Sometimes frightening thoughts came into his head. Thoughts that at one point he will look in the mirror and not see himself.
Same short stature. The same thin physique, although sometimes the energy from the amount of food eaten per day would be more than enough to charge all his portable devices ten times. The same bones are more fragile than the standard of a healthy person and the greenish glow of the skin in the dark is slightly brighter, several lumens, than others. The same straight dark thick hair. Papá's were much longer - Jimi stubbornly cut his down to his chin again and again. Almost the same face. Dorian looked only five years older. Another five years - and... Well, why wait?
He can stay forever at seventeen.
One has only to talk to his parents and in the coming days their doctor will freeze his outer age, and he will not have to worry about it.
However, in recent years he was even more worried about the dangerous hobbies of his parents. Their travels across the Gray Lands began to take more and more time. At first, Jimi noticed that he was nervous. He tried to convince himself that they knew what they were doing, that everything would be okay. They have many good friends-specialists, many acquaintances and useful connections. It can't be wrong.
But self-conviction did not work. Over the years, anxiety has not gone away. On the contrary, it only strengthened and became his constant companion somewhere on the border of consciousness. These intrusive thoughts were sometimes very distracting.
Jimi lazily turned over in his chair, throwing his legs over the back, resting his toes on the ceiling, hanging his head down. The screen moved smoothly behind him. Why, for example, mama'n and papá have a normal uninterrupted connection to the network, but he doesn't? It is simply impossible to play something normal - you one way or another will be thrown out of the network due to a broken connection. Although, maybe it’s just that mama’n’s firewall was set up this way? The schedules and customized notifications never froze or were late.
Money was one of the few things that fascinated him. Jimi loved money. He loved the freedom they provided. Possibilities. Everything else, even his fascination with space contours, firmly gave way to finance.
After all, how can you not love the lifeblood of economics?
Jimi looked around at the numerous racks of external drives, various disconnected screens, ranging from those that were already ten years old to the latest models of last season. Hanging from one of the shelves was a holographic projector, which Jimi mainly used to look at maps.
He sighed. His parents believe that he has no reason to waste time on useless entertainment. It’s not that this particularly bothered him, no, not at all, he had no problems with anything other than games, and the area around the house was quite enough to unwind, but still...
Still, he sometimes thought that he needed a friend of the same age. But every time I opened the forum, I was almost sending my first letter to someone, my fingers always froze over the keyboard. It's too tiring. It's not worth it. The window immediately closed.
Jimi read about all sorts of events online and naturally learned about various inventions and new products. In the end, this is how he chose the Academy for himself.
Remembering this, Jimi could not hold back a sarcastic chuckle - he chose. He chose it until Dorian found out about it. Until he sent him an archive of documents about the Academy in Montis.
So there was a choice - and there is no choice. It's not that Jimi wasn't happy - the choice was actually very good.
But, on the one hand, everything was decided for him. Although on the other hand, everything was the same decided for him.
Saturday? Friday? Wednesday? The new episode was yesterday, which means Tuesday.
He sighed. Pushing his foot off the ceiling, Jimi flipped over and landed softly on the floor.
No, his parents’ affairs are, of course, their affairs, but he definitely has nothing better to do now. Mama'n seems to have recently ordered new suits - he might be wondering when they will arrive. Maybe he'll run into one of their friends.
Towards the door leading into the western corridor in anticipation. This corridor was the fastest way to get to Estelle's laboratory. Well, if not to Estelle, then their friends only used this anyway.
"Jimi!" came a surprised exclamation from behind.
Jimi turned around and Inga leaned out from behind the slightly open door. That's for sure, it feels like she's not coming to Estelle, or even to Dorian, but to him - to Jimi. There was never a time when she didn’t drag him along with her: either to look at new modifications of the suit’s protective circuits or to show where and what Jimi should be careful with - how you can interfere with someone else’s circuit, if you know where and how, otherwise - just trying on some new suits that she thought would look great on him. Not that Jimi minded, but...
