"Chicken feed or not, but I made a delicious fish soup." Mother took out a ladle and began pouring the soup into the plates.

"Not too much, please," said Ivan.

"They've been talking about you and Kamenev all month," father said. "You showed them who's in charge. That's my son!"

"I never lost hope in him," mother said. "He's the smartest!"

"Yeah, yeah," said Ivan without any emotion, "never lost hope."

"Why? Have I ever lost hope in you?" mother asked.

"No, no," said Ivan.

"You should visit us more often." Mother set the soup plate on the table in front of Ivan.

"I'd be happy if I could, but there is a lot to do," said Ivan. "Give me a spoon."

Mother gave him a spoon and set the other soup plates on the table.

"Well, enjoy your meal," father said.

"How are you feeling?" Ivan asked and scooped up the fish soup with a spoon.

"My knees hurt," said mother, "but it's all right, God has mercy on me."

"What time will the launch begin ?" father asked.

"Today at eighteen sharp," said Ivan.

"We'll watch the broadcast with your dad," mother said.

'Well, how's the soup, is tasty at all?" father asked.

"It's okay," said Ivan.

"You have to do the important things with a full belly," father said and laughed.

"That's right," Ivan replied with a smile.

Mother sat down at the table. Father took out a bottle of vodka somewhere from the side of the table.

"Mother, give me the stacks," he said.

"You should have told me about it earlier," mother said, getting up from the table.

"Will you?" Ivan's father asked.

"No, I don't drink in the morning."

"And you, mother?"

"I can have one," mother said and put two stacks on the table. She sat down opposite father. Ivan sat between them.

"To our hero," father said, pouring vodka. "That's my boy! He's the only one in the neighbourhood who rose above the crowd.

"You shouldn't say that," Ivan frowned on hearing the praise.

"Come on, mother, to our astronaut."

The parents clinked glasses, drank and ate fish soup.

"I'm not an astronaut. I'm not going to space myself," Ivan corrected his father.

"It doesn't matter. You're part of the development," father said.

"Don't forget the soup," mother said to her son. "It'll get cold"

Ivan scooped up a spoonful of soup.

"Listen, Ivan," said mother, "could you give us more money this month?"

"What's happened? I thought I gave you enough."

"Yes, Yes, that's a lot, I don't argue, there's a small mishap, it's starting to get cold, I would like a new fur coat for the winter. And dad needs winter tires."

"Well... well," said Ivan. "But where are you going to go in a fur coat now? It's not even snowing yet."

"That's why it's cheaper now, I want to save money."

"Okay, okay, no problem, I'll give you more this time."

"Thank you, son."

"Well, another round?" father suggested.

"Yup" said mother, "to the new mink coat!"

The parents drank and ate again.

"Ivan, if your launch goes well, theoretically your income will grow in the near future?" father asked.

"Not exactly income," said Ivan. "It has a slightly different principle. If the spacecraft is launched successfully, our stock prices will rise and new investors may come. I don't care much about my income. I have enough to live on."

"Well, if these investors of yours come, can you give us more money?" father asked.

"Yes," said mother, "dad and I have talked it over, and we have decided that you could give us a little more."

"Well..." Ivan thought for a few seconds. "Well, but I thought you already have more than enough."

"Yes, it's just enough, but, you know, when there is an opportunity, you always want something bigger," mother said, smiling.

Ivan drew attention to her fingers. There were stone rings on almost every of them.

"You spend money on nonsense, mum," son told her.

"I spend, my dear, I spend... But what can I do," she said, smiling, "I want this and that..."

"She's like a magpie," father said cheerfully. "She likes all that is shiny."

"Not all," said mother.

"Well, will you give more?" father asked.

"All right, I will," said Ivan.

"Great, but let's not talk about money now," said mother. "How's your love life?"

"Well... So-so, nothing new, I'm too busy for it," said Ivan.

"Ah, the most eligible bachelor is single!" said mother.

"Oh, come on, there's time yet..."

* * *

For ten years, none of the authors came. All these years, Ivan lived with the readiness for something bad to happen. In his life any, even the most surreal plot can happen. He used to be afraid that he would be kidnapped again by some maniac or something worse. What else could the second personality's imagination make up? But years later, Ivan got used to his fate as a character in this book.

Flipping through old photos saved on a office computer, Ivan recalled his youth, which passed by so unnoticedly. On the one hand, it seemed that eternity had passed, and on the other, here he was, a man of thirty five years old, sitting in a leather chair in his office, it felt as if there was no past. The time when he was trying to find himself, trying to do something, making mistakes somewhere, achieving success somehow, earning money, losing money, but always moving forward... that time now seemed to him so warm, interesting, unusual, uncertain and elusive. Now everything had become easier, everything was more or less settled. Problems had changed and reached a new level, but life became easier, because he no longer bothered about how he could rent an apartment separately from his parents or how to spread the food budget for a month, so that there were money left for the purchase of goods or shares. He no longer bothered about what to do in his life, because he already had reached the finish line. The beginning of the Mars conquest was initiated. Ivan was the first of the big entrepreneurs who seriously intends to fly to the Red planet. The first one who was ready to invest all his money in this business, realising that he was most likely not to see the final result of such an investment during his lifetime. Ivan understood that in this business he only gave and received nothing in return. This was not a business. Rather, it was an act of goodwill in the name of all humanity. Charity. An attempt to contribute to the development of civilisation. Ivan didn't think about whether it was good or bad. He was just interested in progress. In the beginning he was interested in personal progress. Now he needed the progress of all human race. Progress of humanity. Money didn't matter anymore. When you already have all the worldly goods, you can desire, you no longer need money. Money is a tool. Money is the engine of progress. Money is an incentive for scientists and workers. And it's good when money go in good hands. Money should not end up on bank accounts for the retention of power and status. They should start a mechanism of the society development. They need to be injected into this society, launching its work on new technologies. The point of life is in improving the world we all live in. It sounds so corny. So childish. So maximalist like. But Ivan saw no other meaning in his existence.

Ivan picked up a music disc from his desk. On the disc cover was Sergei. He looked pretty in a black tailcoat against a white piano.

"His agents could have made the picture more original," thought Ivan, "why won't he fire them? These black tailcoat and white piano are a bit corny. But this is the first music disc that will be on another planet."

Over Sergei was the inscription in large letters "Sergei Tarakanov". At the bottom was a slightly smaller inscription: "solo for the capital's concert hall".

"And why did they record an album from this concert? The one with the Symphony Orchestra was much better. But here all is not so epic and without pyrotechnics. Although... probably pyrotechnics isn't needed in the classics... But this is Sergei, he is always trying to bring something new to his performances."

Ivan got up from the table and went to the window. Gray clouds hung gloomily over the city. Ivan looked at the busy traffic flowing along the highway. His office was in the centre of the city. Suddenly the bell rang. Ivan took the phone out of his pocket. The inscription on the screen read "Kamenev".

"Yes, Yuri Stepanovich," Ivan said.

...

"I'll be at the spaceport in two hours."

...

"No, I have a better idea," Ivan said, smiling.

...

"Not exactly, but you're almost right. Wine. You definitely haven't tried this."

...

"Yes, yes, that one."

...

"My office offers you a great view of the spacecraft."

...

