CHAPTER 2. DESMOND. DO YOU WANT TO FEEL ALIVE...?

"You want to feel alive? Take up Thai boxing!" - that was the slogan Desmond came up with to promote the sport among schoolchildren. But it wasn't understood. They considered it irrelevant, because Esperanto's students are already the most alive.

Apparently, even those who are interested do not know the intoxicating feeling of being announced in the ring and standing like this, squinting against the blinding spotlights, the eyes of the audience reading adoration or hatred, the liquid fire running through your veins. The cheerleaders, friends and admirers, roar and applaud. The heart races like a machine gun. Breath is knocked out.

And then the rival comes out, looks you in the eye, and you read there the determination. You look, smiling a little, waiting for him to get nervous.

Harry's dark-skinned classmate cheers himself up with swear words, begins to dance. Gloved hands touch.

The air sparks with tension. It smells of sweat and... money.

The ring announcer is Nick in the eleventh grade, a hundred times better at talking than boxing. And the referee is the trainer, an old Latino Enrique Rios, who used to fight at middleweight in early nineties and stopped his career because of a heavy knockout, now half of his face is paralyzed.

- Desmond (Python) McGowan vs. Harold (Hoppy) Sapalo! Fire and Ice! The right to go to the Inter-School Championships in New York City is up for grabs! A round of applause for the contestants! Heavyweight! Python! - The boys are screaming, the girls are squealing, both classmates and the younger ones. - And Hoppy! - The applause is drowned in disgruntled cries of "yuck!" and whistles. Harry squints into the stands, and Desmond realizes that his opponent is demoralized, which means he's already half-lost.

If Desmond had wanted, he'd have been beaten and threatened the day before, but he wants a fair fight.

The gong sounds. Harry, the more powerful and stunted one, tries to break the distance. Desmond knew this would happen (he had sparred with Harry more than once), and he also knew that his opponent was exhausted at the end of the second round, so he had to move constantly to wear him down.

Desmond feels no pain during sparring. So far, he has been able to repel all his attacks, and a couple of times, he even managed to land a low-kick to his opponent's right thigh. But no luck with the quadriceps sucker punch. Harry didn't even go limp. But after the second low blow, he got angry, went in a tank, missed a hook to the jaw and "floated". Desmond didn't have time to finish him off - the gong sounded.

While he was drinking water, Rios muttered something to Harry, who nodded, and Desmond begged the universe to let him finish his opponent and end the fight effectively. But the trainer had his own view of the situation, and he announced a technical knockout. Desmond didn't even break a sweat! Didn't have time to feel the excitement of the fight!

Gritting his teeth, he pretended to be happy, under the squeal and applause came to the center of the ring and raised his hands. The cheering of the fans briefly quenched his emotional hunger, and then the flame faded and as if the colors faded, the girls lost their attractiveness.

As he changed clothes, Desmond thought, Esperanto High has one advantage: the Thai boxing section. Desmond could also guess the reason for his parents' choice: they sent their only son to a school as far away from home as possible, on the other side of D.C., so that Desmond would not have time to go back and forth to Glover Park, would have to live in a dormitory and not get in the way.

True, he was given a separate room in the dormitory for his academic success, when the others lived in twos. He wouldn't stand for that.

Dan was waiting in the hallway, dancing, his eyes sparkling. The girls had probably split up already, and it was for the best.

- We won five hundred bucks, Des, guess what!

There were no beggars at Esperanto, where the course cost from $80,000 a year. Even if you got a stipend for excellent grades, it was at least $40,000, which not everyone could afford.

Guys bet out of boredom. They formed a secret club where only a select few guys from 10th to 12th grade were admitted. One had to have fun somehow, a dormitory away from civilization, only villas around, ponds with ducks and turtles.

- Don't deny yourself anything," Desmond grinned wryly, patting his buddy on the back and squeezing his hand. - Yeah, listen, you hobbit. You call me Des again...

Dan threw up his hands, went pale:

- Oh, sorry, bro! I won't.

Desmond staggered on. He felt a pang of dissatisfaction, a sucking emptiness that needed to be filled with emotion. So he stopped and turned around:

- What about Pupus? All in force?

Dan exhaled, glad to be forgiven, and smiled from ear to ear.

- Sure! Six o'clock, as agreed! That'll be hilarious. That's a cool idea of yours.

- Let him know his place, greenie.