"Inga!" smiling widely, he approached her, as if imperceptibly trying to look behind the door, “Hello!” I'm glad to see you! How long have you been here?
"Since morning. Sorry, sorry, I didn't have time to come see you earlier."
Inga fell silent. The first to break eye contact and quickly glance around the corridor. Making sure that no one was nearby, especially Dorian, she grabbed the guy by the arm and yanked him inside, quietly closing the door behind her.
Jimi looked around. The room in which he found himself, the guest room occupied by Inga, had changed greatly since her last visit: the tailor's mannequins with clothes disappeared, the walls hung with patterns and sketches returned to their original light green color. The dark green parquet floor was now free from the usual piles of fabric and lace, and Inga herself was dressed as if she was going on a trip: shoes were replaced by boots, and even instead of her favorite skirt there were now hiking pants.
"Are you flying away?"
"Not yet, not now. But I’m going to,” she agreed. "You will go to the Academy, and I will go on a journey."
"Search for the Cities?" Jimi said jokingly.
“At least them,” Inga unexpectedly agreed.
Jimi sighed. Like dad, like mama, and now Inga... His parents have been trying to find the Hidden Cities for many years now. They constantly go on business trips and always bring home new pieces of the map. The two of them fill out that map on top of the regular one - marking where they have been and where they have not found anything.
Firstly dad is gone for a month, then mama'n doesn't show up for two. Sometimes there were weeks when their business trips overlapped and if earlier Jimi stayed with one of their friends, then in recent years he has been quietly left alone.
It’s not that he really needs them here now... As long as nothing happens to them. His future, his opportunities, his safety and tranquility... Everything depended on them. Jimi couldn't help but think about it every now and then. No... He always remembered.
Unlike his parents, he spent almost all his time on the grounds of the mansion. In his entire life, he left her only four times, and even then they teleported to one of his parents’ friends. But Jimi did not feel locked in - according to the documents, their land amounted to forty-two hectares of land.
But these borders, apart from protective contours, were not marked in any way, and beyond them, endless fields opened up. This included a river, a piece of grove, and hills. But there were no neighbors. Even from the edge of his territory, Jimi never saw other houses or roads - they simply did not exist. Of course – Gray lands after all. The only transport from here was the teleport. Well, or legs. But for the latter, he was not yet so good at controlling, roughly speaking, flight.
Yes, and his combat skills are not very good. He was, of course, trained, but the Gray Lands are the Gray Lands. Stupid decision to stick your head out alone. Very stupid.
“But you’re just in time,” Inga returned his attention, walking around Jimi and approaching the only remaining mannequin. Jimi came closer, smoothly running his hand over the soft fabric. The mannequin was wearing a dark gray insulated suit with a high collar and many spacious pockets. The entire lining was strewn with fine lettering of various contours. Beneath them, in wide lines, was an additional heating system.
“Functional,” Jimi assessed, turning to her. "Who is it for?"
"Remember, you once said that you also want to travel?"
“I didn’t say anything about the pole,” he shook his head with a grin.
"Maybe you'll decide. This will fit your cards, your spare clothes, and,” she laughed, “you can attach the board to your back. In general, everything you need. Try it on."
Jimi appreciated the joke about the board. He put on a suit. The collar was right under the nose, almost completely covering the lips and cheeks. The hood hid the second third of the face. There was only room left for glasses.
Almost all of Jimi's costumes were also made by Inga. And not only costumes - Inga sewed and enchanted clothes for the entire Mor family, all three of them. Inga had a permanent job, the Mors had a personal master.
Outerwear could be anything, but you could almost never meet a person without a so-called second suit. In a sense, it could be called a second skin - the measurements were taken so precisely and it was made so individually.
Numerous accidental deaths during various experiments and experiments led to the development of such everyday protection. For different prices, it was possible to order completely different equipment - they were used from the first layer of clothing, over which everyone wore outfits that were so familiar to the eye, to the protective suits of the Council’s battle mages.
