"By the way, come here, fatso," Syringa waved at me, then came over by herself and hugged me. She sighed. "Damn... you're so soft, it's just terrible..."

"Yeah, I purposely fattened myself up for such an occasion," I replied calmly. "Prime fat, all for you."

"Gross. Just shut up and stop talking nonsense. I'm going to relax a little, then we'll go. I'm kind of tired."

"From what? You just came from a beauty salon."

"Where did you get that from?" She pushed me away, frowning.

"You have manicured nails, clearly professional work. I can tell."

"You're a stalker," she grimaced. "You're sick, noticing such things..."

"Well, someone has to, right?" I shrugged.

"Sick," she repeated with disgust on her face.

At that moment, a group of girls and boys from our school passed by us. Four people. As I said, fools can be found everywhere. Female fools, in our case. Some people just need to say something about someone else to lift their spirits. I see no other reason for such an action.

These ones weren't too aggressive, they weren't looking for a fight or anything, they just needed to say something so their group would burst into laughter afterward. So, I just ignored them. Such people always verbally abuse everyone, voicing such jokes - but only those who can't fight back, naturally.

Who cares about idiots?

Syringa.

"Fat and ash - the fate of such couples," said one girl to another, and the group laughed.

I didn't even pay attention to them, but Syringa immediately straightened up.

"Hey, you, shaggy!" she called right away. "How about you scram while you still can."

And threw a cigarette butt right into her hair.

And then everything went off the rails. While one girl screamed, "You whore!", trying to get the cigarette out of her hair with the help of her friend, and, as I understood it, her boyfriend, another guy approached Syringa with clear malicious intent.

"You got some nerve, bi..."

When he tried to push Syringa, she just punched him in the jaw, knocking him down on the spot. No, he didn't pass out, but he couldn't get up either.

"I didn't ask you, fag," she chiseled, stepping over him, after which she went straight to the other three.

The guy just stepped forward to confront her, opening his mouth, and Syringa already hit him in the nose. He grabbed his face, turning away and recoiling back a few steps. Blood dripped between his fingers. I don't think they would've laid a hand on us; they probably would've just exchanged some harsh words, and that's it, like in the past. Our school was quite disciplined, and the students came from well-mannered families.

"Repeat what you squealed, bitch?" Syringa approached the first girl almost point-blank, from which the latter even stepped back.

"Are you sick, wha... m-m-m..." This is when Syringa grabbed her by the chin. The second girl stepped away further, a few steps, just to be safe.

"Listen here, bitch, I'll repeat it one more time. Get out of here before I rip your mouth."

That's basically where it all ended. Syringa pushed her away and returned to the car.

"Let's go. This neighborhood irritates me," she hissed.

By that time, the company of four, somewhat battered but whole and almost healthy, was retreating quickly, casting apprehensive glances at Syringa. They seemed to fear that she would try to run them over with her hatchback.

"Was it worth it?" I inquired.

"You always don't give a damn! You're just an impenetrable blockhead," she dismissed.

"Well, you didn't have to pay attention to them."

"That's why they're so out of line. They think they can do anything."

"So, if a dog barks, you're going to bark back?"

"Do you know that if you allow a dog to do a lot, it can also become bold and then not only bark but bite? And I didn't bark at them - I immediately hit them, as I would do with a dog."

"You're a beast," I sighed.

"As if you forgot who I am."

"And who are you?"

"I... well... we have different names. If it's Russian, then it's volkolak. If it's European, then it's lycanthrope. The Germans also call us werewolves, or it's huli-jing in China. In Japan, we're called okami. Call me whatever you like. Girl-wolf, for example."

"You have a sister, I gather? Younger or older?"

Syringa glared at me unhappily, then turned back to the road and grumbled.

"My little sis."

Little sis? Using a term of endearment usually indicates that the person means a lot to you.

"Much younger than you?"

"None of your business, fatso," she bristled immediately. "I don't question you about your family, so don't pry into mine."

"I'm sorry, I understand," I immediately responded conciliatorily.

"The last thing I want is for this side of my life to touch her, my sister. And vice versa, actually. Business is business, family is family. So, don't pry where you're not asked."

"I got it, I won't anymore."

I understand, with such a job, it's better to tell as little about your family as possible. The less others know, the better you sleep. The same goes for the family: the less your household knows, the better they and you sleep.

Meanwhile, we turned onto the street with gray apartment buildings, the name of which I finally learned. September Street. As far as I understand, it was named in honor of the day of the revolution when it began, which led to the secession of Siberia and Manchuria from the Russian Empire.

Five minutes later, we were already entering a courtyard familiar to me. It's funny how this place looked like a pigsty when I was here for the first time. However, now that I've been here many times, it didn't seem so to me. Just an ordinary, slightly dirty yard.

