I regained consciousness only the next day, my chest tightly bandaged to support my broken ribs. I found myself completely naked and wrapped in a massive, cloud-like blanket that felt so light and provided divine warmth.

At first, I didn't even recall that I was no longer myself in this new world, where I went by the name Sasha Ognev, also known as Pozharsky. I had somehow survived an attempt on my life due to some sort of igiga powers. Was there anything else I had forgotten? Yes, of course, there was my grandfather and, as Scarab had mentioned, some other relatives on my mother's side.

Once I remembered this, I realized that my unconsciousness was more than just that; it was a dream where I relived a part of my past life. I had been an aristocrat, a Pozharsky, whose father and mother had indeed been executed. I still didn't know why they had been killed, as they were rarely at home, and I, the former me, had been completely ignorant of the family's affairs. I vividly remember how my world was turned upside down when I found out about their execution. An imperial chancellery employee presented a decree, and a couple of tall gendarmes threw me, the little Pozharsky, out of the ancestral mansion on the Moika River embankment as if I were a stray dog.

I couldn't help but feel sorry for Pozharsky. Losing his family was bad enough, but to add insult to injury, his former best friend Sasha Apraksin came to finish him off. Somehow Apraksin got wind of what was going to happen and showed up to revel in the spectacle. I can still picture his sneering face as he laughed at Pozharsky, who was left sitting amidst the remains of his belongings on the pavement. Apraksin even brought along some boys and girls from Palestine, a gymnasium specializing in martial arts where we all studied. The former friend wanted as many people as possible to witness the humiliation of his ex-friend, and none of them stood up for Pozharsky, not even Lisa, the girl who was engaged to the former owner of my body. Her lips twisted, and when Pozharsky attempted to approach her, she activated her protective suit, which sent a jolt of electricity through his body, knocking him back.

"I found it difficult to watch. He didn't even attempt to fight back, much like his family," I said, delving back into the past of my body.

All of Pozharsky's distant relatives, who had once loved reminiscing about how close they all were, had suddenly forgotten about him, the sole surviving heir. Only Grandpa Ognev had come in his old "Zhiguli" from faraway Staritsa to pick up the boy and take him to his new home. It was then that my feelings towards the former owner of this body changed for the first time. He sincerely hated the one person who had not abandoned him, from the tip of his nose to the tips of his toes. He hated him simply because he had dared to take him out of the capital. For some inexplicable reason, the former Pozharsky believed that forgiveness and a return to his former life were already within reach.

I was like, "Dude, seriously? How could he be so naive and foolish?"

In Staritsa, he wasn't any better. For a whole month at the Ognev family estate, Sasha Pozharsky didn't lift a finger to do anything useful. He didn't seem to be mourning his family or the people around him; he simply felt sorry for himself and his lost status. That was all he lived for. He didn't even help his grandfather with his coffee shop, which was quite a popular and fashionable place in Staritsa. It was strange that our family owned such a place, and I couldn't understand how my grandfather managed to keep the local aristocrats and corporate branches from snatching it away from us, especially considering it was the only source of income for our family.

As a former aristocrat, I could have helped my grandfather with carrying bags of grain from the nearest post office, roasting coffee beans, or simply taking orders. However, Pozharsky didn't seem to care at all. Even household chores were taken over by Ksusha, my grandfather's adopted daughter, who was only seven years old. Meanwhile, Pozharsky just lay around on the couches, surfed the internet, and moped around.

Grandfather and Ksusha, who still mourned the loss of our family, tried not to disturb Pozharsky unnecessarily, respecting his supposed grief. He took advantage of their kindness and pretended to be in mourning. However, I knew better. I dreamt of what he was really feeling and realized that he didn't feel any grief at all. He didn't even seem to care when he learned about his father's execution. At first, I thought he was just feeling empty, but then I realized that he simply didn't care about anything or anyone except for going back to his former life. He dreamed of it all day long, but he never did anything to make it happen.

After the events of his death and my appearance, it wasn't surprising at all when a note was thrown to the former Pozharsky's window. It was a paper airplane, skillfully launched by someone, and it had only a few words written on it: "I know how to bring everything back." Those words struck a chord in his soul, along with the address. Without saying a word to anyone, the former Pozharsky rushed there, eager to see his dream come true. And it seemed that almost nothing needed to be done to make it happen.