Jimi's costume was closer to the latter.
“Comfortable,” Jimi assessed after five minutes of quick tests.
“Wonderful,” Inga smiled. "Shall we go look for Dorian?"
"Do you know where he is?"
"No. So shall we go?"
Jimi laughed. Finding papá was easy on one side, but impossible on the other. When they went on business trips, both he and Estelle, especially, of course, mama'n, had not bothered to somehow inform him for a long time.
“They were still here in the morning,” Inga understood.
“Okay,” Jimi gave in.
They found Dorian in the living room. The windows here could be transformed into small balconies, on one of which the papá stood. The wind blew in his face, ruffling his hair. Hearing footsteps, Jimi turned around.
Yes... another five years and instead of him, in front of papa, his reflection will stand. Jimi liked the way his parents looked. But every year this increased the similarity between them and Dorian. No matter how much he tried to find something from his mother in himself, everything was interrupted by the papa genes. I wonder which of his parents was so obsessed with his dad’s appearance that he asked the genetic center for an appearance based only on his genes?.. And how did the other one agree to this?..
“Dorian,” Inga approached him, squinting from the bright sun.
"I heard you are leaving?" he turned around.
"I'm going on a trip. I'm thinking of walking to Nechten and stopping by Tenren along the way. Maybe drop by Faurelt. They write that this season is the one when you can find the newest fabrics. What are you going to do?"
"I'll send Jimi to the Academy and leave again. Perhaps we’ll meet Estelle,” Dorian shrugged vaguely.
“By the way, about the Academy,” Jimi interjected into the conversation, standing next to dad, leaning on the railing. "When will you take me?"
"Soon. An answer will come from my friend - then you will go. I want him to meet you and see you off. There you will already get used to the city within a year. I need you to get there without any problems."
"Why don’t you do it yourself?" already suspecting the answer, Jimi asked.
“Work,” Dorian waved him off.
Well, yes. As usual.
"But I’ve never been to the city?"
"Yes, I remember. So I asked my friend to meet you."
"Do I know him?"
"Yeah, you met him. A couple of years ago he came to our place for lunch - Demen De-Lassy, if you remember."
"Is this the one who is the Head of the Faculty of Spacers Studies?" Inga drowned.
“Exactly,” dad nodded to her and turned back to Jimi. "He has a somewhat unusual appearance, it would be difficult to confuse him with someone."
“Ah,” Jimi remembered. "Is this the one to whom you then decided to pour coffee with a gesture that had not yet been practiced and spilled it all on his white pants when the contours glitched? Is he still an albino?"
“Exactly” Dorian repeated. “I made an appointment with him that he would meet you at a house on the main street.” I'll write the exact address later. I will send you to Montis, and there you will only have to walk a short distance. You will wait for Demen at the agreed place; again, this evening I will show everything on the map. You will need to be there by eight in the morning. That is, in about ten or twenty minutes, if in advance, you will need to teleport."
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Jimi nodded. You don't even have to set an alarm clock.
Dorian turned to Inga and politely asked her to leave them for a while. Inga, it seemed, already had something to do - she shrugged her shoulders indifferently, turned around and left the room, closing the door behind her. Jimi looked at her, puzzled.
“There’s one more thing I want to tell you about,” dad began, moving away from the window and sitting down on the sofa. Perplexed, Jimi approached him.
"What's the matter?"
"As you have already read, at the Montis Academy, many students find personal curators among teachers during their studies. I talked to Demen about this - if you want, he agreed to become your curator. You better get to know him and decide whether you want it or not. Maybe you and him won’t get along at all, and you’ll decide to look for someone yourself,” he shrugged. "Why not. But for now, you have the opportunity to become a student of the Head of the Faculty. He, of course, is not only the Head, but you can ask about the rest yourself - just talk."
Of course?.. Oh, yes. It's dad. Of course, of course.
“Thank you,” Jimi nodded. The opportunity was indeed very good.
"But if anything..."
"Yes, I understand. If anything, good. See you tonight then?"