Desmond smiled, too, anticipating the fun. All the way out of the gymnasium he thought about how inopportune it was that fat, narrow-eyed, poor guy Poups showed up in class and ironically chose the same classes! Not only that, he had a great sense of why his classmates might have questioned Desmond's superiority.
It was easy to get kicked out of school with a bad reputation for open bullying, which was unacceptable, but it was worth showing the upstart his place. They wouldn't kick half the class out, would they?

On the bench, with her leg over her head, Martha was waiting for him, along with two of her friends who were also all right. But compared to her, any girl would be that ugly fat girl. His gaze dipped to her cleavage. The girl smiled languidly and, swaying her hips, moved toward him, wrapped her neck and whispered, tickling his ear with her lips:

- I was rooting for you. We all were. You were great.

There's a popular myth among women that men are divided into lovers of legs and lovers of breasts. Desmond didn't have to choose which was preferable: Martha was tall, long-legged, but she had a full "T," which was now resting on his chest, which made him think of something rediculous.

- Thanks, I appreciate it," he said, waiting for her to snap out of it.

I guess I should have been a little happier. But how can you rejoice in ordinariness when you're clearly number one in school, and at eighteen, life is already a success? As for Martha... He glanced at the personal code tattooed on her wrist: a standard set of symbols and two blue stripes above and below. So-so status, father a manager, mother a surgeon. Desmond's stripes were purple: he was a socially significant individual with a good income, confirming his status by entering an elite school and excelling in his studies. The next confirmation was university; he was going to international relations. Higher in status are only those whose code stripes are snow white: corporate owners, billionaires; scientists, prominent artists, famous politicians - light purple.

- Are you going home now? Can you give me a ride?

- To the cafeteria, then to the library, then me and the guys are going out afterwards. - He didn't mention that Linda and maybe Vicki would be among the boys.

Martha's lips curled in displeasure.

- So, Saturday night at the club?

Desmond hated clubs, had gone with her a couple of times and almost died of boredom.

- Alas. I'm busy. It's a difficult subject in Portuguese. And Russian is very difficult, I'm sorry I chose it.

- Let's do homework together," she suggested, although the only discipline they had in common was English.

- I'm afraid I won't have time for that," he smiled, and kissed Martha on the cheek. - I'm sure you'll find a way to have fun without me.

Martha is the perfect status girl. They're not for business, they're for beauty. But in the long run, Linda is preferable; her mother is a banker, and her father holds a position in the White House. As her father was fond of saying, "A gas station chain marries a supermarket chain." "Whites" could afford to marry someone of any status. Desmond is "purple," he only aspires to be "white," so he certainly doesn't need Martha to raise his status.

In general, the personal codes are a great idea, you can immediately see who is a decent member of society and who is a marginalized person. But there are still nutcases who refuse to give up their codes, they gradually get screwed, they are not served in some banks, not allowed into entertainment centers, not allowed into prestigious jobs, sooner or later stubborn people will be sold.

In the U.S., this MANGA metacorporation system has been successful, while most of the world is still floundering, especially the outsider countries.

The mockery of Poops was planned for Friday after class, so that the fat kid wouldn't run to complain. And on Monday he would make the right conclusions and, God willing, get out of school, save Mommy the trouble. Even though he's smart and, like Desmond, only pays half of his tuition, it's still an impossible sum for her. All her life she must have been saving up to pay for her son's high school. What is the status of an ordinary nurse? Probably a green card, too.

***

The rendezvous was at a park about a half a mile from the Galactica Recreation Center, where the homeless, drug addicts, the homeless and other marginal people liked to congregate. The week before, Desmond had accepted Pupus into his secret order, so that he would relax and not expect a catch, the main condition for membership being no lenses or other "crutches," the motto being "Mind, Will, Sport!"

The initiation was solemn. Max wrapped himself in a sheet and put on a hat like a priest. The other eight members of the order stood around and, unable to contain their laughter, surreptitiously filmed the kneeling fat man kissing the shiny plastic sword.

Oh, how glad the little piglet was that he had been allowed to touch the sacrament! He was willing to spread himself as a rug under his new friends' feet for their favor-no self-respect. Well, there was a price to be paid for stupidity.
Linda arrived early and waited behind the bushes, waving to Desmond, her chocolate girlfriend Alice sending an air kiss. He nodded. Approaching on a half-crouch so Poups wouldn't notice his head above the bushes, he kissed Linda on the cheek amicably and pretended not to notice her fluttering. But the girl found the strength to pull away. She nodded at the bag on the bench, pointed to the side where Poups was waiting, saying, "It's time. Desmond pulled the branches apart and remarked that the fat man stomping around looked a lot like a diplodocus.

