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Chapter 2. World Never Changes.
🕑 Added 2016-11-13 12:13:49 +0000 UTCWorld never changes. | The world will never change
I put a ready-made bystryagu[1] for Kron to cool in to a freezer, and went into the kitchen to smoke. Smoking next to this bubbling muck - the matter of suicidal type. In the fridge, there was nothing edible, only half-liter glasses of bystryaga solution in alcohol, acetone or gasoline, for every taste and color, but I did not want to drink it – this time those were too concentrated. Going into the pantry, where centuries-old layer of dust lays untouched, I took the only thing not covered by it - the triangular armored suitcase, a backpack, lined with steel sheet thickness of a centimeter, which can be worn as a backpack on a back and he will copy an anatomic shape. I took it to the kitchen, brought out three ceramic tubes with sealed lids and poured into them solutions from glass vials, taken out of the refrigerator, acetone, alcohol and gasoline separately from each other. Had to seal lids tightly and put them back into the gaps on the inside of my suitcase.
It was late, but I had to go. By attaching the strap to the suitcase, I brought it in to my living room, where everything has cooled down and popped as it should, putting my signature light body armor and harness with two holsters for plazmalets. It was another shitty night, when you have to run somewhere, overcoming slimy rain and a stench, that makes u throw your dinner out, even if you had a sweet pile of Nothing on your plate. On the street, typically for that area, have already started a brawl between underage scum who divided among themselves this area, evening promenade of shlyuhovatyh[2] girls with wealthy thugs, and, of course, an unauthorized sale of drugs that should be traded only while you have a license. Thrusting plazmalets into holsters and throwing on my old but stylish rubber cape-coat with a kevlarit linning. I freed the doorway, zakinuv[3] two tablets pressed bystryagi cheerfully ran out of the apartment, threading my hands under the straps of his luggage. The door slammed shut behind me quite unceremoniously and with a loud bang.
I did not care, because apart of my oborzevshego[4] character, I could snap with a heavy fire from two plazmolets, and they must be noted, though not very rapid - but can melt metal or polymer armor and flesh very painfully... By the way, my arms and legs are made of metal, which could give me a tiny advantage, if will get dirty, in a melee fight.
And it vstavilo[5]...
Lighting a cigarette on a run, I was jumping through staircases, like a frog. Running near with those two golovotyaptsev[6], who were waiting for me on the wrong floor, I drew their attention, reminding them about their sexual orientation in the loudest and foul form that I could imagine, but without reducing a pace ran down the stairs. Behind me rattled a pair of clumsy and heavy beefy bodies, intensively covering anything – God, my mother, my "black passage" and me in particular – with a multilayer swearing constructions, but apparently, having in mind my weight, I could take a world record of staircase running.
On the street, I abruptly turned into an alley, where i hided behind trash container, waiting for those gorillas to run by my cover. My weapons were cocked in advance and switched to a piercing mode, which reduces its rate of fire, but gives a high chances to slide through the armor on the carcasses of these assholes. Rather than running past the alley thugs shoved their broad faces there, obviously waiting for me to stand there in fully open. But when one of them was seen from around a corner of the musornika[7], I jumped up as hard as my legs could launch my body in to an air, hoping to soar a little, but not letting that cloud my head. Click-click and a blood and brainmash scattered as an even puddle on a concrete floor. Everything went quite not as well, as I expacted:
Instead of two I saw there four blockheads, and those whom, I had not seen before, were much better armed than their comrades.
How quickly a tide turns. Avoiding a couple of sharp cubes, that were leaving a clear red trace straight to a area, were my bashnya[8] was, I did a couple of nice rotations in an air and began to peck armored assholes with my old faithful plazmalets. The cigarette was finished for a half, when all four had two punched holes on each of their foreheads.
"A day didn't start good, but shows less and less glances of good perspectives, damn it." -, I hissed through clenched teeth, shoving my guns of a proletarian judgment in its holsters. Clinging to imperfections and cracks on a wall siding with my sharp claws, I climbed up on a level, where I won't be searched by those foul bastards, but where there are more chances to run into the Temple or groups of security officials, whos mustaches I also flamed recently, but up there it will be cleaner a bit.
Where holo-boards with the priests are calling for the purchase of additional respawn, other service and just to the donate. It was rot, which was not at the bottom, and it is not eatable, even for me.Hypocrisy.
On middle-class level it was all about haste and rush, inherent to overpopulated metropolis of a third world some centuries ago.
Fat men, traveling in a chairs with spider legs, that gives them somehow comic and repulsiveness immediately making them grotesque as canvas of Acid-Tripper of 2150th. Surrounds was flowing around them, the streets were flooded with moving smaller, slimmer people.
And these pigs on their chairs were above the crowd, often ate something, and, dropping crumbs on the other, accompanied by several guards in the impressive kit, which unceremoniously pushed bypassers on the way of their master. When one such maypole, a few years ago, pushed me by his shoulder, and offered to look where I was going in a very rude tone and manners, I turned to him and shoved my razor sharp fingers through his visor into his eyes, and started to stab his eyes over and over again. I had a Flexy[9] withdraw, so I was eager to practice a silver tongue skill on public with a following speech:
"I do not care about your job. You are no one and is named nothing, and that your blob, is just razozhravshiysya[10] pedophile who takes bribes with young girls. They become concubines, pleasuring him, and all his guard pack of dickheads like you are, and ultimately he gives them to his dogs to see how they would scream in pain. But this is not the end, because those huge dogs firstly will rape those little girls, and then will tear them in to shredz. Thank God, it is not deadly in our time (I said, shaking off the hand of a bloody mess, and looked around in disgust beating in agony body)"
[1] Street name of amphetamine
[2] Slutty
[3]Threw in, took (pills)
[4] Beasty or rabid
[5] Kicked in
[6] A headcutter (direct\straight translation) or a butcher
[7] Dump-box, trash-conteiner (any kind of a container, that has a waste or any kind of trash in it)
[8] Tower, but in that context – a head
[9] A kind of drugs
[10] Overly-fat
