I was approaching Arrow, keeping him in sight, but he could hardly do anything now. A massive hole in his stomach, from where blood was slowly but surely seeping out, a similar wound near his collarbone, shot legs and arm spelled his death sentence. He was wheezing, living his last moments, I hoped, in pain, suffering, and regret.

I knew Arrow would have liked to say a lot to me, tell of many things, and threaten a fair bit. Even though he knew his threats were empty, he'd still start. Perhaps because that's the nature of all like him: a lot of words, even more bragging, show-off, and threats, but in essence, zero action. Just to show how cool he is and not to lose self-respect. And if possible, the respect in the eyes of others, too.

But he could save his nonsense for his buddies on the other side - I had neither the desire nor the ability to listen. I had to load everything into the car and leave before the police arrived. They were busy now, and we had finished the job quite quickly, but it didn't hurt to be cautious. And it would be foolish to give him time to rant without necessity - he might pull out a grenade from under his clothes.

So, approaching him, without a second's hesitation, I shot him straight in the face, not giving him a chance to utter a word. Arrow's head jerked back, and his body slumped sideways lifelessly.

To be honest, I felt relief at that moment, as if I was putting a full stop to this story. I might have to leave the city, maybe even the country, but now it wasn't a problem. I had money that could solve everything. No, I wasn't planning to take it all for myself, just a necessary small part. I planned to pay for my sister's treatment and then return the rest of the money anonymously, along with the flash drive, to the house. After that, I'd act depending on the circumstances.

Speaking of the ill-fated money, it was lying in the same room in the corner, in the same bags we'd brought it into that damned factory basement. Arrow hadn't even bothered to move them elsewhere.

Though looking at them, I didn't feel joy. So many deaths, so many problems and sorrow over some paper to which people attribute almost absolute value. And the sum was not even that large. Only twenty million - some spend that much without batting an eye. Yet they hesitate to give it to treat people who don't have a coin...

Although I'm certainly not the one to judge them. After everything I've done, everything I've caused, I should be the last one to complain about this.

"Syringa, how are you doing?" I asked, looking back.

"I'm okay..." She was standing, slightly bent over. "The bullet hit me right in the chest."

My gaze found Arrow's gun... Not even an automatic rifle, just a submachine gun, a mini-uzi, a small Israeli butcher. It fired regular pistol cartridges, so Syringa's bulletproof vest managed to handle its job. If it had been something more powerful, I would have been the only one left of our team.

"Then run for the car. I'll bring the bags up now."

She nodded and disappeared into the hallway without any further discussion. I, throwing one last glance at Arrow's corpse, approached the bags. With a grunt, I lifted two of them and dragged them upstairs. Barely made it, to be honest. And there were four more like that. Sixty kilograms is no joke. I hauled them to the front door, nearly pulling a muscle, then started loading them into the trunk of the car, which Syringa had brought up.

We finished loading in a few minutes and even managed to drive off before any police cars appeared on the horizon. Either everyone was used to gunfire here and didn't pay it any attention, or no one had really heard it. Or maybe everyone just didn't give a damn.

The car was silent. Even Syringa didn't rush to celebrate, completely worn out from these past few days. Or maybe she was just sinking into a peaceful state, understanding that she wouldn't have to do anything like this again, already replaying everything that had happened in her head as a terrible past that she would never return to, I don't know. In any case, none of us said a word until we reached the spare car where Syringa's sister was waiting.

Only after we pulled over near the getaway car did Syringa start talking again. Her voice was tired but warm, as if everything had been resolved and left behind.

"We're here. We need to unload, or else..." she faltered a bit, taking a good look at me. "Box, what's wrong with you? You seem... tense..."

Tense? Maybe. Maybe... To be honest, once I finally fully understood everything and confirmed my own suspicions, I thought about this moment so much and pictured it in my head. In my imagination, the scene looked beautiful and dramatic, but now, having come to it, I felt at a loss. It's like receiving a long-awaited gift but not knowing what to do with it. But I had to start somewhere.

Instead of hearing an answer, Syringa found herself staring down the barrel of a Glock.

Her face then was quite a spectacle. Surprised and scared, like a child stealing candy from a buffet, caught at the scene of the crime.

"B-Box?" she squeaked, backing away from me a little and raising her hands as if surrendering.

"Just twitch, and I'll blow your brains out onto the glass," I replied quietly.

"What the hell, Box?! What the hell are you doing?!" Her shrill voice was only irritating, practically begging me to pull the trigger.