"I'll open the window for you," Ivan laughed.

...

"Yeah, and I'll give you binoculars," Ivan said, still laughing.

...

"Yes."

...

"I have to go, Yuri Stepanovich, see you."

...

"Yeah"

Ivan put the phone in his pocket.

"He is afraid the view on the launch will be bad," Ivan chuckled, "but we will have the best seats!"

He went to the wardrobe and took a leather jacket from the hanger.

"Ivan" I said softly, startling my character a little.

"Is that again you all of a sudden?!" Ivan answered sharply, obviously not expecting to hear my voice.

"I think I'm in serious trouble."

"Max, why haven't you been around for so many years?"

"It's been a few days for me."

"Oh, yes," said Ivan, zipping up the jacket, "you're just in time, by the way. I have to leave."

"I know."

"What did you want?"

"It's getting harder," I said.

"It's never easy," said Ivan.

"He is pushing me more and more."

"The other one?"

"The last few days have fallen out of my life. I don't remember anything. He didn't write anything about you either. Only about the boy again..."

"Judging by the fact that I was not kidnapped by aliens or was tortured by the mad old man, then yes, he clearly did not touch my part of the manuscript," calmly replied Ivan. "I'm still waiting for my peace to be destroyed from the outside."

"You don't know what you're saying." Is it funny?"

"No, I'm just tired of being afraid of tomorrow. What is to happen, that will happen, I don't care..."

"I am afraid he will erase me completely, I feel his will occupying the space of my life. There isn't enough room for me..."

"Well, thank you for warning me, I'll start preparing for the worst," said Ivan without any emotion.

"He remembers things I don't."

"What do you mean?"

"My head hurts."

"Hey, are you all right there?" Ivan asked.

"It's all that toy..."

"Wait, what toy?" Ivan did not understand what it was about.

"He emerged after I found a toy in a pile of old things... a stuffed tiger."

"Max, I don't understand what you're saying."

"I don't remember... Don't remember..."

"Don't remember what?"

"I don't remember... I... I don't understand ... why there was no childhood..."

"What? What are you talking about? Who didn't have a childhood?"

Ivan stood for a few seconds waiting for an answer.

"Are you here?" Ivan asked.

Silence.

"It would be great if they didn't bother me for another ten years," thought Ivan. "There was no childhood... I wonder what he meant."

* * *

An expensive black car was driving along the highway. The car left the city limits. The road led through a forest area. Thick spruce trees overhung the roadway, forming a kind of tunnel. Wipers ran back and forth across the windshield, clearing away drops of autumn rain. Ivan sat in the back seat and read the news on his tablet.

"We won't be late, Ivan Alexeitch, the traffic jam is over," said the driver.

"If we are late, it could be death to me," said Ivan, without looking up from his tablet.

"Don't worry. It's never been that I couldn't take you to place in time," the driver said.

"Excluding the opening of the spaceport, isn't it, Vadik?" Ivan said sarcastically and pointed to the headline of the news "First expedition to Mars".

"Then it wasn't my fault, Ivan Alexeitch, you remember, it was that accident, those idiots blocked the whole road," the driver began to justify himself, gesturing with one hand.

Ivan looked at Vadik through the reflection in the mirror. The latter, with his usual naive expression, stared at Ivan with slightly bulging eyes.

"Watch the road, Vadik," he said.

Ivan hired this kind young boy to work as his driver out of pity. He was a son of mother's friend from an old job. Vadik was several years younger than he was. Just as disadvantaged as Ivan was when he was young. But Vadik, unlike Ivan, and could not find himself in life. Ivan tried to talk to him about the need of trying yourself in different spheres, but Vadik didn't get it. Or maybe turning the wheel is his vocation?

Ivan read the article:

"After five years of training, Yuri Kamenev's team is sent to Mars. Today is a fateful day for all mankind. Kamenev together with the company "Green Mars" sends people to conquer new worlds. More about this..."

"Ivan Alexeitch," Vadik distracted him from reading, "I know that you're studying this Mars of yours... But the other day I argued with my mother-in-law (Ivan looked up from the tablet to Vadik in the reflection of the rearview mirror), she was telling me there is no life there and all these green men are the work of Devil..."

"We're not looking for any green man there," Ivan said.

"I know, I told her the same thing. I told her you are not looking for aliens there, but for a new place for us to move to in the future. I so the all understand, you don't think, that I, there, dark what the.

"Vadik, you'd better watch the road, instead of thinking," said Ivan and went back to reading.

The car was speeding down the highway. To the left and right was continuous coniferous forest. The road was completely empty. Not a single car. Because of the autumn fog and drizzle, the road was poorly visible.

"Jesus Christ," Vadik poked a finger at the touchscreen navigator, "Are you kidding, stupid junk."

"What are you doing?" Ivan asked.

"The navigator must be dead."

"Well, it's all right," he said, "and we can get there without it."

"Yeah, that's understandable, I just don't like when there is something wrong with car."

Ivan looked at the clock on the tablet.

"It takes us too long," he said.

"Strange, I'm driving ninety kilometres," Vadik pointed to the speedometre.

"You sure you didn't turn anywhere?"

"Not a chance! Do you think I'm mad? You saw it yourself that after we left the city, I drove straight as I do now."

"I was reading," said Ivan, "I wasn't watching the road."

The car continued to race through the forest. He looked around. Outside the window he saw only tree trunks flickering."

"This can't be," said Ivan and tried to open the map through his tablet.

"What's going on?" The forest should have ended long ago!" Vadik said in disbelief.

"There is no Internet," said Ivan.

"What a mystery!" Vadik exclaimed.

Ivan pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"It shows no signal," said Ivan.

"Where?"

'I say, there is no internet connection," repeated Ivan, chose a random number from contacts and tried call it.

"So," he said, "it doesn't seem to work at all. Vadik, do you have a paper map of the region?"

"Yes," Vadik reached for the glove box and took out a map."

Ivan unfolded the map on his lap.

"There supposed to be no forest," he said, looking at the map, "just some plantings. I remember we usually passed it in about five minutes."

"I know without a map this is Martynovsky forest park," said Vadik, "I went here with my son for a picnic several times. We also threw paper airplanes here."

"Have we been driving for about fifteen minutes?" Ivan asked.

"Yes!" Vadik replied. "Even more! Damn it!"

"And there aren't any cars."

"I noticed."

"Vadik, slow down."

The car slowed and pulled over to the side. Ivan and Vadik went outside.

"Something with the air! Ivan Alexeitch!" Vadik took deep greedy breath. "Do you feel it?!" And where is the road?"

They were standing on the ground, the grass was thick under their feet.

"There was a road!" shouted Vadim frightened. "Damn It, Ivan Alexeitch!"

"No, Vadik, I think I know what's going on," he said, peering into the depths of the coniferous forest.

"What do you know? I'm out of breath!"

"An old friend showed up," Ivan said. "Get in the car."

They climbed back into the car and slammed the doors.

"The air is wrong!" Vadik continued shouting. "How is that possible?! What old friend?! We'll suffocate here!"

"Having fun?!" screamed Ivan. "What did you think up this time, smart guy?!"

"Who are you talking to? Me?" Vadik asked in surprise.

"No, my friend, not to you," replied Ivan, and then added: "But you know, and I even wonder what will happen this time!"

