/ lornaop 674hdckdeh prishelbher3g54bw (just text from me)

    His figure casts an unusual shadow - a kind of twisted, oval knot. The cigarette in the hand supporting the chin smolders evenly, serving as a supplier of fresh smoke for the atmosphere of a small room.

    I was always surprised by this ability of him ... To fall into a peculiar stasis, like Robert Sheckley ... It seems to be sitting, but there are no signs of life. The clock is running. And he still sits, staring at the flickering screen.

    - Conceptualaaaal ....- holds out the modern hero of Robert and leans back in his chair.

    - You know, I need to hand over this project by Thursday ... My friend ... I need fresh ideas, understand? His gaze never looked up from the flat panel.

    I gently twisted my brush, the knee itches terribly, but the iron still rattled. How scary this sound is for me. The metal rattle. How old are these chains? All are corroded by rust. I have been tormented by this conjecture for a long time ... It seems that I’m far from the first here ...

    - Don’t stop it, but you will have to work hard. There’s such a thing ... I guess that your internal luggage is not enough for one hundred percent return ... And we, accordingly, are working on it as best we can. But understand. I need your participation too. You resist, although you know that it will still be the way I want it. Do not read books, close your eyes to interesting films, try to plug your ears while listening to the right music. You see, this is completely in your interests ...- he sweetly reached out and put out the cigarette.

    I rested my forehead against the wall and cried.

    - Don’t whine, you won’t help here. We need to work as a well-coordinated mechanism. You are a generator, I am a visualizer. Crirator in other words.

    He constantly tells me this. As if I would agree and start cooperating. How all terribly hurts. Chains rubbed.

    “Well then ... We will begin slowly, sir,” he rose from his chair, rubbed his stiff legs, and headed for another room.

    Lord, what to expect today? What will this maniac come up with?

    In an attempt to free myself, I begin to desperately twitch. Everything is even. The chains fit just in size ... Once again I look around the space surrounding me. Nothing that could help me. I already thought about gnawing off the chained parts of the body ... But I will be left without legs and arms ... Such prospects obviously do not suit me. And the only thing left is just to wait.

    The bespectacled sadist never tortures with expectation, but today it has clearly dragged on ... And then a wave of horror envelops me. I am impatient. I myself am sitting and waiting for him. Yes, and with impatience ...

    I fell to the ground exhausted, rumbled in chains all over the apartment.

    “Microsoft is defeated, the rest will surrender themselves,” a voice came quietly from the kitchen.

    The young man gently shook the contents of the tube.

    - Yes, just what you need! - picking up a tray, he headed to the workroom.

    - So, well, let's start ... Get up ... Yeah, like that. Look here, - he helped me to rise and drew to the screen, - You see, you need something industrial and gloomy and to be remembered. A lot of gray tones. Also think about the logo ... You are familiar with the subject matter and philosophy of the development object ...

    He put me on a chair and, sliding another, sat opposite.

    - We have two ways. The first - you are eating this sugar right now - he showed me a piece of refined soaked in some substance. - This is with your unconditional consent of course.

    Anger ... No ... Hate, tearing me to pieces. Again, this bastard feeds me some psychotropic rubbish ... I do not want ... I will not. I'm tired ...

    He sees it on my face.

    - Taaaaks ... As I understand it, familiarization with the second is required ... - the bespectacled methodically shook a test tube.

    On it flaunts the inscription - "2,5-dimethoxy-4-bromoamphetamine + d-lysergic acid diethylamide + Franz Kafka".

    "I hate Kafka ... Too much nagging ..." - rushing through my head.

    “So, if you refuse sugar, I’m taking this solvent, this one of this loafer ...” he pointedly picks up a green insulin syringe, “and as a result, I smear you.” And believe me, where sugar is more serious.

    He smiled playfully.

    - Well? - asks my creeiter.

    “Give sugar here ...” I only squeeze.

    The next hour we spend in silence. Outside the window is drizzling. I jerk my foot to the beat of a drop.

    And at some point I understand that everything around is starting to tremble, naturally like that. It’s about to burst.

    The visualizer gets up. Noticed changes. He pulls me a recorder, a stack of sheets and a small, dumb pencil. Knocks loudly Aphex'a Twin'a.

    - Well, go ahead! - only he says, going out the door.

    Somewhere around an hour everything accelerates. Stronger and stronger movement of the surrounding space.

    And then ... A bright flash illuminates the room ... Flying in some kind of dull space. I see the castle. Cabinet. Dark puddles. White snow. Gray buildings.

    A whole bunch, at first glance, of nothing unrelated things. But then a stream pierces some sharp semantic arrow and everything falls into place ... Now everything is clear ...

    Then I see a bespectacled man. He flies towards me. Crushing his forehead ... Flying clearly gives him pleasure. Well, well ... Let's not turn off ... He hurt himself in the dust ...

    I woke up on the floor in a large room. He adjusted his glasses, then sat down. He looked around. And ... smiled.

    - There is a contact! I have an idea! There is! THERE IS! I heard my joyful voice.

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