"You still don't get it?!" I hissed, leaning towards her and pressing the gun barrel almost into her face. Syringa tried to turn away from it as if that could help but instead presented her temple, which didn't change the situation much.

"Box, w-wait, calm down, we can sort this out..."

"Peacefully?" I sneered back. Probably from me, someone who rarely shows emotion, this smirk looked three times scarier. Syringa was already suggesting we settle this peacefully, skipping the denial phase. Apparently, she understood that I figured everything out, and denying it was pointless and would only worsen her position. "You've been ratting on our crew this whole time."

"I don't understand..." she began, but I only pressed the gun harder into her temple. "Wait-wait-wait! Please, wait, I can explain everything!"

"No need."

"Wait, please, I beg you!" she chattered quickly, trying to outrun the time she was given. "Please, Box, just listen!"

"Another astonishing story about how you had to overcome yourself?" I scoffed.

"I had no choice! I only told what was already known!"

"Oh really?"

"Yes! Yes! Please listen! When Malu finally said how much and what we give to Arrow, only then did I tell him! I had no choice! He could send my girl to an orphanage, and with her condition, you understand what could have happened! He held me by her! I never gave up what would have been really important and played any role! Only what he would have known anyway! These were just trifles that would have become known anyway!"

Because Syringa was speaking so fast, almost like a tongue twister, it was a bit hard for me to understand what she was babbling about.

"And my sister?" I asked calmly, but my voice was filled with such hatred that it was impossible not to feel it. "Was she also a trifle?"

Syringa's eyes bulged in fear.

"Box..."

"What, Box!?" I shoved the gun into her temple so hard that she pressed her head against the glass. "Was my sister also a trifle that you executed?!"

"I had no choice! My Suzie! That's the only reason I agreed! Believe me!"

"Why should I?"

"Please, Box, calm down..."

"Calm down?!" It seemed that these words only added fuel to the fire. "You're telling me to calm down?! You stupid bitch!"

"Please..." Tears rolled down her eyes. "I had no choice. I just did what I was told. I had to knock down a girl, not hard, to push you to a job that Malu wouldn't take. Arrow insisted on it. I just couldn't do anything."

"You sent her to die, Syringa. When everything was already good, and we could get out of this hell with our family, you simply pushed us back. And now she is lying in a hospital bed, counting her last days."

"I didn't kill her..." Syringa whined pitifully. "I didn't kill her. Box, please..."

"It's too late to explain anything, you dumb bitch. Say hello to Arrow," I said vindictively and was about to pull the trigger when Syringa screamed.

"NO!" And she burst into tears. She broke so quickly that it was even surprising. She didn't even try to fight, like submissive cattle being led to slaughter. "NO! Don't - don't - don't, please-eee-eee!!! God... Box... Rud, please! Don't!!! Don't..."

Her body trembled slightly from the sobs, which unnerved me a bit. However, having long understood Syringa's character, I knew she wouldn't harm me. Now, her thoughts were filled with fear and the desire to survive.

"You hit my sister, Syringa," I said quietly. "You condemned her to death. Why shouldn't I kill you now?"

"Please…" she shuddered between sobs. "My girl, Rud, I beg you… My Suzie…"

"You're hiding behind the kid?" I sneered.

"I did it only for her... only for her. I had a choice - either my sister or yours. You would have done the same, given the choice! Please, just let me go. Take everything, just let us go... Rud, please, I don't want to lose her... she'll die without me in this world…"

"My sister doesn't want to die either."

"But she's alive, and I'm all she has… Suzie's a child, she's just a child, a naive little child that only I look after… I don't want to lose her… without me, she'll be left all alone in this world… She can't survive without me… God, she's still so young… I don't want her to go through what I did… Please… Where will she go…"

"Then she'll go to her mother!" I roared angrily.

"We don't have a mother!" she cried. "I am her mother…"

And then came a non-stop, literal wailing. Tears and snot were included - as proof that this wasn't an act. Or she was a very talented actress.

I kept pressing the gun to her temple, my lips pursed. Well, this was quite a situation. Syringa sobbing, a child in the next car, and my resentment. My desire for revenge.

I'd dreamed of doing it right in the car - blowing the brains out of the person who did this to my sister. The one who almost ruined her life again.

And now my dream had come true - I was holding a gun to the temple of the one responsible. I could pull the trigger and end this. Never return to the past, having dealt with everyone who had any hand in my family's misery. But the desire for revenge was long gone.