"Will you be in the library as usual?"
"Yeah."
“I’ll come to you,” he smiled.
Closing the door behind him, Jimi leaned on it with a sigh. As many as six years. After seventeen years, he can leave the house on his own. For six whole years his face will belong only to him.
But we still need to talk about freezing. This is not something you can delay. If you miss age, you won’t get it back later. And it’s definitely not worth it to climb here yourself without at least a special education. You will also damage your protein in these attempts to increase chromosomal telomeres, or something worse.
Jimi spent the rest of the time by the river. It was a matter of a couple of minutes to fly. The network worked from all corners of Blight territory, and Jimi turned on the series as usual. Only this time the main goal was not the plot - it was an attempt to pass the time before the long-awaited departure. Even so, he was still very nervous. So much so that he remembered about lunch only after dad’s message.
"Ready?" asked Dorian.
“Yes,” Jimi yawned.
Dorian looked at Jimi incredulously and began to activate the portal. A flash of white light - and now he is already standing in the teleportation circle of one of Montis’s private transport companies.
Jimi went out into the street and after a while, he was already on one of the main avenues of the city, from which, if you followed the map, you could walk to the Academy. But now he needed to go somewhere else.
On this avenue was the house Jimi needed. The navigator showed him the right place. He stopped, called his watch, and, making sure that there was still time, decided to read a recently published article by one of his favorite scientists.
Suddenly a hand fell on his shoulder.
"Jimi?" a quiet male voice rang out in my ear. Jimi turned around.
White spot.
Standing in front of him was a young man of about twenty-five, with pale red eyes and white hair almost as long as papa's. Jimi noted that his light white and beige suit was the work suit of a space tester. This man was a white spot against the background of the gray-blue city.
"Jimi Mor, right?" he clarified affably. "I am Demen De-Lassy – Head of the Faculty of Spacers Studies at the Montis Academy. You and I saw each other two years ago when I was visiting your parents. Dorian asked me to meet you."
"Demen?" Jimi finally recognized him. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Jimi remembered him. Even though it was only once. He remembered Demian for how his dad treated him then. In a special way. How to Estelle.
Demen laughed quietly as if he had heard a good joke.
“Yes,” Jimi said, embarrassed. "it would be strange if it were the other way around. Papa said that you will accompany me. How will we get there?"
"Shall I show you the city?" Demen suddenly asked.
"I would not refuse." Jimi smiled.
Demen lifted him into the air with an outline and picked him up in his arms.
"For what?" Jimi asked incomprehensibly.
“It’s more convenient,” Demen was confused by his question. "Less effort is wasted. You should know, right?.."
“I read it,” Jimi agreed. The enhancement was much less energy-consuming than levitating another living person next to you at the same speed. "But I didn’t have a chance to use it."
"Now we will rise above the city, and then fly to the Academy. There is a platform at the top of the central tower - that’s where we’ll land."
De-Lassi cast a protective circuit and soared into the sky.
From above, the city looked like an autumn lake: gray, blue and white roofs shone with a yellowish light in the rays of the sun. Some streets no longer even looked like water but like small scales. On the right, a network of canals between houses was visible, so dense that it seemed there were no roads at all, only bridges.
They flew over a large area of ringed water, along the edges of which stood tall white buildings with a glass facade - the sun glared so brightly that Jimi had to turn on the sun visor.
Transport capsules were flying over the city. In big cities the transport network is well established, and, as Jimi had read, getting from one end of Montis to the other could take up to three hours if you used the metro, and up to an hour in the worst-case scenario if you took capsules.
On one side the city stretched almost to the horizon. Somewhere in the distance, the outlines of many skyscrapers could be seen.
On the mainland, Versilia, Montis was the first largest city.
In the same place where they were flying, outside the city on the only high hill, stood the Academy.
Massive white fortress.
As Jimi approached, he was able to get a better look at her. High walls with many windows, twelve stories high, with six three-story battlements, and an even taller tower in the very center. The tower was surrounded by a green park, through which six smooth roads made of white material led to it.