"Ivan Alexeitch, who are you talking to?!

"If I tell you what's going on, you won't believe me. I can't put it in a nutshell."

"Try it!"

"You'd better shut up and save the oxygen in the car."

"It won't last long! You know something! Speak up! Where are we?! Where is the road?!"

"Well, Vadik, here's the truth – we are characters in a book. A crazy author writes us this situation. What about the air? I don't know. Why did the road end? I don't know. What should we do? Nothing. Just sit and wait for the other author to come and get us out of here."

"What?" Vadik stared at Ivan.

"What?" he answered.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I say."

"So are we characters in a book?"

"Precisely."

"Are you out of your mind, Ivan Alexeitch?"

"Look out of the window and tell me."

"I don't like your explanation at all."

Ivan felt slightly dizzy.

"This air gets into the car," said Ivan, "we can't stay here."

"Are we going to suffocate?!" Vadik was very nervous.

"I don't know. It seems to me we can breathe, but everything is somehow different here,"said Ivan, "or maybe we are breathing some kind of poison at all."

"Where are we?"

"Theoretically, we can be anywhere, against all the laws of common sense."

"That's next, will we just sit here?"

"Yeah."

"You are so calm. Have you had this before?"

"Yes. I've been in a jam several times because of him."

"Him?.. Oh... that crazy writer."

"That's right."

"How did you find out about him?"

"Vadik, this is a very long story, I'm not in the mood to tell you anything, especially knowing that after everything is over, you will most likely forget about everything that is happening here.

"Forget it? Why would I forget?"

"Because."

"I don't know what's going on, but you're talking nonsense."

"Quiet!" Ivan said, opening the window a little and listening.

Thudding sound could be heard in the distance. It sounded like a pile driver machine was hammering tons of weight in the ground. A hit, a second later another one. It was a dull powerful sound. With each hit, the vibrations were heard louder and louder in the car. The sound was getting closer.

"Ivan Alexeitch," Vadik moaned, "what the hell is that?"

Ivan looked out the window. He saw the branches of the trees swaying. Then there was a roar – a squeaky, high-pitched sound. A whistle was heard simultaneously with the roar. It was so loud that Ivan shuddered at the unpleasant sound. A huge animal on two paws ran out of the woods towards the car. In just a couple of seconds, the unknown animal approached the car. The creature tilted its head and peered into the car's cabin with one yellow, soccer ball sized eye. Ivan froze and stared at its teeth sticking out from under the raised lip. Vadik crouched lower in his seat. The beast raised its head, and the car flew up.

Everything began spinning before Ivan's eyes. He was hitting his head against the cabin walls. A piece of broken glass cut through his cheek. He heard Vadik's cry coming from the side. After a few seconds, everything stopped. Ivan was lying on his back upside down in an overturned car. Through the broken glass he could see the beast's paw. Its black claws dug into the ground. The paws were covered with scales. Ivan's vision got blurry; his head was spinning.

"Vadik." he looked at the driver's seat.

"I'm alive," he said, and rolled over so that he could sit down on the car roof. "If I had known this would happen, I would have never gone to work for you! You should have warned me!"

Ivan also rolled over on feet. Hunched over, he sat down on the roof of the crumpled car, just like Vadik. The animal poked the end of its muzzle into the window opening. Ivan stared at the two flaring nostrils. The creature resembled a huge lizard.

"That's some kind of dinosaur, Ivan Alexeitch," Vadik said.

The beast went around the car. They followed the mighty movements of the animal's paws with their eyes. The lizard rubbed the car with its muzzle, again causing it to rock with creaking sound. There was another high-pitched roar.

Then everything began to shake. The car seemed to fly up.

"It will devour us!" Vadik shouted.

"Just don't try to get out of the car!" Ivan said.

The lizard bit into the hood of the car and, dragging it, walked backwards.

"Ivan Alexeitch!" Vadik grasped the seat back.

"You just have to wait!" Ivan said. "It'll be over soon!"

The beast stopped in twenty meters.

"It's the air!" Vadik shouted. "We're hallucinating! And you clearly delirious!"

The lizard circled around the car. Ivan felt the earth trembling with every step it took. It stopped near the back door window and sniffed the air. Ivan crawled away from his muzzle. The animal opened its mouth and stuck its tongue inside the car. The stinking breath of the lizard stung Ivan's nostrils. The beast licked the seat, then the muzzle got out of the sight. It started circling round the car again.

"I don't think he'll get us here," said Ivan.

"It's a good thing the car turned over," Vadik said "it would have easily ripped off the roof with those fangs."

The lizard moved about five meters to the side and lay down on the ground with its face to the car. It stared at its prey. Ivan and Vadik, leaning over, looked at the predator from the crumpled car.

"Ivan Alexeitch," said Vadik, calming down a little, "you said you've had something like this before."

"It was, but not exactly the same."

"How did it end?"

"The other author came and brought me back."

"Where did you return it?"

"To my apartment."

"Don't you have a more reasonable explanation for what's going on?"

"No."

"I think we're just hallucinating."

"Vadik, think what you like, I don't mind."

"We are in the middle of a forest, and there is a huge dinosaur nearby. It's also hard to breathe. And you tell me you and I are characters in a book that is being written by a madman."

"Yes, Vadik."

"Hallucinations are a more logical explanation."

"So be it."

"How long do we have to wait until, as you say, the other author comes?"

"I don't know."

"How long did you wait last time?"

"The first time several minutes, the second time several hours."

"Hours? My head is already splitting from this air, how are we going to stay here for a few hours?"

"Vadik, I have no idea."

"Oh," Vadik drawled, "now we won't be at the launch site at time."

Ivan said nothing.

"I think we're in a prehistoric world," Vadik said.

"It sounds like the truth."

"If we get out, you will have to add to my salary, Ivan Alexeitch."

"I'll think about it."

"So we're just going to sit and stare at this dinosaur until he gets us out of here?"

"Yeah."

"What if we suffocate?" asked Vadim.

"You've been breathing all this time."

"Yes, yes..."

They sat in the car for about an hour. During this time, Vadik asked Ivan about everything, but did not believe they were in a book. It was getting dark outside. A mosquito of about five centimetres long flew into the car. Ivan swatted it with his hand. The second one was swatted by Vadik.

"Ivan Alexeitch, what about these mosquitoes? They're going to drain us of our blood."

"We'll have keep swatting them," said Ivan.

"It'll soon get dark, and we won't be able to see anything at all."

The lizard moved. Clumsily, it rose to its feet and ran the short front paw over its nose. Then it snorted and shook the head, then calmly walked over to the car and poked it with its nose. The car lurched.

"What's it up to?" Vadik asked, waving off another mosquito.

"If I knew," said Ivan.

The beast circled round the car several times, then it bit into the hood. Half of the hood fitted into the predator's narrow and elongated mouth. The animal lifted the front of the car a meter from the ground and let it go. The car collapsed with a crashing sound.

"Hold on, Vadik!"

"I do!"

The lizard again bit into the hood and this time lifted the car even higher, then left is staying vertically. Vadik, shouting something inarticulate, tipped over on the back of the chair. Ivan managed to lay on the back seat of the car, there was no place to sit there because of the crumpled roof. The beast let go of the car, which fell and ended up on wheels. Vadik immediately pressed the engine start button with a trembling hand, but the car did not start. The lizard sunk its teeth in the roof, pushing its lower jaw into the car cabin through the broken windshield and pressing Vadik into the chair.

