I had finally limped my way back to the main gate. Running through the city had been a nightmare, but it had its perks—I’d caught a glimpse of what looked like their version of taxis. No driver, just a sleek, self-moving machine that glided through the streets like it owned them. Efficient. Perfect. Like everything else here.

The statue pointed the way, and I followed it yet again, leading me straight to the main gate. Sneaking up was easier this time—practice makes perfect, I guess. But when I got close enough to see the guard, my stomach sank. It wasn’t the idiot from two days ago. This one was a woman, maybe younger, with two golden armbands on her sleeve. She sat hunched over, scribbling fiercely into a notebook like her life depended on it.

The gate was just as daunting as before: practically fused with the tunnel walls, no way around, no way over. I sighed. I didn’t want to keep knocking out guards; it felt like anything could go wrong when I did. Gotta do what you gotta do, though, I guess.

I took a step forward, gravel crunching softly beneath my foot. Her pen stilled for a moment, but she didn’t look up. I hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing on my chest. Be nice, I told myself. She’s just doing her job.

Then she shifted, just enough for me to see the firearm holstered at her side.

I hadn't seen that last guy with a weapon. Wonder why she was wearing one?

Before she could react, I moved fast, looping my arm around her neck and pulling her close. My dice landed, and strength flooded through me. She fought, of course—clawed at me, kicked—but I held firm, squeezing for all it was worth. This rear-naked choke thing really came in handy, I must say.

As her struggles weakened, I glanced at the notebook she’d been writing in. On the open page was a rough sketch of a little girl, grinning from ear to ear—almost complete, just missing color going down to her neck.

It was a beautiful picture.

As I laid her down, I couldn't help but admire it. I propped her up in the chair, placing the notebook back in her lap, then limped toward the city, the gash down my leg still protesting the whole way there.

It took a long time to get back.

I pondered the city I had been stomping around in since I was a small boy, gazing up at the skyscrapers as I flew past them. And then my eyes went to the beautiful night sky as I crossed into the township.

I wanted to ask God, seriously, why had he made me this way? Why had I outrun one of the cars on the way here on an injured leg? Why make me one of them?

I’d had this thought at least a thousand times by now, and every time, I hit a brick wall. No answer seemed to suffice.

And then, finally, I was home.

I snuck in quietly, and as I woke up the first batch of kids, I was smothered by little bodies, their arms locking around my waist, my shoulders, my legs. Their giggles filled the air as I laughed, relief washing over me like rain, the joy practically waking up the rest. They looked okay. Alive. I'd take that any day of the week.

I handed over the bag of slop as the kids’ stomachs rumbled, their mouths practically watering at the sight. They formed their neat line without even needing a reminder. I was proud—didn’t even have to lecture them this time.

Finally, the big kids got their turn. Guilt twisted in my stomach. There wasn’t enough for seconds. I needed to bring more next time. Far more.

We had moved on, talking about my escapades over the last few days. And before I even realized it, I was talking about her.

“You should see this girl called Sofia,” I said, shaking my head in disappointment, standing up, looking down my nose with my hands behind my back.

"I am a fink, Boris, ignorant baboon. I get up later than you and have no clue what's going on. Be a good little slave and tell me everything!" I said mockingly, imitating our conversation from the other day.

I ended it by sneering, “Boris! Bow before me. It's good for your posture!” Then I flashed the same poor imitation of a smile she had given me.

Mikhail immediately imitated my voice. “Boris! Bow before me!”

That set the whole room off.

The kids began mimicking my posture, telling each other to bow, until little Yelena clambered onto a broken crate, standing over the rest, and proclaimed through her lisp, “I am the mighty Sofia! Bow before me!”

She puffed out her tiny chest, tilting her chin up like she was a queen among peasants.

And we all bowed before her.

Laughter rang through the church, bouncing off the walls, filling the empty space. Even the little ones giggled, clapping their hands as we all collapsed into a pile.

I wanted to freeze the moment. To stay here forever.

But then Yelena looked up at me with those big round eyes and asked, “Boris, why is she so weird? I want to meet her!”

I thought about it for a moment as my smile died, “I think it's because she might just be the worst fink I've ever met, and I have met what feels like dozens these last few days. And now that I think about it, you’ve met her, kiddo. It's that girl who was walking with that fink in black on your birthday, at the stall. Do you remember?” I said gently, through a smile a man can only get when love has overwhelmed him.

She seemed almost disappointed then. “But she was nice. She let me roll her dice.”

I just nodded my head at her. “Oh, kiddo, that's just because no one can say no to you. Not even her.”

