Alien strength. Andrey Vasilyev alien power Andrey Vasilyev alien power read

All coincidences with real persons, places, ongoing or past events are nothing more than an accident.

Chapter first

Haste is the enemy of everything on earth. I know this very well, because from early childhood, my mother and grandmother tirelessly repeated in unison: “Sanya, if you don’t want to be late for anything, learn to handle time carefully. Get ready in advance, leave the house with a margin. And so, day after day, year after year. But their science didn’t work for me - I still didn’t learn the art of coming somewhere on time. That is - sometimes I succeed, but at what cost! Messy hair, rapid breathing, and red cheeks are a common result of my short, medium, and long distance runs. As my friend Pavel would say, I look like I just got someone… Well, you get the idea.

Yes, if it were so, then nothing else, I would not be so offended. It's nice to remember, especially if the woman was beautiful. Yes, the joke is with them, with memories, there is even the very fact that the beauty is like this, on the go, by the way ... Self-esteem will skyrocket. Simply put, this is a reason that you can not be ashamed of. What do I have? As a rule, this is the search for a fresh or at least not too wrinkled shirt, as well as trying to find the location of the smartphone in the apartment, these are the typical reasons why I am always late. This is not even a consequence of my carelessness, it's just some kind of garbage. Sometimes I even think - maybe someone cursed me?

And to be completely honest - why the hell did I surrender to a very beautiful woman? Who am I? An average clerk with all the characteristic features attached to this community of people, that is, with a tummy that is outlined from sedentary work and dry food, a salary card on which there is always no money, and permanently sleepy eyes.

Yes, and with a stupid habit of being late everywhere, and especially for work. And run into fines for it.

To top it off, we recently installed turnstiles at work, those to which personal cards must be applied. And now, at the beginning of each month, a kind of balance is drawn up - who was late for how long, who ran to smoke how often, and so on. The head of the security service, Siluyanov, personally checks everything, and these days, from the depths of the third floor of our building, from the compartment where the "security guards" are sitting, his demonic laughter is heard. I once heard him when I referred documents for approval to them. Very scary. Seriously.

However, this zeal is easily explained. The “safeguards” need to somehow pay for this turnstile, and this is done at our expense. Fines - they are such fines, and they do not bypass anyone. And especially me.

I just get more from the security service than the rest. For some reason, Siluyanov doesn't like me very much, and he doesn't even hide it. What is the reason - is unknown, but the fact is a fact. If he sometimes favors someone, like Pashka Vinokurov from the Treasury, turning a blind eye to more or less frivolous punctures, then all my "jambs", even the smallest ones, will certainly be activated and turn into memos that go on the table to the leadership. Sometimes I'm afraid to sneeze, seriously. And suddenly they will accuse that I am deliberately going to infect all, all, all employees of our bank with a particularly vicious influenza virus, and this is already sabotage. Or even worse, a terrorist attack. He will roll a particularly vicious "cart" to the chairman of the board, they will take me out to the courtyard and, without even letting me say the last word, they will shoot me. The only plus in this is to try before the word “Pli!” nevertheless, to express to this peace officer everything that I think about him. Shout out: "You bald bastard!" and take a hail of bullets in the chest, and then beautifully fall on its side, staining the asphalt with blood.

Ugh, what nonsense climbs into my head today. Although - when you think about such nonsense, then the breath from fast walking, almost running, does not go astray.

So - from the very beginning, otherwise I again run ahead of the locomotive. However, this is my distinguishing feature - I am in a hurry all the time, even when talking about myself. My name is Alexander Smolin, I work in one of the Moscow banks in the financial monitoring service. I am twenty-four years old, I am not married ... I am not married anymore. Although, on sound reflection, it is difficult to call six months of continuous scandals a marriage, the first of which broke out immediately after the painting, and the last ended exactly after receiving a certificate of divorce. It’s a mystery to me myself - why did I go to the registry office then at all? Or rather, we were on our way. After all, from the very beginning it was clear that this was an attempt with unsuitable means. However, this is a question that will never be answered. If at least half of the men could answer it, then one eternal secret of being would be less.

No, it wasn't really all that bad at first. It sometimes seems to me that if Svetka and I had not completed the “candy-bouquet” period so quickly, then everything could have been different. Although - no. Her mother would still take an active part in everything that happens.

I will not hide - fifty percent I blame this old ... Lady for our divorce. I think you understand what word I meant, right? There is no crochet nose and gray hair under a scarf, on the contrary - Polina Olegovna takes care of herself very much, spends a lot of her husband's money on procedures and, I suspect, even did plastic surgery. But all the same, she ... Yes, she is a witch, what really.

Alright enough. After all, he promised himself to forget about Svetka and her mother. What was is gone. How is it written in our corporate charter? “We are a team of like-minded people, looking confidently into the future.” Well, the word "team" should be replaced by "terrarium", and so everything is correct. Positivity and confidence are what an employee of a successful company should radiate. No, no, there is no irony, as long as everything is so. We even successfully passed the Central Bank's check, which in our time is a serious indicator of success.