Windows also looked out onto the park, and if outside there were only twelve balconies (Jimi saw only eight, but from their location one could easily guess the existence of four more) emerging from the upper floors of the battlements, then inside, starting from the fourth, they dotted the entire façade. They were many times smaller than the outside ones, and Jimi had the idea that perhaps this was where he would live for the next five years. Which is what he voiced to Demen right away.
"Yes, students’ personal apartments are located inside the Academy. They are allocated parts of the third, fourth and fifth floors. The sixth and seventh rooms are occupied by working classrooms, also allocated to students during their studies. They, like the apartments, are used by students as they want. Although they stand out, of course, for projects."
"I read about it. Will you teach something with us?"
They started to slow down. Demen flew smoothly through the arch and landed on the platform. They found themselves in a large hall, open on all sides. There were no walls here - the dome was supported by columns high, like one and a half floors of a native mansion, connected by arcs glowing with white light. The ceiling was glazed with darkened plates, and a seawater-colored sky could be seen through it. The pale blue floor, decorated with dark blue and white mosaics, only enhanced the feeling of space and freedom.
From here you could see everything: on one side there was a view of Montis, on the other - on endless fields, where only very far on the horizon, blurring into the blue, a forest could be seen.
“The first years, no - I teach classes only for senior students,” Demen answered, lowering Jimi next to him and interrupting his enthusiastic stupor.
Jimi walked hesitantly to the edge. A strong wind whipped up the tails of his cloak, scattered his hair and pushed him back. Jimi reflexively grabbed the column, crouched down and looked down on his knees.
Deep Below you could see a park with very small, barely distinguishable people.
De Lassi walked up to him and calmly sat down next to him, dangling his legs down and spreading his arms to the sides. White hair fluttered in the wind, quickly wriggling, flashing before Jimi's eyes, but Demian's suit didn't even move. It was as if the head was upstairs with Jimi, and the rest of the body was downstairs, where outside the walls of the Academy it should have been quiet and windless.
"What about supervision?" Finally decided to ask Jimi. Jimi didn't know how well Demen could teach, but the fact that he was dad's friend and the position of Head of the Faculty spoke volumes.
Now having seen him, having met him personally, Jimi’s second impression was positive. Demen did not show off his skills, as some individuals from the network do. A simple and effective solution is always better. Moreover, in total, such simplifications in large combinations save a truly amazing amount of energy. Yes, and you need to think less.
Or was it simply that Demen is papá's trusted man?
“For now you have time to decide,” Demen answered, putting his hair in order with a contour and also protecting it from the wind, applying the same contour to Jimi.
"Then, may I ask a question about your specialty?" having gotten rid of the wind that threatened to drag him down, Jimi hesitantly let go of the column, relaxed and sat down next to Demen.
"What exactly are you interested in?"
"What do you study? Why were you chosen as the head of the faculty of space studies?"
"I am researching space distortions. This is exactly what I teach to students in my last year. Why me? Complex issue. If we ignore all the privileges provided by this position, the high salary, then perhaps we can say that it is interesting for me to be here, among completely different and at the same time identical people,” he grinned. "One way or another, we all love our work here - thanks to this, the Academy has become what it is. I watch truly talented specialists grow up, and I am pleased to know that my work played a significant role in this."
Cold streams of air flowed around the figures sitting on the edge, swirling around the columns and rushing into the distance. The fingers were cold but did not freeze and did not lose mobility. De-Lassi looked boredly somewhere into the sky.
“You know,” Jimi said, becoming more and more confident that he was making the right choice. Or that dad made the right choice again, "could you be him? My curator?"
“Consider me one from now on,” he answered easily.
Well, yes. Papa.
“It’s that simple,” Demen nodded, answering the silent question, “it’s not documented on documents,” standing up, he extended his hand. "We still need to come in and give you a pass.
Jimi took the outstretched hand and Demen, taking a step back, easily helped him up.
