Chapter 20

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Andrew, my friend from high school, who looked like a two-meter-tall hamster bodybuilder, closed the gates of the "family estate" of twelve acres. At first, there were six acres, but then he married the owner of the neighboring plot, whom he had known for as many years as he had known me. Now he tells everyone that it was his cunning plan and that after living together for fifty or sixty years, he will divorce and get all the land for himself. A sly fellow.

While Andrew was closing the gate behind the last car, his wife was already flitting all over the lot, striking me with her ostentatious determination and the randomness of her appearance at various points in space. A minute later, the children of my second friend from the army, Vitya, started running after her like the tail of a comet.

"Vova, move the car to the garage! Dinner on the grass today!"

I obeyed. Thirty minutes later, the men and I were warming ourselves by the flaming brazier, when someone hit me on the back of the head with a newspaper rolled up into a tight roll.

"Ouch! Nadia, what was that for this time?"

"To prevent!"

"Hit your husband to prevent it!"

"I feel sorry for my husband. I'll beat him up later. And you just have to!" And Nadia disappeared just as quickly. Lightning person, oh. You could charge a turbine with energy!

"Andrew, what's going on with your wife again?"

The giant hamster frowned and, after thinking for a while, said: "Hungry. That's why she's mad. But it is solvable!" He picked up a bucket, carefully covered with gauze. "Guys, today with me - a kebab on the ancient, passed down from generation to generation recipe! Meat marinated in kefir.!"

"I have it in dry wine," Vitya smirked and showed a bag of fragrant contents.

I silently kicked the tray of spiced veal that had been prepared since yesterday.

"Well, we're not going to starve to death!"

"But we can easily die of gluttony."

"Come on... we're here for two days. Five kilos..."

"Four and a half."

"Six."

"A total of fifteen kilograms of meat for seven eaters. Plus the cat and the dog."

"Feed the animals premium meat?... Capitalists..."

"What, don't animals deserve to be treated as human beings?"

"Plus a bucket of coleslaw. Plus potatoes. I promised the kids!"

"Judging by the smells, Valyusha is already cooking something. Men, I'm scared!"

"That's okay, I have very voracious kids! They will save us!"

"Doc, did you bring your powders? We're going to need them! I'll die, but I'll eat it!"

"Andrew, you're big enough already!"

After some deliberation, we decided to save mine and Vitya's meat for tomorrow, consuming only part of it today. Then, at the other end of the plot, someone shrieked, and the unhappy father galloped off to save the children. After seeing Vitya off, Andrew and I moved closer to the fire.

"Tell me the truth, Vova, why do you want a virt? Have you decided to start playing sports?"

Before I could answer, I heard from the veranda: "Hey, source of protein! Where are the carrots?"

Andrew sighed sadly and staggered into the kitchen. I stared mesmerized at the wood burning in the brazier. I love live fire. It's beautiful and always different. And there's something magical about it.

Nearby there was a sad rumble:

"How to live with a woman who calls you that?"

"With caution! Keep sharp objects away and feed in time!" Vitya thoughtfully scrubbed his hands with a rag. "Why does she even call you that?"

"She asked me why we needed so much meat. I told her that meat is the most important source of protein."

We chuckled.

"Laugh it up, you clowns. And she'll eat me one day, and then you'll remember."

"Yeah, where will we go on vacation then? To Nadia's dacha, then it's already kind of creepy. Kids! Come here, you'll watch the fire!"

There was a growing stomping sound, the crunching of branches, the sound of objects flying around, and the seeming fall of a tree. Two small children, aged five and six, jumped out onto the playground and immediately threw themselves into the fire with wild shrieks. Vitya melancholically caught them by the scruff of the neck, gave them light kicks in the direction, and handed out valuable instructions. The eldest child was busy stirring the embers, and the youngest, unhappy that she was not allowed to light the bow on her disheveled braid, sat down on the bench next to me, looked at the fire, and instantly fell silent, being quite a pretty blue-eyed girl.

