Project "Eye" part 15

_{Photo: AV Photography}

Links to previous parts and an appeal to those who see the publication of the Eye for the first time:

Eye is my personal literary project, work on which I started in May of this year. From a small sketch, he grew into a science fiction work, the chapters of which I spread, as I write, on GT.

Previous parts:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14

In part 14:
“Let's get to the point,” Matt said irritably. “Who's the chief in the ghetto now?”

- Well, that, the boss is in charge now.

- The boss? What kind of boss? - asked Matt.

“Well, that's what we call him.” Well, they call him Big Boss, ”the man answered. “We should all call him that.” He now runs the ghetto.

“I see,” said Matt. - Mellie?

- He’s not lying. And I know where to go.

- Good. Will you deal with the rest? - The old commander asked with a hint.

- Uh! - “The shooter” voiced. - Have you already thought of this? What does it mean to understand?

“Yes,” Melissa answered, “I’ll figure it out.”

“Well, do not go far, I will be with Oliver,” said Matt.

- Okay, I'll be back soon.

The Shooter no longer made a sound - Melissa, as soon as she and Matt approached the house, took control of his body.

Matt waited for his companion and their involuntary informant to hide behind the bend of the house, put the gun in his jacket pocket and pulled out a stored check - the hand in which the grenade had been held all this time had convulsed for a long time, and it hurt so that it seemed now fall off.

He carefully inserted the check into place, hid the grenade in another pocket, took off the banner on the stairs and went up to the apartment where he and Oliver had been left by Melissa.

His old friend looked bad. Even in a dream, after all the injections that a telepath had not so long ago, he was in a cold sweat, and his face took on a gray-earthy color.

Oliver was dying, he urgently needed a doctor.

---

“Melissa, shut the door.”

The woman silently complied with Matt's instructions and, with some effort, slammed the huge steel door of the bunker where they were.

“Sit down, Big Boss,” Matt said in disgust, “now we'll talk.”

“I didn't know what it was ...

” “Silence,” Matt snapped. “Mellie, be so kind as to bind this bastard.” I don't want you to strain.

Melissa had just finished cranking the valve, which tightly shut the door of the room that had once been a bank vault. Craftsmen from the brigade hung the door on the orders of the previous commander, who was before Tommy, and turned a fairly spacious room into a kind of bunker, in which, in which case, you could hide. The second exit from the bunker was now littered, could not stand the last raid of the capital's garrison, which razed the ghetto to the ground.

Having finished with the door, Melissa followed the instructions of the old commander, took a thin metal cable from the ground and headed for the man called the Big Boss.

- The cable? Asked Matt.

“I don't see the ropes here, commander.”

“Okay,” the man answered. “We’ll come up with something now.”

The boss sat quietly on the chair, trying not to make unnecessary movements, the bunker is now closed from the inside, they will not come to his aid.

Before his eyes were still pictures of what this couple can do if they get angry.

And announcing a reward for Matt and Melissa, Big Boss pissed them off. And now, after only a few hours, the game itself came to the hunter. And it was a very dangerous and very embittered game.

As the prisoner reflected on his future, Matt spotted a hole in the wall where the fixtures helpfully could be seen. Pulling it to make sure that the structure is standing firmly, he tore the Big Boss from the chair and pressed it with his back against the wall.

“You're going to be small, but oh well,” Matt told himself. - Mellie.

The woman silently approached and handed the commander a one and a half meter length of wire rope. Matt, whistling deliberately, made a loop out of him.

The man hesitantly watched what the old commander was doing. Matt motioned him to turn around, folded the prisoner's hands behind his back and slipped them into the noose. Tightening it harder, he wrapped the cable around the captive’s wrists, eight, around the loop, and then sharply pulled the free end towards himself and up. A man calling himself Big Boss cried out from a jerk, strengthened, among other things, by combat armor, and bent into three doom, trying to raise his arms as high as possible and relieve pressure on the shoulder joints.

Matt looked with satisfaction at the pose in which his captive froze, and after tightly tied the cable to the armature sticking out of the wall.

“Hm,” Melissa said to herself, “I haven’t seen anything like this before.”

“Well, for lack of alternatives, I had to improvise,” Matt told her. “Of course, it would be worth hanging this bag of crap under the ceiling like a punching bag, but it will do.” What do you think?

