"Thin world." Chapter 1

Hello. I want to introduce you to the first chapter of a fantastic story. A little about technology, a little about people. I hope it will be interesting.



The century-old forests untouched by battles were filled with fog and dew in the cold predawn hour. The sun tiptoed into the holey yellowed foliage and disturbed Marinin's dream. She grimaced, opened her eyes, stretched out and sat down, folding the edge of her large sleeping bag. The smaller sleeping bag was already empty.

Marina yawned and looked around. Morning painted blue a closed dress with torn sleeves, all cut, and red - wounds on the face and neck. The wounds were fresh.

- Liza? She called, her voice a little hoarse from sleep, and rose to her feet, brushing herself off. - Lizka, come out.

- Aha! - a war cry rang out from the bush behind, and Marina sharply turned around, putting her hand forward and resting her foot on the root of the tree, as if repulsing the attack. Out of the thicket, without hiding at all, a smeared cub jumped out in overalls and sneakers one size larger than necessary and triumphantly held out a frog mounted on a blade - I caught!

Marina sighed, hid her hand behind her back and said sternly:

- Lisa, what did I say about the animals?

Lisa sharply hid the blade in her hand, from which the poor frog plopped to the ground, and said:

- I let her go. What did you catch? What is behind you?

Marina smiled, shrugged and lied:

- Nothing. So, warming up.

By force of will, she forced the barrel of the rifle into the forearm. As if the petals of a strange flower closed in a human brush, the skin returned a pinkish tint, and the joints became dull, light, perfectly even lines.

- See? She held out a trembling palm.

But Lisa was no longer looking. She climbed a tree branch - see where to go next. At the same time, she imagined herself to be a sailor on the mast and shouted something about bomb-brahmsels. I climbed like a normal child, clinging with tenacious fingers, pushing my sneakers up, higher and higher.

- Wow, right on the course of the lake!

This was not news. On the Karelian Isthmus it is difficult to hide from lakes and holiday villages.

“No disaster or pirates?” - asked Marina, packing her sleeping bags.

“Not at all,” Lisa deftly jumped and ran to her. Marina pulled out a washed scarf and tried to make her sister's face recognizable. Then she sat on the roots with her and pulled out a couple of pack rations from her backpack.

“I want an apple,” Lisa said, chewing and jerking her legs.

“Don't talk with your mouth full,” Marina answered, biting off her bar. - If we meet an apple tree, we’ll overfill, I promise.

“Where are we going?”

“Oh, what a difficult question.”

- Remember Ellie? “We will go to the emerald city, the difficult road,” she sang, “that is how we are.” We go to the great Goodwin.

“Wow,” said Lisa, “can he ask for new sneakers?”

“Of course,” Marina answered, smiling.

“No,” Lisa frowned, “no.” Better do it so that we never fight again. So you are always green.

At Marina, a com went up to the throat. Lisa examined the deep cuts on her pen. “I could not restrain myself, I did not follow it”

- We will ask him for this. Is going?

Lisa nodded.

- It’s coming.

* * *

Biorefactoring at the dawn of its appearance seemed like a strange ridiculous toy, a useless alternative to such prosthetics, understandable and solid, but marching in place. A handful of micromachines are placed in the body, and the body goes into sleep, and the machines begin to rebuild. Cell by cell, tissue by tissue, penetrate everywhere and everywhere, displacing the indigenous population, sticking to the blood vessels, intercepting the signals of nerves. They learn to imitate the replaced part by observing its work. And the accumulated knowledge can be used by other machines. The first mouse leg refactoring took almost a year and was not successful. The next group had it for a month. Two weeks, a week, a day. Micromachines could have been faster. Flesh could not.

Biorefactoring has become fashionable. Like mobile communications, at first simple models for the rich and successful, then models for every taste - for everyone. As a child, Marina was still just beginning. The church loudly protested, quietly correcting the decrepit limbs of their decrepit leaders, the military vehemently resented, simultaneously making millions of purchases of micromachines and developing their programs. Everything as usual. When Lisa was born, all this became everyday.

The procedure was like a good car, but subsequent changes were easy to make. Just another program for micromachines, a couple of days of forced sleep - and you're done. And special nutrition, it's like gasoline.

Lisa loved to swim. And so it all began, with some world-famous competitions. Legs turning into flippers. Hands - she pulled them forward and literally turned into a small torpedo. And like a cherry on a cake - gills. This mother insisted - she was very afraid that Lisa would choke and drown.

