Shukach 

The Anomalous Zone, born deep within the Chernobyl Power Plant, slowly consumes new territories, taking them from humanity and filling them with its own inhabitants — terrifying monsters and mutants spawned from the local flora and fauna.

Occasionally, the Zone is shaken by a Breakout — a catastrophic event that alters everything around it and sows the surrounding space with deadly anomalies.

Yet, the most dangerous inhabitants of the Zone are humans, each remaining within it for their own significant reasons. Some hunt for artifacts born within the anomalies — these people are called “shukachs”, meaning “seekers”.

A group of soldiers, led by an experienced shukach, ventures into the Zone to neutralize a nuclear warhead aboard a helicopter that disappeared near the Perimeter.

However, it turns out that the military aren’t the only ones after this cargo. Everyone — bandits, looters, rogue shukachs, and even the Zone itself — is hunting the warhead.

For some, it is a key to wealth; for others, the foundation of future power, for some, it is a chance to survive, but for most — it is death.

Chapter 1. Ambush near the Perimeter

"Alright, shukach, you've caused enough trouble! Drop the cargo and scram!"

Sever carefully extended a microcamera on a thin fiber-optic stalk above him, trying to glimpse on his PDA screen who was yelling so loudly. Three single shots rang out in quick succession, showering him with bits of forest debris and damp leaves. He pressed himself tighter against the ground, quickly scanning his surroundings again — though it didn’t help. Things weren’t looking good. He had barely managed to dive into a small ravine, about a meter deep. Fortunately, near the Perimeter, you could pull a stunt like that on instinct without worrying too much about stumbling into an anomaly — there weren’t as many here as in the places he had come from.

"Shukach!" the unknown voice bellowed. "Stay awake!"

Two more single shots whizzed past over Sever’s head. Judging by the characteristic sound — an AK-47. Old junk. The favorite weapon of looters. The fact that one person was both shooting and yelling meant he was the "driver," while at least two others — maybe more — were likely creeping around to flank him. That was bad. It meant these looters were experienced. Not like Savitsky or Whistle — those guys operated here too but mostly ran caravans or catered to safari enthusiasts. These, however, were just nameless looters who’d recently killed someone. And that wasn’t entirely bad. It meant he could kill them without guilt gnawing at him later.

"Hey, buddy," the driver called out with mock concern. "Want me to toss a grenade?"

The fact that they hadn’t thrown a grenade yet could mean only one thing — they knew what he was carrying. Three "Rejuvenation Apples" — rare artifacts discovered just a couple of months ago. Three chances for someone to live a little longer in this world. Or one person's shot at living an entirely new life. One of the "Apples’" defining traits was their extreme fragility. Even packed in containers and cushioned with special foam, they might not survive a nearby explosion.

It wasn’t like he was fully prepared for this situation, but he’d faced something similar before — more than once. Sever carefully unzipped one of the right-side pockets of his backpack and pulled out a small metal box, roughly the size of a pack of cigarettes. From the left pocket, he retrieved three smoke grenades and placed them within reach. From the box, he took out a preassembled "horn" — an MP3 player with a "Krona" battery duct-taped to it and a "Vinyl" dangling on short wires.

The "Vinyl," while a rare artifact, wasn’t expensive due to its near-total uselessness — at least from a trader’s perspective. It was a light, thin disc the size of a chocolate medal, jet-black and covered in countless thin concentric rings. Someone with a sense of humor had thought it looked like a vinyl record. Its unique property was that, under a weak electric current, it resonated with nearly any sound and amplified it a hundredfold.

One of the player’s earbuds was fixed to the back of the "Vinyl," which was more than enough for the "horn" to work. Sever scrolled through the MP3 tracks and selected one perfectly suited for the occasion — the roar of a young, hungry bloodsucker.

"So, shukach, how about that grenade?" the driver kept taunting.

"As you wish, buddy," Sever replied. "Here, catch!"

He threw the smoke grenades one by one — to his left, to his right, and straight toward the annoying marauder. Then he grabbed his AK and started firing single shots in all directions, counting silently to twenty. The smoke was spreading. He reloaded quickly and kept firing at faint shadows flickering on his left. He waited for the grenades to fully deploy their smokescreens.

"Twenty. Showtime," he whispered, taking a deep breath, and hit play on the device. Then he let out a full-throated scream:

"Aaaaah!!!"

