Chapter Text
It's cold. George squints at the heater in the corner of the room, mentally asking it to work harder, otherwise the guy will soon turn into a fucking snowman. The temperature outside was only a couple of degrees below zero, and the house was already freezing, as if an ice age was about to come. The batteries absolutely refused to work, the hot water from the tap flowed every other day, so an old heater, forgotten in the attic, came to the rescue, buzzing loudly, as if dissatisfied with the fact that it was (for the first time in several years) forced to work.
Dark-hair man tucks his legs under him, wrapping himself more tightly in the blanket he dragged from the bed, and turns his head to the screen, which was a bright spot in the darkness. Some toy, bought by George at a discount in the store, categorically refuses to start, offering the guy to be content with just a screensaver. Eh… The guy gets up from his seat, makes a few circles around the room, trying to keep warm. The body, it seems, is already beginning to turn into ice. The brunette even runs his fingers over his forehead to make sure that it is not covered with ice.
It's a damn idyll outside. Despite the cold snap, for which absolutely no one was prepared, preparations for the festival continued in full swing on the central square. The snow had fallen only a few hours ago, and the kids were already out on the square, making snowmen and throwing snowballs at each other. The children did not care at all that the city was, to tell the truth, a quiet horror. Yes, it is quiet. Shlaton did not like to show his bad side in front of everyone, but those who had a gray mass in their head were well aware that the president was going crazy. No one knew the exact station from which the cuckoo was going, but all sensible people understood that it would not lead to anything good. And George, looking at the children frolicking merrily in the snow, wished he hadn't realized how bad it was. How bad it is that the city has stopped, stopped developing and contacting others. How terrible is the fact that everyone who publicly said something bad about the current ruler was sent to prison or disappeared altogether. The bloody iron Curtain, no doubt. How many people understood this? Well, probably most of them. At the very least, almost everyone George knew was convinced that the city was in danger. But what to do with it — no one knew. And those who had any suggestions were too intimidated to talk about them out loud. The city was slowly dying along with its inhabitants, who could not even leave it without a good reason — they needed permission. Such a ban was explained by the media by the fact that the plague had passed through the world and it was a bad idea to let outsiders into the city. But no measures other than the curtain were taken. From the plague-one name…
Music began to play from the broken speakers, slightly straying and hanging, but however, remaining quite pleasant — the game still started, and the start button stood out brightly against the background of the dim menu. George had already sat down at the table, ready to start the game, when suddenly the phone beeped, announcing a new notification. The guy stretched out his hand, removing the lock from the screen and in surprise rereads the message that came from an incomprehensible to him on some social network, the presence of which on his mobile phone the brunette did not even know.
NighTMAre: okay, let's say I agree… I can't say that I'm interested in it or that it's good for me, but it sounds fun, and L'amanburg needs a little fun)))
George with interest to grasp the meaning of the words written without «Hello» or «Goodbye». It was as if the message had been sent in the midst of a conversation between two people.
«On the other hand», — George tells himself. — «This message was clearly not addressed to me, so it's not for me to respond to it»
NighTMAre: in any case, a deal is a deal. the conditions are quite satisfactory to me. the question remains, what is the probability of your success? Schlatt has a lot of fucking guards. yes, their intellectual abilities are on the level of this drinking guy, but still…
NighTMAre: imagine if he chose his subordinates from former drinking buddies))0))
NighTMAre : am? .. ТB? are you ignoring me?
George reads the first message nervously. Yes, of course, it was impossible to judge the conversation by the four messages, but the mention of the current ruler in a negative way, I must admit, was annoying. About this… It was not customary to talk and that's all. Those who talked about it usually ended their lives in a ditch, or lived out their last days behind bars. «A terrorist threat to society» as Schlatt once put it in one of his speeches. And George, admittedly, did not really want to become a threat in the eyes of both the public and law enforcement, so he decided to finish the monologue of this strange man.
user406674: Sorry I didn't answer you right away, but you got the wrong recipient. I haven't crossed paths with anyone in the last three days, and I certainly haven't made any deals, I'm sorry.