And this, no doubt, is the merit of the whole team.

Vinokurov was right, after a while we all begin to think and speak in official clichés, phrases from job descriptions and advertising booklets. Even at home. Even with themselves. I thought he was joking, but it looks like he's not.

I rushed along Gogolevsky with the speed of a seagull flying over the raging sea to the shore, my "Samsonite" slapped me on the side. Or maybe I can? What is left there? Seven minutes? I’ll definitely have time - now to the transition, and here he is, Sivtsev Vrazhek.

Our glorious "SKD-Bank" is excellently located, this partially compensates for not the highest salary by the standards of the capital, the periodic insanity of top management, expressed in the generation of initially unrealistic ideas, and Siluyanov's nit-picking.

Sivtsev Vrazhek is a very cozy Moscow street that has managed to save its face even in our fast-paced times. There is some charm in it of that Moscow, which is now increasingly called “old”, meaning not the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, but the middle to the end of the twentieth.

The nineties, of course, it was nevertheless battered, several buildings ceased to exist, but still this street managed to survive. It seems around the center, with its round-the-clock noise of the big city, Ostozhenka on the left, Novy Arbat on the right, and at the same time, there is always peace and quiet on Sivtsev Vrazhka.

Plus - not far from Kropotkinskaya. Or - to "Smolenskaya", although there will be stomping away. This is very convenient when different metro lines are nearby. Our life is like this - you never know where it will take you in the evening.

Although I rarely get carried away lately. And I myself don’t want to, and, to be honest, they don’t call anywhere in particular. And they didn’t call before, even at the institute. This is Vinokurov, we have fireworks, even the air sparkles around him. Jokes, jokes and all that, including the admiring glances of girls from credit and even operational. It’s just that it’s difficult to surprise the latter with something, they work with clients, and this completely beats off all feelings - from surprise to disgust. Sitting on the “turnover” is, I tell you, another pleasure.

So - he is like that, and I ... I don’t know how to create a holiday around me like that. And I would be glad, but it doesn’t work out the way Pashka did. Although what to lie - I would like to.

No, no, I have never been a mattress, but I never went to the ringleaders either. I'm missing something for this. What exactly, I don't know. Either assertiveness, or self-confidence, or something else. For example, charisma.

Svetka said that I simply do not know how to present myself appropriately at the right time and show the necessary flexibility and enterprise. Well, I wrapped it up beautifully, so she just called me a “seal”. But what is the meaning of this?

Well, yes, I can't. At home I decide in the evening - I will go and demand it. And at work somehow it does not work out to realize the plan. That is not the time, then something else. Or just the daily carousel will spin, and you remember what you have planned only on the way home.

Therefore, probably, I have been sitting in my position for the third year without promotion. I won’t say that this upsets me a lot, but it’s still a little disappointing that Lyudka Kuznetsova, who came a year after me and studied with me, is already the deputy head of the department, and I’m still rummaging through the previous day’s entries, looking for dubious transactions among them.

The only comfort is that I'm not the only one. Our name is legion. And we reassure each other at smoke breaks with phrases like:

- But we don't care about any check. Take the rap for the bosses, but we did our job - and go home.

A dubious consolation, but better than none.

So, for reflection, I ran half of Gogolevsky Boulevard and was very close to the crossing, behind which Sivtsev began, but then I was stopped by a woman's call:

"Young man, can you help me?" Grandpa feels bad here, you need to at least raise him, why is he lying like that? And we can't handle it.

I looked to my left and sure enough, a fat old man with a purple face was lying sideways on the bench, and two women were fussing around him. As you can see, they were young mothers, because next to them were strollers with little ones, who were watching with interest what was happening.

“We can’t lift it,” one of the women, a petite brunette, looked at me plaintively. - He's very heavy. We have already called the ambulance, but until it gets here.

“Maybe it’s better not to touch it then?” I reasonably guessed. - Let yourself lie. Let's move it, and what kind of vessel will burst in the grandfather's head, everything will become even worse.

I won’t say that it was difficult for me to help them, but I didn’t really like this idea. Now I will raise it, God forbid, it will grunt, and I will be extreme.

- It is necessary - with the confidence of a man who has surpassed all the secrets of medicine, said the brunette. - I read. And I saw Malysheva in the program. Or not at Malysheva? In general - it is necessary.

Well, since Malysheva - then of course. Yes, and now what? Stopping next to the bench, I was late anyway and thereby doomed myself to another explanatory note. And a fine.

I slung the Sumsonite strap around my neck to keep the bag out of the way and looked at the old man.

His eyes were tightly closed; As you can see, he really was famously.

Under the armpits of his white, fine-checked shirt, dark spots blurred, which is not surprising - the morning turned out to be hot, since June was in the yard, and his grandfather had a fair amount of body weight. Will I raise it again, I doubt it.

“Come on, father,” I sat down a little, grabbed him under the arms, wincing slightly from the smell of old age and sweat that hit my nose. “What is it that has upset you so much?”

“So years,” grandfather answered in a bass voice, making me shudder. - Come on, you damned.