"Who makes them? Those passes?"
"Our security department. You won't be able to see them - they are usually not shown to students."
In the center of the hall, which Jimi did not pay attention to at first, confusing it with a mosaic, there were nine teleportation platforms built into the floor in a circle. Another, more complex, contour ran along the outer edge of the platforms.
Demen stood in one of the circles and pulled Jimi along with him by the hand, then he set some coordinates and activated the circuit. They were engulfed in a white glow.
A spacious, half-empty office without windows. A woman in a guard's uniform sat at the table and signed papers. When she raised her head, Jimi saw her face: it was a cold, inscrutable face of a man who had held a high position for many years. A person who is familiar with dirt and accustomed to working with it.
Such was Ulrich, the man to whom Jimi was invited long ago. The person because of whom, or thanks to him, he was able to leave the confines of the house one of those four times.
“De-Lassi,” she nodded briefly, greeting her colleague.
"Feris."
“Jimi Mor, as I understand it,” she didn’t ask. Feris took a thin transparent flexible plate from the table and called Jimi over to her.
“I’ll wait here,” Demen said, settling into a chair against the far wall and taking out the screen. Without looking away from Jimi, the woman nodded silently.
“This is your ID,” she explained. "It is also a pass to the territory of the Academy, library and other objects belonging to it. It is also the key to the apartments and working audience. He will be assigned to you for the duration of your training. Now I will need your leading hand."
After hesitating for a moment Jimi held out his right one.
"I'll implant this plate into her. It will not be noticeable and will not bother you. After completing your training, the self-destruct mechanism will be activated. It will not cause any harm to your body. It will disintegrate into small particles and be removed on its own. Before we begin, I will ask you to sit opposite me."
Jimi looked around - now there was a chair nearby. He sat up and rolled up the sleeve of his sweater, after a couple of seconds of hesitation, he applied the tie and unzipped the unlocked zipper on the forearm of the undersuit. Now he started to get nervous.
The woman cleared the table with a few gestures, stacked the papers on the edge of the table, applied an anesthetic circuit to Jimi and got to work.
Having made a neat cut, Feris lifted the plate with a gesture. A thin stream of blood flowed down his arm and dripped onto the table, activating the circuit. It glowed, absorbing blood, cleaning the countertop. Curving to the shape of a hand, the plate entered under the skin quickly and imperceptibly: Jimi felt only a faint tingling sensation. With the next contour, she secured it inside, as if dissolving it, plunging deep into the bone and securing it around it. Feris closed the cut with another ligament and removed the blood. There was not a trace left on the skin. It was as if nothing had happened.
“Done,” just as quickly she returned the papers to their original places and handed Jimi a card with two numbers. "4.156.S – the address of your apartment. 7.156.S – address of the working audience. The schedule will be emailed one week before the start of the school year. That's all."
She went back to work, gesturing to Jimi that he was free.
Jimi immediately zipped up. The lock was activated automatically. Now he was able to relax relatively again.
Demen looked up from the screen, made sure that they had finished, stood up and called out to the newly minted student. Jimi got up from his chair, and at the same second it was screwed into the floor, covered with a piece of floor on top. He walked up to Demen and stood next to him on the platform. De Lassie again set the coordinates and Jimi was absorbed by the glow.
A spacious round hall with high ceilings and many teleportation pads on the floor. Translucent wall windows between arched exits.
“This is our portal hall,” Demen explained. "All students and most teachers use it. By the way, that card is only needed so that the first time you know where to go. Once you remember, you can just throw it away.}
Jimi was about to ask Demen where his body was when his screen suddenly vibrated. Demen's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hastily accepted the call. For several minutes he listened silently to the person on the other end. From his apologetic look and the way he spread his hands, Jimi understood that they would not answer him now.
Before ending the call, Demen only briefly replied: “I’ll be right there.”
“Sorry,” he turned to Jimi with regret in his voice. He looked confused. "This is urgent. The numbering is simple - I think you'll figure it out. We'll talk about our classes later."