Marina was not fond of sports, and indeed all this techno-magic seemed unnecessary to her. Answers to questions from acquaintances were answered "I am too old for all this," or "I am too young." She was offered at least a try. “Look,” they said to her, and the camera clamped in the palm of his hand went up a meter, “I can take a selfie!” The selfie stick built into the brush was the cheapest and most common module and went on sale at the price of a scooter.

Once, while walking along the promenade, she met a familiar old artist. His left hand replaced his easel, and his right turned into a bizarre plexus of brushes. He concentrated on drawing the restless Neva, gulls, the embankment, and while Marina was walking in his direction, he managed to draw her too.

“Now I draw them in dozens,” the old man boasted, and tried to straighten his hat with his tainted fingers, “pah.” He glanced annoyingly at his hand, and it took on a normal look, “I forget all the time.”

“And how do they not bother you?” - asked Marina, looking at the written works.

“They don’t interfere at all,” he shook his head, “I, Marinochka, will tell you this: you need to keep up with progress if you want to achieve something.” Otherwise, they will bounce you, ”he whistled,“ you will not have time to gasp. ”

Later, recalling that conversation, Marina could not remember for sure - did she like his new paintings, which he painted in dozens a day? Who drew them - he, or a machine? Who then drew her own drawings - Marina herself, or thousands of people before her whose cars overheard the correct and incorrect movements?


* * *

Toward noon, they again reached the railroad.

- Let's go by train? - asked Lisa.

“No, hare, trains don't run,” Marina answered, looking around, “tired?”

“I can walk for a long time,” Lisa answered and accidentally changed her foot shape. Sneakers once again cracked.

“Hey,” Marina said sternly, “you will tear your shoes, you will go barefoot.” Like a hobbit.

“And who is the hobbit?” - The girl ran up on gravel, sank down on all fours and put her ear to the rails - no one is going!

Marina crossed the path and prepared to delve deeper into the thicket of the forest, when suddenly the noise of a propeller appeared to her. She froze and lured Lisa to her, gesturing for silence. It seems like silence.

“Where are we now?” She asked in a whisper.

Lisa thought for a moment. Somewhere in her brain, the Young Naturalist module was trying to establish a location without a GPS signal. She began to look around - unnaturally, jerkingly, scanning - and gave out.

- Station "Orekhovo". Lake "figured" to the north, two kilometers. Let's go to the lake?

- Lead on. Just not on the trail.

Having taken a few steps deep into the forest, Marina turned around. Something flashed along the railway? Or did it seem? She looked at her watch - 12.33.

“Right time for trouble,” she thought.

* * *

This war was supposed to overshadow the history of previous wars. It was supposed to begin the greatest massacre, and end with a nuclear apocalypse. The symphony was painted by notes, the instruments were tuned, the conductors entered the stage in spotless black tailcoats with sharpened sticks - and marches began at 12.37.

Marina remembers herself in the crowd at a holiday that turned into a parade. She remembers how her hand soared in greeting against her will, and how she tried to lower her. He remembers how the Supreme Commander advised them, and that instead of a dozen tassels, her hand gave birth to a rifle. The world has become red-green, divided into friends and foes. And then drones flew in and all the colors mixed up. It seems that a voice on the radio broadcast that our drones hacked forty percent of the population of New York, and the city was panicked. The voice point blank did not notice how the same thing happened right here.

Marina refuses to remember if she fired at least one shot at people. It seems to her not. It seems to her that she hid herself, closed herself on a deadbolt and squeezed her head in her hands, trying to shut up the adrenaline-flooding.

After half an hour, the screams on the street died down, only groans and cries were heard. The painful expectation of the whistle of falling bombs hung in the air.

But the bombs did not fall.


* * *

The road around the lake took almost the whole day. Every now and then they came across the abandoned parking lots - tents, cars, even an inflatable boat launched into the water. In some places fishing rods stood on the hornets. Marina tried to carefully examine them first, but Liza, as always, nimbly pulled forward, or suddenly shouted from a tree branch "look, there is uncle!" Marina's heart was contracting, and she did not spare her legs to get around such camps away.

In the evening, they settled on a sandy patch, inconspicuous from the road, with traces of old bonfires and a pile of garbage in the bushes. The drone overtook them there.

