Time went on as usual. I even started forgetting those carefree days when I was genuinely concerned about trifles like exams. When I was afraid of being late for class or getting scolded by someone. All fear of getting a bad grade on an exam disappeared: firstly, I was a good student, and secondly if no one tried to kill me during them, there was certainly nothing to be afraid of.

And still, I had changed a bit.

Simply because experiences like these don't leave anyone untouched. Neither me nor anyone else.

I... felt impunity. I understood that there are things you can do and get away with. If you settle everything properly. I also started paying more attention to the world around me. My estrangement vanished when I became more interested in other people. Why? Well... because I became curious about who they were. I thought, for example, I knew Alex, but the reality turned out to be quite different. How many more people do I not know?

My sister was discharged from the hospital a week after she was admitted. This time was very hard for her. As it was for all of us. But the money was laundered with some minor, non-critical losses, medication was bought, and now nothing threatened her. There were risks of the impulse recurring, but compared to our situation before, they were practically non-existent. We needed to keep in mind to avoid any severe stress and anything else that could provoke the body to abruptly use all its reserves, which the medicine was supposed to seal off.

Our whole family greeted her, rejoicing in her return. And when I had the opportunity, I told her:

"Everything is over. We will forget this like a terrible nightmare."

"Thank you for doing this for me," she kissed me on the cheek.

And we continued living as if nothing had happened. I no longer returned to my past. I still didn't throw away the gun; I hid it under the bed inside its frame, where you wouldn't search unless you knew what you were looking for. The two magazines were also hidden there. Most likely, I will throw them away later, but for now, let them stay. I got used to being cautious, and the past has a habit of reminding you of itself. I realized this when a former "client" attacked me with his fists, though he was so drugged up that he couldn't hit me - he just fell and started crying.

How many lives did I ruin with my work? How many did I kill, if not with a gun, then with the same grenades, those I've never known before and will never have a chance to? These thoughts visited me less and less frequently. More so when I started to get back on track and bring my scores up to the required level.

Only once did Malu call me. He tried to persuade me to take on that job, repeating that he trusted me and didn't want to pick up some random guy off the street. That everything depended on me. He didn't push, he didn't beg or plead. He just called, explained the situation, and then said he understood everything.

After that, my phone went silent.

And at school, Alex told me Malu had refused the job, saying he wasn't ready to take such risks.

"Only because of me?" I was surprised.

"He took a liking to you," Alex shrugged. "Sometimes someone catches our eye as a person. Besides, you're a solid guy, so it's all good."

All good... I wanted to ask what this 'good' meant but kept quiet.

Time went on, December was coming to an end, and we celebrated the New Year. Our whole family. It was actually not bad, and we had a good time, not worrying too much about anything, wishing each other happiness for the coming year. My sisters showered me with these wishes.

It's funny to wish happiness to a murderer who may have deprived another family of meeting the New Year as a whole. Irony of fate, or, as I put it, "Life is built on the bones of others." But I felt nothing about it; it could be compared, perhaps, to when someone dies, you grieve, and then it all passes. It was the same for me, just without the grief.

We celebrated the New Year, but the snow never fell. A pity. I love snow, I love the absolute whiteness that envelops the world, and it becomes truly pure. But looking out the window, all I see are beat-up cars passing by and a shoddily painted house across the street.

The winter holidays ended, I went back to school. Almost a month had passed, and I was starting to forget about what had happened. I could still spot a drug addict, I could still spot who was a thug, and who was selling what was illegal to sell. I would never have noticed this before, but now I just couldn't unsee it.

Once you look at what lies beyond the limits of your own world, you never stop seeing it.

At least, I don't see any werewolves.

Later, at school, Alex handed me a photo taken at that little restaurant.

"Cool, huh?" He was looking at the one with Mari, of course. But my gaze rested on the one where the four of us were.

Why do I look at them over and over again? Maybe because, during the breaks between jobs, it wasn't so bad with them. And yet, the photo came out very warm. Nothing to say - it doesn't tell you what scum and moral freaks we are. Just ordinary teenagers.

"You like this one?" Alex looked over my shoulder.

"I don't know why, but yes."

"It's just our company, little and cozy," he slapped my shoulder.

"Yeah, indeed."

"Ever thought about coming back?"

"To the company or the work?"

"Both," Alex replied, and I could hear the anticipation in his voice. Apparently, Malu sent him to ask, to probe the situation, to see if they could try to sway me back to their side for that job.

"Did Malu ask?"

"I doubt Malu expects you to come back," he shook his head. "But he's adamant, won't go there without you."

