I was singing along to "Sektor Gaza" at a birthday party, surrounded by people from a new company where once again, I was supposed to sell something. Suddenly, I realized that I was tired. Tired of being a part of a friendly and healthy team, tired of being stress-resistant and goal-oriented, just so I could sell another piece of steel or plastic to the next buyer in the chain. Manufacturer, supplier, distributor, wholesale, retail... In general, I had been tired for a long time, but at least in recent years, I had enjoyed tinkering with machinery, disassembling and assembling things.

"Goodbye, everyone!" I put down the microphone and headed towards the exit. Nobody understood anything yet. They continued to congratulate me, someone ordered more drinks, the new head of department put his arm around my shoulder and promised that together we would move mountains. Maybe ten or even five years ago, I would have believed him... Everyone was still hanging around the door, no one wanted to end the celebration. I reached into my pocket where my work phone was. I wouldn't need it anymore.

I could have just left it on the table, but I wanted to play one last joke. With a smile, I turned on the live stream, carefully placed the phone in the corner to capture everything that was going to happen, and then left the room and closed the door behind me.

A year ago, everything came crashing down in a horrible scandal. It all started when I began broadcasting on the corporate channel, which was subscribed to by many family members of employees who had not been invited to the party. They never expected to discover just how close some work connections could be. I was then accused of three divorces and faced two alimony lawsuits, but I didn't let it faze me. I decided to join the army.

I knew that I wouldn't have made it to a regular war, and I wouldn't have been accepted anyway. But the new conflict was much more severe, and as a two-headed cop once said in a movie, "there are no barriers for patriots." My desire to do something genuinely significant aligned with the interests of my country. I went through the military enlistment process, training, and shooting ranges, and within three months, I lost about ten kilograms. However, my shortness of breath vanished, and my movements became more fluid, like a well-oiled machine. Moreover, I slept like a baby.

Soon after, I found myself on the front line. I was fortunate not to have been assigned to some inexperienced commander. Instead, I ended up with Kolya-Pop, who was once a priest before joining the army. He proved to be an excellent leader: he made us work hard but also covered for us in front of our superiors. As a result, we were equipped with some of the best gear available on the front line. Kolya was nicknamed "the Pop," and I don't know whether he learned his tactics during his seminary days or in his noble upbringing in the Rabinovich family. But one thing was clear: he never missed an opportunity to take advantage of us, whether it was securing a supply of ammunition from the warehouse or ensuring we got our maximum benefits.

From the first week, my love for gadgets became apparent, and I have been mostly occupied with them since then. I launch factory drones, repair them after their flights on our 3D printer, and assemble new ones using whatever people bring back from the front line. Initially, I followed the instructions, but as my confidence grew, my hands started to add their own touches, which occasionally proved useful.

Glancing around my workshop-shack, I observed that it was three meters deep, with reinforced walls and a ceiling made of thirty-centimeter logs covered with earth. It was difficult to spot me here, even if someone were to take notice. We had relocated to this position only a week ago and had to work hard to secure it, but now we could feel relatively safe.

"Lex, I need your help," Pop's face suddenly appeared from above.

Judging from his expression, the reconnaissance mission was successful.

"Did you find someone?" I asked as I began to search through my gadgets, sensing what was needed.

"We've located a bunker. Preliminarily, it appears to be made entirely of concrete slabs, and it's massive. Based on the number of guys they sent, there's no fewer than a platoon stationed there."

"Shouldn't we just give the coordinates to the pilots?" I suggested.

"How many missiles would it take to penetrate the concrete? Who would operate them? You know we have limits, not just for our squad, but for the whole battalion... We could drop a significant bomb, but the Aerospace Forces are trying to avoid taking risks right now. We need to clear all the enemy air defenses first before we can do anything else."

"I know," I said as I waved my hand dismissively. "That's precisely why I built Melnik."

"Let's put that to the test," Pop helped me out, accidentally knocking off my helmet and exposing my bald head to the sun. It was the reason I had earned my nickname. My given name was Sasha or Alex, but during a previous mission when we were trapped in a hastily dug trench under heavy fire, I lost all my hair and became known as Lex - like a supervillain. Just like him, I later tracked down the group that nearly killed me, and with the help of my flying drone-cadavers made from select garbage, I got my revenge. They felt the burn, and I hope even the angels in heaven felt it too.

Pop and I walked until we reached the edge of the forest belt where he ordered us to stop. I checked the map - we were four hundred and seventy meters away from our target, which was almost the maximum distance that the drone I had assembled could cover. "That'll do," I thought to myself, as I put on the goggles that were connected to the camera mounted under the nose of a small and clumsy-looking airplane. Pop placed it onto a special catapult for takeoff and launch, and we were off!

