The idea of joining the Organization hadn't left Rait since the moment it appeared. It had simply been dulled in the hospital by creative impulse, well, and sleeping pills; but upon arriving home he thought seriously for the first time about whether such a role would suit him.

  Rait feared pain and violence. Perhaps this was his primary and strongest fear, which often woke him in the middle of the night, forcing him to curl into a ball and try with all his might not to think about all that abundance of pain that exists in the world and which, theoretically, could easily befall him as well. The feeling of vulnerability—so painful, so relentless.

  Also, of course, he couldn't help being embarrassed by the fact that he possessed no abilities thanks to which the Organization's people could successfully conduct their activities. Remembering this, he was generally astonished with shame at how the thought of joining them could have entered his head. But, on the other hand...

  He burned with the same idea. He was with them with all his soul. He'd elevated them to the rank of gods, he, unlike other people, was ready to follow them. Yes, in the new world he'd be useless to them—and he didn't want to live; but he so wanted to draw closer to something higher, so lacked this in daily life. Moreover—he felt some incomprehensible commonality with them, though he had no visible reasons for it.

  Sitting on the floor before the portrait had already become a daily ritual. And now he approached the wall, slowly lowering himself to his knees and folding his hands.

  "Please... you're my only orientation point..."

  He tried with all his might to concentrate. Having sat like that for some time, he got up and went to the Internet.

  By day's end he already possessed all available information about the Organization, but the main question remained unresolved. Being strictly elite, the community didn't offer anyone the chance to join it. And no such cases had been recorded...

  Rait was as if covered with foggy haze. He fell into a stupor, without the slightest idea what to do next.

  Returning from school, Rait, as usual, listened to music in headphones. He took them out only directly at the door—so his mother wouldn't yell, if she happened to come home early, that he was ruining his hearing and that a car could easily hit him.

  "As if a car can't hit me without headphones..."—he smirked now.

  However, this time he removed them even on approach to the house. Some incomprehensible feeling appeared—he became uneasy, and the music instantly transformed from the nectar of life into annoying noise.

  The moment he removed the headphones, his ears nearly curled into tubes from a piercing squeal that seemed to belong to a dog.

  "The moment I connect to reality, this reality wedges itself into my brain so hard that, perhaps, never again. And dogs are fighting too, well what haven't they divided there..."

  Rait truly began to worry when another squeal was followed by quite human curses, and then muffled whimpering. The realization seemed to pass through his body like a spike.

  He understood that against several people he had no chance. That he would, as usual, suffer defeat, mockery, humiliation. Pain. But he also couldn't just leave the situation. No, impossible. There are moments when you do what's necessary, regardless of whether you have the ability to do so, and without thinking. Rait rushed into the depths of the yard—to where the sounds were coming from.

  "What the hell! What kind of creature of exceptional importance are you that I should pay attention to you?!"

  Surrounded by a company of two more people, some guy was frantically yelling at a white ball of fur curled up on the ground.

  "What, I can't even talk calmly now?! Be grateful I'm even feeding you, you woolly wretch!"

  "And b-biting p-people... Y-you c-can't!.."—this phrase belonged to another guy, apparently already considerably drunk.

  Hearing this voice, the dog growled.

  "What? You're still growling?!"

  "I'm a h-human a-actually, I'm h-higher than y-you, a-animal..."

  "You're annoying."

  The guy who was obviously the dog's owner—and apparently an unwilling owner—swung and kicked the puppy with his foot.

  Rait could no longer bear this. Against the background of a new squeal, his piercing cry burst forth:

  "Stop!!!"

  He had no other thoughts now except to somehow distract attention to himself, so as not to see this anymore, finally. It worked brilliantly.

  "And who the hell are you, I'm sick of you, yapping creatures!!!"—then curses followed.

  With these words the guy rapidly approached Rait, whose first impulse was to run. However, he pulled himself back in time.

  And received a punch to the gut. And after that he would have gotten it in the face if he hadn't managed to turn away in time. It hit his temple; and before his eyes could darken, Rait lost consciousness.

  And then incredible things began happening to that guy. Both his legs suddenly buckled, and he fell to the ground with a cry. His companions didn't even manage to understand anything. However, this was only the beginning.

  Gil rose from the ground, brushing himself off. Then looked at the one lying down.

  "Bastard."

  Not even a few seconds passed before the yard filled with inhuman screams from the subhuman. His right hand—the very one with which he'd delivered blows—unnaturally twisted, crunching disgustingly, in the shoulder area. Then a crunch was heard already in the neck, and the guy finally fell silent.

