He crossed the street and approached the park, casually noticing how happily the children were playing on the playground, their laughter and joyful cries contrasting with the heaviness of his own thoughts. He found solace in the simple joys of these children, in their ability to enjoy the moment despite the chaos in the world around them.

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to an old man sitting on a bench feeding birds. The man looked peaceful and happy, finding pleasure in such a simple activity. This vision made Alexander think. Perhaps, despite everything that had happened, he could find peace in the little things? Perhaps his second chance at life could bring something good, even if he didn't understand why or how it happened?

Alexander slowly turned around and walked further down the street, feeling the crunch of fallen leaves under his feet. Cool gusts of wind slid across his face, reminding him of the approaching cold. He felt simultaneously lost and found, as if he had rediscovered his place in this world, but the path to this place had yet to be found.

Among the passers-by rushing about their business, he noticed a middle-aged man standing at a bus stop and carefully reading something on the screen of his smartphone. His jacket was unbuttoned, which revealed him as a resident of the city, accustomed to its changeable weather. Alexander approached him, gathering his thoughts.

“Excuse me, please,” he began, trying to speak as calmly and confidently as possible. — I have an emergency and need to call urgently. Could you lend me your phone for a minute? I'll be very grateful.

The man frowned, looking away from the screen, and looked at Alexander. There was distrust in his eyes, because Alexander was dressed in a lot of clothes, or rather, in what they were given at the morgue. And his pallor and bruises on his face did not inspire confidence. After a short struggle with himself, the man sighed and handed over the phone.

- Hold on, but hurry up and don’t go far. - he said.

Alexander nodded in gratitude and quickly dialed Roman’s number. The call lasted only a few rings before it was interrupted by a familiar voice:

- Hello, Roman is in touch.

- This is Alexander. I’m back and I’m glad that you are also alive and, judging by your cheerful voice, healthy.

There was a painful silence on the other end of the line, followed by a deep sigh of surprise and perhaps relief.

“Alex,” Roman said, his voice sounding surprisingly soft, as if he were talking to a long-lost friend. - Damn, I thought we’d end up in the same place, like in the movies, it’s a portal, and then I thought that where he died, he was resurrected.

- Well, almost right, they killed me in the hospital, but I returned to the morgue. This was nothing new for the employees. They say this has begun to happen with alarming regularity.

- Well, they were very surprised at my appearance. You know, Alex, in general, my story of return... It was full of chaos,” Roman began, and Alexander felt the tension coming through the telephone line. - I woke up, if you can call it that, right in a military unit. The moment I opened my eyes, I was lying on the floor in one of the storage rooms. At first I didn’t even realize that I... Well, that I was back in the world of the living. Everything seemed unreal, like another strange dream in the Edge.

Roman fell silent, as if collecting his thoughts, and then continued:

“I got up and followed the sounds coming from outside, but they noticed me almost immediately. The soldiers were shocked to see me. I died, and just imagine, they rushed to the side. One fighter even pulled out a weapon, he was sure that I was some kind of zombie or ghost, sure enough. To be honest, I think I could have been killed on the spot if it weren’t for the senior lieutenant, who ordered everyone to remain calm.

- Unexpectedly, although you could have guessed that this would happen when you went to the military unit. - said Alexander.

- Oh, screw you, now I understand, but then I was stupid. - Roman continued. - The military prosecutor's office was informed of the case, and I spent several hours in custody while they found out what happened to me. After numerous examinations and interrogations, they finally decided that it would be easier to transfer me to the civilian prosecutor's office. But, Alex, think about it, they absolutely don’t care, we have some kind of mess there. In short, I signed a contract not to leave and I’m already home.

- Indeed, chaos. By the way, Roman, I have to pick up my documents from the police station. They are located at Lenin Street, 25. Do you know where it is? - Alexander asked, hoping for some kind of landmark, and then realized that Roman was talking about another city and made a clarification. - Lenina Street, 25, in Saratov.

Roman fell silent for a moment, probably trying to estimate the distance and time of travel.

- Saratov, I understand. I'm in Kinel now. By train or car it will be several hours. If it weren't for the subscription, I could drive up. And so... Alex, if you need help, I’ll come, I don’t care about everything, but I’d like to solve this problem on the spot. And in general, if possible, you can come to me. Our house is still standing and I have the keys, even though I am still in the orphanage.

- Got it, everything is fine. I’ll call you as soon as I find out something about myself and decide where to move next. - Alexander agreed. - I’ll go pick up my things for now, and then go home.

- Okay, then see you later, Alex. By the way, is this your number? - Roman asked, ending the conversation.

- No, I asked you to call me on the street. We'll call again, bye. - Alexander said before breaking the connection. Having thanked the man, the guy moved on, but one thought haunted him. The wind continued to play with the leaves, and the noise of the city seemed to him something distant and insignificant. "Why did I call Roman? How can he help me? Why did I call?"