“I think so,” said Matt's companion. - It will do.

Big Boss puffed with exertion. The fittings, to which the other end of the cable was tied, Matt, was at a height of almost two meters, no less. The Boss did not stand close to the wall, but he did not dare even take a step back - if he loses his balance, there was a great risk that he would break his shoulder joint, and, possibly, both at once. In the current situation in the Ghetto, this was akin to a sentence. Although he had no illusions about his future at all, Commander Matthew and this mysterious person who fought along with him were unlikely to leave him alive.

At this time, Matt, walking around the room, moving the garbage under his feet with the toe of his boot. The boss did not see this, the maximum that was available to his eyes - the legs of a woman whom commander Matthew called Melissa. But he heard everything distinctly.

After a minute, the noise of the unfolding garbage died down - Matt found what he was looking for. He squatted down and drew a piece of concrete, with reinforcement sticking out of it. The suit on Matt’s hands was still in hand-to-hand combat mode and the commander, with two powerful blows of the “brass knuckles”, increased by armor on his right hand, freed steel from concrete captivity.

He shook the rod up and down, as if evaluating whether it was heavy enough for what was intended. Satisfied with his find, Matt turned around, crossed the room, took a chair and sat on it backwards, folding his hands on his back and laying his chin on them.

- Well, Big Boss, let's talk? - He asked the prisoner and poked reinforcement at him. “You know, your face is familiar to me.” I saw you the last time I was here. You were one of Tommy's informants, right?

Big Boss tried to raise his head and look at the old commander, but nothing came of it - the cable was too short.

- Yes, I did.

- Yes, sir.

- What? - I did not understand the captive.

- To people who can stick a piece of reinforcement in your ear, you need to contact "sir", understand?

Big Boss was silent.

- I can not hear! - raised the voice of Matt.

“Yes,” the captive paused, but continued, “sir.” I understood.

- Well. - Matt fidgeted in a chair, sitting comfortably. “So, Big Boss,” Matt did not say the nickname of the new ghetto leader, “spat out, expressing all contempt for people of the sort he was capable of,” we thought to come to you ourselves, in peace, so to speak, but you decided to show how cool you are. Are you cool, boss?

The captive said nothing.

“I don’t think you are cool,” Matt continued, “it cannot be a cool person who lived his life under the nickname 'Small.'”

Calling himself "Big Boss" from the last words, Matt winced, but tried not to give a look.

- Well, how did you manage to become Big Boss from Melkiy, huh? - continued Matt. - Why are you silent? Tongue swallowed?

The old commander rose heavily from his chair, walked over to the man tied to the wall, and, with a short swing, hit him with armature under his knee. The prisoner howled and nearly lost his balance, but he stayed on his feet.

- What? - Matt said in an icy tone. - We just started our conversation.

The next blow fell on the buttocks. The petty whined like a dog - Matt could not restrain himself and allowed the armor to strengthen his movements. Blood began to appear on the trousers of the petty - the armature cut through the tissue and skin on his ass.

Melissa silently watched the actions of the old commander, but did not intervene. He knew better.

“Please, Commander Matthew, don't!” - Choking choked snot Melky. “I will tell you everything; I will tell you everything!”

Matt was unshakable.

“Of course you will,” he struck once again with the reinforcement, now on Melkiy’s back, “will this only help you?

Another blow. Scream.

“Commander Matthew, please!”

Matt grabbed Melkiy by dirty, tangled hair and tore his head up with such force that he seemed to break the prisoner's neck. However, Melkom was lucky - his neck stood.

“So,” the commander began, “I am not interested in either your affairs or what you can offer me.” I’m only interested in one thing: did the brigade doctor survive the assault?

Petty, all in tears and with a red face from tension, peered into the face of the old commander, trying to understand whether he would be able to save his life if he helped him or not.

“Have you heard of Steel General, Petty?” You took it, then, from about two months ago, in his apartment. You know what Steel General did with the deserters and prisoners who refused to speak? - Matt pressed the sharp end of the armature to the neck of Petty, where the artery passes. “He tortured them.” With us, when the war was still in full swing, even a tool for this was special. God, how they screamed, Petty, how they screamed. One big guy screamed for days on end, while Oliver broke bone after bone - he knew when the next attack would be, in any case, we thought so. - The old commander removed the fittings, released the prisoner's hair and squatted in front of him, looking Melkoy in the face from the bottom up. “Do you know who taught him all this?” - Matt twisted a steel bar in his hands. - I, Petty. I taught Oliver to torture people. How taught him to shave, drink, and do not mess with syphilis girls. Oliver to me as a son and best friend at the same time, Petty, so I saved him, a deserter, life. And now my friend needs a doctor. So answer me and lively. The team doctor survived?