"Ivan Alexeitch! Help!" He shouted, pressing his hand against the scaly, rough chin of the beast.

Ivan grabbed hold of the front seats headrests with his hands and kicked the animal in the chin with all his strength. Then again. The animal began moving its head, trying to rip off the car roof like the lid of a tin can. A few jerks, and the roof fell off the car. The predator let go the bent up roof and stared at Vadik. Filled with horror, Vadik covered his face with the hands and screamed. The lizard immediately bit into Vadik's body, tilting its head slightly to the side. Vadik howled from the pain. The lizard tried to pull him out of the car cabin, but it was too narrow. The lizard made a few more jerks, and then froze, apparently saving energy. Vadik moaned softly, unable to scream. His chest and arms were in the mouth of the beast. With its huge fangs, it pierced the man's chest and held him firmly in a death grip.

"What do you want?!" Ivan shouted. "Why'd you do it?!"

Vadik turned his head and met Ivan's eyes. Blood spurted out of Vadik's mouth.

"Hold on, man, hold on." Ivan put his hand on the back of Vadik's head.

"I don't understand what you want!" he shouted angrily. "The room in the body?! Who says you can claim it?!"

"The impostor must go!" A loud voice rang out.

"What impostor!" Ivan shouted. "Who's the impostor?!"

The lizard made another tug, trying to pull Vadik out, but he involuntarily leaning against the car's front panel. Ivan struggled to hold Vadik's jacket.

"He must leave me alone!" the voice grew louder. The voice had no specific source. It was everywhere.

"Does Max have to leave?!" Ivan asked.

"He took my room!" the voice shouted.

"It's you who took his!" he objected.

"He emerged in the orphanage! After I was separated from my parents! He must calm his will and disappear! I'll finish the story!" the voice continued.

"What orphanage are you talking about?! I don't understand anything! Who are you?! What's your name?!" Ivan shouted. Meantime, the lizard made a dash and pulled the already lifeless corpse of Vadik out of the car.

"Andrei" said the voice.

* * *

Ivan \- age unknown

When Ivan regained consciousness, the first thing he felt was his hands. He lay with his eyes closed. He straightened his palms with all his strength. Then he flexed his hands and heard woman's voice:

"Look, Ivan is here again."

Ivan opened his eyes, looked around and realised that he was lying on some kind of trolley, like those that were in hospitals. A man in a white coat stood near him.

"What have we got this time?" A plump woman of about fifty years old came up to Ivan and gently patted his hair. The woman was also wearing a white coat.

"This time he became a billionaire," said someone.

The trolley went down the hall. Ivan was silent and looked around, raising his head. The trolley drove out of the large hall and into a long corridor.

"Hello, Ivan," a man in the guard's uniform waved at him.

"Who are all these people and why do they know me?" he thought.

"Well, in the thirteenth again?" the plump woman asked.

"Yes, I suppose so," said a man who was driving the trolley.

Ivan raised himself. The man immediately stopped. Ivan sat down with his feet dangling on the floor.

"How are you?" the man asked.

Ivan studied the walls of the corridor. Handrails ran along the walls along the entire length of the corridor that led deeper into the building. Ivan looked at himself and realised that he was not in the same clothes as he wore just a minute ago, in the car with Vadik.

"Is Vadik alive?" he asked, rubbing his eye with his finger.

"What Vadik?" the woman replied.

"My driver," he said.

"Ivan, you'd better talk to your doctor about Vadik," the woman replied "and tell him all about Vadik and the rest of your friends."

"Why am I in the hospital? Where's the dinosaur?" Ivan asked.

Man, who drove the trolley, smiled. Ivan gave him a serious look.

"Can I leave here?" Ivan asked.

"Unfortunately, not at the moment," the woman said.

"I wonder why. Who's going to hold me here?!"

"Boy, you should take it easy, we want to help you, be kind and do not make noise," the man said gently.

"Do you think I look like a boy?!" Ivan replied aggressively. He got up from the trolley and tried to walk towards the exit, but the man blocked his path by giving him a little push with his stomach.

"Ivan," the man began, "do you understand..."

"First, I'm not Ivan, I am Ivan Alexeitch! Second, I'll make one phone call, and I swear, you'll all be fired within less than a minute!" he shouted. "Go online and see who I am. Type "Green Mars"!

"All right, Ivan Alexeitch," the man said with a kind smile, " whatever you say. But now you will have to behave peacefully."

"Or else?" Ivan asked.

"Or else, a couple of orderlies and I will carefully, perhaps even on doctor's orders, tie you to a bed."

The man was tall and broad-shouldered, about a hundred kilos. Ivan decided not to argue with him, as he realised from the look at the man he now was not the one to decide here.

"Andrei," said Ivan, looking to the side. "I ask you, let's talk in a calm atmosphere."

"My name is Georgy; I'm not a big boss like you are, therefore you can call me just Gosha. I'm the senior care worker here," the man said.

"Thank you, but your name is of no interest to me," Ivan replied disdainfully.

"This is Maria, but you can call her Masha," Gosha showed a hand on the plump woman. She smiled to Ivan.

"Oh," said Masha, "we've been introduced to each other so many times. You are not Ivan, excuse me, you asked to call you Ivan Alexeitch."

"Look, I swear this is the first time I've seen you," Ivan said, "I know exactly where I am. I promise to behave calmly, but you must call your supervisor. I am sure that after talking to me, he will understand that I should not be here."

"I see, you think you're perfectly normal. This is great," said Gosha. "Tell me, please, who is Andrei?"

"Andrei?" Ivan realized that it was not necessary to address the author aloud. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You just called some Andrei," said Gosha.

"I didn't call anyone," said Ivan, "I am not obliged to tell you anything at all. Or is this an interrogation?"

"No, Ivan... I mean Ivan Alexeitch, this is not an interrogation," said Masha, "of course, you don't have to."

"Well, we might have made a mistake with Andrei," began Gosha and looked at Masha. "and with the dinosaur and Mars, too, haven't we?"

"I won't say a word from now on," said Ivan.

"What an idiot I am," he thought "why did I say that much, now I will definitely be considered an idiot."

"All right, Ivan Alexeitch," said Gosha, "let's go and take you to your room." Your mother will be here soon, she'll bring your things."

"What things?"

"Socks, underpants, a toothbrush, and whatever else you need."

"My god..." Ivan slowly ran his hands over his head and got up from the trolley.

They walked down the corridor. Masha went ahead, Ivan and Gosha followed. A man in sweatpants and a white t-shirt came out to meet them. He smiled good-naturedly at Ivan and pointed at him. Gosha took the man by arm and said:

"Where are you going, Vitalik?"

Vitalik made a surprised face and shrugged.

"Let's go back," said Gosha.

The corridor ended in large double doors marked "2nd department". They passed through the doors and entered a large room. There were benches on the left and right. On one of them sat a man in a white coat, and next to him a young guy. The guy jumped up and started shouting. Then he fell and curled up. Gosha winked at the man in the white coat who sat on the bench. He wasn't even going to get up and lift the poor guy off the floor.