The girls began to change their clothes. Alice put on a gray quilted jacket with the side split open, turned up the collar, and mussed her hair. Linda put on a green drapey coat, faded and stained with tar, tied a shaggy scarf on her head, and wore glasses. No two hobos, to be sure!

- Waiting for the others," said Desmond, glancing at his watch: the boys had four minutes left.

He was never late, and he didn't tolerate being late when others were. The tingling feeling that was slowly filling the emptiness in his soul was replaced by irritation, but the mood didn't have time to deteriorate: his best friend Max, as well as shorty Dan, John Smith, an eleventh-grader, and Harry, who had lost a duel, were hurrying down the alley he'd just come from.

The girls greeted them and dashed into the thicket to get around Puppet and attack from behind. Harry's cheekbone was swollen and his eye was swollen, but there was no visible bruise on his dark skin.

- Let's go," Desmond said as he saw the girls crawling out of the bushes in the distance. The boys took out their phones to film the hilarity.

A predatory smile froze on his lips, and Desmond came out of hiding, headed for Poops. The others followed him. The fat man didn't have his glasses on, so he didn't notice the "bums" right away. He flinched when a ragamuffin in a green coat embraced him from behind, put out her hand and wheezed:

- "Chubby, got anything to drink? The pipes are on fire!

Puffy jumped away, waving his hands in front of him:

- Ew, get away from me! Leave me alone!

From the other side, Alice swooped in. Clean shoes and jeans did not arouse the fat man's suspicion, he shrieked, pushing away the second allegedly homeless woman.

- Give me something to eat, I see you have! - She cried out in an old woman's voice, also holding out her hand. - One can't help but have one.

Frightened by the attack of the bums, Poops didn't immediately notice the boys approaching.

Desmond could barely keep from laughing. Max couldn't help but fall into the grass a few yards away from the fat man and twitch with laughter. Nearby, John Smith fell. Harry laughed the next, and a wave went off! Alice folded in half, stomped her feet. Only Desmond and Dan, the cameraman, held on.

The fat man came up to Desmond, clapping his eyes confusedly and not understanding what was going on.

- What are you laughing at? She tried to grab my hand. What if she's contagious?

Linda threw off her coat and unwrapped her handkerchief, and Poups opened his mouth and wiggled his fat cheeks. Max patted him on the back and said encouragingly:

- A friendly prank.

- Why are you so jumpy? - Linda smiled as she watched Alice undress.

- I thought they... you were contagious. Leprosy, or... Why else would you hide your faces?

Max, who had laughed out loud, collapsed again. Dan held on, filming what was going on. Pointed his phone at the fat man.

- I thought if he touched me, it would make him sick," he explained his reaction.

- You're an idiot! - Harry concluded.

He had no idea what they wanted from him, or how to behave. Tears glistened in his eyes and he breathed heavily. What an idiot! Desmond would have torn anyone for that kind of mockery. Max slapped Pupus on the back again.

- Relax, it's a joke, we're friends! Let's go to the pub!

Everyone calmed down in an instant. The fat fool seemed to have calmed down, too. He didn't freak out, he didn't run away, he just followed his "friends. Five minutes later Poups relaxed, smiled, squared his shoulders, feeling himself the center of attention.

When we reached the five-story building "Galaxy", shining with chrome and glass, he seemed to forget about the humiliation. Or maybe he didn't realize that this was a mockery, not a friendly prank. Alice was flirting around him, flattering him, touching his chubby hand, and he was blushing. Whispering to Smith, Dan giggled, but made a devoutly serious face when the fat man looked back at him.

They took the elevator up to the fifth floor and, in a homogeneous crowd, proceeded to the pub, where two muzzles stood at the entrance, checking personal codes. Everyone rolled up their sleeves, exposing their wrists. Desmond stood behind Poops - didn't want everyone to miss the spectacle. Now the wretch must surely go.

When he saw Poups' code, the big guy on the right put out his arm like a barrier and said solemnly:

- I'm sorry, but we're not allowed to let citizens below the blue level in.