Melnik's flight started off slow and awkward - if I had access to an aerotube, I could have easily calculated his layout, but I had to rely on my eyesight instead. We had to be extra careful not to be detected prematurely. For this reason, we had to launch from the forest where we had previously cleared out some of the branches horizontally and vertically, to make it easier for the drone to take off. I scribbled down some notes, but I kept a steady hand on the controls, breaking through the forest belt and approaching our target at an incredible pace.

At first, what lay before me appeared to be a hill covered in mud and clumps of last year's grass. As I got closer, at around one hundred meters, the bunker and an open window or entrance, which our scouts had marked specifically for me, came into clear view. Melnik's wingspan was about one and a half meters, while the entrance was only two meters wide, but I hadn't paid attention to such details for about two months now.

"They're shooting at you," warned Pop.

I nodded. It wasn't visible on the camera, and I had turned off the sound to avoid overloading the channel. The observer with binoculars would provide me with all the information I needed. I slightly turned the wing to change my trajectory. Now, anyone who was trying to anticipate my movements would miss their chance. Some might even assume that I had surrendered. No way! Melnik swooped down to the ground, just three meters above the surface, where attacking both those walking and flying is unfamiliar. I was twenty meters away from my target. I turned the long struts, climbing upward – I had installed them specifically for this maneuver – and then sharply dove into the darkness of the passageway.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The final straightaway was the most dangerous in terms of interception, but this maneuver provided the most opportunities. That's why it's used for both anti-tank and even strategic missiles.

Before the camera exploded into pieces, I managed to see someone's distorted, screaming face, and then Melnik crashed into the ground.

"Quiet," commented Pop on the lack of an explosion.

"Too early," I took off my goggles and watched as a murky film appeared over the surface of the bunker.

Initially, my plan was to load regular flour onto the drone, which was why I named it Melnik. While the big guys had heavy flamethrower systems and volumetric explosion bombs, I wanted to use dust in the air and a small charge that would react when the sensor detected the required concentration level. However, things took a turn when the assault troops gave me a couple of thermobaric grenades 60-TB, providing me with the opportunity to switch to a special gas. The result remained the same, but the efficiency and reliability were several times higher.

"Quiet," Pop repeated, signaling that the optimal time for the explosion had come, but it wasn't worth underestimating the enemy. Although they missed my attack, they managed to take control of the drone, preventing it from completing its job. I was prepared for this and quickly grabbed a regular cell phone with a SIM card that I had taken out earlier for safety.

"We're leaving," Pop understood my plan, and we knew that we had only a few seconds to flee before they track us down and start attacking us with everything they have.

As I waited for the signal, the phone rang, and I couldn't help but smile. This meant that the antenna block soldered to Melnik and another SIM card had received the signal.

***

In the bunker, everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the new drone attack captured the battered plane, preventing it from fulfilling its task.

"Take hold of this thing, John," the mercenary squad leader approached the machine with caution, fully aware of the Russians' plan to use gas and volumetric explosions to fry everyone in the bunker.

Fortunately, technology was on our side. However, just when we thought we were safe, the battered plane sneezed and played a vaguely familiar melody from a game before adding in a hoarse, smoky voice, "Do you want guarantees, buy a toaster!"

Suddenly, an endless wave of fire engulfed everything, and chaos ensued.

***

The explosion was a success - it was powerful and shook the ground beneath us. Despite the danger, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. However, our victory was short-lived as the explosion triggered an attack from our enemies. They began firing heavily into the forest where we were retreating, and we knew we were in trouble. Even though we knew the odds were against us, we refused to give up and ran as fast as we could.

As we were running, Pop suddenly raised his head and said, "Something's whistling." We quickly realized that incoming fire was headed our way. We were under attack and they were waiting for us. I hoped we could make it out in time, but before I knew it, a shell exploded right in front of us. Everything went black, and when I regained my senses, I found myself standing in front of a brown leather door in a hallway.

A policeman dressed in an unfamiliar uniform with a two-headed eagle on his cap was filling out paperwork, while two bodies were being placed in black bags nearby. The scene was all too familiar to me, and I knew what had happened. The policeman finished writing and told us that the bandits had broken in, killed our parents, and that my sister and I had locked ourselves in the bathroom to survive.

He assured us that there was no need to sign anything and that the city and corporation would deposit compensation into our account within a week. He even gave us a card for social support, although he warned that taking advantage of it could lead to us being taken into custody, with costs for money and property covered. Not the best way to start a life in a new world. And I was grateful for the advice.