A moment later, the area erupted with a blood-chilling roar, the kind that makes a rookie freeze on the spot — and unnerves even seasoned shukachs. A bloodsucker’s roar. They’re usually the last creature you encounter in the Zone. Beyond them, there’s only darkness and the tunnel with the light at the end.

Everything was going according to plan. Sever braced himself to leap out of the ravine in one bound, but then, uncomfortably close by, came the furious roar of a seasoned bloodsucker. A real one.

A wave of goosebumps raced up and down Sever’s spine, like ants stampeding all over him.

"Uh… oops," he whispered faintly and hit play again.

Under the amplified screech of a young, inexperienced bloodsucker — a predator with the naive gaze of a remorseless killer — Sever burst out of the ravine and ran for his life, praying he’d chosen the right direction. The real bloodsucker’s roar came from behind, not ahead, and for the first time in his life, the sound brought him a strange sense of relief.

The panicked screams of multiple voices and the chaotic rattle of poorly maintained rifles only lifted his spirits further.

He ran for another two minutes before stopping. Swapping the magazine, he used his signature move to slide the rifle into a specialized pocket on the left side of his backpack and pulled out his Vintorez from the right.

Sever switched off the safety and carefully scanned his surroundings, straining to hear the forest through the pounding of blood in his ears. A feral scream echoed from the direction he had fled, accompanied by the final bursts of an AK. After that, only the insane howls of a wounded beast and the erratic, panicked shots of a pistol remained.

Sever cautiously moved away from the area. His steps were silent as he listened intently, all the while keeping a brisk pace. Bloodsuckers, invisible as they might be when running, wheeze like steam engines — especially when fired up from a fight with an armed human.

Distracted by thoughts of bloodsuckers near the Perimeter in general — and this particular one specifically — Sever forgot the most important rule of a shukach: never lose vigilance. The dry click of a safety being disengaged brought him to an abrupt halt and filled him with bitter regret. For the umpteenth time!

"Don’t move, shukach," a commanding voice ordered quietly from behind him. "SBU Special Forces. Carefully put your weapon on the ground."

"There's a bloodsucker roaming around," Sever said calmly, though he felt like shooting himself out of despair.

"I won’t repeat myself."

The tone made it clear to Sever that this one wouldn’t. He dropped the rifle, raised his hands, and immediately felt the cold steel of a barrel pressed to the back of his head. He stood silently as skillful hands patted him down, methodically removing all his weapons — or at least everything the soldiers deemed weapons.

He was feverishly thinking, running through possible scenarios, but there was far too little data to work with.

One of his hands was twisted behind his back, then the other, and they were cuffed together.

"Don’t stress, shukach," the voice continued as the speaker stepped into view. A big, young guy with the serious gaze of a budding killer.

"Special Forces, alright," Sever thought, surprised.

"We don't need your junk," the guy said. "Father asked us to bring you back to the unit. Promised to let you go after that. Do you believe him?"

"Nope," Sever shook his head.

"Wrong answer," the soldier smirked. "Choose: face or gut?"

"I believe him!" Sever beamed.

"Good boy," the commando praised. "Quick learner." Then he turned to the soldiers behind him. "Strelnik, Bespaly — move up. The rest, stay on guard."

Two soldiers in camouflage suits designed for "the Zone," trendy among rookie lockpicks, darted forward briskly.

"There's a bloodsucker out there," Sever said.

"Angry?" the commando asked.

"Very."

"Cool," he said flatly. "Now shut up and move."

The commando turned and followed the soldiers. Sever felt the barrel of a gun press against the back of his head, turned slightly to memorize the faces of the three other soldiers, and moved forward. Definitely special forces. Definitely SBU. In the Zone, you could run into just about anything.

They had been walking for almost an hour. During that time, Sever’s hands, unused to being cuffed, had gone numb, and he was exhausted from running through potential scenarios in his head. None of them led to anything good. It was a shame to lose the loot, of course. Three Apples, three hundred thousand euros, slipping away from him. The prize went to the head of the military unit, whoever that might be — business as usual, if you think about it.

A drop of what seemed to be frozen resin or metal surrounded by a hundred gleaming wire rings, each of a different diameter, all spinning in a mesmerizing dance around the drop. None of the rings touched one another. That’s what a "Rejuvenating Apple" looked like, gently bobbing up and down about twenty centimeters above the ground. That is, if it was hovering where it was born — in the Zone. It could just as easily hover above a polished mahogany table in a penthouse in New York City or a country estate near Kyiv, where withered, arthritis-twisted hands reached out to it, soaking in its warmth. Vital warmth. Warmth so potent that, over time, those hands became unrecognizable, regaining the strength and elasticity of a youthful body.

