"And why the sudden change?" Syringa immediately perked up. "Things are going so well!"

"It's just not for me, Syringa," I shook my head. "It's just not for me."

"So why the hell did you get involved in the first place?"

"Just don't listen with your ass," Alex answered for me. "He said his sister was sick - that's why he got involved."

"Oh, did she get better?"

"No," I shook my head.

"So why the sudden decision to quit? Seriously, you could make a name for yourself here, earn money, gain respect, and so on. So she got better, great. But what about work? You're already established, you have a certain reputation, you're making money that you won't make in any other job."

"I don't know how to explain it to you, Syringa. It's just not for me. I simply don't like shooting people; I don't like collecting debts, robbing, breaking into places, and so on."

"Well, don't kill then."

"That's rich coming from the girl who just offed the cash collector," Malu snorted. "You should've just shot him in the knee and left it at that. Why the hell did you kill him?"

"I didn't know any better. Besides, we're not talking about me here. Why did Box suddenly decide to quit?"

"Well, not everyone has to be a criminal," he smirked. "We also need someone to rob, right?"

"Cut the stupid jokes. What's going on?"

"I just don't like it. It turns my stomach, all of this shakes me up, makes me feel less like a lucky person and more like a jerk," I answered. "Honestly, haven't you ever wanted to live a normal life?"

They looked at me like I was an idiot. Alex even almost drooled.

Figures…

"You mean, like making a brat?" Malu didn't understand.

"You're the brat, you blockhead," Syringa snorted. "He's talking about a normal family. A regular job where you don't have to worry about getting shot. A safe one. You come home. Beat your wife, then have sex, and do that every day. And on the weekends, go to the countryside with your family."

"Yes, exactly like that, except for the 'beat your wife' part," I nodded. "I can't believe you don't know what a normal life is."

"Come on, everyone knows," Alex waved his hand. "Of course we know, they're just messing around. It's just that you seem to be doing fine, and now you're hitting the brakes. It's like trading a Ferrari for a Pinto."

"But this Ferrari doesn't have brakes. The faster you go, the harder it is to jump off. And every turn gets harder and harder to take."

"You really laid it on thick there," Syringa smiled. "But you're still doing fine. Extra money won't hurt, right? Are you really planning on slaving away for eight bucks an hour by scrubbing bathrooms in some rundown shop?"

"Yes. I just don't want to worry, I don't want to be involved in this, or have any contact with it at all. I like stability and peace. Gray stability, gray peace, a gray inconspicuous life."

"Well, then have it. Just keep doing minor tasks, help us out sometimes, and that's it," she shrugged.

They won't understand. They won't understand, no matter how much you explain.

They're good guys, seriously, I even find them interesting. And if it weren't for the work that brings us together, I could be friends with them. Probably just pink dreams and foolish hopes, but something like going on hikes, walks in the forest, picnics, trips to the beach. I've never been into that sort of stuff, always preferring to just sit somewhere and read. But with them, I'd probably agree to it.

But they've been spinning in this for too long. Without even realizing it, they're changing. I just don't fit in with them because they're different. Completely different.

"Alright, let's get moving. We're just standing here like nothing happened," Malu called us over. "Come on, Syringa, take us to the bus stop, then we'll get into the city ourselves. And you..."

"Yeah, yeah, we're a couple, blah-blah-blah, returning after the vacation. Just stash the guns in the hidden compartment; don't forget. Let's go, Box."

We got into the hatchback, parked on the forest road, and then we drove out of the gray woods towards the highway. Behind us, a fire was blossoming, consuming the evidence. Smoke would rise soon, but it was uncertain whether anyone would report it or not. In any case, unless we were tracked via satellite, it would be impossible to trace us. This time, we drove calmly, peacefully, if you could say so, feeling content and suddenly blessed with a windfall of luck.

As soon as we left the forest and got to the bus stop, we dropped off Malu and Alex. Now, all they had to do was get to our apartment by themselves. And we would wait for them there.

"Just don't overdo it there," Alex shouted after us. "No need to make out during the ride."

"Why don't you just fuck off, asshole?" Syringa snapped back immediately and hit the gas, not allowing him to continue.

As we thought, the exit from the city was completely blocked. They were letting through literally one car at a time, causing a huge traffic jam. At the same time, everyone was driving into the city smoothly.

"Should I turn on the radio?" I asked.

"Go ahead," she nodded.

I clicked the button and tuned into Khanksk radio station.

"...not regaining consciousness. A 'Net-2' interception plan has been introduced in the city. Here, on Filkovo Avenue 13, detectives and forensic experts continue to work. They study the bank surveillance camera footage, take fingerprints from the car, and interview witnesses. It also became known that the attackers, threatening a woman with a child with a weapon, hijacked a car and disappeared in an unknown direction. Neither the woman nor the child who was with her were harmed. The victim is currently being assisted by trauma counselors.

"You hijacked a car from a woman with a child?" Syringa glanced at me.

"I didn't do anything to her, did I?"