"Is he pissed off?"

"Well, you know him. He'll grumble a bit, then he's calm again. And he's not short of work, though he does have an eye on that money."

"And it’s just lying there waiting for us," I smirked.

"As far as I understand, yes," he fell silent as girls chattering about something passed us by. "It's a room in the vault that belongs to the house, that's why it's always in place, or so I gathered."

"Arrow has dug up a lot about it."

"You know him. He's... a bastard," Alex glanced sideways.

"You didn't seem to have much against him before," I looked at him closely.

"But that doesn't cancel the fact that he's a jerk, right?" He smirked.

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And what was going on with them? I honestly couldn't understand.

I couldn't - until it was too late to understand.

My problem was that I never looked beyond. Never took in the whole picture. And the reason wasn't my inability but that I looked at it all with a smirk. What, a grand plan? A conspiracy theory? Everything is much simpler! I believed that only a paranoid would think that way. Always suspecting everything and so on.

Alas, I hadn't grown up one bit. I still hadn't grasped the main rule - that anything is possible. And if you want to come out dry, prepare for the worst plan of the enemy - because sometimes they might resort to it. Especially when it comes to money.

And for my mistakes, others will pay.

I was at the store with Natali, buying groceries, when she got a call.

I saw her face. Saw how it changed, how it became paler and paler until I was afraid she was having an attack. But there was no attack, nothing like that. With the stone-faced expression she always wore to hold herself together, she put down the phone and said:

"They called from the hospital. Nataliel is in intensive care," and, apparently seeing that I was unable to say anything, she continued. "She was struck by a car. She hit her head, and she had an attack."

I don't know who was more shocked then, her or me. My legs just stopped holding me at that moment, and I had to grasp the cart to keep from falling.

You can blame me for being stupid, but at that moment, I hadn't faced anything like this before. And therefore, I couldn't sift out the necessary grains of information against the background of the rest of the white noise. I didn't understand what needed to be highlighted and remembered from the endless stream of words or what to pay attention to. After all, I had so many conversations, said so much, and listened... How do you understand that this word, this sentence, is what needs to be taken out of everything else?

Yes, I see it now, I really see what I should have focused on. I'm a genius of hindsight. Recalling all this, I feel sick from my own lack of foresight. But at that moment, I just didn't see it - because I wasn't a hero, a genius, a great commander, or, at the very least, just Martie Stue.

Just a regular guy from school who went down the wrong path - nothing more, nothing less.

We practically flew out of the store, leaving all our purchases behind and called a taxi to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. We always used buses because they were cheaper, but this time, there was no room for such considerations. After calling the nearest available car, we were on our way to the hospital. The cheerful taxi driver tried to strike up a conversation with us, but neither Natali nor I were in the mood for small talk.

"Shut up," I practically growled.

He looked at me in slight surprise and fear.

"Come on, I was just..."

"Just drive the damn car and leave us alone!" I had to muster all my strength not to blow up at him.

In another situation, he would have either kicked us out of the car or tried to have a "man-to-man" argument with me. But this time, he just kept quiet, turned away, and didn't utter another word except for the fare.

We practically ran to the already painfully familiar elevator and squeezed in, not caring about the inconvenience we were causing to others. Some were complaining, some spoke about manners, but I didn't give a damn about them. Although my nerves were stretched thin from all the noise, and I wanted to start yelling at everyone.

But I had to keep myself in check. Besides, I felt my sister's thin and fragile hand squeeze mine. I looked at her, and she just smiled. But it was a smile through pain and fear, terrible, sad, hopeless. That's how our mother smiled when I asked what happened when I was six. She said, "Nothing." But that day, my older brother died. And my sisters are very much like our mother.

We dashed out on the right floor and immediately rushed to the intensive care unit. The time while we were checking in, being led to the ward, seemed so long, as if I had spent hours there. I wanted to yell, "Can't you move any faster?!"

So much effort, so much money spent on medicine, only for her... to be simply hit by a car. You could curse the person who did it as much as you wanted, literally douse them with curses, look for the perpetrator, and ask God to punish the bastard. But it's all useless in our world; unless you do it yourself, no one will. No one would even lift a finger to try to solve anything. Everyone just doesn't care.

Threats, curses, hatred - they're just words, empty sounds. Only material reality always matters.

And the reality was in front of me - my Nataliel was lying there, connected to a multitude of monitors, IVs, and everything else we could afford without going bankrupt. Everything that could keep her alive a little longer until we figured out what to do next.