They passed another door and entered the department. There was a huge hall with a counter in the centre and corridors to the left and right. A nurse was standing at the counter and scrolling the feed on her phone. A scream came from the corridor. Ivan realised the hopelessness of the situation.

The prospect of staying in the hospital was very bleak – he would be surrounded by schizophrenics in the acute stage with critical delirium, psychotic maniacs, murderers who were recognized as insane (thank God they are kept separately, and they have their own monitoring regime), alcoholic deliriants in acute psychosis, and so on – the whole range of mental abnormalities. Some patients were kept here for years.

"I caught Vitalik," Gosha said to the nurse, leading him to the counter. "Why do you have patients running round around?"

"Oh, I didn't see him slip," the nurse said.

"You should pay less attention to you phone," said Gosha and released Vitalik, who immediately went somewhere like a zombie.

The nurse looked at Ivan standing in the doorway.

"Oh, long time no see," she said.

"Book him," said Gosha.

Ivan looked into the corridor to his left, where the scream came from. Two orderlies tried to drag a patient into a hospital ward. He was lying on the floor, kicking. An orderly grabbed the patient by the armpits and tried to drag him along. Another one grabbed the man by the leg, but immediately received a kick in the face.

"Ivan," said Masha, "let's go and take you to your room."

"What about booking?" Ivan pointed to the counter.

"We have all your data," said Masha.

Masha showed Ivan to his room and went inside. Like all other rooms in the department this one had no doors.

"Well," said Masha, "make yourself at home. Last year, you took this bed."

There was only one patient in the four-bed room besides Ivan. A man in his forties, who looked perfectly normal, was sitting on the bed reading a book.

"Just the two of us here?" Ivan asked Masha.

"Just for time being. There'll be more patients here with you," Masha replied.

"How often do people get here?"

"Quite often."

"Masha, can you tell me what my treatment will be if I am not released?" Ivan asked.

"The doctor will come tomorrow morning and tell you everything."

"Yes. Time! What time is it?"

"Eighth o'clock."

"So there's no doctor right now?"

"No, he leaves at seven."

"What a mess," thought Ivan, "there must be a doctor on duty."

"Well, I think I'll lie down and gather my thoughts," he said.

"If anything, ask the nurse at the counter. Or the orderlies at the checkpoint," said Masha.

"At what checkpoint?" Ivan asked.

"At that," Masha pointed to a bench in the corridor.

"What a great checkpoint. Where's the orderly?"

"They're trying to calm Vaska down."

"This must be the one who was kicking," thought Ivan.

"All night long the orderlies will be on duty, if anything, ask them or to the nurse, That's all Ivan, I have to go."

Masha turned around and took a few steps before Ivan called out to her:

"Wait a second."

"Yes," she turned around.

"How many times have I been here?"

"I don't remember, but in the department for adults you're for the second time."

"Adults?"

"You were in child psychiatry until you came of age."

"All right, Masha, I don't dare detain you any longer. Goodbye."

"Bye," the nurse said.

Ivan went to his bunk and sat down on it.

"What a great idea," Ivan thought to himself, "So it's Andrei... Max's Second personality has a name. So we met."

Ivan pulled off his shoes and lay on the bed. He looked at his neighbour. A bald man in glasses continued to read.

"The impostor must go," this phrase was spinning in Ivan's head. "So that Andrei believes that he is the main personality. Then everything fits. The last thing Max said was that he didn't remember his childhood. Andrei said that Max emerged when he was in an orphanage. If I'm not mistaken, something happened to Andrei in his childhood, something about his family, that sent him to an orphanage. Then Max emerged in his mind. Maybe that's why Max doesn't remember his childhood, because he never existed as a child."

Ivan rubbed his face with his hands, took a deep breathe in and breathe out.

"Oh, what a madhouse... it's all ruined: the book, the life..." thought Ivan. "If Andrei ousted Max, then what awaits me? Apparently, Andrei is writing the book now, otherwise would I be sitting here? What final did Max lead the book to? What kind of final Andrei wants? What if Andrei, having achieved his goal, just stops writing? Why should he continue it if he has ousted Max? What if he hasn't yet ousted Max? Maybe he's going to finish the book, to show his complete dominance over Max. Perhaps he's going to finish it, perhaps not... And I'm about to disappear..."

Ivan looked at his hands.

"I'm not disappearing. So he is writing... for now."

Suddenly Ivan remembered the phone. He checked the pockets of his pants. Then he examined his jacket. But it had no pockets at all.

Ivan's roommate put down the book:

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," said Ivan.

"What do you think, can we consider a gun that was put in a fridge a cold steel weapon?"

"What?"

"Why is weapon called cold steel?"

"I... I don't know," said Ivan.

"If you heat a knife, will it сease to be cold steel?"

"Probably," said Ivan.

"Imagine a rifle with a bayonet; is it a cold steel weapon or a hot one?"

"I think it's something in between. Warm!" Ivan answered with a serious face.

"Warm weapons..." the man thought and scratched his forehead, "exactly. What are you here for?" the man asked.

"I don't know. Apparently, by someone's will."

"What's your name?"

"Ivan."

"I'm Teacher."

"Teacher?"

"Yeah."

"Is Teacher written in the passport?

"I haven't seen my real passport."

"Got it."

Ivan lay down on the bed and stretched out.

"Is atomic bomb a hot weapon?" Teacher asked.

"Yeah," said Ivan and closed his eyes.

"Ivan."

"What?"

"I like you."

"Thank you. But I would like to rest in silence."

"Nicely. Do you happen to know what mountain climbers do when they are running out of toilet paper?"

"Oh, my God," Ivan said quietly to himself.

"If you're hanging over a cliff and you need to go to the toilet, but you've run out of paper, then it's disaster!"

Ivan decided not to answer, hoping that Teacher would stop asking stupid questions.

"Ivan" Teacher looked directly at him.

...

"Ivan."

...

"Ivan."

"What is it!" Ivan said sharply.

"Who do you think you are?"

"What do you mean?"

"Many people here are not what they think they are. Who were you before you came here?"

"I am who I am! I'm not positioning myself as anything!"

"There's a guy here who thinks the apocalypse has come. He tried to eat a man. And then he punctured his own throat, but the police found him and saved his life."

"Cool."

"This guy still communicates with some imaginary old friend of his. Do you have imaginary friends?"

"No."

"And you don't hear voices?"

"Listen, Teacher, I'm asking you once again to let me rest in silence."

"All right," the Teacher said and went back to reading book again.

Ivan lay for about an hour, trying to take a nap, but restless thoughts did not let him relax. He needed to understand what had changed in the world and what remained the same. Did his company still exist, is his office still there, what about Kamenev, money in accounts, shares, and the spaceport? Was he the same Ivan now as he used to be?"

"My mind doesn't seem to have changed," he thought half asleep, "though if it did, how would I know it?"

Ivan fell into a light sleep. He saw visions of a crumpled car with two man in it. And a huge lizard nearby. the lizard clenched the man in the front seat between its teeth. Ivan saw all this from the outside. He could change the perspective the way he wanted. He could rewind these events back and forth in chronology. He could see the driver's pain-ridden face. He saw the passenger screaming. All this firmly etched in his memory. Ivan flew closer to see the passenger's face but saw his own. An old man appeared next to the passenger. He held a wine corkscrew in his hand. The old man grabbed Ivan, who was sitting in the car, by the collar of his jacket and pressed him against the seat. The old man held the corkscrew to Ivan's eye.

