The next day, we were hanging out in front of the gang's building. We came here, naturally, to study the area and the surrounding tenements.

"Curious building," Alex noted as we casually strolled by on the opposite side of the street.

From the outside, it was one of many condos with single-room apartments, indistinguishable from the rest. Just one building among many. Yet, according to Malu, it was practically brimming with armed gangsters. From the outside, you'd never guess.

Seriously, there are similar buildings on either side and across the street from it. So many ordinary, law-abiding people walk and drive around it... Why doesn't the police do anything about it? How did they manage to smuggle in so much weaponry to arm almost everyone inside?

Although, why am I asking? Money. It's all about the money.

"It doesn't look the part," I mumbled. "But the biggest secrets of the world are hidden right in front of our eyes, right?"

"Yeah, probably. Alright, I'm gonna go buy something. Coke or LSD for you?"

"Just go already," I waved him off.

He winked at me and quickly crossed the street, heading confidently towards the building.

We decided to assign Alex to be the one to drive the truck, as well as to buy a trial dose and scout the situation. Syringa would come with us. Malu divvied up the roles this way because Alex was one of those people who could charm anyone if he wanted to. A charismatic guy. It's no wonder he had no enemies in school and got along so well with Malu.

So, Syringa will go in with us instead. As she claimed herself, she has no equal in hand-to-hand combat, and she's much stronger than Malu and I. A dubious claim, but I'm not about to test it. Besides, Malu agreed to take her, so there must be a reason for that. I wasn't going to argue, just hoping that this wouldn't cause us any trouble.

As for the weapons, it's still unclear, so we'll wait to hear what Alex says after his reconnaissance.

He returned about an hour later.

"You took your time," I observed. "How is it?"

"Like a drug den," he shrugged. "It looks much better on the outside than on the inside, seriously. The first floor is normal. At least, it's supposed to seem that way. There are just some guys casually lounging in the corners. I took the elevator, so I didn't get a good look at the other floors, but the one we need... how should I put it..."

From his further words, I understood the following:

The elevator doesn't go to that floor - it stops before it. There's not even a button for the fifth floor inside, as someone had gouged it out. So you stop on the fourth or sixth floor. Alex stopped on the fourth and described it as a den, dark and scary.

As for the fifth, to get there, you have to go through a door that they open for you. You won't be able to get in there on your own. They only let you in once the two guys at the entrance to the floor have checked you.

No one lives there except for armed guys. They either stand in the corridor or sit in the rooms. Almost all the doors to the rooms are open, so the guards inside will always be aware of what's happening in the corridor. And they can quickly help you pass to the other side if necessary. It's such a unique kind of base.

The saleroom has a fortified door with a small window and a bolt. Two more guards protect it. They also come with you. Inside is the third guy, the one who sells to you. The room itself isn't particularly remarkable inside, but there's a large safe, most likely with money and product, since Alex saw the seller put money in there and take out the product. Of course, it's a questionable idea to handle and hide money and the product in front of a customer, but when were these people ever smart? More so when the floor is filled with their armed men and resembles an impregnable fortress.

As for the weapons, everyone carries pistols, shotguns, or automatic rifles.

"They also sell weapons there," said Alex. "We had a friendly chat, and the guy said that you can get practically anything. It depends on your desire and money. He even offered to buy something on the spot. They have gun cabinets, you know, the ones with gridded doors?"

"Yes, I've seen them in movies," I nodded.

"Well, they have those there. Inside are automatic rifles, as far as I could see.

"How did they even tell you all this?" I looked at him attentively, to which Alex just winked and smiled.

"You just have to know how to talk. They escorted me out like a friend, patting me on the back and shaking my hand. They even offered to have a drink with me in the evening. Although, I blew all the money that Malu gave me. But we'll get it back tomorrow, right? Besides, I asked for even more product for tomorrow, saying that my friends would come to buy it, so tomorrow would be a good haul.

"Right, of course... but wasn't it unpleasant for you to talk with those who will be killed because of you tomorrow?"

"I couldn't care less," he shrugged.

His indifference to such a thing made me a bit dumbfounded. Honestly, it would be unpleasant for me to talk and smile with someone who I will most likely kill tomorrow. Shaking their hands, laughing together, calling them a friend, joking, and the next day putting the barrel to the back of their head and cocking the trigger. That's... bad. Wrong. I would feel like a rotten scumbag, a traitor.

However, Alex perceived and processed it differently. For him, they were only a means to an end, not people. Just something in the way that can be discarded if necessary; people who are nobodies to him, with whom one can have a good time now, and then throw away when no longer needed, as you do to broken headphones, without even regretting it.

Expendable material.