George bites his lip nervously, looking at the sign that says the other person is typing a new message.
NighTMAre: oh…
NighTMAre: I'm sorry if I scared you:)
user406674: Nothing, it happens to everyone.
George is already putting his hand on the mouse, ready to start shooting at the strange-looking aliens, like…
NighTMAre: why do you have an empty account, a new one here? no avatar, no nickname…
NighTMAre: hiding something?)
user406674: I almost don't use social networks, that's all, nothing criminal.
The brunette snorts into his fist. It is clear that the stranger is just kidding, but it is worth justifying just in case — this is a matter of if not honor, then George's creature for sure.
NighTMAre: I thought people like you were transferred, but no! wow…
NighTMAre: can you still put something on? empty accounts look so sad, like abandoned houses, you know? the owner seems to be there, and no one takes care of the house, does not throw out garbage, does not wipe the dust
NighTMAre: bad, in short, look. do you understand what I mean?
user406674: Probably…
NighTMAre: pf, I don't think so
NighTMAre: in any case, it's time for me to send messages to the recipient, otherwise he will be angry
NighTMAre: bye bye)
George thinks about how he actually wanted to play a new game. He even started it, despite the computer's frantic attempts to stop him, but continues to waste free minutes for the sake of talking to some stranger in the chat room, who was not even going to write to him-he just made a mistake with the address, but still zealously maintained the dialogue, spitting on George's obvious confusion and laconicism. The guy clicks on the empty icon, getting to his profile page, created, according to the date in the settings, a couple of years ago. The icon where the profile picture should be is decorated with a bold cross, as if the program itself asks to «revive» the account. Dust the house, take out the trash. Clean up the mess. And he doesn't care that he didn't communicate with anyone on this social network, he did it more for his own satisfaction than to make his profile look a little more presentable than empty accounts advertising drugs and work with quick earnings. He flips through the gallery and clicks his tongue in exasperation — not a single photo that would fit his profile. The guy sighs and, feeling like a complete idiot, turns on the camera, not even trying to find a normal angle for the photo. Yes, there — he does not even get out from under the blanket, so as not to freeze his feet once again.
So it is not surprising that the photo is far from perfect. Funny hair disheveled, as if the guy had just got out of bed, which confirms the blanket draped over her shoulders, clothes wrinkled, and table lamp included only for photo Shine directly into eyes, so the guy has to blink. However, this is not the worst picture that George has ever taken-remember only the photos from his coming of age. It's creepy… And no one will even see this one unless they specifically search, studying millions of profiles, in search of a single dark-haired man wrapped in a blanket.
The next item is his nickname. At first, the guy even thinks that, perhaps, this point can be missed. Then — «user406674» is very annoying, but the real name of the guy is not eager to put — there is no need for this. He just needs to revive his account, nothing more. So that it does not look like a tombstone, forgotten somewhere in the vastness of the World Wide Web. George hesitantly clicks on the buttons, typing in a new name.
***
What time is it? George squints at the lower-right corner of the screen. Half past three. And this despite the fact that he has to work at nine. Brilliant. For a few hours, the room not only did not warm up — it became even colder than it was, because the raid on the kitchen became a real test for the resistance of his body to frost. Tomorrow it would be worth going and finding out how long it would take him to die of cold in his own house. Or shouldn't I have? The brunette burns his fingers as he pours tea into a mug. He hisses, shaking his hand, and watches in fascination as the skin begins to turn red, tingling unpleasantly. He seems to be losing his mind from lack of sleep, and he snorts softly, gripping the mug tighter as it starts to warm up. Soon he will definitely get a second burn, but now the guy is happy to squeeze hot ceramics. He carefully walks back into the room, careful not to spill a drop of the sacred drink. He thinks about the fact that he did not take anything for tea, the guy later, when he is already sitting in front of the computer, taking a sip from the mug. Tea burns from the inside, but there are no unpleasant sensations on the contrary. It seems to George that a fire has been lit in him, which has begun to wake up the already falling asleep brain and body. Getting... easy? Yes, probably…
The phone, the sound on which was automatically turned off at night, vibrates on the wooden surface of the table, and the guy takes it in his hand, putting down the cup, looking in surprise at the notification of a new message from a familiar (and, in general, the only) contact.