"Ivan..."

He grabbed the old man by forearm with both hands, trying to pull the corkscrew away from his face, but the man was too strong. The corkscrew went into Ivan's eyeball. The man struggled to screw it deeper and deeper in.

"Ivan..." someone shook him by the shoulder.

"Ah! What ?!" He arose upon one elbow.

Ivan saw his mother sitting on his bed.

"What are you doing?" she asked him.

He closed his eyes and touched them.

"I had a bad dream," he said.

"Here's your bag of things," mother said.

"Thank you."

"Next week we may drop by with your father," she said and got up from the bunk.

"Are you leaving already?"

"Yes, why stay here"

"Well, I don't know, because it's your son who is in hospital?"

"So what? You've been in hospitals all your life."

"What's wrong with your face?" Ivan asked.

"I don't know."

"You look young," said son.

"Yes? Thank you, then," my mother said. "Okay I have to go, if anything, your phone is in the bag."

"Are you seriously leaving?"

"Yes, Ivan, I'm leaving. Since last year you have come of age and thank God I am no longer obliged to stay with you in hospital. I spent my whole youth staying in hospitals with you. Six months every year. That's enough for me. Go on as you like."

"Came of age?" Ivan asked.

"I've had enough of this nonsense; I've had enough of it over the years. The doctor will explain everything to you. Bye, son." Mother leaned over to Ivan and kissed him on the forehead.

"All right," he said, "If you've had enough of it, then good luck."

"We'll call you tonight," she said and left the room.

"Came of age? What the hell?" Ivan thought and got up from the bed.

He left the room and quickly crossed the corridor. Once in the toilet he found a mirror above the sink. In the reflection he saw an eighteen-year-old boy.

"Even so..." he thought "that's just a trick, okay... okay, let's assume..."

Ivan touched his cheeks. He turned one side of his face to the mirror, then the other. An orderly peeked into the bathroom.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

"Yes," said Ivan and left of the toilet.

"Ivan." Teacher addressed him as soon as he entered the room. "I decided that our world can't be a simulation."

"Not a simulation," thought Ivan, "but a book."

"Have you ever thought about simulations?" Teacher asked.

"No, I haven't. Listen, why are you Teacher? Are you teaching someone?"

"I teach philosophy at the University," Teacher said.

"I see," said Ivan.

"Do you want to hear my proof that our world can't be a simulation?"

"No, I don't."

"Well, then," the Teacher began, "imagine we have invented our own computer simulation of our world. People live there and don't know they live in a simulation."

Ivan lay on the bed on his side, with his back to his companion.

"And then the people in that simulation invent their own simulation and it turns out to be a simulation in the simulation."

"In some book I read about this," thought Ivan "But I don't remember the title."

Ivan did not answer Teacher, hoping that he would get tired of babbling or he would just get bored of talking with such a reticent talker.

"Then people in the second simulation also create a simulation, because nothing prevents them from doing it, it does not violate any laws of physics. And then they realise that if there are a lot of simulation levels below them, then most likely there are also a lot of simulation levels above them. After all, the probability that they are living in the highest level is extremely small.

Ivan reached into the bag near his bed and took out the phone.

"It turns out that every world can think that they are a simulation and that there is an upper level of simulation above them. And there is no the first, the real, non-simulated world," Teacher continued.

Ivan examined his old phone with a cracked screen by turning it over in his hands. It had no Internet. Without the Internet Ivan was unable to communicate with the outside world. He dialled Kamenev's number from memory and held the phone to his ear.

"If there is no first, real, not simulated world, then the number of nested simulated worlds is infinite. But this can't be, no computer can process the infinite number of worlds. So our world can't be a simulation."

The number that Ivan dialled does not exist. He put the phone back in the bag.

"What do you think about it?" Teacher asked.

"If our world can't be a simulation, then there cannot possible be a simulation," Ivan suddenly decided to answer Teacher.

"Yes," he said.

"But a simulation can exist. Nothing prevents it from coming up in the future. The existence of a simulation does not violate the laws of our world, so sooner or later it will be created."

"Well... I guess so."

"And if we can create it, why couldn't someone else create us?"

"Let's get back to this conversation later."

"Yes, later, much later. Think thoroughly over everything, and tomorrow... no, even in a week we may talk," said Ivan.

"Nicely."

"The main thing is not to rush. It's of no use in philosophy, you know that."

"Yes, yes."

"That's great."

A nurse came into the room, the one who was standing at the counter in front of the department doors. She was carrying a set of bedclothes. She put it on the next bed next to Ivan.

"Will you make the bed yourself?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Ivan.

"You can go to the dining room for dinner," the nurse said.

"I don't want to."

"Why are you so upset?"

Ivan glanced at the nurse.

"That's a strange question," he said.

"You were more cheerful the last time you were here."

"There was no last time."

"Oh, really," said the nurse. "If you change your mind, come down, they'll leave one meal for you. The dining room will be open until nine o'clock."

"Thank you."

"The doctor will be here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Great."

She left the room. Teacher followed her out.

Ivan thought:

"If you write a book about a mentally unhealthy person who was put in a mental hospital because he considers himself a character in a book, will this character become crazy? After all he is really a book character, which means he is not mad at all. It's a paradox."

Ivan lay for a few more minutes, then got up and began making the bed.

He took off his trousers, jacket and t-shirt, then lay down on the bed and pulled the blanket over his head.

"Max, if you read this, please bring me back to my time. I can't stay here. I won't be able to stand this life again."

Ivan turned on his back. He tried to fall asleep as fast as he could, using the technique of military pilots, which he had read about. Ivan imagined himself lying in a canoe, slowly floating on the river. The blanket covered his face. Ivan deliberately banished all thoughts from his head. He completely relaxed the facial muscles, lowered his shoulders, took a deep breath and exhaled, then relaxed his chest, his arms and legs. He floated in a boat under a blue sky and repeated to himself, " don't think... don't think... don't think..."

* * *

Ivan was awakened by a loud rumble and screams. As he slowly regained consciousness, he realised that the voices were coming from the corridor. It was dark outside. He couldn't tell what time it was.

"I need to knit!" came a scream.

"Hold your horse!"

"Bring me my svivalnik!"

"They're everywhere! Remove them!"

"Tie the legs!"

Ivan got out of bed and looked out into the dimly lit corridor. An orderly was lying on his back on the floor, holding a patient by the neck. The second one sat on the patient's feet and tried to tie them with some kind of belt. Some curious department inhabitants stuck out their heads out of their rooms.

"They'll eat me!" the patient shouted. "They'll eat my feet and my hands!"

"Vaska is getting rowdy again," Teacher said calmly, lying in his bed.

Ivan turned to look at him.

"Does he yell like that every night?" Ivan asked Teacher.

"Almost every," said Teacher. "At night he sees people silhouettes and says they come out of the walls."

"Oh, my God, it looks like he's wet himself!" one of the orderlies shouted.

Ivan looked down the corridor again. The second orderly finished tying Vaska's legs. Together they turned him over on his stomach and began tying his hands behind his back.