  His fleeing companions never managed to accomplish what they'd planned. One fell with broken legs, which were followed by the same thing that ended the first one's life; the second was slammed with such force against a nearby building that he fell silent forever, spewing blood.

  Gil ran to the dog. He extended his hands, fearing two things: the possibility of touching a sore spot and that the dog might bite him. However, surprisingly, it simply growled, and it was unclear even whether from pain or hostility.

  Examining the animal, Gil couldn't help but admire it. Apparently, this was a White Swiss Shepherd puppy; its fluffy ears already stood upright from an early age, and didn't hang as usually happens with puppies. Large paws and an elongated muzzle, like a wolf cub's.

  "Damn, this is a living creature... A living creature with pain reflexes; isn't that enough..."

  About those three people Gil apparently somehow didn't think. Having laid the dog as comfortably as possible in his arms, he carried it to the vet.

  "If you hate it so much, why did you get one..."

  The examination showed that the puppy had gotten away with bruises, in some places quite severe—but without fractures. Nothing serious with the nose either—the bleeding had stopped even on the way to the clinic. He had to lie that the dog was homeless, to avoid unpleasantness with documents; the vet looked and looked at Gil, then apparently decided to wave it off.

  Now the latter had nothing left but to take the puppy home. Gil wouldn't have had the heart to give it to a shelter, and how could he imagine that the dog might again fall into the hands of that... oh yes, he died. But who knows how many like him there are in the world...

  Having bought the necessary medicines and food along the way, Gil brought the dog home.

  "Wha-a-at?!"—Rait's mother, who'd already returned from work long ago, looked at the entrant like he was an idiot.—"That’s the last thing I need, where did you dig him up?! Who's going to take care of him?! The apartment's small as it is, now quickly get that out of here, so my eyes don't see it..."

  "Please, shut up and leave me alone,"—Gil interrupted her wearily.

  Her eyes at that moment needed to be seen. Her face stretched out so much she became like a herring.

  Gil didn't wait for righteous anger to rain down on him. A figurine flew off the shelf and rose into the air; a moment—and it shattered into pieces. The puppy jerked and growled; Rait's mother instantly darted into a corner, pressing herself there. Her eyes rotated madly. However, this wasn't all yet.

  Not as quickly as they'd scattered, but still quite efficiently, the pieces again assembled into a whole.

  "I'm taking responsibility for the dog. It so happened that he has nowhere to live and I can't leave him. I'll try to make sure he doesn't bother you. And now just don't touch me."

  Whether the woman heard these words at all or not remained a mystery. Only now she wasn't going to touch Gil anyway; moreover—she suddenly had a strong desire to leave the apartment as quickly as possible.

  She unstuck herself from the corner, unable even to say anything. She couldn't move further. Gil realized—smirking, he went into Rait's room, freeing the passage for her.

  With a grin he cast a fleeting glance at the wall with the solitary portrait. Then returned his attention to the puppy—he needed to give it medicine, feed it, and probably wash it.

  "As if I needed this... But there was nothing else left. Besides, it's still a shepherd; maybe it's worth it."

  Gil spent the rest of the evening fussing with the dog; then went to sleep in such an unusual environment for himself.

  ***

  "I don't understand what they want. They're simply proposing a battle on neutral territory? Right?"

  Gil looked at Esther, who sat across from him at a long black table in one of the bunker's rooms, in complete bewilderment.

  "Yes, exactly so."

  "And they're planning to use nuclear weapons?"

  "Yes."

  "And what's the kicker, excuse me... We don't look like suicide bombers..."

  "There's an obvious disagreement here,"—said Cael.—"They simply have discord."

  "Discord? However, exactly... I somehow didn't think about that. Well, all the simpler, and all the more complex at the same time."

  "Yes. We'll have to supplement our plans with several more variants of how events develop."

  "Or improvise. You can't predict everything."

  "Your business."

  "And shouldn't we hint to them somehow that in case of a nuclear strike..."—Esther began.

  "They're not stupid, they'll understand themselves. But actually... No, still not worth it. I'm just afraid they'll perceive it as a threat, and I don't know how people on the verge of despair should behave."

  "Will we walk on the razor's edge?"—asked Kael, squinting.

  "Yes, we'll keep you company."

  "Someday you'll shut up, finally."

  "What suggestions will there be?"—asked Gil.—"Personally, I see it like this: to the former Third Zone (this was neutral territory) we send part of our people—I think no one will deal with the First. And there it's already how lucky they are: either missiles will fly at them, and eternal memory to heroes, or—if the First Zone doesn't risk it—ours, as usual, will defeat the enemy army, and all that remains for us is to deal with the Fourth. Well, that's already trivial."