"Get out of the car," I gritted out. "One extra move and you'll feel my accuracy."

"Please-please-please…" she muttered it like a mantra, through tears, all curled up.

"Get out!" I barked, and Syringa, trembling all over, opened the door and simply fell out of the car.

I quickly got out, circled the car from the hood side, keeping her in my sights, then pulled her off the road to the side.

"No-no-no-no-no…" she repeated this on all fours, mumbling, turning into a submissive doll and showing only a little resistance. "Please-please, Rud, don't, I beg you…"

"Get up," I jerked her upright.

And she obediently stood. Even now, she didn't try to resist. A pitiful sight… Why don't they fight? Why doesn't anyone try to fight even in the face of death? She has a daughter but doesn't even try to run away.

"I beg you, Rud, please, my little wolf, my Suzy, don't leave her an orphan. I beg you, she's just a child... we've suffered enough, I beg you... Not for my sake, for hers. So she won't be alone... please, she won't survive without a guardian... she's still so naive and small..."

She burst into tears again, burying her face in her hands and shaking all over.

We just wanted to save our dear ones. So much so that we sacrificed the lives of others. And now, when it's all over, when we have everything to reach our purpose... I crave revenge that no one will give a damn about except me.

But I haven't changed as much as all my relatives say, to the extent of failing to distinguish between necessity and personal desire. No matter what I thought, no matter what I wanted, I knew the truth - she was doing it for her loved one, and I certainly had no right to judge her. There will simply be one more death and a false sense of justice being served.

Threats, curses, hatred - these are just words, empty sounds. The only thing that matters is material reality. And material reality will consist of the fact that another Syringa will appear in the world, just as embittered and lonely as the one in front of me.

Revenge will bring nothing but pain to the child Syringa loved and cared for.

In the end, I had my own opinion, and no matter what anyone said, I had no intention of lowering myself to the level of those who tried to rip me off for money. I live by my own principles and won't adjust myself to others like obedient cattle.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Move," I nudged her in the back with the barrel of my gun. "No funny business, Syringa."

I led her to the trunk, then, holding the gun ready with one hand, opened it with the other.

"Take it."

The reaction was... none. She just sobbed. How can you be... like this? I had to nudge her gently in the back with the barrel to get a slight reaction.

"Take it, Syringa," I raised my voice.

She lifted her head and turned around as if she didn't believe me.

"Huh?"

"Take the money and scram, Syringa."

"I... the money?" she was breathing heavily, her face was red, swollen, and wet. She was all hunched up as if she'd been beaten every day.

"The money. Take it and get lost, Syringa," I stepped back. "I'm going to count to ten. And if you're not out of here by then, I'll do what I originally planned."

"I... you..."

"One!"

At "two," Syringa seemed to be able to control her own body, and at "three," she pulled out two bags and, limping slightly, dragged them toward her car without looking back once. Either she was afraid of getting shot or just wanted to get as far away from me as possible... as well as from this city in general.

Less than a minute later, I was already watching her leave.

Did I do the right thing?

Yes, I believe I did. I've had enough of death and killing. I never intended to and never will become like those I've had to confront. After all, my sister was waiting for me and a new, albeit different, life. All that was left was to get to the hospital.

***

It was deep into the night when I pulled up to the hospital.

Naturally, I didn't park the car close by, nor did I drag the bags of money with me. First, I needed to discuss paying for the surgery in cash, after which I could bring the money bags. This was assuming they couldn't wait a few days until Natali and I could launder the money at a casino, safely transfer it to the account, and pay for everything.

But before settling these matters, I had first to talk to Nataliel's doctor, then check on my mother to confirm she was fine. I had to tell my family everything was okay, all was behind us, and now no one was in danger anymore. I had to make sure that they were doing fine.

There was practically no one in the hospital at this hour. Only a security guard lazily glanced at me before immersing himself back in his phone. Solitary people sat around, either waiting for a doctor, or their relatives, or news about them. The hospital was settling into a state of slumber, preparing to close its doors for the night.

But I made it before closing. Nicely done; I managed to do everything on time today. Unfortunately, the elevator was out of order, which was a bit depressing. I had to use the stairs. And even though I was exhausted after the last two days, I still stubbornly and steadily climbed to the right floor. You could say I ran on enthusiasm and worry for my loved ones.

The floor greeted me with almost absolute silence. There were always a few nurses and doctors around, but now there was no one. The floor housing the ICU was just as empty. It was never particularly bustling when I had to be there during my previous visits, but now it looked literally dead. The sight involuntarily gave me goosebumps.