"You will kill me!" the patient shouted. "You don't understand! Can't you see they are watching? They're watching us!"

When they had finished "tying the horse," as they called it, the orderlies grabbed him by legs and arms and carried into the room. The patient was still shouting something about the creatures from the walls, then his cry became something inarticulate, as if he had a gag placed over his mouth.

Ivan returned to his bed, took the phone out of the bag and looked at the clock. It was six in the morning. The doctor would be here in two hours.

"I won't last long here," he thought, "I must make a good impression on the doctor; he will understand that I am here for nothing and that there is no point in keeping me here. I'll go home tomorrow."

Ivan lay in bed for about an hour. The screams in the next room died down. Ivan lay and thought about the upcoming conversation with the doctor. He wondered what questions the doctor would ask him, and how best to answer them, so as not to seem crazy. He scolded himself for telling them about Mars and that lizard. He was afraid he would be treated with electric shock, as shown in films. At a little after seven, he got up and dressed. He rummaged in his bag and pulled out a toothbrush and toothpaste, then left the room. The orderly was sitting in the corridor on a chair glared at him. Ivan nodded to him in greeting.

"It's been a hard night," Ivan said to the orderly.

"Don't tell me," the man said listlessly.

Ivan went to the toilet, turned on the water and washed away a cockroach who was crawling in the sink. He washed, brushed his teeth, and rinsed out his mouth. The water tasted rusty.

When the doctor came, Ivan was sitting on the bed, leaning against its high back, and dozing.

"Hey, Ivan," he said cheerfully.

Ivan opened his eyes and looked at the doctor. He was a middle-aged man who wore the same white coat as other medical staff. Nothing remarkable. Ivan saw this man for the first time.

"Hello."

"How did you spend the night?"

"Not taking into account that the roommate was constantly asking me stupid questions," Ivan nodded his head at still sleeping Teacher, "and not taking into account that someone had been yelling in the corridor half the night, then I had a good night. It's more like a hotel, not a hospital. And yes, you also have cockroaches here."

"Well," the doctor said with a grin. "This is the first time I've heard of cockroaches."

"Insanitary..."

"Okay, we'll deal with the cockroaches... do you remember me?"

"Should I lie that I do?" Ivan thought. "Maybe they'll think I'm healthy."

"I remember," he said, "I've just forgotten the name."

"Semyon Petrovich" the doctor said.

"Yeah, right," replied Ivan smiling, "I would say it's nice to meet you, if we haven't met previously."

"I'm glad you remember something. Do you understand why you're here?

"Yes, Semyon Petrovich."

"Why?"

"I used to be sick. But this time I was brought here by mistake, because now I am absolutely sane and of sound mind."

"Grigory told me you were asking about a dinosaur."

"I think he misunderstood me."

"You were found in a supermarket, sitting on the floor and talking to someone who was obviously imaginary."

"Damn," Ivan thought to himself, and then calmly said:

"Maybe it was temporary insanity. Now I don't hear any voices, and I don't see no imaginary people."

"I know you don't want to be here. There's no point in keeping you here long. In general, it would be great for us if everyone checked out and everyone were doing well."

"What are you getting at?"

"At the fact that you'll have to stay here for a while."

"Why is it?"

"If you don't have any aggravation, you'll be out in a couple of weeks, maybe sooner."

"A couple of weeks? I'll get crazy if I spend so much time with these psychos! You can't keep me here! I'll only get worse!"

"Ivan, your current aggravation lasted a long time."

"What?"

"How to put it? You've been living in your imaginary world for a few weeks now."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Two weeks ago, your mother contacted us again, she said you heard voices and talked to someone. You thought you were a millionaire. You were going to colonise Mars and all that."

"But... two weeks... wait... that is..."

"We decided to let you stay home for the time being, as the aggravation were not serious, unlike in the past, when you could run out naked on the street or attack a passer-by, claiming that he was a werewolf... In short, this time we did not take you here immediately. Your parents were taking care of you. But in course of time you were getting worse. So you'll have to spend some time here."

"I-I don't believe it! It's his fault! Fuck you, author!" Ivan got angry and raised his voice. Orderlies immediately appeared in the corridor.

"It's all right," Semyon Petrovich told them. "We are just talking."

"Ivan," said the doctor, "if you will obey and do as you are told, you will get out of here faster. Trust us."

Ivan managed to control his anger and nodded to the doctor. He had no choice. There is no point in brawling, they would quickly tie him up. It was also pointless to explain he was sane, as he wouldn't be able to prove anything to the medical staff. He won't prove that it's me who's writing this story and that they are all just book characters, just a figment of my imagination, that he is the only one who knows the truth and, in fact, he is the healthiest person in this book. Soon he will begin to doubt whether he is healthy, because I'm not going to communicate with him anymore. Max is gone, and there is no point in counting on me to continue writing this book. But I'm afraid that if I don't lead the story to its logical final, the impostor will return. I'm in complete control of the body and of all that is important to Max. I will finish this book. I'll finish it the way I want. But this damn character already has the character that was put into it at the beginning of the book. I can't change him anymore. Otherwise I'll have to rewrite it all over again. Should I make him a beggar, contrary to Max's idea? It'll be difficult to do it without disrupting the logical course of events.

* * *

Ivan was in the hospital for a little more than two weeks. From the orderlies he learned that Teacher's wife and two daughters died in a car accident, which made him go crazy. Before the tragic accident, he really taught philosophy at an Institute. After learning the story, Ivan took a liking to Teacher and even sometimes discussed his delusional ideas with him. Raving mad Vaska was raped in his youth, after which he began to see silhouettes of people. He yelled every night. Ivan stopped paying attention to this and sometimes did not even wake up when Vaska screamed. Almost every patient had a story, and usually a sad one. Ivan gradually came to idea that he really was crazy. After all, each of these patients was confident in their delirium, as well as Ivan in his. So how did Ivan's delirium differ from that of any other patient? "If you write a book about a madman who was put in a mental hospital because he considers himself a character of a book, will this person go crazy?" thought Ivan trying to justify himself and defend his normality in a dispute with himself. He tried to dig out from the depths of his mind any traumatic events from childhood. Something that might have caused his illness, but he couldn't remember anything. He had a normal childhood, just like everyone else. None raped or abused him. He didn't recall any traumatic experiences.

Ivan was treated with medication. Shock therapy was not performed here, and it was not necessary in his case at all. Of all the patients Ivan only spoke to Teacher. The staff treated Ivan well, as he was the most adequate there. He was even allowed to walk alone in the courtyard. He read a lot and slept. There was nothing else to do there. During the entire stay in the hospital, the parents came only twice and only for a short time. On the sixteenth day, a doctor came into the room with a discharge.

* * *

Ivan opened the door of his flat. Cigarette smoke hit his nostrils right from the doorway, just as usual. Father waved at him from the kitchen and shouted: "Long time no see!"

Ivan smiled at him without answering. He quickly undressed and went to his room. In the corridor he met mother. She hugged him.

"I'm glad you recovered," my mother said.

"Thank you."

"Do you want to eat?"

"No, I've eaten in the hospital before I was discharged.

Ivan went to his room. Mother asked:

"Shall we go and have a cup of tea?"