The fat man gaped again - Desmond, though he was behind him, could see his reflection in the mirrored glass of the front door. He shrugged his shoulders, showing his wrist to the muzzled men.

- Sorry, but that's life.

Now tears came to his eyes.

- But you invited me! - He exclaimed indignantly. - And now ...
- I'm sorry, we didn't take into account that you're "green"... That in our class someone "green" is possible in principle. Bye. - Desmond patted him on the cheek.

He patted him on the cheek. Does he realize now that he's not just an outsider in normal company, but in class as well? That he spoiled the picture with his mere appearance?

The classmates watched the frozen Poups from behind the glass. The fat man hunched over as if he had deflated and staggered away, dragging his legs like an old man.

- Boom! Boom! Boom! - Max commented on his every move, Alice, who liked him, laughed, and Desmond wanted more than anything to know what was going on in the fat man's head, had he learned his lesson, or would he have to do it again? Would he be hanging his ears again tomorrow if he spoke to him in a friendly way?

Max had transferred fifteen rubles each to the Mordovorts the day before, promising that the executors would have no problems. In case Poups complained and there was an intra-school investigation, it wouldn't lead back to Desmond, who had an anonymous, untraceable wallet. The boys worked it out clearly.

Alcohol was forbidden in Desmond's "order," as were augmented reality lenses. Everyone, including the girls, was passionate about sports and high achievers, as well as academics. They were the elite, as they should be. No beggars, no wretches, no bad heredity.

So they didn't order wine or whiskey, but a smoothie, salad, and turkey. At first they discussed Poops and made bets on whether he would leave the class. Only Max bet that he would. Desmond promised to make the fat man's life unbearable, and he would disappear within a month. Then bets began to be taken as to whether Poups would forgive his abusers, but even in this argument there were those who were sure he would.

Desmond couldn't understand how he could be such a wimp. Such a wretch?

Then the talk turned to crypto and exchanges, followed by a discussion of complete de-anonymization in the Dream Universe, TOR browser vulnerabilities, and VPN failures. Max, who knew better than anyone about programming, listened and listened, and said:

- The whole issue is the price of a savvy mixer, then it's impossible to analyze a transactional network. Again, we are talking about true bitcoins and altcoins, which are not protected in any way. Information about more or less stable crypto has long been in the hands of metacorporations and our government.

- That's why it's stable. As secure as possible. No matter how the Chinese and Russians tried to hack into any of our exchanges, nothing worked," Desmond elaborated. - But we manage to inflict painful blows on their systems. We squeeze them and unwilling to keep up with the progress, the so-called retrogrades, as the Cro-Magnons once squeezed the Neanderthals.

Harry sighed:

- I do wish, though, that soon there would be no freedom at all.

Max remembered a joke:

- "I'm the smartest, I have information about everything in me," said the Internet. "I'm everywhere, everything can be bought with me," said the crypto. "Well, well," grinned electricity.

Linda squinted:

- So you're seriously convinced that a super-mega-attack capable of bringing down the entire system is possible?

Max twitched his shoulders and smiled:

- Nuclear war is a more realistic threat. A cornered rat has nothing to lose, and it gets pretty damn dangerous. Warheads are the only thing that allows some powers to exist.

Alice raised her eyebrows and muttered:

- Holy shit, we're eighteen years old, and we're discussing economics, politics, elite conspiracies... Let's talk about who's got sore knees and who's got sore backs. I'm fine with it, I don't want to know who's watching who! If total control gives us stability, I'm for it. And let's go to the club and shake our bodies while we're young, shall we?

Desmond rolled his eyes. He'd assumed that would be the end of it. Linda glanced at him, then suddenly supported her friend:

- Here we go. Boys?

- I'm all for it! - Harry exclaimed cheerfully, his right eye, lined with Desmond's, swollen and closed.

Dan, Max, and Smith volunteered, too, but Desmond preferred to go back to his parents, sit a little longer, and leave the place. On the way back to the car, he wondered if they were home. His mother worked at the White House as an economic development consultant, first to the CAR government, then to Macedonia, she might be suddenly sent away, and she never reported to her son when, where, or why she went. The FBI father was also a mobile man: a week at home, two weeks somewhere. That's probably why his parents assigned him to Esperanto for full boarding.