Jimi nodded slowly. What else was left for him?..
Demen hurriedly returned to the portation circuit and disappeared in a flash of light. Jimi sighed. He looked at the card. He walked up to the arch and carefully touched the semblance of glass. The hand passed right through with barely perceptible resistance. Jimi sighed and took a step.
He was outside. At the tower. Opposite him stood buildings. It walked around the tower. All the buildings were exactly the same. There was a large park around, through which paths ran from the tower to the buildings. Exactly six. From behind the treetops rose absolutely identical walls with absolutely identical windows.
According to the photographs on the website, the inside of the case was also no different. From the photographs and outwardly everything was the same, but he thought that at the beginning of the school year they would make at least some identification marks... They didn’t.
It was difficult to even tell where one building ended and the other began. Jimi walked around the tower again. Jimi sighed. Having resigned himself to the inevitable, Jimi chose one of the paths at random and walked towards the building visible in the distance.
The park occupied a significant part of the Academy's territory. It was dotted with many different paths and clearings, where students sometimes rested. Sometimes the plants formed intricate corridors and cavities hidden behind foliage that students used as hidden rooms.
Approaching the building, Jimi walked through one of the many arches and headed deeper toward the stairs. He went up to the fourth floor and tried to find his apartment. There were numbers on the doors with the letter "M". Jimi walked irritably to the window. From here the park was very clearly visible. But his apartments are not. Jimi once again took out the card and checked the number on it - “P”. He still got lost. Okay... He's not in a hurry - you can try to get around the rest of the buildings. But who will undertake to claim that the letters on the floors correspond to... what? Who guarantees that the numbering here will at least somehow correspond to his assumptions?
"Lost something?" suddenly came from behind the shoulder. Jimi, trying to hide his irritation as much as possible, turned around - standing in front of him was a guy... about twenty years old? Jimi was not good at determining age. In a black suit, with dark, either blue or also black, shoulder-length hair. He had unnaturally bright blue eyes, under each of which, neatly in a line, starting from the outer corner and approaching the center, there were three dark, clearly not drawn dots. Obviously not of natural origin. Metal?
The guy looked completely calm, like mama'n, when she carried out her experiments and observed the process. Doesn't look like a freshman. Although who knows, maybe this is his second tower...
Jimi now has a chance to deal with his problem quickly and easily. And he didn't miss it.
He turned out to be right. This guy really wasn't a freshman and even walked Jimi to his apartment. Koset – that’s how he introduced himself, was in his last year of medical school. The whole way they walked, Jimi could not shake off the feeling of some kind of inadequacy. Only at the end, when his new acquaintance was already leaving, it dawned on him. The irises of his eyes were mirror images of each other. They had an identical pattern. Artificial eyes?
Jimi stopped in front of the door with his number. It looks like an ordinary white door, matching the color of the corridor, but if you look closely you can see the contour ligature around the perimeter. Jimi had little understanding of enchantment and did not bother himself with a task doomed to failure; he opened the door and entered the room.
The first thing that caught his eye was a huge window that spanned the entire wall. It had a view of the city and the sun setting towards the horizon.
There was nothing in the room. It was large, spacious, with high ceilings, six or seven meters, but completely empty. On the right wall there was a door and an opening up to the ceiling, behind which the continuation of the window was hidden. The opening led to the kitchen, if it could even be called a kitchen: a small square of space, directly opposite the entrance - a kitchen table, stove and sink; there is a hood and three empty shelves on the wall. It was probably assumed that the table and all other furniture would be in a large room.
Like everything Jimi had seen here so far, the apartment's walls, ceiling, and even the concrete floor were white. That door led to the bathroom.
And again white - Jimi guessed easily. But that was not the point.
The room was completely empty.
Okay, there are identical buildings here, okay, no one knows what is where, but the furniture?.. And what do you say it should be? A nervous chuckle escaped him. The parents will laugh... Jimi had no idea where to even find a bed.
Fuck.