They said one Apple granted thirteen years of life. For one person. The three Apples in the special containers at the bottom of Sever’s backpack could grant someone forty years. He hadn't even considered getting one for himself — not because he was already young enough, but because he'd finally learned an important life lesson: there's no such thing as a free lunch. Besides, that strange number — thirteen years — that the body supposedly rejuvenates... How could something like that even be measured? There was definitely something devilish about it all, no doubt about it.

He snapped out of his thoughts as the squad reached the Perimeter. An unpleasant mix of burning flesh and decay immediately assaulted his nostrils. The Perimeter was a five-meter-tall wall encircling the Zone in an unbroken ring. In front of the wall, a half-kilometer-wide strip of land had been cleared to handle mutant breaches — it was usually enough to gun them down before they got too close.

The most agile and fortunate ones, of course, managed to cross the distance, as evidenced by the brown stains of dried blood and slime smeared directly on the wall.

The squad moved along a narrow path that frequently dipped into shallow craters left by explosions. A couple of times, they had to descend and climb back up as they crossed deep trenches, their murky waters filled with charred remains of mutants, reeking unbearably.

The trenches dated back to the early days after the Second Catastrophe. Back then, the Ukrainian military had panicked, using every means they could afford on their extremely limited budget. Trenches for soldiers, moats for monsters — that was the entirety of the defense hastily thrown together in response to the first waves of mutants surging from the depths of the Zone.

After the first serious breach, it became clear that such a defense was utterly ineffective. The second breach, when thousands of zombies spread through the surrounding forests, became globally infamous. Horrifying footage, captured on a mobile phone by a soldier who had miraculously survived, circulated worldwide and stayed at the top of online video charts for a long time. Soon, other videos and photos emerged, and the world learned about the Zone.

The international community pressured Ukraine, and after brief negotiations, NATO came to the aid of the independent nation. Shortly after, ubiquitous Russia joined in, unwilling to tolerate NATO garrisons in a neighboring "republic." Scandals, dirty intrigues, and underhanded schemes ensued, but none of it stopped the rapid construction of the wall around the Zone.

However, attempts to explore the territory inside the Perimeter quickly ceased when military squads encountered treacherous anomalies that rendered free movement in armored vehicles impossible. Those who tried to return on foot were relentlessly hunted by the Zone's terrifying creatures. Back then, there were no shukachs. Everything was just beginning.

Sever thought of Sveta and Natashka, and his heart ached. He pushed the memories away with practiced effort, shoving them into the farthest corners of his mind. To distract himself, he began scanning his surroundings, trying to memorize the details of the terrain — just in case.

The squad passed through the checkpoint via an unremarkable door in the wall. Contrary to Sever’s expectations, they didn’t lead him through the entire base. Instead, the squad headed toward a plain booth near the wall, where they removed his handcuffs, unstrapped his backpack, searched him again, and locked him inside.

Sever rubbed his hands together and looked around the room with a sense of gloom. Two by two meters, concrete walls, and a single narrow window secured with heavy bars. He sat down, leaning against the wall, stretched his legs, aching from exhaustion, and slipped into a light doze, following the simple rule of every shukach — sleep only in a secure shelter.

He woke instantly at the sound of a key grinding in the lock. The door opened, and the same chatty commando appeared in the doorway.

"Get up, time to move," he commanded.

Groaning at the stiffness in his sore muscles, Sever stood and followed the soldier out of the booth. While he had been sleeping, night had fallen.

"You behaved yourself. Good job," the soldier said. "Do me a favor and keep it up. We’ll take you to a house now where you can clean yourself up. After that, you’ll meet with the Father. Got it?"

The shukach smirked. Such politeness! He sighed, hiding a grin.

"Got it."

He was escorted through the base, with two soldiers in front and two behind. Sever looked around at the brightly lit streets of the military settlement, the small houses, and the people in officer uniforms smoking casually on porches, their curious gazes following him.

The convoy stopped in front of one such house, its windows dark. The special forces soldier bounded up the steps, opened the door, and gestured for Sever to enter. Sever followed him up the steps and into the house. A light switch clicked, and the room was flooded with light. It was a modest space with a table in the center, four chairs, and two sofas along the walls. Spartan, but functional — clearly an officer’s family house.