What was worse, I understood he was right. Understood that this was exactly how you should perceive everything in this business if you want to last longer than others. Here, people are a means to an end, and your competitors are just waiting for the chance to take your place. They'll smile at you and call you a friend until the opportunity arises to push you aside. The idea of comradeship is out of the question. There are no friends here - you are your own best friend. Honor, one's word, oaths, loyalty, and such can simply be forgotten.

It's just that I'm perceiving it wrong, clinging to what I'm used to at school and home. Friends, loyalty, fellowship... I judge from my naive perspective of an ordinary citizen.

Well, at least I had the strength to understand what was really going on here and not blind myself by illusions.

The next day, we were ready for the job.

The truck was found. Syringa picked up a vehicle with a large, wide body previously used for garbage transport. I don't know where she brought it from, but the truck was as old as the world. A "ZIL-131", they used to buy these from the Russian Empire, as far as I know. Nowadays, trucks from China and Japan flood the city, although you can still encounter Russian cars occasionally. But this truck looked, to put it mildly, old and worn, although it worked, according to Syringa, like clockwork.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"I drove it around, started it several times, turned it off, everything works, I guarantee. And it wasn't idle; it was constantly used."

All we could do was hope that this mammoth wouldn't die at the crucial moment.

Its bed was covered with a layer of boxes, atop which were thrown foam, packing wrap, pieces of styrofoam, and all the gaps were filled with granulated packing foam. Everything was tied down with a tarpaulin on top to prevent it from scattering during the ride and for added softness.

"I'll divide the preparation expenses later and take it from each of you," Malu was quick to tell us. "I bought everything with my own money. And also for the drugs," he looked at Alex.

"Yes, naturally. No one is planning to screw anyone over."

"I believe you. I just gave you a heads up so there wouldn't be any misunderstandings later."

We got to the place by bus, so that the police, if they suddenly started investigating what happened, wouldn't have any leads. Also, leaving our car here... if we did that, we'd have to return for it, which wouldn't be very reasonable either. We only brought a large sports bag with us, which contained the money. Or rather, scrap paper cut to the size of money. Only the first and last bills were real, creating an illusion. We didn't bring any weapons either, as they would be taken away or we wouldn't be let in at all.

I was prepared, too: I ate my fill and drank plenty of water before the job. It was going to be a real firework display.

We remained at the bus stop, where there were many passers-by, as even three people standing in front of the building could attract someone's attention, and we didn't need that.

"It's difficult to imagine it, huh?" Malu muttered.

"What exactly?" Syringa asked.

"That we're going to fuck this place up," he snarled.

"I thought we'd just grab the product and the money, and that's it," I noted.

"And that's where you are wrong. One doesn't interfere with the other, right?"

I kept quiet. Malu was too excited, and whatever I said, he'd take it the wrong way. Or he might even lash out, who knows. Over the last two months, I've learned one important thing - when he gets this aggressive, his rationality drops to almost zero. Arguing with him in this state is not only useless, it's simply dangerous.

"Alright, let's go. Alex, go bring the truck, and don't take your eyes off the balcony. If you miss us, you're screwed - I'll get you from the other side."

The plan was that when we'd get out on the balcony, we would wave to him, he would immediately pull up, we would jump off and drive away.

"Don't worry, I'll do it top-notch," he winked and crossed to the other side.

"So, now it's our turn. We do everything strictly according to plan. Once it starts, try not to get in the way. That goes for you, first and foremost, Box. You've never been in anything like this, unlike Syringa, so keep quiet and keep low.

"I will."

"Good, Syringa, a lot of hope is on you, so don't let us down."

According to Malu, Syringa was the best. Even better than him, which already meant a lot.

"And one more thing. This is for you, Box, so listen carefully. This is your first time dealing with this, so you need to remember one thing - on the other end of the barrel are not people. On the other end of the barrel are mannequins. Your task is to hit them as quickly as possible. They are not people, they do not have feelings, and they do not have relatives. Mannequins are not alive. So you should act like in a shooting range: aim and immediately shoot, without thinking. You don't pity the mannequin in the quarry, do you?

"No," I shook my head.

"The same here. Just a mannequin. An object that can be broken and thrown away. If a wounded mannequin makes sounds, any sounds, don't listen to them and remember - these are just sounds, signaling that the mannequin is not hit. They are just sounds. People are those around us. There are only mannequins there. Things. It's a game where you have to shoot them out and not get hit yourself, got it?"

On the other end of the barrel are mannequins...

"I see you understand. Repeat this to yourself like a mantra when it all starts. Now let's go."

We headed towards the gang base. Calmly, like friends on a walk, chatting about God knows what, not even paying attention to the conversation. On the way, Malu lit a cigarette, saying:

"Don't worry."

"I'm not worried," Syringa replied.

"I'm not talking to you, dummy," at these Malu's words, she pouted in discontent, "I'm talking to Box."

"I'm not worried either."