There was nothing special about their interaction in Grani that would make Roman his close friend. They discussed the possibilities, tried to understand the situation, shared, tried different ways to gain power, and even received the first fruits that helped them, being between life and death. Perhaps this shared experience was what prompted the call. In a world where everyone else couldn't understand what he had been through, Roman was the only one who could. Or perhaps he saw opportunities for his growth in his remarkable knowledge of games and cinema.

It may also have been a cry for help. Finding himself in such a confusing situation, without documents, money and a clear understanding of his Self, Alexander was probably looking for support. Roman, who had experienced something similar, could offer him advice or at least the reassurance that he was not alone.

With these thoughts, Alexander continued his way to the police station, feeling that the answer to his question may lie somewhere at the intersection of all these reasons. Either way, the call was made and he now knew he had another place where he could be safe.

Alexander continued his journey through the streets of Saratov, a city with a rich history and unique atmosphere. Watching the buildings flash by, he could not help but notice the contrast between the old, sometimes dilapidated buildings of Soviet times and the modern architecture that was rapidly changing the city landscapes.

This was especially noticeable in the central part of the city, where ancient mansions, architectural monuments of the nineteenth century, with bright facades and exquisite stucco moldings, and ultra-modern shopping centers made of glass and metal can stand nearby. Saratov was full of contradictions, but it was they who gave it a special flavor and charm.

The streets were decorated with rows of maples and birches, whose leaves had already begun to turn gold and red - signs of the approaching autumn. The air was saturated with the smells of the city: here there was a subtle note of freshly baked bread from the local bakery, here there was the aroma of shawarma from a small kiosk on the corner.

People rushing about their business created a feeling of constant movement and life, which is so characteristic of big cities. But at the same time, in Saratov one could always find a quiet corner near the Volga, where the river flowed slowly, reflecting clouds and skyscrapers in its waters, providing a place for reflection and relaxation.

Walking past street musicians and small cafes with their cozy verandas, Alexander from time to time asked passers-by about the way to the police station. In return he received friendly directions, and soon, following these directions, he found himself in front of the police building, inconspicuous, but commanding respect for its seriousness and formality.

It was a solid, gray building, with large windows through which one could see the bustle of officers and the flickering of computer screens. The state emblem was located on the façade, and a flag hung near the entrance. The entrance was guarded, and people stood in front of the doors, waiting to speak with the officer on duty.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Alexander went inside, feeling the police's gaze on him. The room was large and noisy: ringing phones, conversations and footsteps created a background against which individual voices stood out with requests, complaints or explanations. The heavy smell of disinfectant hung in the air, mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

He approached the reception desk, where a woman in uniform was sitting, deep in work with documents. She looked up at him wearily, and he introduced himself, explaining the reason for his visit. Having received confirmation of his identity and reason for coming, he was sent to a waiting room while his documents and personal belongings were prepared for collection.

The wait was short, the officer soon returned with his passport and broken mobile phone, a set of keys and a strangely shaped spark plug. Having received the items and signed a couple of documents, Alexander planned to leave the building, but two employees approached him.

- Alexander Stepnov? Let's pass. - the guy didn’t even have time to answer before they took him under white hands and led him first through the turnstile deep into the building, and then along the stairs to the third floor, to office three hundred and twelve. A square sign made of white wood read: “Head of the department, Colonel A. V. Berezov.”

- Come on in. - opening the door, they pushed Alexander inside, after which they closed the door behind his back.

The office was spacious and well lit. A middle-aged man in uniform sat at a large wooden table, his attentive gaze directed straight at Alexander. On the wall behind him hung the Russian flag and a portrait of the president, and on the sides were various framed awards and diplomas. It was, of course, Colonel Berezov.

- Hello, Sasha. Last time we met, you were somewhat rude in your expressions, but I’m not offended, don’t think so. - his voice was smooth and confident. “I’m more interested in the data you took from me.” Let's agree. You give them to me and I won’t give your carcass to Dusk. I’ll just give him the opportunity to escape this time without any random accidents along the way.

- Did you want to kill me? - Alexander finally heard something from his past. He, of course, had been waiting for this moment, but he didn’t think that he would find out exactly what he remembered now. - For what? What did I do to make them want to kill me?

Colonel Berezov narrowed his eyes for a moment and then slowly leaned back in his chair, weighing each word before he spoke it.

- So, the reports about your amnesia did not lie... You see, Sasha, this is not so much about what you did, Sasha, but about what you know. Well, this is important to me. For Dusk and others like him, what you did is much more critical. - he began, his voice remained calm, but there was a sense of threat in it. - You better remember the location of the information or die like a dog.