"Shower’s in there," the soldier said, pointing to one of the doors. "Be ready in an hour."

"Always ready," Sever grumbled, stepping aside to let the soldier pass.

The door shut, and the shukach was left alone. He walked to the window — one of the convoy soldiers stood not far from the house. Sever smirked and headed for the shower; it wasn’t the kind of offer to pass up.

In the bathroom, he found a standard-issue set of clothes that happened to be just his size. Stripping off his gear, he stuffed everything but his jumpsuit into the washing machine. The suit’s electronics would likely survive the wash, but it wasn’t worth taking the risk.

Under the soothing spray of hot water, Sever let himself relax for fifteen blissful minutes, his dark thoughts momentarily washed away. Clean, refreshed, and dressed in new clothes, he returned to the living room to find a plate of hot borscht, a bowl of millet porridge with meat, and a glass of tea on the table.

After eating, he sprawled on the sofa and let himself drift into a light but restful sleep, true to the shukach’s rule of always being ready to wake at a moment’s notice.

He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder. It was the same commando who had already managed to annoy him earlier that day.

"Wake up, shukach. It’s time," he said.

For a moment, Sever wrestled with the urge to kill him, but he forced it down and got up. Slipping on the lightweight, unworn boots, he followed the soldier out into the cool August night.

Somewhere, a cricket chirped relentlessly. Sever, who hadn’t heard that sound in five years, felt a lump rise in his throat. People lived like this! Normal lives... There was still life beyond the Zone, where you could walk along a lit street at night without listening for mutant howls or fearing you’d stumble into an anomaly.

The same escort led him to a two-story brick building. They climbed the stairs to the second floor, walked down a dimly lit corridor with sparse lamps, and stopped in front of an unremarkable door, one of many lining the hallway.

The commando slipped through the door, reappeared a few seconds later, and said:

"Go in."

Sever stepped into a small office, the entire back wall dominated by a massive map of the Zone. In front of the map, seated at a desk and staring intently at an open laptop, was a man in his forties. His hair was cropped short, and his jacket bore the insignia of a colonel. The room was steeped in a dim light barely pushed back by the glow of a desk lamp.

The man lifted his eyes from the screen for a brief moment, locking onto Sever’s, scrutinizing and evaluating. Then he turned to the special forces soldier and ordered in a raspy, authoritative voice:

"Thank you, Egoroshin. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir!" The soldier snapped to attention, clicked his heels, and left, carefully closing the door behind him.

Sever stared at the map with interest, mentally noting the intriguing changes.

"Don’t strain yourself," the colonel said, still focused on his monitor. "It’s just for show."

Sever smirked and glanced around. The room seemed functional, the kind of place where the local officers maintained the pretense of controlling the ever-expanding Zone.

The colonel clicked his mouse furiously, exhaled heavily, and finally looked up at Sever.

"Grab a chair. Sit down," he ordered.

Sever obediently took a chair from against the wall, placed it in front of the colonel’s desk, and sat down, openly studying the man. The colonel noted the gesture, acknowledging it silently — off to a decent start.

"My name is Stepan Ivanovich Stupin. I’m the commander of this unit. You are Vasily Andreyevich Severin, 35 years old, a shukach. Correct?"

Sever shook his head.

"Oh no, I’m Ivan Fyodorovich Kruzenshtern — a man and a steamship!"

The colonel sighed, turned back to his screen, and began speaking in a calm, even tone as he read:

"Vasily Andreyevich Severin. Age 35. Experienced shukach. Five years in the Zone. Profession: physicist. Previously worked at the Kharkiv Institute of Physics and Technology. Spent the summer of 2012 at a research camp near the Zone. During a mutant breach, your five-year-old daughter went missing. A month later, your wife entered the Zone searching for her. The search proved fruitless. Another month later, you stole an AK-47 and entered the Zone yourself."

Memories flashed through Sever's mind, vivid and sharp. The ones he'd so carefully buried deep within his soul.

There was little Natasha, frightened, saying, "Dad, I lost a tooth," as she held out her first fallen baby tooth...

There was Sveta, so familiar, packing a suitcase and anxiously saying, "Vasya, let’s stay. I’m scared to go there..."

