A series of explosions went through the floor. The contours were broken. The concrete floors, no longer supported by bonds, crumbled under the force of the following explosions. The frame of the skyscraper began to slowly take shape. The glass cracked. Super-strong, safety glass was not so strong in another plane and one after another began to burst.

The sixth floor folded like a house of cards, carrying all eighty-nine floors with it. The violation of the contour went higher, the piles of the upper floors lost their support. Under the impact of the fall of almost the entire skyscraper, the first six folded like crumpled paper.

The energy from the collision was enough to damage the contours of the upper part.

The open airfield on the eighty-seventh floor hit the eighty-sixth. The weight of three floors was enough to break through to the eighty-fourth.

A crowd had already gathered around. The Bureau's guards began to arrive after the first explosion, and now the entire department was maintaining an external protective barrier, preventing fragments of the building from falling beyond the square of the skyscraper. Thanks to him, neither neighboring skyscrapers, nor roads, nor passers-by were in any way affected.

Dorian sat in a restaurant on the seventy-seventh floor of a nearby building and looked at the mangled skyscraper. No matter how much he wanted to smile triumphantly now, there were too many guards, people and cameras around at the moment. Therefore, he put on a shocked-frightened expression and simply kept his video recording of the events outside the window.

Everything worked out exactly as planned. He didn't care about the surviving floors. What difference does it make that the glass in the central part was only broken in places and the frame bent by thirty percent? It's not over yet. If the guards don’t make it in time, the floors will continue to fold. Violation of the integrity of the ligaments will only grow.

But the main task has already been completed - almost the symbol of the city has been successfully undermined. Now confidence in the Council will have to decline.

Take out the screen, feign surprise, irritation, as if someone important is distracting you from an unprecedented spectacle, turn off and put the screen back. Dorian stood up. It was time to get out before the place got even more crowded.

The collapse occurred at noon. The news all day was all about this. Lists of the dead, comments of the victims, expert assessment of the damage. On social media there were all sorts of conspiracy theories and heated discussions about today's tragedy on the networks.

It was already evening, and Dorian was lazily flipping through the news feed while sitting in Demian’s living room. His and Estelle’s house was in the final stages of construction, and without all the external protective barriers being installed on the territory, it was still not safe to be there alone. Gray lands, what to take from them...

"Dorian!" The door swings wide open and hits the wall. Demen flies into the room with a frightened, angry face. "Why the hell did you do that, Dorian!?"

Surprised, Dorian, in unison with the capsule flying outside the window, lowers the screen and turns to his friend.

What's wrong with him today?

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"What's the matter?" He asks without understanding, noting with bewilderment his unusually flushed face. His friend was an albino and had a very calm character; he never lost his temper around him. Dorian had never seen such redness on Demian’s face.

"Why. The fuck. Did. You. Choose that fucking building?" With difficulty restraining himself from screaming, Demian repeated every word, grabbing Dorian by the collar of his sweater.

"What's the matter?" He coughed, shrugging his shoulders. “Yaari is already sacrificing his position and right to the Big Cities for the sake of our cause. We need to show them that they screwed up, that this composition of the Council is not capable of fulfilling its functions. You yourself suggested destroying some famous building.

Demian's face distorted into a grimace. He slowly unclenched his hands and sank limply to the floor. He grabbed his neck as if he began to choke and began to breathe heavily.

It really was his idea. It was he who proposed to destroy the supporting structure of the first floor in order to bring down the entire skyscraper. He was the one who convinced their company that this would be the best solution. Himself.

“Sheryl said that he has a suitable person for the role of one of the new members of the Council,” Dorian said calmly, warily watching his friend. “He will present a recovery plan, propose a new security system and everything will be fine.”

The door to the next room opened. Estelle flew up to Dorian, yawning. With a gesture she pulled his screen towards her and added:

"Demian, what's the matter? Just don’t say that you have become interested in someone other than your adored idol."

Dorian turned away embarrassed. It’s not that he didn’t like being almost the only and definitely the main friend of Demian, but his wife’s jokes on this topic had been going on for quite some time and, as always, were not very on topic.

Wives. Dorian still couldn’t get used to the fact that they were now married. However, business is business, and he has no relatives here. It would be extremely problematic if he didn’t now have a reliable partner, someone he could trust with finances, and someone to blame this whole medical issue on.

“ You understand what’s the matter,” Demian began in a trembling voice, looking up at her with already red, but now also swollen, eyes, “just yesterday my parents and my brother’s wife were there.” And you understand, they were not all that good spatial thinkers to navigate such a situation in time. They. Were not. The fucking spacers. At all. The lists of the dead have already been announced.

Dorian and Estelle froze.

So his parents were still alive?..

“Fuck...” was all Estelle could exhale, looking at her friend with pity.

"I... " Dorian didn’t know what to say. The situation was, to put it mildly, unexpected.

“Why exactly this skyscraper?..” Demen convulsively clutched the hem of Dorian’s suit, almost sagging on it.

He pressed his heel into the upholstery and slightly raised his knee, preventing his friend from hitting his nose on the floor. Dorian didn't know how to react to this. He had never experienced anything like this. He never knew his parents. Aunt told him that they died, but did not even show him photographs.

Dorian was still not sure why she hated him so much: because he took away her freedom with his existence, or because his parents, whom he did not remember, died. He did not know. And, to be honest, he didn’t care about it.

Estelle leaned towards her husband and quietly asked:

“We don’t want this incident to remain in the memory of ordinary people for a long time, do we?”

At the moment, Demian was not the best option for the council.

“No,” Dorian nodded, “It’s better to remember something else.” Better right before our seats on the Council are taken.

“I understand,” she nodded. - I'll tell Ellin. She and Cheryl will sort it out.

“Yes, they understand everything themselves,” Dorian shrugged quietly, showing her a recent letter from Cheryl on the second screen.

“Don’t ignore me just because we just killed my parents,” Demen sobbed irritably, without raising his head. "We have already approved this all together. It is after the next 'event' that Yaari will leave his post. I hope this time you..."

A lump came to my throat again. He couldn't even complete the sentence.

“Make sure they will be in the city,” Dorian nodded understandingly. "This time it doesn’t matter where exactly, the main thing is in the city."