  "And here you were saying that every person counts for us..."—Kael smirked.—"Where will you get so many? And if you do get them—who, interestingly, will go for this?"

  "And who, interestingly, will tell them what they're going for?"

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "But even so... Their number, it's too small."

  Gil thought for a second. The situation was deadlocked; and it seemed that, despite all its complexity, the solution lay on the surface. Generally, he wanted to finish all this as quickly as possible. And this time this desire became, one could say, the starting point. Gil had an idea.

  "What if we take not quantity, but quality?"

  People hadn't gotten it yet; and only Esther's face began to clear.

  "Of course, I won't be able to do anything if missiles fly there. Well then—becoming a posthumous hero I'm also not against. But if they are still honest, then I can quite replace that small number of people, and even more than that. Hmm, by the way... After all, they probably won't launch missiles then, right?"

  "Unlikely... But they should sense a trick,"—said Esther.

  "Well, and what will they do then? They'll have nothing left: the problem needs to be solved somehow."

  "Gil, they're very well armed."

  "I beg you. The number of people who are able to operate equipment—as well as people in general—is now negligibly small compared to what was. Well yes, of course, I'll have to grab someone for support—I'll find some activist."

  People silently pondered what was said. Esther sat pale as death—even considering that the cold-toned lighting whitened the faces of all present.

  "And yes, one more thing... In case a scorched wasteland remains of the planet after all... I suppose it would be reasonable to send a spaceship with several people; of course, I don't know who could receive them, after the Third Interplanetary; but it's worth a try."

  "Reasonable. The main thing is not to forget to recall them in case of victory..."—Kael smirked.

  "Yes indeed, otherwise it'll be offensive. Well,"—Gil stretched,—"who lives, who dies—we've decided, and, if everyone agrees, I suggest moving on to details."

  After that he asked Kael and Esther to stay.

  "I won't keep you long. Which of you would be ready to discuss a personal matter with me?"

  About a second passed.

  "I would,"—both answered.

  "Right, I see... I'll ask differently: how do you feel about dogs?"

  "I have two cats..."—Esther answered.

  "Completely neutral,"—Kael answered.

  "The thing is, I have a dog. And if I suddenly die for any reasons other than nuclear missiles, I wouldn't want him to end up in a shelter. He needs care and proper upbringing. Is either of you ready?"

  "And what breed?.."—asked Esther, hesitating.

  "White Swiss Shepherd, age—about a year, no deviations or congenital diseases, house-trained for going outside, calm, doesn't bark at night. As far as I've been able to determine—the breed is pure, without admixtures. The only thing—for the first time you'll need to give medicines: the previous owner didn't treat him very well. For the same reason I wouldn't yell at him strongly."

  "A shepherd..."—Esther drew out thoughtfully.—"I think with cats this is a bad idea..."

  "Kael, what about you?"

  All this time he'd been sitting, examining the table.

  "Unlikely,"—he cut off.—"I don't know how to care for anyone."

  "Calm down, that's already obvious about you,"—Gil smiled.—"However, still think about it: dogs do need a lot of time devoted to them, but it really can be worth it."

  "Gil, you know,"—said Esther,—"if you... die, then I'll take the dog to myself. You can rest easy on this account—I'll care for him properly."

  "Is that true?"—Gil looked into her eyes.

  "Yes."

  "Well, in that case, thank you very much. I'll give the address where he can be found."

  "And what's his name, by the way?"

  "I don't know yet,"—Gil smirked.

  Understanding that the conversation was over, both began preparing to leave.

  Rising from his seat, Kael asked:

  "May I stay a little longer?"

  "Perhaps."

  When Esther left, Kael continued:

  "I just wanted to ask a question. You so quickly and with such readiness made the decision to go alone to the Third Zone. It always seemed to me that you also want to see the future, even, probably, first and foremost. It's difficult for me to understand your behavior."

  "And why do you need to understand it?"—Gil looked at him with a smile.

  "It's interesting."

  Then Kael's interlocutor walked back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. Then he turned to his deputy and spoke, looking somewhere above him:

  "Attention. All I need is divine attention. I didn't tell you all my guesses on this account for nothing. And I don't care by what means this attention will be obtained; it's good when the methods coincide with what I consider my sacred duty. And in case of heroic death and self-sacrifice, achieving my goal is assured."

  Kael listened, thoughtfully tilting his head slightly to the side.

  "Attention, then... Curious,"—the edge of his lip trembled, creating the impression of a fleeting smirk.—"In any case, thank you for the answer."

  ***

  This morning Rait's awakening was not quite ordinary. The first thing he felt—instead of the usual wave of nausea and disgust at life—was something painfully pressing on him with some sharp objects, of which there were as many as four. When something licked him almost in the eyes, he jumped up with a heart pounding madly.