Slightly… A swamp that covers the entire yard. It's funny how a person gets used to everything, even the bad. It was bad, and it got worse - they got used to it. Then, even worse, and they got used to it again. And so on indefinitely - until their limit is reached. Just like with the yard: at first, I thought it was a pigsty, and now it doesn't seem so bad.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

As usual, Malu was waiting for us in the room. Besides him, I immediately noticed automatic rifles with silencers on the table. Four of them, one for each of us. All I could say about the rifles was that they were "Thunderclaps." If I'm not mistaken, a Swiss gun, also known as the one you can practically trim bushes with, given its high rate of fire. In addition to them, there were boxes of ammunition, magazines, alcohol-soaked rags, and two bags of clothes on the table.

"Where's Ali?" Malu asked as soon as we entered the room.

"He's at a test. He'll be late," I answered.

"Alright, it's not urgent," he sighed and got up, nodding to the table. "New job. Arrow gave a tip, offered to earn some money. I agreed."

"Arrow again?" Syringa grimaced. "What, has he decided to rob a bank?"

"Not again, but still," Malu replied. "And yes, you're almost right. Only it's not a bank, but cash-in-transit couriers."

Silence fell.

Apparently, Malu was waiting for our reaction. But we stood there a bit stunned by such news and couldn't utter a word. Robbing... cash couriers?

I didn't know what to think. In my head, it looked like some sort of raid, like in action movies. Arrive, wave guns, shout, leave. But I'm not sure that's how it actually works. That's why his words seemed somewhat unreal.

"Seriously?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Absolutely, Box."

"And how much is at stake?"

"A hundred grand for each of us, approximately," he answered, not blinking an eye.

A hundred grand? For each?

Of course, whether it's a lot or a little, I calculated based solely on how many medicines I could buy for my sister with that money. I quickly counted in my head how many weeks it would be enough for, if I took the most expensive drugs.

It turned out to be twenty weeks. Twenty weeks... that's... four and a half, darn it, months! Plus, the money left over from that raid on the drug pushers' base - it's a full five months!

The thing is, my sister is currently taking those drugs that cost a thousand bucks a pack, which lasts for a week. Around four to five thousand a month is spent. She's been taking them for three months now, and so far, the results are good - no attacks. You could say that another two months, and she would be as healthy as an ox. But in two months... anything can happen, right?

I don't want to jinx it, but I must prepare for the worst. That's why I wanted to save up the amount that I could pay for her five-month course of these drugs, in case something goes wrong. About twenty to twenty-five thousand will be spent per month, so for five months, I needed about a hundred and ten thousand. And if I take this job now, I'll be able to hedge my bets and provide my sister with the strongest pills that exist on this miserable planet!

Holy crap! Five months - that's a full course of treatment, after which we can confidently say that Nataliel is cured! I just can't believe it…

The essence of the whole medicinal therapy was that you take medicine for four months under the observation of doctors and various checks of your condition, and if during this time there wasn't a single attack, then you take it for another month for prevention, and that's it! And if there are no attacks for five months, it means the medicine has dealt with the disease, and the impulse is suppressed. No impulse, no attacks that are killing you!

Of course, I could rest easy with what I already have, but... I need to be extra careful. I absolutely have to, I can't risk and leave my sister up to chance. Robbing a cash-in-transit vehicle - sounds like fiction, but damn, if I can pull it off with our team, then screw it. Let them put me behind bars for ten years afterward - it'll be worth it.

And as I was deciding, Syringa started her thing.

"So, it's us who have to pull this out again, and he gets a thirty percent cut?" she frowned.

"Is a hundred grand not enough for you?"

"No, but a hundred grand is... how much percent for each of us, Box?"

"If we give him thirty, it's seventeen and a half each."

"See! But he gets a straight thirty! Isn't that a bit much?" she put her hands on her hips. "That means... how much will he get, Box?"

This time, I had to pull out a calculator.

"If we get around a hundred grand, then he gets one hundred and seventy-one thousand and change," I answered after a quick calculation.

"One hundred and seventy grand against our hundred! That's a rip-off!"

"Syringa, you're such an idiot," Malu sighed. "Just an idiot. I don't know how you've survived this long in this world."

"Why don't you get lost?" She snapped back immediately.

"I would. But you're going to make a mess out of nothing here and then have a hard time cleaning it up. I'm tired of looking after you, honestly. Try to use your brain sometimes."

"I do use it!"

"You're an idiot, Syringa, so shut your mouth nicely, or I'll take a duct tape and do it the unpleasant way. What about you, Box? Are you in or out?"

"Is there an option to back out?"

"Thinking of backing out?"

"Not quite, but... still?"