Straining all my modest strength (I'm not an athlete from the word "absolutely") I managed to seat the old man. That done, I plopped down on the bench next to him.

- Grandpa, can you take a pill? the compassionate brunette asked him. - True, I don’t have nitroglycerin and validol either, but there is a “noshpa”.

What is your pill to me? – without opening his eyes, the old man asked her. - That's it, it's time for me to go over the edge. Medicines will not help here, something else is needed here.

- In vain you are so, - the second woman entered into the conversation, unlike her girlfriend - a blonde. - I recently read in a magazine that our life depends on ourselves. If you tell yourself that you are healthy, then you will be so. If you truly believe in it, it means. No, medicine should not be written off, it goes without saying, but the emotional mood, the constant positive decides a lot.

- Well, yes, well, yes, - the grandfather burst out laughing, showing extremely good teeth for his age. Maybe inserts? - You say - the intestines do not hurt, so they will go away on their own.

The laughter seemed to have knocked him down completely, for he immediately coughed, breathed hoarsely, and put his hand to his right side.

“Bad,” the old man told us, and finally opened his eyes. “Faith won’t help me, that’s the thing, girls. What doesn't exist can't help.

Women pursed their lips, apparently, they did not like the word "girls" much.

Apparently, my grandfather was bad, but right now he was not going to give his soul to God, so I considered my mission accomplished. I'm not a doctor, I did what I could.

"I'll go," I stood up from the bench. “It’s just time for me to go to work.

“Thank you, boy,” boomed the old man, turning his head towards me. - Thank you for your help.

I made eye contact with him and was a little taken aback. It's his lenses, isn't it? I just hadn't seen people with such radical green eyes before. I'm not very good with colors at all. Someone here distinguishes between brown eyes and blue ones, but for me they are all on the same block. But here everything was very clearly expressed.

“Yes, for nothing,” I looked at the screen of the smartphone, which I took out of my pocket, and made sure that I was definitely late. We are all human, we are all human.

“A moot point,” the old man remarked, coughing, and then wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. - You can trust me. Wait, where are you going? Tell me, are you from the city?

- In terms of? I didn't understand the question.

- Are you from the city? – said the old man.

- Well, yes, - to be honest, he began to annoy me.

Well, what does he care about where I was born? And then - I do not like to be frank with strangers.

- Are your parents from the city too? he said.

“Both parents and parents of parents,” I answered, adding sarcasm to my voice. “Grandpa, I’m going, sorry.” There is no time at all.

“Yes, and it’s time for us,” the women with carriages said almost in unison.

“Bad,” the old man chewed his lips. - City, and even a jack-of-all-trades, it seems, a fair amount. There's a shirt sticking out of his pants. Ie-e-ehh ... Okay, boy, hold your hand, now what.

At first I did not understand about the shirt, but, glancing down, I realized what the strange grandfather was talking about - she got out a little from under the belt. Me too, fashion critic. Happens. Not from the width?

Having filled it, I noticed that the grandfather did not lower the hand extended to me. Not only that, he looked at me attentively, clearly expecting a response gesture.

You have to shake it - I'll shake it, there's nothing like that here. Maybe after that he will leave me behind, and I will finally go to work with a clear conscience?

Smiling broadly (people love it), I squeezed his wide palm. More precisely, I tried to do it.

- Thin in bone. Ah, city people! - his grandfather croaked, squeezing my hand. - Forget it, nothing. The main thing is that there should be a core inside, so that it can hold. So that it doesn't disappear...

What he meant by the word "not lost", I did not understand. Yes, and when? Grandfather closed his eyes, his hand clenched like pincers, squeezing my palm so that I even howled in pain, but these were still flowers.

Berries started in a couple of seconds. It struck me like lightning from head to toe, it was definitely an electric discharge, you can’t confuse it with anything. As a child, I once put my mother's hairpin into the socket, so I remember the sensations perfectly. How it didn't kill me at all, I'm still scratching my head.

Here it was the same. I was shaken a couple of times, I tried to pull my hand out of the old man's iron grip, but I could not do it. And then something boomed in my head, a bright beam of sparks scattered before my eyes, and I lost consciousness.

- He died - that was the first thing I heard when I came to myself. - Not breathing. And your?

Some liquid spilled on my face.

“It seems to be alive,” the brunette said uncertainly, whose voice I recognized.

“Alive,” I said displeasedly and opened my eyes. - Everything, everything, do not pour more!

Imagine what happened to the shirt collar. Yes, what about the collar, with my appearance in general. Lying on the ground, even if it is located on the ennobled and neat Gogolevsky Boulevard, does not contribute to maintaining a neat appearance.

What was it? What jerked me so that I even lost consciousness? Some nonsense.

“Well, at least this one is in order,” the second woman rejoiced and looked frightened at her grandfather, who was still sitting on the bench, closing his eyes again.

Although - no, it's not. Some elusive detail was visible in his appearance, unconditionally indicating that this person is not sleeping, not thinking about something, but dead. Some kind of fatal relaxation was visible now in the pose of an old man, too peaceful a face, this does not happen with the living.