Pale, with a medical respirator mask on her mouth and nose, she seemed to be preparing for her final journey. Several IVs connected to a single catheter in her arm, this white sheet covering her, the beeping of the machines - everything seemed to scream that this was the end.

She was conscious. It seemed to be a struggle for her, just a little more, and her eyes would close on their own, but Nataliel held on. She even found the strength to give us a weak smile through her mask. Encouraging, even tender, as if she wanted to say that everything was okay. It's a pity that it wasn't true.

We stayed there for about twenty minutes until we were asked to leave, saying that visiting hours were over and the patients' rounds would soon begin. I held her hand until the last moment because I was afraid I wouldn't have this opportunity the next time.

"I'll fix everything," I muttered, standing up. "This will really be the last time. You just have to endure a little longer."

But when I tried to remove my hand, I felt weak resistance - her fingers barely clenched on my hand before letting go without any strength. Her lips began to move, but even without the mask, I wouldn't have heard what she was saying. Yet, I understood it - as if, at that very moment, Nataliel broadcasted the words directly into my head.

"Don't."

They're amazing girls. I'll never understand them, and I'll never understand what real strength both hide within them.

"Everything will be okay," I muttered in response and forced a smile. "I'll come back to you, I promise."

When we left the intensive care unit's corridor, I loudly exhaled as if I had been holding my breath all this time. Funny, but I really don't remember breathing at all. Natali didn't make a sound. She seemed to be staring at one point. And that's how it was until we left the hospital.

"Are you going to get back into it?" she asked quietly, not looking at me.

"Yes."

She didn't try to make me change my mind. Maybe she wanted to save Nataliel so much that she was ready to let me do this. Or she saw no point in dissuading me. She knew I would act my own way, but such a conversation would only spoil the mood for both of us.

"Do you really want to go back?"

"One last time. I'll do a small job, and everything will be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I did as I promised, didn't I?" I looked at her in the face. "I was asked to do a job for which they will pay well, so... I'll do it."

"Like with those cash collectors?" she asked quietly.

"If you want, you can turn me in to the police, but only after I help our sister, okay? I won't hold a grudge. I'm ready to answer for my actions, but only after I've done everything."

"I won't do that," she looked at me with a smile, but tears were dripping from her eyes. "You're my brother. I love you no matter what."

That same evening, I was dialing Malu's number. I had to do this. I simply had to do everything possible. To get the money for the surgery. Two million. Two million for one simple operation - peanuts for the rich and an insurmountable sum for us, those who will never hold so much in their hands in their lifetime. So... words "I can't" do not exist for me; my desires and fears don't matter. I just have to. I must...

I was searching for excuses to make myself do it. To call and say that I agree to do the job.

My hands were shaking as if they were being jolted by electricity. I kept missing the buttons on my flip phone, which had already run out of battery and was now charging.

Several times I had to put the phone down and take a deep breath. Walk around the room, trying to clear my head of all thoughts. Maybe if this was my first time, it would've been easier, but I knew what this would entail, what a robbery would look like. And what would happen if we were to fail.

But I have to... One more time, the last time, for someone precious to me... I can't refuse for my own benefit, sacrificing her.

With difficulty, I managed to dial his number, knowing it by heart. It's better not to keep such phone numbers stored on your phone. After two long rings, I got an answer. At that moment, my heart jolted as if a gun was pointed at my temple.

"Yes," I recognized Malu's voice almost instantly.

"It's me. I'm in, if the offer still stands."

Silence. Just a couple of seconds.

"Yes, it still stands. You know where to find us. Come when you can."

And then the beeping of a disconnected call.

My heart was still pounding, making my face feel hot, as if the room temperature was forty degrees, even though the conversation had ended and I had agreed on the job. It went that easy.

I held the phone in my hands, feeling nothing but my own heartbeat. Nothing good. Because there was nothing good left. All because of money. Because of damned MONEY!

The phone flew into the wall and split into two pieces with a pitiful crack.

I had a strong urge to trash my room, to break everything and level it to the ground. I wanted to go out and lash out at some idiot, beat him to half-death, or get beaten myself. Just to let out all these emotions, all this bile and hatred. I could feel the rage throbbing in my temples.

With all my strength, I punched the drywall, and my hand went in up to the elbow. I had just made a hole from my room into the hallway. But it didn't make me feel any better. Not one bit. My heart demanded more destruction, and I slammed my fist into the nightstand as hard as I could. The sound of cracking wood echoed in the room, and the top of the stand sagged a little.

It still didn't make me feel better. But now my fist hurt, a symbol of my own stupidity. No matter how much I destroy, the situation won't change. I better save my hatred for those who truly deserve it.