I told you, there's something magical about the fire.

Someone beeped outside the gate.

"There you go, and you doubted it. Werewolves come at the smell of meat."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"At the smell of protein!"

"Protein that has been chemically and thermally treated."

"So the thermal has just started, right?"

"We were just thinking, and he already smelled it, bastard!"

"Hey, latecomer, what took you so long? We thought you weren't coming!"

The stout, stocky man, with the smile of an experienced traveling salesman, fluttered his hands in repentance.

Dmitry, the party nickname Mitek, was my second friend since high school. The first hooligan in the neighborhood, a natural-born thug who had participated in countless fights and mischief, after the army went to the prosecutor's office, for which he received from us the honorary title of Werewolf.

"I'm late, yes! But I'm ready to redeem myself! I was told a recipe. Meat in pomegranate juice. I almost ate it raw while I was preparing it! - He took a seven-liter plastic bucket out of the trunk of the car. Andrew closed his eyes with his shovel-shaped palm, and Vitya rather howled. Yes, we won't die of starvation this weekend."

"Where did you leave your wife?"

"She's on duty."

"Why did I marry the girl to that rascal? She was such a good helper! And worked with days off!"

"Now she's a good specialist doctor! Shut up, you local-accented dentist!"

"And what do you have against dentists? It's an ancient, honorable profession."

"Nothing against the normal ones. But with all those private exploiters, we still need to figure out where they get their organs for transplantation!"

"A werewolf in uniform!"

"I hear it from a pedigree sadist!"

"When you come to me to put in longer fangs, then you'll remember!"

I listened to my friends' usual pique, smiled, and squinted at the fire.

"Vovchik, when are you coming with your wife?"

"I already tried it once. Thank you, I've learned. I'll keep it that way, for free."

"Vovchik, you found not the best woman, so why make a tragedy out of it for life?"

"What's the tragedy, Vitya? I live normally, I'm packed and busy. I'm not a monk, you know."

"We know. And that no girlfriend ever stays with you for more than three months, except for the last one, we remember, too. But you're without her today. How long have you been in touch with Sveta?"

I thought about it, remembering the last time I saw my current girlfriend.

"Two weeks... maybe a little more."

"And for nothing. A good woman. And you're picky."

"She's a good one. No one's arguing. Your meat is burning."

"Where? Don't change the subject. Shit, it's burning! Mitya, what did you put in here?"

They hustled around the brazier to save dinner, and I squinted and stared at the fire again. The girl sitting next to me suddenly crawled under my elbow in one motion, pressed herself against the warmth, and froze.

Further proof that women don't become women, it's innate.

"Love your wives, givers of borscht and inspiration!"

"Meat is a source of inspiration! And who doesn't eat it is an avant-garde! Bulldoze it!"

"A lieutenant came and ruined everything."

"I object! Major, by the way."

"The major came and trashed everything."

"And yet, Vovchik, why do you need a virt?"

"I play an online game."

Andrew and Dima looked at each other.

"We-ell. Don't tell us..."

"This is entertainment, not more. I'll play for a couple of months and sell the char."

"Oh no, not again!"

"Men, how many times can you remind me about it?"

"All your life, you fiend, all your life!"

"I honestly shared the profits then!"

"You should have tried not to share, my mother was going to take me to a psychiatrist at the time!"

"Were you supposed to be taken to a psychiatrist? I was!"

"So what, they took him to a psychiatrist. You're crazy, and everybody knows it!"

"And what don't I know about Vovchik?"

Dimych, who had quite grasped the skewer, poked his finger at Andrew, and he immediately began to tell the ancient story of my first deal. Fourth grade, ten accounts for the closed beta test of a new toy. Rumor had it that they were supposed to give special bonuses at release, which, according to my calculations, was soon to greatly increase the price of these accounts with game fans. However, a few days before the release it turned out that in order to get this very bonus it was necessary to play 500 battles during the test. Five thousand battles. I honestly played three thousand! On two computers at the same time. After that, I could not look at shooter games for a year. And these weaklings made three times less, and they still remember!