They say that before, in the old days, people were afraid of the dead. Not in a mystical sense, walking corpses are only in horror films, but simply - people did not like the sight of death. Human nature has such a property - the living is alive, the dead is dead. No, there are individuals to whom Death is a sister, girlfriend and field of activity, but these are rather exceptions to the rules. It is clear that doctors and policemen can’t do without it, but the rest of the people, with more peaceful professions, tried to stay away from the dead. It is clear that they couldn’t completely distance themselves from this, but it’s one thing to have your own dead, grandfather there, or grandmother, and quite another - a dead person completely unfamiliar to you.

The last three decades have weaned the townspeople, at least the Moscow population, from being afraid of this. The Roaring Nineties, with their constant gunfights and morning corpses on the streets, ended up breaking people's habit of screaming at dead bodies. As, however, without special need to touch them, so as not to make yourself unnecessary problems. At one time it was like this - whoever found the dead man and reported him to the right place, that is the villain-killer. The cynical “zero”, in which I grew up, in turn, developed an additional protective reflex at the sight of someone else’s pain, troubles and death, adding to people a certain amount of indifference. What can you do - people are mortal. And then we will all be there. Deal with your problems.

They say that on the periphery people are more sincere, they will not pass by, they will help a stranger, even if he does not ask for help. Good for them there. We haven't had that for a long time.

And now - something seems to be wrong, one person seems to have died, the second is lying on the ground and water is poured over him, and people know they are passing by. They cast a curious glance, flash their eyes - and run on. Everything is so, everything is right - until they are contacted, it is not worth climbing. From sin.

It did not concern us, we were already up to our ears in the situation. No, grandfather, who just a couple of minutes ago was choking, saying strange things and blowing his nose, and now silently sprawled on the bench, undoubtedly aroused a feeling of pity in the three of us - after all, he was a living person. But almost immediately, pity was mixed with irritation, at least for me.

“New business.” I got to my feet and dusted off my trousers. - He's still dead. All right, now I’ll definitely earn absenteeism. Until the police arrive, until the protocol is drawn up ... They will probably also be dragged to the department.

“We can’t go to the department,” the women looked at each other. We'll eat and sleep soon. We have a routine.

Are you sportswomen? I wondered.

- Not really. To us - this means to them, - the brunette pointed to a serious baby in a stroller and laughed loudly, but immediately stopped short, looking frightened at the dead man. Well, yes, next to a dead body, it’s somehow awkward to giggle. - You just don’t have children, otherwise you would understand.

“You have a regime, I have a job,” I took off my bag and put it on the bench, then pulled off my jacket. “As a result, neither I nor you will see what you want. Damn it, damn it, the whole back is fucked up!

“Tell me,” the blonde rocked the stroller. - And why did you faint?

Her friend immediately looked at me with interest.

“I don’t know.” I tapped my jacket with my hand and grimaced at the sight of the dust that flew out of it. – I didn’t understand. But in general, he squeezed my hand very strongly, almost crushed it.

“Probably a painful shock,” the brunette said knowingly. - Malysheva told about this.

“And Dr. Komarovsky, too,” her friend supported.

“Girls, honey,” I pulled on my jacket and slung my bag over my shoulder. - Let me leave my phone and go, huh? We are adults, it is clear that the grandfather died on his own, most likely from a heart attack, the doctors will surely confirm this. And if the “cops” have questions, then I will drive up to the right place and give evidence.

Actually, it was not very correct, in such situations it is better to understand on the spot, but I really did not want to earn absenteeism. Siluyanov will definitely not miss him, he will roll up a report and send it upstairs. I won’t say that my official position is shaky, but who knows? No one needs an extra "jamb".

However, it will be possible to ask the police for a certificate, they seem to issue such a certificate. After all, I was doing my civic duty, helping my neighbor.

“No, no,” said the blonde. - Stay with us. Little whether that?

“In general, it would be better if we leave and you stay,” the brunette supported her. – You, after all, a man, you and understand. I have a husband...

I didn’t listen to what she and her husband were doing, because I noticed a police outfit that was slowly walking along the boulevard, apparently making its everyday round.

- Gentlemen of the police! I yelled loudly and waved my hand. - May I have you?

A few passers-by began to look at us with great interest, but they still walked past.

“Sergeant Sinitsyn,” one of the policemen saluted when the squad approached us. - What do you have ... Opa. Zhmurik.

“Yeah,” I sighed, pointing at the old man. - The women called me, they said that my grandfather was not well, he even collapsed on the bench. We raised him, he talked for a minute, shook my hand, sort of like instead of "thank you", and that ... That's the whole story.

“Heart attack,” the second, unnamed policeman said knowingly. He examined the body, pulled back his eyelid, trying to see something in the old man's dead eye, and now he was busily and skillfully climbing into his pockets. - Sasha, there are no documents. We were lucky, we got an unidentified corpse.

“He didn’t introduce himself to you?” - Sergeant Sinitsyn asked us hopefully. “Maybe he gave his last name, or at least his first name?”