Blood from lacerations on the buttocks flowed down Melkiy’s legs. He didn’t feel a hand anymore, they were numb, and in his head, like a bird caught in a snare, only one thought rushed about: “I have to say something! I have to tell him something! ”

“Commander Matthew, maybe we could ...” the captive began.

- You did not understand? - Matt grabbed Petty's lower lip and, squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger, began to twist counterclockwise. Petty screamed in pain. - Where. Brigade. Doctor?

- He died! Died! Your doctor is dead! Even during the assault he died!

Matt let go of Petty's lip, got to his feet and stretched a little.

“Okay, Mellie, is there anyone behind the door?” Check it out. It is time.

Melissa nodded silently and, closing her eyes, began to “listen” to what was happening outside. Matt turned back to Melkoy, threw off the fittings and, freezing for a second, as if aiming, clasped his hands in a fist and brought them over his head. He was going to break the spine of this bastard with one blow to the base of his neck, or just both hands at once. In any case, the consequences of such a blow, even for a stronger man than Petty, would be fatal. Not now - then later.

The small one saw the movement of the shadow on the wall and realizing that a sledgehammer under the name of the old commander’s hand was now falling on his back or head, he screamed like a pig:

“Wait! Wait a minute! There is a doctor! I have! There is a doctor!

Matt froze with his hands up.

- Where from? The brigade is dead, he said.

The small one sobbed, shook his head, and continued:

“An order came from the warrior!” I have friends there! With a couple of days ago, an old man from the capital was kidnapped with guys! I personally went to business! Commander, I do not know who he is, but I swear he responded to the "doctor"! Commander Matthew, please don’t!

- Mellie? - Matt, raising an eyebrow, nodded to the woman at the prisoner. - Check it out. You can’t stand on ceremony.

The woman almost instantly burst into the consciousness of a man who proudly calls himself Big Boss. Crumming and crushing something that was not of interest to them, she fished out the necessary memories and information.

- He’s not lying. I know where they keep him, ”she told Matt as she finished.

“Good, thanks,” the old commander answered her. “Well,” he turned to Melkom now, “we should go.”

“You let me go, right?” - muttered Petty.

“No,” said Matt, raised his hands clasped to the castle, and with all the force available to him, lowered them to Melky’s neck.

***

Mike Ivor did not understand where he is. When the surgeon opened his eyes, there was only a gray, old, shabby wall in front of him with pieces of either wallpaper, or some kind of cave painting of his predecessors, if they really were here. Very poor lighting did not allow to understand what was wrong with the wall - the light penetrated into the room only through a narrow horizontal window-loophole under the ceiling.

One of the springs of the mattress, on which Ivor lay, painfully dug into the side. The old scientist tried to freeze on the spot, flexing his stiff limbs, but he realized that the body still does not belong to him - all his attempts ended only with uncertain jerks of his hands, his legs did not listen at all.

"What happened?" - Ivor asked himself. The last thing he remembered was a conversation with Harris, and then darkness. After ten minutes of convulsive attempts to extract at least something from his memory, Ivor remembered how he climbed the stairs of the house to his old office apartment. He remembered the man who called him “the doctor,” and after all - the darkness.

More or less regaining consciousness after some time, Mike Ivor somehow sat on an old mattress, although it wasn’t convenient in that - his knees were almost at the level of his chin, since the mattress just lay on the ground, there was no question of a frame under it - and began a cursory examination of himself and the room in which he woke up. While the surgeon did not try to get up, he still felt bad legs.

A two-by-three room, a mattress under his skinny senile ass, a bucket in the corner and a loophole window, that was all that was available to him. The clothes on the surgeon remained the same as on the day of the meeting with Harris, but the cloak was hopelessly spoiled: he crumpled, was dirty, and on his right shoulder Ivor groped a hole of considerable size - apparently, when he, unconscious, was dragged here, the cloak clung to something or just went down the seam. Or the old fabric could not stand it, now it was not so important.