But then, he noticed a gray shadow out of the corner of his eye, something shining in the dim light of the lanes, and darkness that only ended when one body owner was replaced by another. He remembered the bloodstains on his collar and realized that he had been killed with a knife. Scarab apparently didn't know about it, and the real killer had planned it perfectly, leaving traces of a well-known gang nearby. The former Pozharsky wondered if there would be a repeat.

As if in answer to his question, another paper airplane landed on his bed through the open window. It warned him not to play with regeneration and threatened that his spark wouldn't help him anymore if he didn't sit quietly. As soon as he finished reading, the airplane burst into flames, leaving no ashes. The former Pozharsky broke out in a sweat, and his thoughts raced. He needed to investigate and find the killer, but he feared he wouldn't be able to prove anything. He also worried about Scarab's warning and the possibility of being imprisoned.

All of a sudden, I felt calm. They told me to be still - wasn't that the reason I existed in this world? Did I want a tranquil life? I got it. Did I want to rely on no one? That's exactly how it was. And who cares if someone thinks I'm cowering in fear.

"Sashka?" A little face with freckles and short white tails peeked into the room. It was Ksyusha. Technically my seven-year-old aunt, but it was easier for me to call her my little sister. As a former self, I didn't pay her any attention. However, after today's dream, when I saw how she had been watching over her wayward relative for an entire month, a pleasant warmth rose within me.

"Thank you, Ksyusha," I said quietly, and she blushed. Nonetheless, this did not stop her from breaking into a smile, making her face look like a small and incredibly adorable ball.

"Oh come on," Ksyusha waved her hand. "How are you feeling? Can you come down or should I bring food here? Grandpa said the doctor gave you an injection with a serum made from fragments, so the ribs may have already fused."

Ksyusha finished speaking and immediately covered her mouth with her hands, perhaps recalling how I used to react to any offers to do something. It seemed that my "thank you" had thrown her off, and she began talking to me like a normal person. That's alright; let her get accustomed to the new me.

"Of course, I'm getting up!"

I rushed to get up and froze. My ribs were no longer hurting. Whatever fragments or injections they had given me, they had truly worked.

Three years later

I was afraid that the new world would take away the simple and peaceful life that I had longed for. However, after the strange events of the first day, nothing else happened. I recovered from my wounds and began helping with the café and the household chores, splitting tasks equally with Ksyusha. I even had time to assist my Grandpa with the family business, despite his initial reluctance to let me.

Our life was uncomplicated but satisfying, as the fruits of our labor were tangible. Unfortunately, my dreams persisted, and they revealed to me the harsh reality of being an aristocrat. Though everything appeared glamorous and perfect, beneath the surface there was a cage of deceit and lies.

On the other hand, activities like chopping wood were much simpler. There was no ambiguity, only the satisfaction of splitting wood with each swing of the axe. It was remarkable that, even at thirteen years old, I could achieve this feat. But given that I trained with the Smoker in my dreams, it wasn't entirely unexpected.

Despite his cruelty, the Smoker was a skilled teacher. We met every other day, and he always introduced new exercises for me to master. Sometimes I refused, but my dreams compelled me to watch, making me feel like a prisoner. Eventually, I agreed to his training more often than not. Although my life was not yet threatened, there was something appealing about acquiring these unusual skills that were drilled into my mind.

I was taught to wield and chop with a sword, although there were other types of cold and even firearms, the Smoker clearly preferred the classic blade. My mentor would also invite acquaintances to teach me how to fight with bare hands, but while I always saw the Smoker's face, these acquaintances seemed to be shrouded in white fog. Unlike my mentor, who constantly smoked his cigarette, they were bothered by the never-ending rain in these dreams.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Despite my reluctance, these lessons turned me into a warrior. I now felt the axe in my hands not as a means of chopping wood, but as a weapon. As I practiced, Grandpa came out onto the porch and chuckled at my stance. Although he didn't talk much about his past, it seemed like he had served before.