Alexander clenched his fists, feeling the anger begin to accumulate inside him.

- I... I don't remember! Everything is completely forgotten, by the way, after the accident that you caused. And for that matter, fuck you with your threats.

The Colonel frowned.

- You were still a problem after returning from the war, Sasha. Sergeant! - a young guy entered the office and led him to the colonel’s office. The man leaned back in his chair and threw it away. - On his way out.

- Eat! - answered the sergeant, after which he turned to Alexander. - Let's go.

As they walked down the corridor, Alexander tried to organize his thoughts. “Twilight”, “war”, “data” - all these pieces of information were swirling in his head, but he could not connect them into a single whole. His amnesia became a giant wall that hid his past life, and he felt the despair growing inside him with each passing second.

As they walked along the corridor towards the stairs, Alexander was overcome by the feeling that his every step was being monitored. The hallways were sterile, and the sound of their footsteps bounced off the walls with alarming regularity. It seemed that even the air in this place was electrified with tension.

Passing by an inconspicuous door, Alexander noticed a major coming out of the next room. The major was a middle-aged man, with short-cropped hair and sharp, penetrating eyes that instantly assessed everything that their gaze fell on. His gaze lingered on Alexander for a moment, and recognition immediately appeared in his eyes.

- Stop! - he suddenly ordered the sergeant, stopping in front of Alexander. The sergeant immediately froze, allowing the major to come closer.

- Stepnov, is it really you? - said the major, his voice was surprised, but there was also some suspicion in it. - You should have been... well, far from here. What are you doing in this building?

Alexander felt the tension growing. He didn't know the man, but it was obvious that the Major knew him, or at least knew about some aspects of his past life.

- I had an accident and lost my memory. - Alexander began - I had a meeting with Colonel Berezov. Do you know me? I want to understand what's going on.

The major frowned and became thoughtful.

- With Berezov? Not the best person to meet, Stepnov, especially for you, taking into account... Past circumstances. - He shook his head, as if trying to connect the pieces of a puzzle in his head. - You better get out of here, and quickly. This is not the place for you, not now. As soon as I finish, I'll come to you.

And without saying another word, the major nodded to the sergeant, making it clear that they could go.

Dusk was already gathering in the air when Alexander left the police station. He felt the cool evening air envelop him, forcing him to take a deep breath. His gaze fell on the things issued at the station - a broken phone, a passport and an unusual lighter with an ornament.

First, Alexander carefully examined the broken phone - its case was damaged, the screen was broken, and it was obviously inoperable. Still, he tried to press the power button, but to no avail. He sighed, realizing that the information inside could be valuable.

Then he looked at the passport. Everything was standard: his photo, name, date of birth, place of birth, and other typical information. I paid special attention to registration. A nondescript stamp indicated the address he assumed belonged to his apartment. He also carefully checked each page, looking for any notes or inserts - but found nothing.

Finally, he noticed the keys with the lighter. They were regular keys, probably for his apartment and perhaps a mailbox or something similar. The lighter was simple, metal, with minor scuffs and scratches on the sides. The lighter itself was gasoline, fortunately there was a characteristic smell. Also, the pattern of intertwining roses gave the item an unusual look.

He knew that he would need to think about his next move very carefully. If even the major, seemingly familiar with some aspects of his past, thinks meeting with Berezov is a bad idea, then perhaps he should return home soon.

- Or is it better to leave altogether while there is an opportunity? I think my registration address is not a secret at all for those interested.

The desperate desire to leave the city and all these problems grew, but reality quickly brought him back - he did not even have money for a bus. Therefore, with a sigh, he walked up to the policeman on duty at the entrance to the station.

“Excuse me,” he began, “Could you tell me the way?”

Alexander handed the policeman his passport, opening the page with the registration address. To which the policeman looked at him with a searching glance, and then looked at the document.

- Certainly. he answered, pointing his hand to the right. - Along this street, then to the right. Continue straight ahead, there are stops there, they are signed. On Sadovaya, ask for directions further.

After thanking the policeman, Alexander went in the indicated direction. The police building disappeared from sight when Alexander turned right, and at that moment the bustle of the city seemed detached and incredibly distant. His steps were determined and he was trying to concentrate on the route when suddenly the sharp sound of a car stopping next to him broke the silence.

Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, two bulky men in dark clothing jumped out of the car. They didn't say a word; one of them, with broad shoulders and an impassive face, punched Alexander in the gut without warning. The blow was so strong and sudden that Alexander did not even have time to breathe, let alone resist.

While he was trying to find air, the second man, thinner and with a cold gaze, quickly and forcefully pushed him into the back seat of the car. The door slammed shut with a dull thud, and the car rushed off, leaving behind only a whirlwind of fallen leaves on the side of the road.