The police officer tapped me on the head while lost in thought, then turned and walked down the stairs. It was only at that moment that I fully realized I was alive - alive and sixteen again, although judging by the police uniform, this was definitely not my world. My gaze then drifted to the side and I saw her. They had told me about my sister, and there she was, sitting next to me. With her white curls, huge blue eyes, and trembling tears in her wheelchair, my sister looked at me...

Perhaps, if not for her, I would have just left. I didn't know why I got the chance to live a new life, but I didn't want to start it in an apartment where someone had recently been killed. But I couldn't just abandon her, could I?

"Let's go. I'll make you some tea," I nodded to my sister.

I would like to call her by name, but I didn't know it, and asking would be strange - I could manage without it for a while.

"Thank you," my sister took out a notebook and carefully wrote the word in it with quick but clear handwriting. Her hands had already become so accustomed to this method of communication that she didn't even seem to notice it anymore.

So, she doesn't speak yet. My fists clenched. I closed the door, separating myself from the hallway and strangers with wood, foam, and brown leather. Our apartment was clean. It seemed that the police or someone else had removed all traces of recent events before leaving. From the hallway, I could see two open rooms, mine and my sister's. The living room where our parents slept, and the kitchen... Let's head there.

I strode decisively towards the stove and grabbed the nearby steel kettle. After filling it with water, I placed it on the gas burner. At first glance, this world appeared to be quite similar to my old one, despite the uncertainty that loomed ahead. It was the beginning of summer and there was still enough light outside to see a police car parked nearby. Standing beside it was an old acquaintance of mine, a man who loved to pat children on the head and offer advice. To his right stood a man dressed in a strange, tight-fitting black suit. They shook hands and suddenly the "black athlete" flew up into the sky, soaring like Superman. He even managed to catch my gaze and nod before flying out of sight. What in the world was that?

I turned my attention back to the policeman, wondering how he would react to such an unusual sight. But he seemed unfazed, calmly climbing into his car and driving away. It appeared that such things were commonplace in this world. I swallowed, and then the kettle whistled.

"Do you want it sweet?" I asked my sister.

"As usual," she replied.

I wasn't sure what "as usual" meant since I hadn't seen any sugar, so I decided to leave it out. After all, most girls are conscious of their figures, and my chances were fifty-fifty. Either I'd get it right or I wouldn't. I pushed the cup towards my sister, and a new message appeared on the paper. "Thank you." So, it seemed like I had guessed right.

"I'll take a look at the papers they left us now," I said suddenly, remembering the pile I had seen in the hallway. Maybe they would give me some insight into my new life.

It turned out to be a crime report, which I would need to take somewhere to get my payments. The header read "Russian Empire, the year 7531 from the Creation of the world." It was certainly unusual. The report listed our parents, Sergey and Olga Mouse, as employees of the "Happiness" corporation, with their place of work being the city of Moscow. I scanned the pages until I found my name, listed among the information.

Twins, Alexander and Arya.

My name was the same as in my past life. Strangely, it brought me some relief. I also discovered my sister's name, Arya... As I uttered it, I found the name to be quite lovely and fitting for my sister with her blonde locks and blue eyes. No wonder we ended up here due to what had happened.

"Arya..." I returned to the kitchen.

Outside, it had grown pitch-black, with the dark clouds almost completely blocking the city's light. Yet, at that moment, they parted briefly, and a few moonbeams shot down to earth. Some dissipated in the atmosphere, while others made it to our window and illuminated Arya, who looked like a princess from a fairy tale.

Just as I thought that, everything suddenly changed. The girl's face twisted, and in no time, she forgot about her illnesses. She sprang out of her wheelchair and transformed into a towering female orc! I saw everything clearly because her dress, which she had been wearing, tore apart instantly, revealing everything.

Despite her two-meter height, well-defined abs, and massive green breasts that pressed against my face as she pinned me down, I wasn’t afraid.

"And now," she leaned in and growled in my ear, "you'll tell me everything about this world! Who you are, who I am, and what in the hell is going on here?"

It took me a few seconds to realize what she had asked. It seemed like I wasn't the only one who had ended up in the wrong place today. I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

As I read my writing back to myself, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. "If you like it," I said to my friend, "I plan on writing a couple of chapters per week. Maybe even more often."

My friend chuckled. "Careful now, don't go burning yourself out too quickly. You might end up needing a ghostwriter."

I grinned. "Oh, don't worry. I already have one of those. It's called spellcheck."