"You're a beast, fatso. Robbing a mother with a child. Weren't you taught that children are sacred?"

"I was. And then I watched the documentary 'Living Cargo,' where they talked about a cloning experiment. They cloned children to get an impulse."

"And how?"

"What exactly?"

"Well, the experiment," Syringa explained. "How did it go?"

"It didn't. It failed, as far as I heard. They didn't manage to recreate any good impulse carriers. But child trafficking started, since clones are without feelings, without consciousness, just dolls. So, after that documentary, to say that children are sacred..."

"You said it yourself, they're just dolls."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Well, it's not the same as real dolls, right?" I shrugged. "The simple fact that it's a child in front of you, and you're sending it off for organ harvesting, for example. I don't know, it's hard to understand."

"What a horror show you're watching," Syringa exclaimed in disgust.

"And they were showing this in broad daylight on TV. Just a regular scientific documentary."

Meanwhile, after a commercial break, the radio continued to shower us with news about the incident, delighting us with the details of our own misdeeds. For some reason, it didn't bother me in the slightest. Perhaps because I perceived the last murder as... just a murder? Just fired a shot, and that's it?

From what I read, emotions are only triggered by emotional contact with the victim. Pity, surprise, rage, or something along those lines. Or if you made eye contact with them and felt something, remembered something, started to associate them with something. That is, when they stopped being faceless to you.

About the one I killed, all I could say was that he existed. Even with the security guard at my first job, or the girl between the garages, there was emotional contact. But here, I saw the man and shot. That's it.

I suspect that killers ultimately burn out, burn through this contact, hence they calmly kill anyone. They love their families and so on, but they are no longer able to create an emotional bond with the victim. This burnout is like a unique protective psychological reaction, similar to a habit.

I do not have such a habit, but the understanding that I'm not particularly upset about murder evokes some unpleasant feelings inside, as if I'm no longer myself.

"We've just got a report that the attackers left the car at one of the industrial district's workshops and set it on fire, then escaped in a pre-arranged vehicle. Roadblocks have been set up on the Khanksk-Stanford and Khanksk-Romashkovo highways. As we are informed, there were four suspects. Their identities have still not been established."

"Well, that's perfect," Syringa exhaled. "They're unlikely to intercept us in the city."

"They might," I noted. "They're not fools either."

"I doubt that..." she frowned. "So far, I haven't noticed anything smart from their side."

That's because we always get new cars and burn the old ones. There's simply nothing to catch us with. No DNA, no fingerprints, no distinguishing features pointing to us. The only time we could have been exposed was at the gang den. But there, everyone would claim they didn't see or know anyone, to avoid a decade or two behind bars themselves. But it's only a matter of time before they catch up with us, nothing more. Sooner or later, we'll slip up. Someone will sneeze, someone will get hurt, and that's it, game over.

So it's better to end everything when you already have good cards in your hands.

"It's a matter of time. They'll catch us eventually if we continue."

"But not you," she smirked. "You're supposedly quitting, aren't you?"

"True, just thinking out loud," I shrugged. "Our saving grace is that we're teenagers. Too young. They rarely look for people our age, they would be looking for more… hardened criminals."

"Where did you get that from… oh right, your father is a cop," she remembered.

"Not just that. Haven't you seen the movies? Or the books tell a lot. Some of it is nonsense, some exaggeration, and some things are left unsaid. But… if you combine it all, you get a whole list of rules."

"Ooooh… And what's the first rule?"

"Try to work alone," I answered.

"Why?"

"Because most often, they catch you through accomplices. They caught some idiot who left a fingerprint, got a lead to another, and so on. You're responsible for everyone, but someone is bound to mess up. Or betray."

"I doubt they would betray," she shook her head. "Usually, everyone knows each other in these kinds of things."

"Sure, but everyone has their price."

"Money doesn't always decide everything."

"I'm not talking about money." Seeing her puzzled look, I continued. "You can also be bought with the life of a loved one, for example."

"That's a bit extreme…" Syringa side-eyed me.

"You want to say I'm wrong?"

"No, but… damn, you're right, but you're just so radical about it. But yeah, you're right: a loved one's life is a great price for cooperation. And that brings us to a little wisdom."

"Don't have those close to you?"

"Damn, is your blood replaced with pessimism or something?"

"Meet realism. People just often confuse the two," I smiled.

"No, I meant, keep your family close so no one can touch them."

"That's a questionable wisdom. Anyone can be reached. You can't handcuff them to yourself. And that means they can already be touched."

"But to live alone… For what?" Syringa asked, more worried than puzzled. As if this question really bothered her.

"I'll answer as Malu once said – for money. Live to earn as much money as possible."

"How terrible," she grimaced. "You said it as if you believe it yourself."

"And you seem disgusted."

"I work only for my family. For my sister. So that later I can just pack up and leave as far as possible from here. And now I'm saving money. But if you work for money, where will you end up? No, not like that. What will you become?"

"A rich man?" I suggested.

"You'll turn into nothing. Just… pff… emptiness."

"With money."