And then, the ruins of the camp — scattered debris from the light wooden cabins, piles of belongings, and bodies, bodies, bodies... Bloodied and torn apart... And no Natashka anywhere…

That horrible evening when the soldiers returned from their final search raid and walked past with indifference, while Valerka avoided his eyes, mumbling, "She might still come back… it’s only been a couple of days…"

Sever groaned, clutching his head with both hands, barely holding back a scream that threatened to break free. But he pulled himself together, glaring at the colonel with eyes full of hatred. The man continued reading:

"…Loner. No friends. Works on special orders, specializing in unique, rare, and newly discovered artifacts. Not wanted by any authorities. Estimated net worth: 43 million euros."

The colonel tore his gaze from the screen and looked at Sever.

"Why do you need that much money, shukach?"

"For the memories," Sever rasped.

"You don’t love the Zone, Vasya. You don’t revere it like many of your colleagues."

Sever said nothing, lowering his gaze.

"Don’t love…" he thought bitterly. "That’s putting it mildly."

"That’s precisely why you’re here and not still in a holding cell."

Sever looked up at the colonel. Here it comes — the bargaining for his freedom.

"I could say we were hunting you specifically," the colonel continued, "but that would be a lie. We were just hunting for a shukach."

"Is that trendy now?" Sever asked, surprised.

"No, not yet," the colonel assured him.

Sever exhaled heavily. The conversation weighed on him.

"Let’s get to the point," Sever said. "How much?"

"Hmm, straight to business, huh?" the colonel grumbled. "How much?" He paused, thinking. Sever waited. This wasn’t his first negotiation with the military. "Ten thousand."

"What?" Sever was startled. "Ten thousand? That’s it?"

"Yes, shukach. Ten thousand people. All within a ten-kilometer radius."

"What…?" Sever stared at the colonel in shock. "What people?"

"Listen carefully, shukach," the colonel said, his tone serious. "Earlier today, we lost two helicopters over the Zone. One of them was shot down by a missile not far from here — that’s already being handled. The other disappeared for unknown reasons five kilometers from the Perimeter, about eight kilometers from here as the crow flies. It was carrying a nuclear warhead. Your task is to escort a special forces team to the crash site and bring them back. Now, my question — how much do you want for this?"

"Wait, hold on," Sever exclaimed. "What do you mean 'ten thousand people'? Is the warhead going to detonate?"

"Yes," the colonel nodded. "It’s armed. Remote deactivation is impossible."

Sever grabbed his head in his hands. Damn military! What the hell were they doing with a nuclear weapon in the Zone? He regained his composure, but his unspoken question must have been written all over his face.

"Shukach, don’t poke your nose where it doesn’t belong. You’ve already heard more than an ordinary person should."

"Are you insane?" he blurted out. "Can’t you go yourselves or send another helicopter? Why do you need me?"

The colonel paused, considering his response. Sever waited.

"I’m the only one who knows the crash site. Only a handful of people know about the payload, but I suspect that soon everyone with enough authority will find out. However, the fact that the warhead is armed is known only to me… and now, to you."

Sever was slowly starting to piece things together.

"You stole it, didn’t you?" he asked. The colonel frowned. "Fine, not my business. But what were you planning to blow up? Here, in the Zone?"

"Shukach, why do you care…"

"What do you mean, 'why'?" Sever snapped. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Damn it, shukach!" The colonel exploded. "You’re a mercenary! You’ve done who-knows-what for money hundreds of times. Do this job, take your payment, and get lost!"

"I’m not for sale!" Sever shouted back. "I only do what I choose to do! And money won’t force me to do anything anymore."

The colonel frowned in annoyance.

"So your answer is 'no'?"

Sever hesitated. Things were shaping up to be pretty grim.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked darkly.

"No, why bother?" the colonel replied wearily. "You’ll sit in a cell for a few days. Then it’ll blow, and that’s that…"

"And that’s that…" The shukach didn’t find that outcome acceptable.

"You act like I’m the only hero here. You send squads on raids almost as far as Pripyat."

"Of course, we’ll send a team," the colonel said. "But here’s the problem — there’s only one person I can trust with the key."

"Me, huh?" Sever smirked.

"Of course not," the colonel frowned. "The problem is, that person won’t make it. He’s not a shukach."

"And what makes you think I won’t ditch your team the first chance I get?"

The colonel paused, momentarily thrown off.

"Hmm… yes, that is… problematic."

"Now, by the rules of this genre," Sever said dryly, "you’re supposed to tell me something profound and moving that’ll make me change my mind, serve my country loyally, and all that."