  Immediately after this he felt guilt—the animal didn't manage to jump off the suddenly raised body and almost plopped onto the floor. However, the dog wasn't embarrassed by this: he put his front paws on the bed and began wagging his tail with all his might, yelping a couple of times in the process.

  "Quiet!.."—the sound was so sharp that Rait involuntarily pressed his palms to his ears.

  The dog immediately slightly pressed its ears and laid its muzzle between its paws, no longer wagging its tail so hard. Rait petted it on the head; then pulled his hand back—"I'm not its owner after all,"—and began carefully scratching its neck, meanwhile trying to understand where the dog came from.

  Generally, his first thought was that guests with a dog had come to them. But, on the other hand—so early?.. However, then he began to recall the events of the past day—the puppy seemed very familiar—and shuddered when he remembered the situation in full. What remained a mystery was how the dog got to him and where those people went; and his head still ached in the temple area...

  "Just like with a magic wand..."—Rait thought in bewilderment.—"In any case, now nothing threatens him, and that's the main thing."

  Here a chill ran down his spine.

  "But how will mother react?!"

  He hadn't managed to think about this when the door to his room carefully opened.

  "Son, are you already awake?"—a timid, quiet, gentle voice asked.

  And most importantly, genuine.

  If Rait had been asked to list the greatest surprises of his entire life, he would definitely have included this case in the list, moreover in a leading place.

  She closed the door and approached the bed.

  "Oh, and the doggy's already up; probably wants to go outside?"—all this time she was somehow unnaturally-tensely smiling, looking into Rait's eyes—as if trying to read something in them.—"Is everything okay with you?"

  The question was very strained. The dumbfounded Rait distractedly said:

  "Yes, what's wrong?.."

  She took him by the head, looked and looked and said:

  "Phew, well he seems really normal. You scared me so much yesterday..."—here her lip trembled; a second went to pondering whether to throw a tantrum, and common sense for once won out.

  "Don't forget to walk him,"—she tossed out, leaving the room.

  "Yeah. Now these are miracles,"—Rait thought.

  However, there was no time for long reflections. He jumped out of bed and hastily dressed, intending to walk the dog before breakfast.

  ***

  Having assessed all possibilities, Gil decided to combine two techniques into one for victory over what remained of the First Zone. He wasn't afraid for his life without reason: what he was planning to do could easily kill him if he went even slightly beyond the thinnest line. He was 99% certain he would die—Gil had never been good at maintaining balance.

  The one who couldn't exist calmly before this event was Esther. She thought tensely; however, as it turned out, she was worried about the wrong thing.

  "Gil, I and my people could hack the missile launch system. We just need to somehow infiltrate there unnoticed. If we do everything quickly, they won't manage..."

  "But if they do manage, then your good intentions will pass into the category of those with which the road to hell is paved,"—he smirked.—"Just calm down. Strategy will help little here; I feel we should rely on circumstances."

  "Kael said that the probability of them noticing us and launching missiles is about 85%..."

  "Please, don't trust the remaining 15. I'm scared,"—Gil laughed.

  "As you say..."

  "All you'll need to do is drive more clouds together [1] and observe the situation."

  Having studied the situation, Gil snorted. These naive people had set up anti-aircraft missile installations.

  "And where did they dig up this antique. And how will it help them..."

  Overall there wasn't that much equipment, as expected. These last desperate remnants of efforts were perhaps frightening in their desperation.

  Despite not wanting to pull anyone out from those who occupied the highest leadership positions, it still had to be done: the Organization's strongest people were concentrated there, and few could hold a protective screen of such power for so long, and under such conditions.

  And this measure turned out to be more than necessary: such a flow of projectiles rained down on Gil that, were he alone, he would either have died eventually from the impossibility of doing two things at once, or would have spent all his strength exclusively on defense. As it was, he engaged in creating a funnel from clouds, which was supposed to grow into a tornado, the center of which would be Gil with his partner.

  When the tornado formed, holding the defense became easier—relatively light projectiles simply didn't reach them. Here the second person to some extent became an obstacle—after all, if he made the wrong movement, the vortex would drag him in. And this necessity to constantly suppress upward air currents to stay on one's feet; not to mention the terrible roar. However, the latter was sufficiently uniform and therefore didn't interfere much.

  At least, for Gil it only helped him concentrate. Being the center and initiator of this natural phenomenon, he seemed to feel the tornado as a whole, while simultaneously paying attention to the slightest sound vibrations. He was completely concentrated, completely controlled the situation, but at the same time... as if he didn't exist.