"Idiot. You, fatso, understood everything perfectly well. If anyone, you certainly don't lack brains."

We turned off the main road onto secondary ones that led deeper into the city. Police were constantly in sight: in body armor, with automatic rifles, literally on every corner. There were no fewer of them on the roads. Police cars were literally circulating throughout the city, on all the yard roads, looking for the criminals. I highly doubt, though, that they will catch anyone this way.

"Sooner or later, they'll head for the airfield," Syringa said, watching as a patrol car passed by.

"It won't help them. At least not unless they found and recorded your tire pattern. But by that point, they'll have trampled it by themselves. Better tell me, are we heading to our apartment or Arrow?"

"To Arrow. Malu is the type who always pays his debts first, then enjoys life."

"Does he pay all his debts?" I asked curiously.

"If you mean revenge, then... I don't know. I've never seen it. Malu is a bit unhinged, but he only reaches for a gun as a last resort. He's a good guy. But the fact that he rushes to bring money to Arrow doesn't please me at all."

"Why do you dislike Arrow? Did you have a run-in with him?"

"You mean did I give him a blowjob?" She glared at me.

"I asked what I asked, Syringa, don't look for another meaning in my question," I insisted.

"Yeah... whatever..." She would have shrugged if she wasn't holding the steering wheel. "Arrow really does what he says. I had problems with my sister. My Dad fucked some okami, as I understand it, and so we appeared, my sister and I. And then there were problems: my sister ended up in an orphanage. So I went straight to Arrow and did him. In return, he stole my sister from the orphanage that same night. Now my sister is listed as a missing person."

"But you don't like him."

"There's something... rotten about him. Not that I hold it against him. In this business, everyone's like that. But still, he's a dick."

We pulled up to the car repair shop and parked a bit further away on the opposite side.

"Did we use his guns?"

"Yeah, the ones we stole. Bastard... Those were our guns! I would slit his throat for this, the jerk..." She lit a cigarette, then offered me the pack. "Want one?"

"No, I don't smoke."

"Oh, come on, we're like family."

"But I'm not your family," I reminded her. "No, Syringa, seriously, I don't want to."

"All these goody-two-shoes... Can't even find someone to smoke with."

"How about you smoke alone?"

"Alone, alone, alone..." She sighed, lit up, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Oh, you..."

We sat for about an hour, during which Syringa managed to smoke almost half a pack, messing around with her phone. When I opened the window, smoke poured out as if we were stoking a stove inside. I even got used to it. And I tried not to think about the fact that my clothes were completely permeated with this cigarette smell.

"There they are, they've arrived," Syringa nodded at two figures getting off at a bus stop near the car repair shop.

She started the car and drove straight into a repair box. A couple of minutes later, Alex and Malu entered as well.

"You guys have been smoking up a storm..." Alex muttered, waving his hand in front of him. "Box, did you puff too?"

"Why would you think that?"

"You smell like her," he pointed at Syringa. "I can sense it from a meter away."

"Fuck off, Ali," Syringa grimaced. "Better get out the bags with the guns."

"And you?"

"And I'm a girl."

We unloaded the money and weapons from the car. I took the backpacks, and Malu and Ali took the guns and body armor, after which we moved to the staff room. Arrow and his three fighters were already waiting for us there. They even prepared a large table for us, how nice.

The three men stood as if they hadn't even noticed us, but Arrow, on the other hand, greeted us as if we were his children returning from university.

"Oh, you're back! I see the catch was bountiful. Well," he clapped his hands and rubbed them together, "let's see how much of it fell to us."

But as soon as we put our backpacks and rifles on the table, Syringa started in.

"Why didn't you warn us there was an impulse user there?!"

Malu and Alex just sighed. As did Arrow.

"Here we go," he exhaled and leaned back in his chair. "Well, probably because I didn't know?"

"And about the helicopter?!"

"Damn... Imagine if the police came! Syringa, are you nuts?! Of course, they'd bring a chopper! And how the hell was I supposed to know about the guy with the impulse?! I got what I could get. So don't fuck with my brain, fuck with your boyfriend. And anyway, it seems like everything worked out here."

"Box got shot by the impulse guy!" she pointed at me.

"But is he alive? Alive! And why do you think I gave you body armor, although I could have kept it? Besides, don't lie, you knew the risks, it was clear that there might be shooting. And you guys even whacked two, now they'll comb the whole town."

"Syringa, cut it out, seriously," Malu intervened. "We brought the money, so everything's fine, and everyone's happy, right? We get our share, and Arrow gets his. Everything's fair, no one's harmed, no one's killed. And Box... Well, he'll heal from the bruise, no big deal, right?"

Syringa had already opened her mouth, but then she closed it so suddenly that her teeth clicked. She stepped back a few steps and glared at us resentfully from there. Apparently, she had hoped for support.

On the other hand, people like Syringa keep people like Arrow on their toes. They don't let them forget, sink into complacency, and try to pull a fast one on others like us. Such people will always be anxious about their own and remind others with their presence that every cent is accounted for. So, there was a benefit from her tantrums, too.