The long white corridor ended with a door that was always locked and only opened if you were given permission to visit. On the sides were doors to various offices and even lecture halls and meeting rooms. Modest benches stood along the walls. On one of them sat the lone figure of my father.

Every time Nataliel ended up here, he would sit like this and wait for news about her. Or my mother would, depending on who had less work at the time. Obviously, it was his turn this time. He didn't turn his head towards me until I got closer. As if he didn't even hear my footsteps.

"I'm here," I quietly announced my presence.

My father looked at me with some vacant, indifferent gaze, as if he couldn't recognize me.

"I see," he rasped in response. "But why?"

"I have the money," I jumped straight to the point. "Now we can pay for Nataliel's treatment."

He was silent. For some reason, he was silent. His head hung even lower, as if he understood something.

"Dad?" I called out.

"You shouldn't have come here, Nurdauleth," he sighed, lifting his gaze to mine. "Do you really think you can just come in and use this money?"

"I don't see anything difficult or wrong about it," I frowned.

"But I do. I see the wrong in it. And the difficulty. A massive difficulty."

"As if anyone cares..." I muttered.

"I'm afraid there are those who do care. You're a smart boy but young; hence, you make mistakes."

"Are you talking about the house?"

"Exactly. Haven't you ever thought that you have to answer for everything?"

"And I will. Someday."

"Someday," he chuckled with a sad smirk. "Someday... Because of you, your mother is still in intensive care," he replied in a half-whisper. "And if you think that's not enough, your sister Natali is in the hospital too. And you're telling me that you'll answer for everything someday. How don't you realize what you've done..."

"I did everything I could," I replied gloomily. "Everything can still be fixed, and we can move on."

"Do you know that great goals require sacrifices?" he looked intently into my eyes. "Are you ready to take responsibility for what you've done, Nurdauleth?"

I didn't answer, only straightened myself, lifting my chin.

We stared at each other: I - with anger, he - with some kind of universal sadness, as if he had gone through everything I had to. His face could hardly be called masculine now. My father seemed to have aged many years. He turned away from me and looked at the door behind him - the one leading to the ICU - as if it was more interesting than his own son. We were silent for about a minute before he broke the silence.

"I know," he barely began. "What happened is my fault. Because I couldn't protect our family and allowed what happened to happen. But what you've done..."

"What I've done is already in the past," I interrupted him.

"In the past? I... doubt that," he replied.

My father stood up, slightly hunched as if under the whole world's weight, and turned his back to me. As if he turned away not to see my face. If I had been a little more perceptive or foresighted, I would have understood where everything was going. Maybe I could have changed everything at that moment, but...

But I couldn't. I lacked experience, and my intuition was in no hurry to suggest anything.

At that moment, the doors behind me swung open. They opened loudly, causing me to turn around sharply, and... It seemed as if the ground was slipping away from under my feet. As if I found myself in one of my dreams, where the world became surreal.

I couldn't believe that I... was betrayed in the end. And not by just anyone, but by my own family...

My body reacted to the danger faster than I could comprehend what was happening. Or perhaps it was my already mutilated consciousness, ready to respond to any unclear situation with aggression. Open and radical aggression. A person is shaped by their environment. It took me just three months to become like this - either I learn fast, or I have a natural inclination to become the same as those I killed today. Either way, I was holding a gun, aiming at the intruders, and realizing the futility of my actions.

They were men and women in formal black suits; only the women wore long-tailored office skirts, and the men wore trousers. One might think they had entered the wrong building and had come to a conference instead, but I could hardly count on that. They were all impulse bearers, and I would need at least a railgun to break through them.

My resistance and squirming were pointless and wouldn't even cause them the slightest inconvenience. But I didn't lower my hand, aiming at them - fight until the end, that's what I've learned. No matter who stood before me...

"And you were right: ideals, principles, and faith are just empty words," my father continued softly behind me as the procession approached. "Family is all that matters, and for them, if we have the chance, we must go all the way. You were right... to hell with principles and rules... We are simply obliged to go absolutely all the way for our family... Or at least for those we can still save..."

So that's it... I'm just a sacrificial lamb on the altar, huh? The one who can't be saved but can be sacrificed?

This thought that flashed through my mind was so simple that I even flinched a bit. I flinched because I finally realized what it meant to face death and sacrifice myself for others.