“No,” I shook my head. - There was nothing like that.

“I think he was a villager,” the blonde suddenly raised her voice. - His speech was not urban. He called us girls. Not in the sense - the girls from the sauna, but as they say in the villages.

“Yes, yes,” the brunette confirmed. - So it was.

“It doesn’t get any better from time to time,” the nameless policeman sighed. - Okay, we need to call a corpse truck. Soon the sun will be here, the fat grandfather, it will begin to swim. Yes, and children will soon increase, there is nothing for them to look at this.

“We called an ambulance,” the brunette shared with him. - It's been fifteen minutes already.

“Well done,” Sergeant Sinitsyn approved of what was said. Let me write down your details for now. Most likely, you will have to come to our office and give evidence.

"But it's not today?" I asked hopefully. - Not now?

“No,” said the sergeant. - On the week. The investigator will contact you. Yes, it's clear, don't worry. An elderly man, overweight, temperature fluctuations, that's it ... Judge for yourself - five days ago it was hot, three days ago it was almost minus, and today it was hot again. Not every young person will easily endure this. My head hurts non-stop.

To my great joy, it all ended pretty quickly. Sergeant Sinitsyn wrote down our data in a notebook, dialed phone numbers for verification, made sure that they really existed, and finally said:

- That's it, citizens, I won't detain you anymore. You will be contacted.

I said goodbye to the women, who were also incredibly glad that everything was over, and hurried to the transition.

Having already crossed the road, for some reason I turned around and saw that a couple approached the police officers, who were sitting on a bench next to the corpse - a young guy in a light jacket and a short girl, whose red hair gleamed brightly in the rays of the morning sun.

I wonder who is this? Well, not compassionate citizens? Although - what to guess? What difference does it make to me now? Now I have another question on the agenda - how to get to the bank.

The fact is that for employees we have a separate entrance, where the aforementioned turnstiles are located, which fix the time of arrival and departure. But besides it, of course, there is also a main entrance for clients, large and beautiful, finished with marble and with doors on a photoelectric cell. Sometimes seriously late employees manage to slip through it to work, but everything is not so simple here. First, a lot depends on which shift of guards is on duty. There are guys who will cover up and keep silent, and there are those who will certainly lay down, and even confirm this with video footage from surveillance cameras. Secondly, a certain conflict may arise here - the turnstile will not mark the fact that you came to the office at all, that is, you seem to be absent. But at the same time, in fact, you are, and everyone will confirm this. Siluyanov will understand what is the matter, and harbor evil. Thirdly, the most unpleasant thing is that if you are pinched on something like this, then the troubles will be much more serious than if you are just late. One thing is a violation of labor discipline, another is an attempt to deliberately deceive the security service and the bank's management. I didn't come up with that phrase. This is how Lenka Denisenkova was honored two weeks ago at the “analysis”. She was nailed just like that, and for this reason, for almost half an hour in the office of the head of the personnel department, they dissected her brain with a teaspoon slowly eaten away.

However, she got off lightly, with a fine. This does not shine for me, in such a case they will solder something worse to me. They can even be sent to an additional office, somewhere in Obninsk or Elektrougli. No, this is not hard labor, and people work there, there are even advantages, for example, better relations in the team. It is clear - the leadership is all in Moscow, hence the regularity of life, everything is decorous, noble, family-like. But how much to cut there every morning and from there every evening? Shoot yourself and not live.

I never remembered who was standing at the main entrance today, and decided not to risk it. To hell with it, fine so fine. Let's assume that I commemorated that grandfather unknown to me in this way.

However, after a couple of minutes I regretted this decision. Right at the turnstile, I collided head-on, who do you think? Well, yes. With Siluyanov.

- And here is Smolin! - he joyfully, somehow even childishly rejoiced at me and spread his arms, as if offering: "Let's hug." - You are my gray-winged dove. Did you fly in again?

“Not without that, Vadim Anatolyevich,” I answered gloomily, acknowledging the obvious. “But I have a good reason.

- As always, - Siluyanov came up to me, grabbed my shoulders and shook me a little. - As always, Smolin. You have all the cases and cases. But everything in this life comes to an end, including my patience. Everything, "child of the sun", you got me. Go to your workplace and wait for my call. Right now I’ll pick up statistics on you, carefully put them in daddy - and we’ll go to Chinenkova, we’ll continue the conversation there.

Chinenkova is just the same head of the HR department. She is a fierce and ruthless aunt, which is why this department is usually called not “for work with personnel”, but “for combating personnel”.

- Maybe we should not? I decided to try to get out anyway. - Last time?

- Necessary. We must,” Siluyanov assured me, smiling like a native. “Especially since the last time I took pity on you and even gave you good advice. Almost paternal. Well, remember.

I scratched the back of my head. I do not remember. I didn’t really listen to him then, what can he say something new? He then yelled at me, and let go.

“Here,” Siluyanov pointed his finger at my chest, hitting the tie pin exactly. You didn't even listen to me. And I told you - buy yourself vaseline and keep it in your desk drawer, it will come in handy soon. Did not buy? In vain. Dry will hurt more.