Marina was the first to hear the propeller's annoying rumble and raised herself warily. He flew somewhere in the distance, the sound was repeatedly reflected by the water surface and hid its location.

“Come here,” Marina asked quietly and sat down in the arms of old roots, biting into the sand. Lisa quietly ran up and sat next to her, huddled under her arm.

The sound was growing. With him drums rumbled in his ears, and a siren howled icily. Marina felt a furious desire to take a place in the ranks and repulse any enemy.

- Marina ...

- Yes, hare?

“You're blushing.”

Marina squatted and took Lisa by the shoulders. She trembled and sobbed.

- Lizka, listen to me. This is not you, understand? You do not want to fight. You have to endure it like an injection. Come on, imagine that they give you an injection and you just have to endure it. Be strong, do not give in. Hey! - She smiled cheerfully and stroked her sister's hair, - you're my clever, you can handle it.

The howl of a siren in my head grew. Sight failed, giving out interference - apparently the drone was trying to establish communication with the headquarters. Marina quickly looked around, trying to detect a flying infection. And when she looked at Lisa again, she saw only a bright red spot, a vile, thick smear. Blot smiled disgustingly.

“No, it's all a lie. This is Lisa, I know. You can't fool me. ”

“No,” she asked. The image blinked for a moment, revealing a frightened little girl. And then a clang rang out - the protection worked, and the exposed hand grabbed the blade that flew into it.

Marina bounced back, dropping her backpack and interfering jacket. Putting her left hand forward, she tried to turn the second hand into ticks - it was convenient for them to restrain Lisa without causing harm. But a rifle jumped out against her will, and a shot rang out.

“Here is rubbish, I discharged you!” Marina swore mentally. A bullet knocked out a pile of slivers from a tree and ricocheted into the lake. Lisa managed to dodge and now flashed between the trees, getting closer. Her eyes were burning with someone else's hatred.

Rotating on the spot, Marina nevertheless missed the moment, and the sister pounced on her behind with a steel whirlwind. With difficulty fighting off, the girl made a sharp lunge forward and hit the back swing. Lisa flew away a few meters, rolled over like a cat and stuck with blades - arms and legs - into a tree. Turned around, twisted, looked evil. There was a fresh red mark on his cheek.

"Lord, forgive me, Lizka." It was some kind of torture, a bad dream, an evil tale. Again, again and again. The girl rushed to the lake, ran up and dived in fish, entered like a knife into oil, without splashing and splashing. Marina grabbed the trunk of the tree to catch her breath, and felt pain in her left hand. Microcars frolicked in the slits of bloody cuts, restoring weak flesh. “Close the gap in the defense,” Marina thought with impotent hatred, “One day they will replace me all. For my own safety, they will kill me. ”

Lisa did not appear. The water was muddy, and Marina did not know where to wait for the attack. I listened.

"Quiet. Only the frogs on that end of the lake are kurchichut. On their own, or were Lisa scared? Well at least the drone is no longer heard. Flew away to look for other draft deviators. And the one who created them, where is he now? Who is fighting with - with children, with friends, with parents? They say that everything can be used for good or evil, that the inventor is not to blame. But after all, the one who created these flying commissars knew what he was doing? ”

It was getting dark. Marina began to worry. “The call will end soon, and Lisa will understand where she is and what’s wrong with her? Why did I decide that it would end soon? I can still hear him, I'm still thirsty for blood. And Lisa hears. Oh, it's getting dark. And she has night vision, but I don’t have ... ”

“ You wait for the night, ”she said aloud,“ Will you really kill me then? ”

There was a deafening splash. Lisa jumped out of the water like a tiger from an ambush, hovered in the air, and with a triumphant cry, fell upon her sister, bristling with the tips of the blades. And Marina jumped back, threw her left palm forward and fired a flash directly into her favorite blue eyes.

Lisa was thrown onto the sand and shook. Her arms and legs convulsed, randomly changing shape, and she herself was terribly and long howling. Then the siren in her head fell silent, and the howl gave way to crying. Marina knelt down next to her sister and hugged her tightly.

- Everything, everything, my friend, do not cry. It is all over. Forgive me, sorry.

Go to chapter 2

This is so far the first chapter of the story (I don’t presume to predict how many there will be in all. Maybe two :)
If you are interested, then I will post the next ones as I write.
Feedback and comments are welcome.

Thank you for your attention and have a nice weekend.

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