"What do you even play? The meat is ready, by the way."

Under my arm, the kid scooted over to the grill, got a smack from her father and a plate of meat from her mother, and then returned to "her" place, where, unceremoniously sheltering my hand from the wind, she began, chowing, to actively smear my jacket with grease.

"Creators of Destiny. Fantasy RPG"

"For kids?"

"Nah, for citizens by account."

"I think I heard something."

"It is also called CoDs from the English abbreviation."

"Definitely heard it. A report on emotional control systems in modern online projects. By the way, they say that this very "CoDs" is seen as a therapy for certain diseases. Hey, medical expert, what do you think?"

Vitya, who was eating shish kebab off his plate with a knife and fork, looked into space, and then uttered:

"They say. But I've only heard a joke that the owners of the game tried to register it as a medical program."

"The capitalists are out of their minds."

"Nah, some games do get subsidized overseas."

"But it's unlikely to happen here."

"Uhu."

"So you decided to steal bread from poor students?"

"I decide. But please note that I do not touch the poor schoolchildren!"

"You betcha, who are you going to sell an account in the "sandbox"!"

"What is the world coming to?! Vovka, who used to stand on the barricades and carry posters, now sits on the Internet from his account and plays a licensed game!"

"I'm sitting. What are you, a Chaosite?"

"I'm a respectable man, what am I supposed to do there? And there's nothing in Chaos."

"What do you mean, nothing? What about pornography? What about anonymous blogs? And free wikis, at last?"

"Shh! There's a regime watchdog in here!"

"Throw me that bone and meat, and I'll pretend I didn't hear it. And those pickles over there."

"Gluttony. But when you remember... that sweet word "trolling"! That gank of noobs! Those anonymous chatrooms where two pimply teenagers try to assure each other that they're really Ramazz and Pitt."

"Then there was Jolie and Pitt."

"Pitt was always there. But that's not the point - now what is? Everything's on the record, everything's on the account."

"Do you prefer the boorishness of anons? You take the entrance to Chaos and enjoy it."

"And get a record in the account, right?"

I shrugged.

"And get the record. It's all fair. Either restrictions and rights, or freedom and... freedom. I haven't been to Chaos in six years."

"And so do I. But in general, men, it's become kind of boring to live. Even the games are under control."

"Don't pour to the Fatty, he's already starting to regret the past."

"What's on the subject?"

"On the subject? In our day it was games. Now it's seven hundred million people, one in ten on the planet. It's no longer games, it's already part of the culture."

"In this day and age. You put it well. It was only fifteen years ago."

"You guys want a laugh? A good idea was brought to my attention the other day."

"And?"

"Our ball is overpopulated. By all laws, a world war should have started long ago. The estimated casualties are up to eight hundred million people. Approximately the same number are sitting in games around the world."

"The Lost Generation!"

"But it's alive. Give me the ketchup."

"That's okay, soon virtual worlds with full immersion will be invented..."

"They won't invent it."

"Why?"

"Unprofitable. If a man has gone to other worlds, he doesn't need this one. At most, he needs a place for diving equipment, a little energy, and a couple of liters of nutritious booze a day. Such a person does not consume and depends little on those who are now called "authorities ". He has other values. It is not profitable. So they won't invent it. Because man was born, raised, and educated in universal values as a consumer. He can't escape into the virt."

"It won't be invented until it becomes profitable to keep some of the population as canned goods. Yep. The Matrix doesn't have us yet."

"Well, let's drink to the happy present!"

"Don't pour me one."

"You're boring, Vovka. The women next to you are falling asleep!"

"Wake up?"

"Don't dare, you can't put them down later. I'll carry it quietly..."

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