“Ha ha ha, how funny,” I could not resist, realizing that there was nothing to lose. - Well, if I don’t care about goons, so I’ll go for now, work? Before the execution?

- Go. Go, my dear, - Siluyanov made a certain gesture with his hand, showing that the road was clear. - And wait for the call. I will prepare everything quickly, I have you under special control.

Why is he so mad at me? I didn’t cross his path, I didn’t borrow money from him, I hardly even said nasty things behind his back. Well, less than others. But at the same time, he bangs me much more than the rest. Maybe he is one of these, and so he shows his love to me? Well, schoolchildren drag the girls they like by braids, and the head of the security service, respectively, write out fines.

Although, even if he is not one of these, he still belongs to them. If not sexually, then spiritually for sure.

Such anger took me, but she had no way out. What can I do? Never mind. Just quit, but this will not lead to anything good, Siluyanov is neither hot nor cold from this. I will say more - he will only rejoice, and then he will ruin my life. From other places, they will call him for a certificate of my moral and professional status. I imagine he will speak.

“Make you sick,” I hissed at the back of the chief security officer and wandered off to my department, waiting for the call and thinking about what awaits me.

An hour passed, a second passed - the phone was silent. No, there were calls, but of a working nature. Siluyanov did not call.

The time came to dinner, and after thinking a little, I decided that if he had not called me before, then he would hardly do it at lunchtime either. Maybe the prep sent him somewhere, it happened. Or something else happened.

And so it turned out. Happened. This was told to me by Vitek Ryzhkov, one of those security guards with whom we, bank employees, made friends. He was a normal guy, he didn’t knock on us, and he covered his eyes for various minor violations, of which office life largely consists.

“Don’t mess around, Sanya,” he told me when I greeted him. - I know that he has been drabbing you since morning and promised to take you to Chinenkova. You can exhale, there will be nothing today.

- Why? I immediately asked him with genuine interest.

New author for me, never read before. I decided to read the novel after I saw a flurry of positive reviews and high ratings on one Internet resource. Well, what can I say .... Simple, but tasteful. Light urban fantasy, without "tension" and difficulties in the plot. The plot is as simple as "three kopecks". The power of the witcher is accidentally transferred to our hero, and throughout the novel we see ... How, he learns to handle it and masters this skill. And at the same time manages to get into all sorts of trouble. Especially the author was very successful, such colorful characters as Rodka (servant of the hero) and Vavila Silych (looking after the house, entrance). You fall in love with these characters from the first lines. Well, in general, I hope for a continuation of the novel, the Author is a solid 7!

Score: 7

Good urban fantasy. Albeit a fairly typical one.

A young man, a typical "office hamster", a friend receives an inheritance from a dying old sorcerer. More specifically, a witch. and then everything will only get worse - witches of all stripes, monsters, cultists, the restless dead ...

What is good - the author uses mainly Slavic folklore. His images of brownies turned out to be quite juicy, like another one of the otherworldly characters. It is curious how an absolutely earthly guy, who does not remember much of what else is told in folk tales, decides to join the arduous craft of a witcher.

And there are some really good thoughts about life in this book.

Not The Watches, of course, but nonetheless quite an enjoyable book. I would love to read a sequel to this story.

Score: 8

What interests me about this author? And the fact that he does not stand still and develops both in terms of skill and in directions. For the first time, Vasilyev remembered me for a rather good LitRPG cycle. Then he continued well with the fantasy "The Raven's Disciples", where, of course, there are enough minuses, especially in terms of characters, but, nevertheless, this novel was already a step up. Well, the author established himself in my eyes with the urban fantasy “Department 15-K”, maybe not too outstanding, but readable (the characters were already worked out much better, but the world and logic had big holes). Those. even the books themselves show progress and development. Just for comparison, the same Makhanenko and Rus have not moved from the LitRPG stage and, apparently, are unlikely to move.

Well, now about the book itself - this novel is, in general, a continuation of the book "Department 15-K" after a couple of years. The same world through the eyes of a new hero, an ordinary young guy who accidentally discovered previously hidden realities. Even characters from the novel "Department 15-K" periodically appear on the pages of a new story.

Is it worth it once again to talk about the author's very light style? The book is still easy to read, but Vasiliev, apparently, has not yet got himself a literature, which cannot but rejoice. You can also highlight the characters (with the exception of the main one) - with each book, the author gets better and better at prescribing them. And this despite the fact that absolutely all the characters are very simple, but alive, with their own characters, style of behavior and without going to extremes (such as very, very evil or very, very kind). Starting from colleagues at work and ending with almost all wickedness - the author was able to single out each character, give some features of behavior, so that they are stored in memory, and you do not forget about them through the page.