After some time in the cell, otherwise the room to call the language did not rotate, it became lighter. As the man understood, the reason was quite prosaic: he woke up at dawn, now it was early morning. But the day came into its own, and with its onset, which is logical, it became brighter. Mike expected someone to come to him, torture, ask questions, or something else, but the door was suspiciously quiet.

It was a good, solid door. After making sure that no one was behind her on guard, Mike tried to knock her out with a few kicks, while holding his hand against the wall, however, his attempts only led to the birth of a booming echo, rolling in waves around the room and, apparently, the corridor behind the door itself. There wasn’t even any talk of escaping through a narrow loophole under the ceiling; it was too narrow for such a large man as Mike Ivor. Strictly speaking, only a child of about ten years old could get into it, no more.

Time dragged on, like old, thickened paint, which the careless painter had left in the hot summer sun, and then, having caught on, tried to bring to life. In such cases, painters use a solvent, but there was nothing similar to its analogue in Ivor’s cell, and reflections on his future fate, which no, no, and defeated the old surgeon, did not give either strength or optimism, nor helped pass the time in the camera.

So the day passed, and after it the night. Ivor was hungry, he was tormented by thirst, and from the bucket, in which he still had to relieve himself, he perceptibly pounded. According to the mind, it was worth covering something, for example, with something from clothes, for lack of alternatives, but the weather outside the window made itself felt, so Ivor decided to neglect the amenities for the sake of preserving warmth and health - at his age, any cold could have severe effects.

According to the calculations of Ivor, he spent in the cell for at least two days. The old man tried to sleep as much as possible in order to minimize energy consumption, but from time to time he still had to get up from the old mattress, which served as his bed, and pace from one corner of the cell to another, trying to disperse the blood through the body and at least somehow warm .

“Would eat something hot now, how much easier it would be. Or drink tea, or at least water. I’d give a lot now for a glass of water, ”the old man once thought, trying to collect at least a little saliva to moisten his dry throat. The lack of fluid made my head hurt wildly. On top of the intoxication was imposed from the rubbish that he was injected there, in the entrance of the house. But nothing can be done, sooner or later, someone will come here to, at least, execute him for treason.

On the third day, Mike through a dream he heard footsteps outside the door. And here is the executioner.

Having made a considerable effort over himself, the old man stood up, brushed off his trousers and straightened the cloak in which he was wrapped, in an attempt to keep warm.

The steps of two pairs of legs froze in front of his door - in the constant silence, Ivor’s hearing sharpened. An unknown couple, and the old man was confident in this ironically that there were just two, and not three, four or just one person - two, fell silent for half a minute, and after a solid metal door a series of powerful blows shook. It seemed that a monster was breaking through the door or trying to knock it out with a sledgehammer.

After four very long and terrible blows for Ivor, everything calmed down, and the door, slightly rickety, with a creak opened inward, overturning the bucket.

***

After the assault on the “residence” of Big Boss, who turned out to be just a huckster, Melky, Matt and Melissa will return to the house where they left Oliver in a hurry.

Their friend was still alive. Melissa delivered antibiotics and “combat” injections, and Matt changed his suit batteries - the melee regime dried the old ones almost to dryness, in the last half hour the charge paths were barely enough to maintain shape, and there was no question of protection from firearms.

Matt closed his eyes and remembered the events of the last twelve hours. The kid killed by him, the killed looters, and then, only a few hours after his return, when this time Melissa went off in search of the remnants of the brigade, near the house where they stopped, a vague movement began. Matt recalled how he was leaning against the wall above Oliver's old door, trying to hide the wounded from shrapnel and prying eyes, how he grabbed a carbine and pulled out into the street - it was an assault.

Matt, as if a caring mother bird distracted the attention of predators on himself, leading away from the "nest", where unconscious, tormented by heat and inflammation, lay his friend and comrade.

The cartridges ran out too quickly, but Melissa arrived in time, it became easier with her. Matt gave the rifle to her, turned on the “melee” mode on the armor, which was still unfamiliar to him, and they began to break forward - to the Big Boss headquarters, because it was he who announced the award for the heads of those who had cracked down on his three “scouts”.