"Yeah, you're about to shit yourself right here. You're thinking too much about it. Here, take a drag," he handed me the cigarette.

"I'm not..."

"Fuck, take a drag already," he menacingly snapped. I hesitated for a moment, then took a full breath.

And immediately started coughing. It felt like I had gulped down a lungful of smoke, and now my lungs were either itching or burning. Bitterness permeated my entire mouth, and the cough was tearing at my throat. It took me about ten seconds to stop coughing and breathe normally.

"My throat burns," I grimaced.

"Well, of course, you inhaled a mouthful of smoke. Who does that?" Syringa chuckled.

"Newbies do. Like him," Malu nodded at me.

"I'll never understand why people smoke."

"It's fun," Malu grinned.

"Then you feel a certain calm. It's like something itches, and you just scratched it, and it feels good, peaceful," Syringa nodded, smiling. "The first time is the most intense. Is your head spinning?"

"No."

"Then you didn't inhale enough."

"I'm afraid it's not for me," I grimaced. "There's still a bitter taste in my mouth. And a slight burn in my throat."

Well... okay, I could appreciate how Malu distracted me. I really did forget about everything for a moment when I was coughing. And then it seemed a bit calmer; I was not shaking as much, and my heart wasn't beating as hard. Before, it felt like it was about to stop from all the anxiety.

Even when we approached the condo, I couldn't say it was a drug den. A clean and tidy building, with perfectly ordinary guys standing at the entrance talking about something. They just glanced at us as we passed. I don't know why, but the thought that it was security immediately popped into my head. And I was sure of it.

The entrance hall was also ordinary, moderately clean, moderately shabby, so you just couldn't suspect this apartment building of anything if you accidentally walked in. There were also a few guys hanging around, the most ordinary and unremarkable ones. And Alex was right - the button for the fifth floor had been gouged out.

However, as soon as we took the elevator to the fourth floor, the scene changed. It was as if we had entered another reality. The reality of crime and drugs.

Until I got involved in this, I had only seen weapons on TV. For me, as for many others, the mere thought of getting one was unreal. A gun - just walk in and buy it in our city? Is that possible? It seemed that guns didn't even exist anywhere except for hunting gear. Although, I thought the same about drugs and couldn't even imagine how others get them.

All of this always seemed impossible in the real world, and I thought it all happened in another reality.

And now I'm here, in this reality, and as soon as I step out of the elevator, I see some young, worn-out girl in the passage injecting something into her vein. And next to her, two guys with slightly strange looks are smoking, as if they just got out of the shower and are overly relaxed.

The hallway itself was gray, almost black from dirt, and the long daylight lamps that were here flickered with dim rays, barely dispelling the semi-darkness. I could hear children crying, women's discontented shouts, men's curses, disputes, the clatter of dishes, all blending into the symphony of the building's life.

"I bet a hundred if you give her a dollar, she'll blow you," Syringa elbowed me, grinning. "And for twenty, you can do whatever you want with her."

"If you want to, go ahead, but I don't feel like injecting myself with penicillin for a week afterward."

We almost immediately turned to the stairs and went up a floor. There, a door awaited us that Alex had mentioned. A regular door, nothing special, if you don't count the fact that it was locked. In the corner next to it hung a massive camera of the local guards, who, in theory, were watching us now.

"Here we go..." Malu murmured and knocked.

As soon as he did that, the door immediately opened in a friendly manner, and behind it appeared a massive brute in a tank top and boxer shorts covered in tattoos. He just glanced at us, then stepped aside to let us pass. As soon as we entered, the door behind us closed. Now, there was only one way, forward, because they were unlikely to let us out just like that, and we couldn't say we got the wrong door.

"What's in the bag, boy?" asked another man, so thin that his bones were visible, sitting on a stool to the side. An old trusty AK-47 lay on his lap as an unambiguous hint. Besides him, opposite the door, stood another guy about Malu's age with a shotgun in his hands. The brute also blocked the way behind our backs - I involuntarily turned around and saw a pistol in his hand. What a warm welcome...

Malu just opened the bag, showing its contents.

"We're here for the goods," he answered calmly.

"I see... We'll check what you got in your pockets, boy, you mind?" The guard rose from the chair, leaning his automatic rifle against the wall.

"How can I refuse?" Malu just smiled, spreading his hands and allowing himself to be frisked. We did the same. In any case, we had no guns or knives, so there was nothing to worry about.

They checked us quickly and professionally, though Syringa clearly got more attention.

"Do you think I could stuff a gun in my boobs?" she grimaced as the young guy frisked her.

"It's just a check," he rumbled, though I don't think Syringa would lie. But I got a strong impression that she would take his head off at the first opportunity.

Less than a minute later, the three of us were let go in peace.

"Happy shopping, kids," the guard nodded to us and returned to his stool.

None of us responded.