Perhaps their activities were different - Desmond didn't try to figure it out. As an honors student, his tuition was cut in half, and the forty thousand dollars his parents saved were left for his out-of-pocket expenses. He didn't care if they drank baby blood.
At the same time, Desmond thought about what Alice had said about how their company was acting like a gathering in a nursing home. He really is an old man: he doesn't know how to enjoy small things, or even small things. He is indifferent to other people's opinions and doesn't care about other people's feelings. If it were not punishable by law, he could probably kill without hesitation, protecting not only his own life but also the interests of the minor. He'd only finish off Pupus so that his pink-furred face would disappear forever and not induce a gag reflex.

He headed for the elevator doors, turned into billboards, where slogans and symbols of different brands alternated with each other, passed through a hologram of a long-legged blonde advertising lipstick. I pushed the button on the elevator, and then the screen on the right door malfunctioned, and the symbols began flashing, one after another: Versace lion's face, Dodge lamb's head, McDonald's logo, ouroboros, golden Chinese dragon, crossed skull with a rose in its teeth, toothpaste...

A swarm of gnats swirled in front of his eyes, making him dizzy. Desmond shook his head, trying to shake off the dizziness. He couldn't. He wanted to inhale, but couldn't. He moved to a bench and sat down, pulling back the collar of his shirt, though it wasn't tight.

A gnat-like nuisance obscured his view, began to darken in front of his eyes. "Just don't faint! I can't let my classmates see my weakness," thought Desmond, and tried to loll around.

But soon he was relieved, his vision returned, his breathing became easier, and first the outlines of objects came through, then the details. After staring at the door to the cafe, where the classmates had never left, Desmond stood up, looked at the elevator doors, which swung open, releasing an unkempt lady in augmented reality glasses, who was dancing. She was holding something in her hand, smiling at the virtual object like a beloved child. If Desmond had been wearing lenses, he would have seen the reason for her adoration.

- ...Almost lifelike," they said in his ear, and Desmond jumped in surprise, glancing around, but there was no one nearby! Worse, the voice was in his head: "I wish there really were. I'd have had a gochik.

My mouth went dry. Was he reading a woman's mind? She was thinking of some kind of creature from the Dream Reality. Nonsense. He thinks he's reading minds. It is from the oxygen deprivation of the brain after that strange attack! Desmond squeezed his temples. A thousand muttering voices made his head ache. There seemed to be no room left for his thoughts. He had to get out of here before his classmates noticed his condition.

Desmond called for the elevator again. He guessed he was affected by some image on the door, so he didn't look at it.

The voices fell silent in the elevator, and just as Desmond was about to exhale, a disheveled middle-aged man entered on the third floor. He reeked of anxiety and despair.

- ...And what if Julie was already home? The devil! And the smartphone was on the crumpled bed, and there... Or wouldn't she notice anything, wouldn't she go read it? And why not come to the Dream Room...

- Julie? - Desmond asked, just to see if he thought it was him or not.

The man looked up, his mouth hanging open.

- Did you say something? - He grunted.

The doors parted, and Desmond jerked away. No, he didn't. But why? Oxygen deprivation of the brain? Would it go away? What if it didn't?

Desmond, pacing hurriedly toward the parking lot where his BMW was parked, slowed his pace and looked at the problem from a different angle. If his mind-reading ability persisted, he would have unbelievable powers! No one would be able to fool him, and that could be used. For example, in interrogations. During negotiations. During a card game. You could make a career in a couple of years, make a fortune, and get a white code!

There was no trace of the scare. Desmond sat behind the wheel, completely calm. His head worked cool and clear. He wanted to try his new abilities on someone. Someone he knew, like his mother. If I was lucky, my father would be home, too.

The prospect made his head spin, and Desmond felt truly alive, more alive than he'd been in boxing.

He reached home at nine o'clock in the evening. There was a light on on the second floor of the villa, which meant his mother was still there. Good. On her he would test his new abilities, and at the same time find out exactly what her duties were, which she did not disclose. Of course, he'd better ask his father to take the job, and help him with the criminals at the interrogation.

He parked the car, walked into the living room, slammed the door loud enough for his mother to hear - she was old, after all, and might not have noticed his son's return. But no sooner had he turned around than she was coming down the stairs, all gray, her hair wavy. In spite of her sixty-five, she had the posture of a ballerina, and her demeanor, her slightly curved lips, told him that this lady was not to be trifled with.