“Some sick psychopath created the armor,” Matt thought when he saw what was happening with the costume in this mode. The collar, as if alive, rose higher, covering its neck and chin, right down to the ears. In the area of ​​the knuckles, the armor gathered in dense sharp wedges, similar to brass knuckles, and on the outside of the hands appeared sharp, but small teeth, more like a saw. Spikes also appeared on the knees, and the saw in front, in the region of the lower leg. In general, the changes were minimal, but now Matt could crush his skulls with his bare hands and leave lacerated, fatal wounds or tear apart bulletproof vests.

Matt sifted through their supplies for some rags. He needed to wipe the suit, because almost all of it was stained with someone else's blood, and the armor on his hands even took a uniform crimson tint.

- Like he? He asked Melissa when he was almost done wiping the blood. The spots remained, but now he, at least, was not so dirty.

“He is still alive, but we need to go again.” I need a doctor.

- I see. Let's eat fast and let's go.

- Yes.

The old commander threw away the bloodied rag, which was unknown to anyone before, which he had previously found in the corner, and climbed into another backpack, looking for dry army rations, swearing in the dark. Soon, burning, they ate, covered the door of Oliver burning in the fever, organizing a “hut” for him, as Matt had done before the fight - the decision was quite successful and they did not invent a bicycle, and went outside.

It was getting light.

- How long should we go? Asked Matt.

- An hour, maybe a little more. In principle, it is not far away. - answered Melissa.

The old man thought for a second.

- Okay, come on faster, the armor is too striking.

When it was already quite dawn, they were in place. The building was guarded by only three fighters, whom Melissa dealt with easily - they did not need extra noise. They went down to the basement and went in search of the premises they needed. Melissa was convinced that the doctor Melky was talking about was somewhere around here.

- I saw something else in the head of this bastard. - the woman said quietly. “He was supposed to hand this man over to the military tonight, so we were very lucky, in a way, to hunt us.” Come with the world, we probably would never have known about its existence. Petty was very afraid of the customer of the abduction.

“Everything that is done is done for the better,” Matt answered philosophically. - Come on, Mellie, I'm worried about Oliver.

The woman nodded silently in response and they continued their search.

Near one of the corridor turns, Melissa paused for a second, and after a gesture she pointed to Matt.

- Here, I hear him.

The old commander silently marched after his companion, who now walked first. With each step she moved more and more confidently, as she felt that they were approaching their goal.

Near the next door, Melissa stopped, and Matt saw that outside she was locked with a powerful padlock. Silently going around the woman, he reached out, breathed in a couple of times, exhaled deeper and brought the blow of the brass knuckles on the loop. The door stood, but the mount bent. After a few more strokes, the loop into which the castle’s handle was threaded could not stand it and fell out of the wall mount. Matt grabbed the handle and pushed forward the door, which creaked but opened.

In front of them, in a small, foul-smelling room, stood a large, powerful old man in a once light and neat, and now dirty and torn cloak. Perhaps he was the same age, or even older than Matt himself. The man stood with icy calm, but Melissa felt the carefully concealed fear that emanated from him. The lighting in the room was preparious, as, indeed, in the corridor, which was only partially illuminated by the rays of a cold autumn day, breaking through the cracks in the walls, so it was not possible to make out more details. Matt spoke first:

“Good afternoon, sir.” We are looking for one person, a doctor.

- Who you are? - asked the old man. Matt was still standing outside the door and neither his, nor Melissa's face was visible. “Are you from the army?”

Matt for a second did not understand why such conclusions were made, but then he remembered what he was wearing.

“No, sir, not from the army.” You are a doctor? Maybe a surgeon?

“Not from the army?” - The man followed Matt. - Yes, I'm a surgeon. - He answered after a second of thought. - Let me introduce myself. Dr. Michael Ivor.

Melissa flinched. Ivor took two steps forward.

- And with whom do I have the honor to communicate? - He asked.

“Commander of the resistance forces,” Matt replied, holding out the surgeon's hand, which he shook without hesitation, “Matthew Harris.” You can just Matt.

---

In order to keep readers up to date with the pace of work, and just chat without fear of being hit by a banhammer on GT, or if you do not have an active account, in the vastness of VK I created a group dedicated to the Eye project . We are already one and a half thousand people!

Welcome.

Criticism, ratings, discussions and feedback in the comments, as always, are highly welcome.

Part 16