"I haven't taken the job yet, so we don't owe anything to the Hassa. Considering we're free guys, not part of the clan, just taking jobs from them, yes, you can back out of this, even now. But once we take it, there's no backing out."

"If I back out now, can I work with you later?"

Malu frowned.

"I think you understand that's not how it works."

I do. I also understand that with each time, the stakes of our jobs get higher. It's unlikely there will be a louder job than the drug one, but something just as dangerous - definitely.

But the money... a hundred grand... After that, I could back out and end this waking nightmare. I don't owe anyone anything, haven't borrowed anything, kept out of trouble, didn't spread any info about myself. So, I should be able to get out clean and be done with all this.

But I also could do it right now... If only I were sure that the current meds would help Nataliel...

No, I have to go. I need the money.

"No, I'm with you."

"Excellent," Malu smiled. "Then the day after tomorrow."

"The day after tomorrow?" This came as a mild revelation to me. "So soon?"

"Why put it off?"

"What about Ali? Will he agree?" I asked.

"Of course he will," Malu brushed off. "It's not like he has that much of a choice."

I wasn't so sure about that, honestly. He might refuse; who knows what he thinks about this.

"Relax, Box, Ali won't ditch us," Syringa chimed in. "He's sleeping with Malu's sister, so he'll always be in the game."

Now, that was a revelation.

I stared at Syringa in surprise while Malu immediately pounced on her. Verbally.

"Have you lost your mind? What the hell does this have to do with you?!"

"That's for your yelling at me!" Syringa shot back. "You're the fool!"

"That's why you're an idiot, Syringa! Damn, how your sister puts up with you, I just don't get it!"

"Get lost! Don't you dare bring my sister into this!"

"I'm not! I feel sorry for her!"

As they argued, I tried to piece it all together. Holy crap, and there I always wondered what connects them... turns out Malu's sister is Alex's girlfriend. And I always thought he was a skirt chaser.

How intertwined everything is here.

But I didn't question Malu further. Not my business, so I didn't intend to pry.

"Enough, shut up!" Malu growled, trying to end the argument. "Anyway, are you in or not?!"

"Yes! Jerk!"

"Get lost," he snorted. But I knew that in half an hour, they would be conversing normally again, so I wasn't worried about it. "Anyway, we have a job the day after tomorrow, so we need to start preparing."

"Surveillance and all that?" I asked.

"No, that's Arrow's responsibility. We're just the executors. He's already given us what we need to know, so for us preparing means a different thing. Grab gloves, rags, cleaning supplies and start wiping the bullets and guns. Don't leave a single print on them. After that, we'll go about our business."

That's what we did. Wiped the bullets, guns, and magazines so there wouldn't be a single trace on them. Double-checked the gear to make sure nothing was forgotten.

After that, we drove to the city outskirts, where a car was ready. There, we had another exciting task of cleaning the car of any possible traces that could be there. Even though it was stolen, still... We left cans of gasoline there just in case and drove it to the place from where we would go on the mission.

After that, there was another car waiting for us, a spare one, where we also cleaned up. We bleached everything, just like in the first one, cleaned it, changed the plates, prepared the fuel cans, and left it at the point where we would switch from the first car to the second, which we would use to leave the city.

In Syringa's car, which we had to leave outside the city, we prepared a change of clothes and even something warm to wear on the top. The reason was simple, though interesting - we'd return in pairs and by different routes. And since Syringa was the only one with a driving license, two of us would have to rely on our own two feet or a bus. Thankfully, I wasn't one of them.

After that, almost late in the night, I returned home.

The day after tomorrow...

Honestly, I was already getting cold feet. So much so that I was struggling to keep myself together. It felt as if I was being electrocuted, the current running through me. The same knotting stomach, the same loss of appetite, the same trembling hands - to the extent that the cup in my hand was dancing. I couldn't pour tea for myself - I spilled it all on the floor.

It was "fun." So much so that the kettle was taken away from me.

Nataliel filled my cup for me.

"You're shaking," she noticed.

"Exams," I brushed it off.

"Now?"

"Yes. It's the end of the year; all I can do is pray that everything goes well and I won't have to spend the next six months attending extra classes," I gave a weak smile.

Lying had become as integral a part of my life as my job. But both would end soon.

It had been a month since I had told her such nonsense that it hurt both of us, and of course, I found the strength to approach and apologize. Almost immediately. Nataliel forgave me, saying I was a fool and she'd rather die than see me die. It was then my turn to call her a fool, as no one planned on dying.

But I love this nagging girl who cares about me more than I care about myself. Perhaps it's a trait of our family - to care more about others than ourselves. That's how we live, inexplicably.

But... if only that evening had ended with just a conversation.

Later that same evening, she had another attack. The first in these damn three months...