"Don’t mock me, shukach," the colonel grumbled. "Fine, I’ll tell you something."

The colonel seemed to hesitate, and for a moment, Sever thought he might actually be debating with himself, not just playing a part.

"I’ve lost all my family to this cursed Zone too," the colonel began. "My younger son, Valera, decided to become a shukach — I just didn’t have time to stop him… He died, along with a group of lockpicks and almost the entire team, somewhere in the swamps three years ago."

The colonel sighed heavily before continuing.

"My elder son, Ivan, served nearby and died during one of the mutant breaches… My wife, after his death, found solace in some ridiculous cult and perished due to careless handling of an artifact — a 'Dragon’s Eye,' supposedly capable of communicating with the spirit world."

"That’s all very tragic, Colonel," Sever began.

"Wait, shukach. That’s not what I wanted to say…" The colonel fell silent again, the heavy quiet settling over the office. Finally, he seemed to make a decision.

"I’m a member of a secret society within the upper ranks of the Security Service of Ukraine. Our goal is to put an end to the Zone once and for all. Today is the final day for all of us. Our only operation, three years in the making, has failed. Soon, we’ll all face a tribunal. Some might worm their way out of it, but not me…"

"What were you planning to blow up, Colonel?" Sever asked.

The colonel met the shukach’s eyes and exhaled sharply.

"The Monolith."

"What?" Sever was stunned. "You believe in that nonsense?"

"What does it matter," the colonel replied with a grimace. "Monolith or no Monolith…"

"Right, sure, with a nuclear warhead…" Sever said dryly. "By the way, what’s the yield?"

"550 kilotons."

"What?!" Sever’s jaw dropped. "Are you insane? There wasn’t a smaller one?"

"Believe it or not, there wasn’t!" the colonel barked, irritation flaring. "This isn’t a farmers’ market where you pick and choose! We took what we could get!"

"550 kilotons…" Sever muttered, quickly running the numbers in his head. The result was dismal. "Do you have any idea how much crap that will throw into the air? The Station has thousands of tons of radioactive waste! It’ll spread across the whole country!"

"And you think what’s spreading now is better? These artifacts are worse than radioactive waste."

"Not that much worse!"

"Shukach," the colonel slammed his hand on the table. "This is a chance to end the Zone once and for all."

"And if it doesn’t work?" Sever asked. "What then?"

"At the very least, we’ll have done everything we possibly could."

Sever let out a heavy sigh.

"Well?" The colonel’s gaze bore into him, waiting.

"What happens after we deactivate the timer?" Sever asked.

"I’ll do my best to get a helicopter, and we’ll transport the warhead to its destination."

"Steal that too?" Sever smirked.

"No, genius, I’ll buy it from a shop!" the colonel snapped, his irritation boiling over.

Sever didn’t deliberate for long. After all, this seemed like a viable way to get out of here.

"Alright," he said. "I’ll lead the squad. We’ll deactivate the timer, and I’ll escort them back to the Perimeter."

"And you’re not going to bail at the first opportunity?" the colonel asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Out of respect for your plan. It’s a shame it didn’t work out, but…"

"Thank you, shukach!" the colonel said enthusiastically.

"But," Sever continued casually, as if nothing had changed, "that doesn’t mean I’ll do it for free."

"How much?"

"A million," Sever said.

The colonel’s face fell.

"Euros, of course," Sever added.

The colonel frowned, and an awkward silence filled the room.

"You don’t have that kind of money, do you?" the shukach realized.

"No," the colonel admitted, shaking his head.

"How much do you have?"

"A hundred and eighty thousand… hryvnias."

Sever burst into laughter. When he finally stopped and wiped the tears from his eyes, he muttered, more to himself than to the colonel:

"Why is it always like this? In true national tradition — saving the Motherland for free."

"What do you need money for?" the colonel grumbled. "What difference does it make if it’s 43 or 44 million?"

"None! It’s the principle, but…" Sever shrugged. "What can you do? Tradition it is."

"So you’ll help?" the colonel asked, visibly cheered.

"By the way, if I’d agreed right away, where would you have gotten the money?"

The colonel looked at him as if he were an idiot.

Sever sighed and gave a wry smile.

"Got it."

"So, are you ready?"

"Yeah," Sever nodded.

"Excellent." Stupin stood up from his desk, closed his laptop, and tucked it under his arm. "Let’s go. Time to meet the team."