The main character is a little more difficult. Putting a simple guy in this role is normal, making him develop and change is generally good. But when the hero is not only NONE initially, but he also remains in this state until the end of the work - this is already depressing. A sort of spineless "neither fish nor meat", young office plankton. In fact, the choice of the author is understandable - mold from such a creature whatever you want. That's just Vasiliev usually does not sculpt something from the characters, but freezes, preventing them from changing and developing. Although this is the first book, and for now you can make a discount and close your eyes.

The main problem of this work is the complete lack of action, even minimal. Firstly, in the book, if something happens, then it is all very stretched out, at times, well, just very much so. Well, and secondly, these actions are so weak that they are not perceived as such. It seems that everything was spinning for so long (for example, a trip to the countryside), so slowly it was selected and ... it ended without even starting, but then there was a verbal waste for a couple of chapters. You can not talk about the battle scenes, because there are none. And since this is not the first such case for the author, one gets the feeling that Vasiliev either does not want to write these very battle scenes, or simply does not know how, and therefore tries to avoid them. Which naturally affects both the atmosphere and perception. What kind of witcher is this, living according to the laws of the cat Leopold with his "let's live together." After all, throughout the book, the hero does not use anything other than his own language, multiplied by good luck. With this approach, there is no sense of the danger of this world or feelings for the characters. Yes, and why worry about them - now they will chat, and once again they will disperse in peace.

Conclusion: Pretty good for a first book in the series. There is room to grow and develop.

Score: 7

Great urban fantasy. Nicely inscribed in urban reality are house-access, swamp witches gathering herbs in city parks at night, natural witches living in abandoned villages of the Moscow region, colorful and powerful owners of cemeteries and forests, and the secret police department 15-K engaged in otherworldly investigations. It is somewhat reminiscent of Panov's "Secret City", but exactly what it only reminds of. Vasiliev created his own excellent self-sufficient secret world based on old legends. Given that Vasiliev has a wonderful style and style, the book is read quickly, easily and excitingly.

Score: 8

The first half of the book is very weak and formulaic. A kind of flattened "Secret Investigation of Tsar Peas" by Belyanin, but without humor. And they already got to the liver the bast-bast old Slavic "wisdom", the very childish "Kuzi brownies" and "bow to the Master of the forest and bring him a loaf of round bread as a gift." I wanted to stop reading altogether. But the second half of the book went much better, it started to feel like Fireroll, especially at the end of the book.

Bottom line: not the best book by Vasiliev, but the second half of the book is readable.

Score: 6

I cautiously took up this cycle after The Castle on Voronya Gora (I didn’t like it), and I liked the story of the witcher Smolin.

Urban fantasy with elements of Slavic mythology, and without humor and with an injection of horror, is very good.

Unfortunately, the central plot is weak. Too quickly, the cursed adversary of the hero-nyashki appears and disappears. You do not have time to be imbued with his dirty tricks and nastiness!

Andrey Vasiliev

ALIEN FORCE

Haste is the enemy of everything on earth. I know this very well, because from early childhood, my mother and grandmother tirelessly repeated in unison: “Sanya, if you don’t want to be late for anything, learn to handle time carefully. Get ready in advance, leave the house with a margin. And so - day after day, year after year. But their science didn’t work for me - I still didn’t learn the art of coming somewhere on time. That is, sometimes I succeed, but at what cost! Messy hair, shortness of breath and red cheeks are a common result of my short, medium and long distance runs. As my friend Pavel would say, I look like I just got someone… Well, you get the idea.

Yes, if it were so, then nothing else, I would not be offended. It's nice to remember, especially if the woman is beautiful. Yes, the joke is with them, with memories, there is even the very fact that the beauty is like this, on the go, by the way ... Self-esteem will skyrocket. Simply put, this is a reason that you can not be ashamed of. What do I have? As a rule, these are searches for a fresh or at least not too wrinkled shirt, as well as attempts to find the location of the smartphone in the apartment. Here are the typical reasons why I am always late. This is not even a consequence of my carelessness, it's just some kind of garbage. I even sometimes think - maybe someone cursed me?

And to be completely honest, why the hell did I give myself up to a very beautiful woman? Who am I? An average clerk with all the characteristic features attached to this community of people, that is, with a tummy that is outlined from sedentary work and dry food, a salary card on which there is always no money, and permanently sleepy eyes.

Yes, and with a stupid habit of being late everywhere, and especially - for work. And run into fines for it.

To top it off, we recently installed turnstiles at work, those to which personal cards must be applied. And now, at the beginning of each month, a kind of balance is drawn up - who was late for how much, who ran to smoke how often, and so on. The head of the security service, Siluyanov, personally checks everything, and these days, from the depths of the third floor of our building, from the compartment where the "security guards" are sitting, his demonic laughter is heard. I once heard him when I referred documents for approval to them. Very scary. Seriously.

However, this zeal is easily explained. The "security guards" need to somehow recoup the turnstile, and this is done at our expense. Fines - they are such fines, and they do not bypass anyone. And especially me.