  Yes, such large-scale actions always generated such sensations. The body seemed to dissolve; energy flows walked through it so freely. A feeling of unimaginable euphoria, becoming only stronger with time; it was what brought him closer to that line, crossing which meant death.

  Gil wasn't planning to die yet. After all, the tornado was only part of the performance. Before letting it freely roam the entire territory at enormous speed, he needed to finish the picture—to place, so to speak, the cherry on top of the cake.

  It must be said that Gil's words about how he concentrated perfectly on two things at once, tossed out to Kaael somehow in the First Zone, were not devoid of meaning. While maintaining the tornado, he, having previously given a conditional sign to his partner, began developing heavenly fire [2]—the highest type of energy use. Rare specimens could boast mastery of this technique; this skill constituted a significant part of Gil's authority—the Organization's people truly felt hierarchy excellently.

  Now the most difficult thing remained—to combine the techniques. Not just to let loose the funnel on these hapless warriors—a fire funnel was far more effective. Besides, this variant allowed making a kind of final blow at the end—in case someone remained alive.

  And finally, the third stage. When everything was ready for the offensive, all that remained was to exit the tornado. For this Gil needed to establish a protective screen alongside his partner and maintain it for that short time they would need to move to a safe distance.

  The sudden realization that there was still very much strength gave confidence. Gil and his subordinate successfully left the epicenter, and now the funnel began its walk. Not enviable was the fate of those who would get in its path; and it was destined for all enemies to get caught.

  Although Gil was extremely concentrated, his brain still wasn't completely free of thoughts. However, it was always like this; thoughts didn't distract, they simply went as a necessary chaotic background.

  "Well now, what can you do when your weapons are powerless?.. Nothing. Your dead creator made you equal to animals, who simply aren't given the ability to use anything beyond improvised means. You destroy without end or edge; without empathy, without any goal—if, of course, survival in this meaningless world isn't considered a goal, which is in itself absurd. You throw your own and others' lives around like dice; you don't even try to color your existence with meaning. I haven't seen a single person have a complete picture of the world—otherwise that person would commit suicide immediately. You live as if in fog, not realizing that network of suffering and pain that entwines and permeates this world—starting with the meaningless struggle for survival among animals and ending with the unjustified torments people inflict on each other. It seems you haven't even tried to look at the world through the eyes of an adequate, empathetic being; and how ironic that you elevate the one who started all this suffering, and hate those who will rid you of it forever!"

  The tornado destroyed most of the remaining army of the First Zone. And as a final touch, a rain of fire poured down on them—the heavenly fire didn't just go into the air.

  When everything subsided, and a special drone showed that no living—or at least combat-capable—enemies remained, Gil was already lying on the cracked earth without strength, trying to breathe evenly through his nose and mouth; his eyes were treacherously darkening. His partner was holding up better—at least he could stand on his feet. However, he still sat down on the ground, uncertainly placing Gil's head on his knees—after all, it wasn't very good when such a person was lying in such an uncomfortable position. So they waited for someone to come get them.

  Gil could no longer think about nuclear missiles. He couldn't think about anything at all; he needed to hold on, and if anything flickered in his head, it was only some separate, inappropriate remarks and images.

  The Organization didn't keep them waiting long. Gil was carefully placed on special stretchers, and soon he was already lying on a rather soft bed. In such a state a person simply needed to be given a good meal and sleep, after first sharing part of another person's strength—otherwise there was danger of dying in one's sleep.

  Therefore Gil wasn't surprised when Kael entered the room where he lay. After all, the deputy was the second person in the Organization in terms of ability development level; he should be able to help with something. He was approaching somehow unjustifiably slowly; or did Gil already have slowed perception?..

  Apparently not. Kael sat on the edge of the bed, carefully taking the lying man's hand. If Gil could see normally at this moment, his eyes would have been struck by an extraordinary, amazingly cold and sharp smile that made shivers run down the spine with its arrogance and desperation.

  "How are you feeling?"—asked Kael, not stopping smiling.

  Gil, who wasn't even capable of being surprised by the question, gathered all his strength.

  "You see how..."—he barely squeezed out.—"Help me..."

  "Of course, I'll help you,"—the smirk stretched in a crooked line from ear to ear; for an incomprehensible reason—probably from nerves—Kael began stroking his hand.—"To get to paradise as quickly as possible."

  The vileness of the spoken words fed Kael with life-giving poison.

  "And so the slope has ended.”

  [1] The technologies of this world allow for weather control; this is done exclusively when necessary and taking into account all conditions, in order to avoid disrupting natural processes.

  [2] Blue-colored fire, capable of instantly burning the object at which it is directed.