"I'd like to be alone now, thank you."

Ivan closed the door latched it. He went to the computer and pressed the power button. The computer did not respond. Ivan remembered the button was broken. He crawled under the table and connected two wires sticking out of the system unit, then the computer buzzed.

"I've already forgotten that I once had such a relic," thought Ivan and sat down at the monitor.

The computer was in no hurry to boot up the operating system. He put his elbow on the table and rested his cheek on the hand palm. He close his eyes.

"What a scrap metal," he thought "how can it take so long to boot up? Archaic piece of shit."

"Ivan!" father's voice came from the corridor, and the door shook.

"What?"!

"Why did you lock the door? let's go to the kitchen and I want to hear how you've been!"

"I'm not in the mood right now. Later."

"As you wish."

After a couple of minutes, the computer booted up. Ivan went on the Internet and typed "Green Mars company." The search engine gave out a bunch of articles on the topic of greening the red planet. But there was not a single word about his company or developments.

"Yes, it would be foolish to think that something will remain," he thought.

Ivan looked round his room. He remembered what his life used to be. He still hoped and waited for Max to come and return him back to his car, which was speeding towards the spaceport.

* * *

The days passed slowly and drearily. Ivan woke up late and went to bed late. He hooked on an online game just to kill time. With each passing day the hope for the return of Max faded. His parents hinted to him that it was time to start earning money. They offered to work as a watchman on shift schedule. Zinaida (a friend of Ivan's mother) could ask her supervisor to let him work at a greengrocer's shop. The salary was small, but the work was simple, just to sit in a booth and watch. Ivan did not have the mental strength to do something, and he could not go to work as a watchman after all he had created in his past. He hardly ever left his room, so as to avoid the sidelong glances of his parents, who considered him a parasite, a dependent, and unemployed, as they put it. Sometimes he would go outside, wander round the neighbourhood, and get some air.

* * *

Ivan sat, having locked himself in the room, and drank beer. Several empty cans lay under the table.

"It doesn't matter what I do," he thought, "the author can write anything. Though Max said that I have my own will and it is impossible to rewrite a character, as it won't be logical and will not correlate with the character's features. Well, then, how can I use my will? If I'm just a character, just letters. I submit to the will of the author, or, as many in my world say, to fate. Where is this will? Where is everything that I have created of my own free will? Why am I at the social bottom again?"

Ivan emptied the beer can, put it on the floor, then opened the next one and had some salted peanuts.

"What should I do? I lost everything. The author again does communicate with me. Everyone thinks I'm crazy. But I don't believe I am. I don't want to believe it. And you, reader, if you are reading it all now, you understand that I am a sane person. I'm just stuck here. I'm locked in this damn book! Reader, I know you can hear me now. You're there, and I'm here. You are real... You look at these letters, and I come to life in your mind. Help me! Please! Do something! Get me out of here!"

Ivan took a sip of beer.

"What I'm saying... I don't know how it can be helped. What advice would you give me?"

* * *

Ivan calmly walked along the road. His mind was empty of thoughts. It was unpleasant for him to remember the past, looking at what was happening around him now. He learned not to think about anything. It was difficult at first, but over time he got used to it. When you think less it's easier to live and to fall asleep.

"Hey, Ivan!" Sergei shouted to him from afar, sitting on a bench in the yard.

Ivan waved his hand. Sergei gestured for him to come. Ivan stepped over the garden fence, walked across the lawn where they usually walk dogs, and found himself near the bench where Sergei was sitting.

"Hey," Sergei repeated and held out his hand.

"Hi," said Ivan, shaking hands with him.

"Where are you going?"

"Just walking."

"How are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"It's been a long time."

"Yes."

"Are you in a hurry?"

"No."

"What's wrong? You seem broken up."

"Well... No, I'm just... tired."

"Hard days?"

"No, just something... I don't even know," Ivan smiled.

"Come on, tell me, how are you? Did you enter a university? Or are you working?"

"No, I'm just... loafing."

"Tired of doing nothing?" Sergei said cheerfully.

"I don't even know what to say. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Really?" Sergei stared intently at Ivan. "How you feeling?"

"Health?"

"Yeah."

"What about it?"

"Well... I don't know, I just asked."

"Do I have health problems?"

"Well... (Sergei hesitated) I don't know, you'd better tell me. Maybe there is."

"You mean the hospital?"

"Do you remember?"

"The hospital?"

"Yeah."

"I remember this time.

"Hm... All right. I just thought that... well, maybe you don't remember."

"At school, few people talked to me, this is because I..."

"Well ... Sort of. But I always said you were a normal guy, but just funny in the head."

"That's true."

"Want a beer?" Sergei took a can of beer from his backpack and opened it. "I have more here."

"I guess I could have one." Ivan sat down on the bench. Sergei took out the second can and gave it to Ivan. He opened his beer and took a sip.

"Just don't worry," Sergei patted him on the shoulder, "you remember, which is already better."

"Does everyone know everything about me?" Ivan asked and took another sip.

"Well, yes. Long ago. I'd say since childhood."

"I can't believe all this."

"What? That everyone knows?"

"No, that I am kind of... I have a feeling that someone is imposing on me, that I am not sane. Someone wants to change me, but they will not succeed."

"Well... anything can happen," said Sergei, though he did not understand what Ivan had in mind.

"Why are you here?" Ivan asked.

"I decided to relax a little after uni."

"Uni?"

"Yeah."

"Where did you enter?"

"In University of Railway Transport. I will, oddly enough, build Railways."

"Congrats. On a budgetary basis?"

"You ask (Sergei proudly lifted his nose.) Of course. I did it."

"Well, I hope they are going to pay you well?"

"Not at all, are you kidding?" Sergei grinned.

"No... I'm just asking."

"But what can I do? There is no choice," said Sergei and took a big sip from the can.

"I thought in high school you wanted to become a pianist," said Ivan.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous."

"Why?"

"How do you imagine that?"

Ivan took a deep breath.

"Well... Somehow I imagine," he said.

"No, let's be realistic. Here I'll have steady paychecks, but there... no, there's nothing to discuss. I was young and stupid when I dreamed about becoming a pianist. Sergei – a pianist? That's nonsense, and now I understand that..."

Ivan was distracted from what Sergei was saying and drew attention to an ant that was dragging up a grain along an almost vertical hill. A grain was twice as big as the ant. Ivan watched this amazing creature. It was so small, but it could carry so much. The ant struggled to drag this grain, lifting it higher and higher. Ivan imagined what the insect might be thinking. Probably, it's swearing at the grain. Maybe it's measuring the distance, which it has yet to go. Or maybe it doesn't think about anything, just drags. The ant continued to slowly climb up, holding the grain with its mandibles. By human standards the hill was only twenty centimetres. Apparently, someone cut the ground with a shovel, never asking the ant. The insect almost climbed to the top, but at the very end the grain fell out of its tenacious mandibles. Without thinking twice, the ant went down, grabbed the fallen grain, and began dragging it up the hill.

"You know what, Sergei," said Ivan, radiant with a smile.

"What?"

Ivan threw the beer can into the trash.

"Hey, you are wasting beer! It was almost full," Sergei protested.

Ivan got up from the bench, stretched, spreading his hands to the sides and said:

"I have an idea..."