The procession came closer, and the people stepped aside, allowing a sturdy-looking old man in a dark blue expensive suit to come forward. He stared at me and my gun without any fear. He definitely had an impulse, too, and my gun was no scarier to him than a mosquito. And apparently, I was so important or offended him so much with my actions that the head of the house had come personally to ensure his belongings were returned. I wouldn't be surprised if an entire house's army was out there on the street.

We looked each other in the eye defiantly, but to my shame, I was the first to turn away, though I didn't lower the gun. Not because I was a coward, just... I knew I only had a few hours to live. The world would greet the dawn without me. I was a walking dead man. And like any person, I was scared. I was in pain. I was sad and a little hurt that, after going through everything, I... stumbled over my own family.

"So you're one of those who robbed me," the old man mused, looking at me. His voice wasn't filled with anger or contempt; it was even respectful - as if the head of the Kun-Suran House was acknowledging me. "So young... children grow up fast these days."

I wasn't sure what the old man wanted to hear. But I didn't care about him. I turned to my father, but he was still facing away from me.

Some say the end justifies the means. But it doesn't; the goal doesn't justify them - it demands them. And the more valuable it is, the more you'll have to pay. While I was ready to die for my own family, I wasn't prepared to become a pawn. There's a huge difference between being a victim and dying fighting for something.

"The flash drive, young man," the old man demanded, his tone respectful but not tolerating any objections.

Was there any point in resisting?

Of course not. I could start showing my character, I could show off and demonstrate how much I don't care about them, but that's just cheap bragging. A waste of time and a brief postponement of the inevitable end, as sad as that is. So I dropped the gun, completely losing any desire to fight further - what's the difference if the same end awaits me, but only with my resistance it is likely to be even more painful.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out the flash drive, and handed it to the old man. But it wasn't him who took it - a woman in a business suit immediately jumped up, took the flash drive, and held it out in both hands to the head of the clan. He just glanced at it and put it in his pocket, as if it meant nothing.

"You've stolen something else from us, young man."

This time, I found the strength to meet his gaze and not look away. The old man just gave a faint snort.

"I take it you're not planning on giving it back to us willingly."

"My sister is ill."

"And you decided to rob my house for her? That's quite noble, albeit foolish. It seems, you want to ask me something?"

"Does my sister, the ill one, come with the deal?"

Yes, it was a deal. Me, in exchange for my sister and the safety of my family. That is, the house won't touch them - that's what my father had arranged. I understood this as clearly as if someone had told me, just by listening carefully and analyzing his words. "For those we can still save..." Heh, I was already hopeless - the house won't forgive their robber.

But I wanted to make sure. To hear it with my own ears that my sister would be saved.

"Yes. Your sister is part of the deal, young man."

I nodded.

"There's a dark gray car in the parking lot. A Toyota with a small dent on the right front fender. There's money in it. But not everything we stole - we worked for Arrow, a man from the Hassa clan. He originally stole the money from us, but when we got it back, we were two bags short. I don't know how much was in there."

"Should I believe that you really lost two bags?"

"I have no way to prove it," I shook my head.

All this time, I was looking the old man in the face. Looking without flinching, with a perfectly calm expression - at least now, this ability of mine was useful. I was lying blatantly, calmly looking him in the eye. If there was a chance to squeeze another dollar for the others out of this jerk, I was ready to do it. After all... Let this bitch live happily. Not for herself but for her little wolf.

"I see..." With these words, he turned and walked towards the exit, accompanied by half of his men. I was sure the house would contact the clan to discuss what happened. And they, most likely, would be able to settle this issue between themselves.

The rest dealt with me. They roughly grabbed my arms, took away my gun, put a zip tie on them, and then practically dragged me down the corridor after the old man as if I were a prisoner.

When we reached the stairs, before they led me out onto the landing, I cast a farewell glance at my father. He didn't turn back to me. It seems I was officially crossed out from the family.

Malu was right. You can't trust anyone. Everyone can betray.

***

I said that I chose this path myself and, if necessary, would go to the end. But even knowing that I saved my sister this way didn't make it any easier for me. Because I was simply betrayed, sacrificed against my will, as if I was nothing more than a pawn. And it was done not by some stranger but by the people closest to me.

In this world, happiness is built on the bones of others. And it turned out that the happiness of my family I built on my own bones. In the end, it was my actions that led me to this outcome - when my father decided to sell me to the house to save his daughter. When he saved those he could still save... I understood that he did the right thing, I understood that they could ensure their safety this way and everything would be fine for them, but... all of this would be without me. I was left out of my own family, and my fate was to be buried deep in the woods, where nobody would have a chance to find me.