Then Maria chimed in. “Wait. The first customer? The one with the man who pulled the gun on you? That's Sofia?” she asked, actually sounding astonished even as she stroked Ivan’s hair, his head in her lap as they all laid around me.

“Yep. That's her. Kicker is, she’s The General’s daughter. Probably what makes her so… well, arrogant,” I said. I had been slowing my words as much as possible, trying to match their pace. But I almost… understood the finks now. Conversations just took so long. They were all talking and laughing like they were underwater, like the very action was too difficult to do at any normal pace.

I stood up too quickly, wincing from the cut, and I saw Maria’s eyes dart down my leg almost in slow motion. Suddenly, she stood up, saying, “Boris! Your leg! Natalie, get some water! Ivan, get the blanket! Boris, what is wrong with you? Why didn’t you say anything?” She fussed, running up to me and hesitating before she took the pants and pulled them up over the cut.

That hesitation felt strange, like she didn't want to touch me. It made me pause before I said, “Ivan, leave the blanket. Natalie, you can get the water.”

Maria practically pulled my leg out from under me, making me slide down the wall as she stared daggers down at my now very sorry state. “And why shouldn’t Ivan get the blanket?” she asked, even as all the kids came and stood around me, all with concern and curiosity etched onto their faces as they tried to get a look.

“Because you’re going to cover the bloody leg with it. You know blood-covered things aren’t good, Maria. Could lead to disease or some shit. The sisters always lectured us on that. Just leave it. Wash it if it will make you feel better, but otherwise, just leave it,” I said, even as I didn’t dare look up at her exasperated face.

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“Gone three days and you already think you can order me around like a fink,” she said jokingly.

“I ordered you around like a fink before I left. And it’s been, like, five days,” I corrected sarcastically, but she didn’t smile like I thought she would at my comment. And then I realized she wasn’t entirely joking.

I felt a pit open up in my stomach even as Natalie came back with the water. It made me feel less like a man, like I had failed her, even as she washed my leg slowly with her bare hand, going gently over the cut. But the cut didn’t matter. Even the sharp pain shooting up my leg didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered in that moment was that she thought I was becoming a fink. A true, bonafide fink.

Nothing had ever hurt me more. Not Paradise. Not the gunshot. Not the beatings or the disgusted faces I had walked past every day when I was at that fucking training camp. Why would she think that of me?

“All done,” she said happily, as all the other kids crowded around it. One of the smaller children, Ilya, seemed transfixed by the blood and said, “Does it hurt?”

It shook me out of my thoughts, and I looked down at him and smiled before holding up my one arm and flexing. “Course not, kiddo. Do you not see these muscles?” I asked, as my arm practically became smaller as I flexed it.

Yelena just said in response, “I’ll kiss it better!” imitating Maria whenever one of them got a little cut and would kiss their foreheads, saying all the pain was gone now.

She came up to me, planting her little lips on my forehead before smiling widely down at me, like the pain was all gone now and I should be perfectly okay.

“Wow, kiddo! I feel like running a marathon!” I said as I ruffled her hair, before I stood up and then looked at Maria, signaling we needed to talk. Alone.

“Yes, Boris?” she said, as we came to the same place we’d had our spat just a few days ago.

I looked down in shame, as the words escaped me. “Maria. Do you really think I’m becoming a fink? How could you think that? You know I’m nothing like them.” I said, trying to keep my voice flat, even as I slowed it down. They just sounded like they came from a hurt, offended child.

“Boris. Come on. I was just joking,” she said with a sigh, walking up to me and then giving me a hug. “Although, you are wearing this fink uniform, so I guess it can be a little hard to tell,” she said playfully.

And it felt like a slap in the face as she pointed that out. Even as I hugged her back, I realized I had broken my vow. I looked down at the uniform with disgust. It clung to me like a second skin, like it had been waiting for me to accept it. I was supposed to take it off after that day, to rip it off like the symbol of evil it was. But I hadn’t. Not because I needed it. Not because I forgot. Just because... I didn’t think about it. And that thought alone made my stomach twist."

I tried to shake the thoughts away, but something in my mind was laughing at me, reminding me over and over again I'd broken my promise with god, and it had only taken days. It followed me through the rest of the night, creeping in like a shadow that grew larger with every step I took.

I tucked the kids into bed, ruffling their hair and sitting with them until they had all fallen asleep. But even as I watched their peaceful faces, one final, far more terrifying thought entered my head, fueled by Marias jokes and hesitation at touching me.

I was becoming a fink.

The thought wouldn’t leave. It gnawed at the edges of my mind like a rat burrowing into the darkness. No matter how hard I tried to shove it away, it slipped right back, whispering in the back of my skull. A fink. That’s what I was becoming. That’s what I was already. It clung to me like the very uniform I swore I’d shed, like the devil was sitting next to me and whispering the idea into my ear every time I almost chased the thought back to hell.