Pretending not to notice him, I missed a couple of times on purpose to avoid unwanted questions. Grandpa chuckled again. He often pretended to understand something but kept quiet, leaving me with the feeling that a serious conversation would come someday. But not today.

"Your plate came," Grandpa said, turning back towards the house. He was referring to the satellite dish that allowed us to access websites that were previously unavailable due to government monitoring.

Over the past three years, my interest in history had grown, and I was determined to understand what made this world different from ours, aside from the games. I delved into official studies, searched forums, and found it particularly useful to listen to visitors to our cafe, ultimately forming my own opinion.

In brief, the turning point came in 1814 when Alexander I's army marched into Paris, Napoleon was exiled to Saint Helena, and the British East India Company was seeking to exploit India and China further. Around that time, the first person with the spark appeared in Persia, and within months thousands of others emerged worldwide, giving rise to the igigs. The term "igig" originated from the language of ancient Sumer, which meant "younger god." It sparked hope and optimism among people, and the first igigs sought to change the world for the better. They began with war, leading to a series of uprisings known as the Last Winter, which resulted in the loss of Europe's colonies. Civilized society had to grapple with how to cope and maintain order amidst the chaos of wars and conflicts that ravaged all continents for almost fifty years. Finally, in 1854, the Treaty was signed, dividing power into two parts: state and politics given to the aristocrats, and trade entrusted to emerging corporations, who also had the right to use spark carriers. While officially corporations only used their power for the "common good," they had their teams of igigs to help people, fight natural disasters or criminals, and were prepared to defend the interests of the board of directors anywhere in the world at their superiors' command. However, this was not widely publicized, as most people were content with the bright pictures and striking images of igigs' feats they witnessed every day.

Or, to debate who is stronger - the leader of the German "Defense" Capital or the russian Morana? By the way, about the "Defense" сorporation, it was a unique entity that only allowed aristocrats, and more specifically, members of royal families, to participate in management. Its sole purpose was to protect ordinary nobles from possible attacks. When I read about this, I thought that the igigi, who played the role of chain dogs, would not have liked it very much.

However, I was wrong. The "Defense" of each country attracted the strongest members to its ranks, and millions of people followed them every day. People watched, cheered, and were ready to tear apart anyone who doubted the greatness of their idols. They also loved to argue about who was hiding behind this or that mask. Yes, the igigi really wore masks. Those who worked for the corporation wanted to separate their personal and public lives, which was also a question of security and global balance. Without this balance, the world would not have lasted the last two hundred years, and someone, whether aristocrats or corporations, would have tried to concentrate all power in their hands. This was my initial thought when I began to study all of this.

I wondered why, if the corporations had such power, they did not overthrow the governments and take everything for themselves. As it turned out, everything was not so simple. First of all, the aristocrats would not have given in so easily. Even though they could not use igigi, ordinary mercenaries and the most modern weapons were always at their disposal. In fact, the same course through which the Smoker led me was considered mandatory for any nobleman in this world. My mentor even mentioned a couple of times that I was being trained as a killer of spark bearers. The equipment created by igigi-technicians that we used sometimes seemed like a real miracle...

In general, the aristocrats were strong. From the very beginning, they worked on preserving the spark in their families. Although this is unofficial information, any gossip in our cafe was sure that at least six generations of nobles only married their daughters to igigi. As a result, the percentage of spark bearers in noble families was quite high. Although they could not use their power directly for the good of their families and went to corporations, this was also part of the balance.

Imagine if a wealthy individual believed themselves to be more powerful than everyone else and ordered an attack on the king, the court, or even a specific family. How would the aristocrats, who made up the majority of this impudent upstart's igigov, respond? They would not turn against their own families, but would rather use the fact that the rebel was the first to break the agreement. They would kill him and auction off all of his property, reminding everyone else not to forget their place. This is how masks that conceal identities tie the hands of even the most powerful corporations.

Even gang members wore masks. I was surprised to learn that anyone could leave a request on a special website, supervised by the royal chancellery, and a mask would be sent to the specified address on the same day for a purely symbolic price. At first, I didn't understand why such generosity was extended to lawbreakers.