I just get more from the security service than the rest. For some reason, Siluyanov doesn't like me very much, and he doesn't even hide it. What is the reason - is unknown, but the fact is a fact. If he sometimes favors someone like Pashka Vinokurov from the Treasury, turning a blind eye to more or less frivolous punctures, then all my jambs, even the smallest ones, are certainly taken into account and turn into memos that go on the table to the leadership. Sometimes I'm afraid to sneeze, seriously. What if they are accused of deliberately intending to infect all, all, all employees of our bank with a particularly dangerous influenza virus, and this is already a sabotage. Or even worse, a terrorist attack. Siluyanov will roll an evil cart to the chairman of the board, they will take me out into the courtyard and, without even letting me say the last word, they will shoot me. The only plus in this is to try before the word "Pli!" nevertheless, to express to this guardian of order what I think of him. Shout out: "You bald bastard!" - and take a hail of bullets in the chest, and then beautifully fall on its side, staining the asphalt with blood.

Ugh, what nonsense climbs into my head today. Although when you think about such nonsense, the breath from fast walking, almost running, does not go astray.

So, from the very beginning, otherwise I again run ahead of the locomotive. However, this is my distinguishing feature - I am in a hurry all the time, even talking about myself. My name is Alexander Smolin, I work in one of the Moscow banks in the financial monitoring service. I am twenty-four years old, I am not married ... Already

Andrey Vasiliev

ALIEN FORCE

Haste is the enemy of everything on earth. I know this very well, because from early childhood, my mother and grandmother tirelessly repeated in unison: “Sanya, if you don’t want to be late for anything, learn to handle time carefully. Get ready in advance, leave the house with a margin. And so - day after day, year after year. But their science didn’t work for me - I still didn’t learn the art of coming somewhere on time. That is, sometimes I succeed, but at what cost! Messy hair, shortness of breath and red cheeks are a common result of my short, medium and long distance runs. As my friend Pavel would say, I look like I just got someone… Well, you get the idea.

Yes, if it were so, then nothing else, I would not be offended. It's nice to remember, especially if the woman is beautiful. Yes, the joke is with them, with memories, there is even the very fact that the beauty is like this, on the go, by the way ... Self-esteem will skyrocket. Simply put, this is a reason that you can not be ashamed of. What do I have? As a rule, these are searches for a fresh or at least not too wrinkled shirt, as well as attempts to find the location of the smartphone in the apartment. Here are the typical reasons why I am always late. This is not even a consequence of my carelessness, it's just some kind of garbage. I even sometimes think - maybe someone cursed me?

And to be completely honest, why the hell did I give myself up to a very beautiful woman? Who am I? An average clerk with all the characteristic features attached to this community of people, that is, with a tummy that is outlined from sedentary work and dry food, a salary card on which there is always no money, and permanently sleepy eyes.

Yes, and with a stupid habit of being late everywhere, and especially - for work. And run into fines for it.

To top it off, we recently installed turnstiles at work, those to which personal cards must be applied. And now, at the beginning of each month, a kind of balance is drawn up - who was late for how much, who ran to smoke how often, and so on. The head of the security service, Siluyanov, personally checks everything, and these days, from the depths of the third floor of our building, from the compartment where the "security guards" are sitting, his demonic laughter is heard. I once heard him when I referred documents for approval to them. Very scary. Seriously.

However, this zeal is easily explained. The "security guards" need to somehow recoup the turnstile, and this is done at our expense. Fines - they are such fines, and they do not bypass anyone. And especially me.

I just get more from the security service than the rest. For some reason, Siluyanov doesn't like me very much, and he doesn't even hide it. What is the reason - is unknown, but the fact is a fact. If he sometimes favors someone like Pashka Vinokurov from the Treasury, turning a blind eye to more or less frivolous punctures, then all my jambs, even the smallest ones, are certainly taken into account and turn into memos that go on the table to the leadership. Sometimes I'm afraid to sneeze, seriously. And suddenly they will accuse that I am deliberately going to infect all, all, all employees of our bank with a particularly dangerous influenza virus, and this is already a sabotage. Or even worse, a terrorist attack. Siluyanov will roll an evil cart to the chairman of the board, they will take me out into the courtyard and, without even letting me say the last word, they will shoot me. The only plus in this is to try before the word "Pli!" nevertheless, to express to this guardian of order what I think of him. Shout out: "You bald bastard!" - and take a hail of bullets in the chest, and then beautifully fall on its side, staining the asphalt with blood.

Ugh, what nonsense climbs into my head today. Although when you think about such nonsense, the breath from fast walking, almost running, does not go astray.

So, from the very beginning, otherwise I again run ahead of the locomotive. However, this is my distinguishing feature - I am in a hurry all the time, even talking about myself. My name is Alexander Smolin, I work in one of the Moscow banks in the financial monitoring service. I am twenty-four years old, I am not married ... I am not married anymore. Although, on sound reflection, it is difficult to call marriage six months of continuous scandals, the first of which broke out immediately after the painting, and the last ended exactly after receiving a certificate of divorce. It’s a mystery to me why I then went to the registry office at all. Or rather, we went. After all, from the very beginning it was clear that this attempt was no good. However, this is a question that will never be answered. If at least half of the men could answer it, then one eternal secret of being would be less.