NighTMAre: aww, you really did it
NighTMAre: nice
NicknameNotFound: ?
NighTMAre: well, nickname and photo
NighTMAre: did you put them up for me?
George is not sure why or who he did it for, so he thinks about this question a little more than he should, but the other person does not rush him, allowing him to think about how to answer.
NicknameNotFound: None. I just thought that you need to somehow revive the account.
NighTMAre: (((
NighTMEre: I could have lied (
George snorts as he takes another sip of his drink, and without realizing it, he starts to smile at the screen of his smartphone.
NicknameNotFound: I'm sorry. I'm not ready to change my account for the sake of extremist strangers. I just remembered it only when you wrote it.
NighTMAre: in the sense of extremists?
NighTMAre: oh, oh, are you talking about the first messages?
NighTMAre: well, I'm right-the drunk surrounded himself with an army of drunks. Don't you agree?
NicknameNotFound: You can go to jail for saying that, you know?
NighTMAre: haha, good luck to them)0))
NighTMAre: in any case, if anything, I will say that you are an accomplice and you will be tied up with me. that's going to be fun…
NicknameNotFound: I hope you were joking?..
NighTMAre: …
NighTMAre: hope…
And, like, George should block this strange person, because of which he can have problems with the law, if he does not joke about the accomplice, but the guy just pulls his blanket off the chair, takes a last sip of tea and trudges into bed, falling into it right in his clothes — there is no strength to take it off. Fingers quickly tap on the screen, typing a new message.
NicknameNotFound: Are you threatening me?
NighTMAre: no, what makes you think that?
NighTMAre: do you think I'm some kind of villain?)
George is about to answer, but…
NighTMAre: I forgot to ask…
NicknameNotFound: What?
NighTMAre: is that you in the picture?
The brunette freezes for a second, thinking about what kind of photo is in question at all, and then burns with shame — it should not have been seen! Especially this crazy guy with weird and possibly dangerous cockroaches in his head.
NicknameNotFound: Yes?.. Why put someone else's photo on the avatar at all?
NighTMAre: wow… I thought you were 30 years old, with such an attitude to technology, lol
NicknameNotFound: I'm 24…
NighTMAre: what? you are 17-18 years old in the photo, when did you make it at all?
NicknameNotFound: Um… this evening?
NighTMAre: can't be. you either sold your soul so you wouldn't grow old, or you're lying
NighTMAre: by the way…
NighTMAre: you're cute)
The guy choked on air after reading the last message. He wanted to be outraged, but he didn't know what to write, so he used the old and proven tactic of ignoring what was not worth reacting to.
NicknameNotFound: I'm need sleep I have to go to work by nine.
NighTMAre: oooh come on. Lack of sleep does not lead to anything good)
NicknameNotFound: Unfortunately, I know…
NighTMAre:)))
NighTMAre: good night
NicknameNotFound: It's funny to see this from a person with the nickname Nightmare…
George was sleepy, so he closed his eyes and dropped the phone on his chest without even saying goodbye. He didn't have the strength to get up to charge his cell phone. Tomorrow,probably, the phone will go dead at work. After a short dialogue with a stranger, the brunette felt strange. As if squeezed out like a damn lemon. He didn't want to think about anything, just wanted to sleep, wrapped up in his favorite blanket. He wanted to get some sleep, even if the guy's sleep wouldn't have been longer than four hours — it wouldn't hurt to dream, would it?..