However, after doing some research, I found comics that explained the purpose of the masks in a simple yet understandable way. In the first frame, a robber without a mask kills all the witnesses to keep their identity secret. In the second frame, a robber wearing a mask simply walks away, leaving everyone alive. The world had become accustomed to the power of igigov and adapted to minimize the damage it caused. Thus, masks were created 24/7 for anyone who wanted them, without any catch. In two centuries, there has not been a single case where state masks have failed anyone. There were no bugs, scanners, or other devices to help identify those who used them. However, serious gangs still preferred to have their own technicians and make masks themselves.

The concept of identity was crucial, and every time I reminisced about my first day in this new world, I couldn't help but wince. It was as if I had intentionally displayed my vulnerabilities to the five superpowered bandits, inviting them to take advantage of me. Speaking of bands, it was officially believed that there were two dominant forces in the world: aristocrats and corporations.

But the reality was different. Since people started signing the Contract, there had always been a third faction that refused to comply. As far as I could tell, they were mostly young individuals who believed in their own abilities more than the power of words or abstract concepts like justice. Gangs sprouted up everywhere, and every town had at least a couple of igigs who thought they were above the law. As long as they didn't cross any lines, they were allowed to let off some steam.

That was what I believed, at least. Officially, these gangs were hunted down, but due to their masks and ability to blend in with the populace, it was hard to identify their members.

As my grandpa walked past me, I realized it was already seven o'clock, and I had to prepare for the coffee shop's opening. I left my axe between two logs in the woodshed and rushed to clean up before helping out at the counter and hall.

"Oh, by the way, how did you sleep? Did the nightmares stop bothering you?" Grandpa was almost out of sight when he turned around and surprised me with this question. I didn't have a chance to hide anything, and my furrowed eyebrows gave away my unease. I had to admit the truth.

"I had a few, but it was the first time in a month," I answered.

The nightmares were a result of Smoker's training. The more he tormented me, the louder my groans grew in my sleep. I had grown accustomed to it, but on this particular night, my torturer had managed to catch me off guard with a practical task, and what a task it was.

***

I flinched, feeling relieved that we had moved away from the monotonous training grounds. The incessant rain, the dense forest, and the Smoker's stern presence had been grating on my nerves, so any change was welcome. But the momentary happiness dissipated as I realized that the special training we were about to undertake was going to be much more demanding than our usual drills. Mentally preparing myself, I checked my gear - my trusty gun, grenades, and the G-5 protective suit. Everything was in place, and I knew exactly how to use it.

Initially, when we began training with cold weapons, I thought it was a thing of the past. But the Smoker surprised us by introducing modern firearms and missions that took place in contemporary buildings. It was a little strange at first, but then I learned that igigis age much slower than humans. Some of the early superheroes from the early nineteenth century were still alive and kicking, controlling their families and corporations. They were walking among us, yet still clinging to their bloodthirsty habits. It was a bizarre mix of old traditions and the modern world that I was slowly getting used to.

"Do you see the target?" the Smoker asked, pointing with a bored expression towards a stone house that was fenced off from the outskirts of the city by a dense forest.

"What do I need to do?" I already knew the answer, but I had to ask.

"Kill them all," the Smoker replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Who are they?" I asked, hoping for some context.

"A gang that's encroaching on your father's territory," the Smoker explained, and I knew that this was a personal mission for me.

"Okay," I said, exhaling heavily. A few months ago, the Smoker had ordered the entire village to be wiped out, just to intimidate. I had refused to carry out that order, but my body had betrayed me. I had tried to stop myself, but I was powerless. I couldn't even close my eyes. It was like the time when I had to slaughter a pig, and I had failed. But this time, at least, there would be no innocent bystanders.

The Smoker didn't give any more instructions, and I slipped forward, moving cautiously. While some igigis could reach the target with lightning speed or stealth, I had to move carefully, paying attention to every detail - my foot placement, body posture, breathing, and of course, the surroundings. It might not be enough, but I still had my spark, my unique ability to see the stars of foreign technology, which gave me an edge in situations like this.

As I moved forward, a gray shadow flashed in the sky - a foreign drone was patrolling the perimeter. I hit the ground and waited, freezing in place for a few more seconds until it passed. I knew that it was equipped with algorithms and had an operator as backup, so I had to be extra careful.