"Hey, boy!" Ofir heard a voice that sounded as if someone was standing a kilometer away in a deep cave. "Boy!" The voice was getting closer.

Ofir felt a burning pain on his face and came to his senses. His cheeks were burning with fire, and his heart was pinched, it was hard to breathe, there was not enough air.

"Bring it faster!" A man in a white coat shouted. "Come on! Come on!"

He took a syringe and injected something into Ofir's shoulder. It became easier to breathe.

"This thing will help you calm down."

"What, what happened to my grandfather?"

"I'm sorry. Heart failure. He died in his sleep. He didn't suffer."

Ofir's eyes filled with tears. He didn't want to show himself like that, but he couldn’t control his emotions.

"I want to see him."

"He was taken away."

"Where to?"

"The Pathoanatomical Bureau."

"Where, where?"

"To a place where we take all the dead people. We’ll put him in order and will help with the funeral. Are you a relative?"

"Grandson."

"You need to issue a couple of documents and you can go."

Ofir nodded, but the doctor did not understand whether the boy was aware of what exactly happened or not. The shock still on his face.

***

Egon was returning home after an incident near the walls of the forbidden city. Rage enveloped his body with an invisible aura, squeezing his chest and obscuring his vision with a thick red-white haze. He did not know how to get the element if access to the laboratory was now closed. He needed to come to his senses and think. He went to the nearest bar. A dim light was burning inside. The first thing that caught his eye were the pipes, of which there were no counting. They stretched along the entire ceiling, and then fell on the bar and went somewhere under the floor. There were few people. The bartender was sitting on a chair and buried in a book, did not even notice that a new customer had entered.

On the left side, where the windows faced the street, there were wooden tables and sofas made of light brown leather. There were several bar stools in front of the counter. In the corner next to the toilet, a bicycle was swinging on ropes. From the side of the open kitchen, large copper pipes were visible, one of which was an exhaust, the second for a barbecue, and what the rest were required for wasn’t clear at all, but the design looked urban and authentic.

"Barman," Egon said.

He looked up from his book, examined customer, and asked:

"Good afternoon. What do you want?"

"Beer."

"What kind?"

"Is there a stout?"

"It just ended yesterday."

"Quadrupel?"

"Only from the northern abbey. Is it fine?"

"Quite."

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"Anything else?"

"Cigarettes."

"There are only pear-flavored ones left."

"Is it with a sweet filter?"

"No. This is a good tobacco company; they impregnate tobacco without any chemicals. It's not a sin to die from such things. Just a taste for an amateur."

"In that case, I'll take it."

"I can offer fried poultry, cheese or something with meat filling."

"No. That's enough for me."

The bartender got up, went behind the counter, turned on the tap of one of the many pipes and poured beer into a glass, waited until the foam disappeared and topped up to the brim. From under the counter, he took out a pack of cigarettes and handed the order to Egon with a sharp push. The glass completely filled with beer slid along the bar counter as if on ice and stopped exactly a centimeter in front of the newcomer.

"How much?"

"Three silver coins."

Egon gave four. The bartender nodded his thanks.

"Can I smoke here?"

"You can do anything that is within the law."

"Thanks."

Egon opened the pack and lit a cigarette and after the first puff took a sip of beer, cold and refreshing. The bitterness slightly hit the throat; the taste was amazing: a fruity aroma mixed with vanilla and nuts; the smell of chocolate remained in the mouth for the aftertaste. The beer itself was a rich black color, with a slightly noticeable red tint.

Egon sat and enjoyed the moment at the bar, his mind felt somehow easier. He put out the first cigarette in an ashtray with a small amount of water at the bottom and took out the second one. Smoked again. A few minutes later, a guy about eight years old ran into the bar.

"Minors are not allowed here," the bartender said.

Egon looked at him and said nothing and got up from his chair and went up to the guy and asked what was heard on the streets?

"Ofir is your friend, isn't he?"

"That's right, what's wrong with him?"

"His grandfather died today. Now he's going to... um ... paleoanta ... pantologists…"

"The pathologoanatomic bureau?"

"Yeah."

"Which one?"

"Which is located in the north-western part of the working-class district."

"It's a long way from here."

The boy nodded. Egon took out a silver one and gave it to the boy, who immediately ran away.

"I won't finish my drink. Thank you for the service," he said to the bartender.

He nodded and got up from his chair and closed the book and put away the half-full glass.

***

A few hours later, Egon was in front of the pathologoanatomic bureau - a small one-story building, a pleasant yellow color, white window frames and a flat roof. There were coniferous trees growing along the entire perimeter and stray cats running around, which were clearly fed, judging by the size of their bellies. However, the atmosphere here contrasted directly with the appearance, it became eerie inside, and the feeling of the proximity of death, which, like an invisible ghost flew around the area, astounded every guest.

Egon entered and hall opened its doors in front of him. At the reception desk sat a woman who, by appearance, will soon become not part of the staff, but a client of this institution, and posthumously. She did not see or hear Egon, and he did not insist.

There were iron bunks of white and blue colors along the corridor on all sides. There was no light anywhere, and there was silence all around. Egon walked forward without knowing where, turning first to the right, then to the left. He met a young girl and asked:

"Did they bring an elderly old man here?"

"They bring them every day, which one do you need?"

"His grandson's name is Ofir."

"Oh, I know, I know. Nice guy. His grandfather is located behind the door number two hundred and five, right down the corridor and to the left. And your friend is in front of it."

"Thank you."

When Egon saw Ofir, he could not immediately recognize him. His condition was too depressing, he bowed his head too low and his hair seemed to have turned gray overnight. He sat in front of the white, shabby door and waited, his hands in the lock.

Egon came over and sat down next to him in silence and looked at his friend.

"If the Inquisition hadn't taken away our ability to choose, this wouldn't have happened."

"I'm sorry."

"You and I have lost people close to us together. I understand you better now. I understand your anger. Because I can barely control it myself now."

They fell silent. A clock was ticking on the wall above the door, but it was too dark to see what time it was. There, a draft screeched along the corridor, lifting the dust up and then lowering it. From time to time, they heard the echo of someone's footsteps, but they did not see anyone. They were getting goosebumps on their backs from the cold.

There was a rustle behind the door and after thirty seconds the handle turned down and a doctor came out to them. He did not say anything new. Ofir’s grandfather died of natural causes.

"You need to choose a coffin and buy a place in the cemetery. They will bury him tomorrow."

Ofir looked at Egon, who understood everything and asked the doctor:

"How much?"

"Three gold pieces."

"I've never understood why the living pay for the dead."

"It's customary."

Egon handed three gold coins to the doctor. The last money. He'll have to walk home. The doctor took the coins and said goodbye and left. Ofir continued to sit.

"Are you going home?"

"No. I'll sit here for now."

Egon decided to take his time and stay with his friend. So, they sat until the evening, and then went to their own houses, where Ofir took out a book and began to study all the information concerning metentises and glue the torn pages together.