I was sitting down in Maria’s bed, as she was snuggling with Yelena and Mikhail tonight.

“Boris, what's wrong? You’ve seemed down in the dumps since our conversation earlier,” she asked, concern creasing her eyebrows. She let go of one of the sleeping children, placing her hand on my shoulder. “I know it hurt you, but I was joking. I promise. I just want you to laugh at the finks with me, like we used to,” she said reassuringly.

I sighed heavily, placing my hand over hers, looking at Yelena and Mikhail holding hands, as I lied, “No Maria, I was just being insecure then, like a little bitch” I said, getting a small smile from her.

I thought about it, but the blessing let me catch the tiny shifts in her expression—the way her lips pressed together, the way her eyes softened. She saw right through me.

I sighed again, heavier this time, the weight in my chest pressing down like a stone. “I made a promise to God,” I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “To never give in. To make the finks rue the day they made me one of them.” The word burned my tongue as I spat it out.

Yelena fidgeted in her sleep, her tiny hands gripping the blanket, and I forced myself to lower my voice.

“But then you pointed out the uniform.” My breath caught. “And I realized… I had broken my vow. That I had betrayed Him.” My throat tightened. “Again.”

I swallowed hard, forcing a hollow chuckle. “You were joking, I know. And I tried to joke with you.” I shook my head. “But I think—no, I know—there was truth in it.” I sucked in a shaky breath.

“It’s only been days, Maria. And I’m already becoming one of them.” My voice cracked, shame crawling up my spine. “A true, bonafide fink.”

I turned away, blinking hard, but the tears blurred my vision anyway. My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms as I whispered, “And I don’t know how to stop it.”

Maria had listened silently, patiently, through all of it. When I finally dared to glance at her, I saw her looking at me—not with pity, not with judgment, but with something far worse. Something I couldn’t face. A kind of quiet heartbreak.

She clutched my hand, just as tightly as she had in that godforsaken taxi, like she was afraid I’d slip away. “Come now, Boris,” she murmured. “God is forgiving. And I truly was joking earlier, my big strong Boris isn’t going to become a fink even if he tried.”

She smiled, but it was small, uncertain—like she wanted me to believe it, needed me to.

But I didn’t.

I didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. Didn’t push back.

Maria saw it, and something in her gaze hardened. She squeezed my hand tighter. “Let's pray together.”

Her voice didn’t waver, but there was urgency now—like she had to drag me back before I fell too far.

We closed our eyes, and she started.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

She sounded like an angel.

“Boris is lost, Lord.” Her voice softened, but it didn’t falter. “I pray that You will forgive him for breaking his vow. I know him. I know he wouldn’t betray his promise unless he had to. Help him see the man he still is—the same thickheaded fool who gets up every morning to fight off three crackheads just so the kids have breakfast.”

She squeezed my hand even tighter. “Help him see that he’s still that man. Not one of the monsters he has to be with now.”

A pause. A breath. A quiet moment heavy with meaning.

“Amen,” we whispered together.

I swallowed. The weight in my chest felt different now—not gone, not entirely, but lighter. Bearable.

“Thickheaded, am I?” I muttered.

Maria finally smiled for real. “If the shoe fits.”

She clutched the children tightly again, holding them close like they were all that mattered. I waited until her breathing evened out, until the rise and fall of their tiny chests matched hers. Only then did I slip away, as quiet as a ghost.

Maria’s prayer had wrapped around me like a warm blanket. The weight in my chest hadn’t vanished, not completely, but for the first time in days, I could breathe. She had spoken softly, but there was power in her words. And for a fleeting moment, I believed her.

Maybe I wasn’t too far gone. Maybe I was still the same man digging through dumpsters to feed his children. But belief wasn’t enough. Not yet.

I needed something before I left. I searched the church, overturning crates, checking under beds, but I didn’t find it where it usually was.

I stepped outside, the night air cool against my skin. My eyes scanned the dark, searching—until I spotted it, half-hidden in the dirt, like it had been tossed aside and forgotten. The old winter tarp.

The same one we used to keep the rain out of the church, to keep the kids warm when the wind howled through the broken windows.

I crouched, brushing the dust off its surface, gripping it tightly in my hands. I'd get them something better by winter. Something real. But for now, this would do.

Maria’s prayer still echoed in my ears as I turned toward the city, my grip tightening around the tarp. I let out a slow breath, then yanked at my uniform’s collar, loosening it just enough that it didn’t feel like it was strangling me anymore. No more doubts. I was many things.

But I’d never be one of them.