I was well aware that, in that situation, it was a pretty good way out. And yet, I felt a twinge in my heart from a sense of betrayal. From the realization that I got what I fought for, in the worst sense.

And now, sitting in the car speeding out of town on old unused roads to where I would find my final resting place, I was truly hurt...

I was sitting between two men in suits in the back seat of some expensive sedan that an average person couldn't afford. The tires were barely audible on the old asphalt, and small pebbles from under the wheels occasionally rattled against the car's body. We were swerving on the winding road, smoothly entering turns, climbing and descending slopes between the mountains.

Every so often, I'd glance out the window, watching the forest race by, the stunning mountains rise in the distance and the picturesque views that unfolded when we ascended some of them.

The forest appeared like a plush towel spread out over the ridges. A beautiful place untouched by man, it stretched out for miles. The serene landscape of virgin nature acted as a sedative, easing some of the pain in my soul and restoring some clarity of mind.

Indeed, everyone had betrayed me. It was as if everyone was eager to hammer a nail into my coffin. Everyone had turned their backs on me, leaving me to die. I was completely alone. And now these... masters of life were carting me off to God knows where, thinking they had the right to control my life just because they were stronger. And some old geezer from the noble house, just because he was born into the right family, acted as if he was better than me and had the right to nonchalantly control my life, like some god.

But I am not an object. I belong to no one and will not allow anyone to twirl my life as they please. And if my death is inevitable, I alone have the right to decide how I die, not someone who thinks they are superior to the rest. I am not some submissive livestock that can be led to slaughter. Even if it brings me no benefit, I will fight to the end.

Because now, after all that I've lost, all I have left is my freedom. I was free to choose my own path, not caring about the opinions of others. I stood up for my beliefs when necessary and fought for what was rightfully mine. And in the end, I will do the same.

We had indeed left the city for the Sikhote-Alin mountains, which rose nearby. Here, on forgotten roads where the asphalt had long since cracked and hardly anyone drove, the path sometimes ran dangerously close to a cliff. And down there, the primeval forest continued to sprawl, where getting lost was child's play. If someone were to disappear here, the search would last an eternity...

So...

I started to cough. I was literally wringing coughs out of myself, tearing my throat, and bending in agony as if I was about to die without any outside help. I coughed loudly, at the same time straining my stomach with all my might, as if after a week of constipation. I was staging my last public show, similar to the one I had performed in the drug den.

And I managed to draw attention to myself.

"He's not going to die there, is he?" the woman driving the car asked, casting anxious glances in the rearview mirror.

"What's the difference? He will, either way. Are we there yet?"

"No, we'll be there soon."

They tried to sit me up straight, but I continued to cough, practically drenching everything with spit. They even moved away from me a bit, which was exactly what I needed.

"No, he's really going to die before we get there," noted the man sitting to my right.

"Whatever," replied the one on my left. "We won't have to bear the sin."

A believer? I was always amazed at how people manage to reconcile faith with what completely contradicts it. But that's not essential right now. What is more important is that my efforts were not in vain. Although I hadn't eaten for a long time, by straining so hard that the veins in my face bulged, I managed to let out a very long and loud fart. Loud and clear, against the backdrop of complete silence, which I garnished with my own commentary.

"I think... I've shit myself..." I muttered weakly.

Indeed, there was a smell that couldn't go unnoticed by those sitting nearby or anyone in the car, for that matter. Naturally, nobody bothered to check whether I had actually shit or not. All as one rushed to open the windows, moving away from me and turning their backs. They cursed, calling me a fat pig and someone who should just hurry up and die, ridding the world of my existence.

Well, so be it.

At that moment, when they all turned away, trying to get some fresh air, we were driving along the edge of yet another slope that descended sharply into the sprawling forest below. This was my chance, and I seized it.

Sitting in the middle, I pushed away with all my might and lunged forward between the front seats. Nobody had time to react and pull me back. I simply stretched out my tied hands, clung to the steering wheel with a death grip, and pulled it with all my strength. At such a speed, a light jerk was enough, but I pulled with everything I had, wrenching the steering wheel from the hands of the terrified girl who hadn't expected this and sending the car off the cliff.

Screams, a light sensation of flight, when you feel your organs seemingly levitating inside you. The changing landscape - first the horizon, then the hood pointing downwards towards the forest, and finally, the steeply descending slope, followed by the approaching tree trunks...

And darkness.

Amateurs... hands should be tied behind the back, not in front...