- He seemed to be no fool. He was a bastard, but he wasn't a fool. Why would he do such a thing? He'd be kicked out of the last grade! - Her voice rang in Desmond's head.
He wanted to ask what had happened, but he bit his tongue. He noticed that his mother's back was a little straighter than usual, her mouth a little more crooked. Could it be that Poups had complained to the teachers, and they had called her? There was no one to complain, the teachers had gone home, and if he did, it wouldn't be until Monday at the earliest. Or did he call one of them?

Also really didn't like the fact that his own mother thought he was a bastard. He hadn't done anything to ruin the family's reputation.

- He should have had a girl. They were more manageable, less of a problem.

- Hello, Mother," Desmond threw in as casually as possible. - What's the matter?

- If he was nervous, he must suspect something, and the teachers were right. We should keep an eye on him. Maybe get a wiretap, too.

I don't think it's because of Poops. But then what is it? The mother held herself perfectly, if it weren't for her thoughts, he would hardly have recognized the lie.

- It's all right, son," she smiled warmly.

I wanted to expose her, to shake out the truth, what the teachers had said about him. That a sadist and sociopath, didn't want to finish the fight in the ring? He did nothing to show it. He didn't confront his students, he wasn't rude to anyone, he didn't use illegal substances.

- Have you had dinner yet?

- Yes, a long time ago. It's late. - She stared at Desmond, her eyes scanning him like an X-ray, a voice inside her head murmuring:

- Really strange, clearly lost in time. He's growing, though, so he's got an appetite like a worm.

Desmond involuntarily hummed. He never would have thought his own mother would associate him with a worm. He'd always thought his parents, if not loving him, were proud of him, but here... On the one hand, he needed to know what they'd said to her, and on the other, he was angry that he didn't want to see her again.

- Let's have tea and talk," he forced himself. - I haven't seen him in two weeks.

- I wondered what he wanted from me. He shouldn't have to ask for money, he was self-supporting. Something to do with his studies, maybe?

That last thought she voiced, and Desmond lied:

- I promised Max I'd help with the project, because my mom's an economic consultant.

Her mother nodded to the kitchen and headed there and began mentally going through what subjects her son was studying and... she couldn't remember! Her mind was scattered with thoughts of Cocker and Sunday's event, of the damned retrogrades, and of a handsome bonus and rejuvenation on some island. And all these thoughts were tinged with irritation, anxiety, and smelled ... of blood, or something.

Desmond tried to abstract himself from her as he followed her, because her aspirations and emotions were so disgusting. He could disconnect from his mother's thoughts, but not from her feelings. He felt the same as his mother. And if before he had felt underfilled and sometimes empty and dead, now it was as if pus was splashing inside, where maggots swarmed.

Mother was crazy about tea; she had a collection of all sorts of lunjin and Sagan Dail, not to mention herbal ones from all over the world, so she readily set out to make tea. Desmond sat down at the huge wooden table in the living room, which would have fit fifteen people, but the whole family had gathered here as recently as last Christmas.

It got easier, but as the mother approached, bringing teapots and bowls on a tray, the feeling returned, as did the urge to leave, because she thought of her son: that he was a brute and would never appreciate this great tea, fragrant with white flowers, particularly jasmine and lime, and with light woody notes.

He could hardly contain a wicked smile, so Desmond held the bowl up to his nose and repeated what he had read about the tea in his mother's mind.

He was overcome with smugness. And the mother was not pleased that her son had finally come of age to appreciate tea. Her ego was amused that she had chosen such tea, and even her son...

Hell, she never once thought of him in a positive way! Not even a neutral thought slipped through her mind! She felt a tingle in her chest. That was the most hurtful thing he'd ever felt to Desmond. He was sure his parents admired him, because he was the best at sports and studying.

His unshakable peace, based on the certainty that, at eighteen, life was good, was shaken. The hunch turned out to be right: his parents are interested in seeing less of him, and they can't wait for him to leave home altogether. His mother, it turned out, wanted a girl, easy-going and unproblematic. And is he, Desmond, troubled? He ain't even had a single fight on the street, even though he could've punched anybody in the face!

- Mama, do you love me? - he asked calmly, trying not to let his voice tremble, because it was stupid to ask that at eighteen. But he had to be sure!

His mother made a surprised, exasperated face, rounded her eyes:

- Of course, how could it be otherwise?

The first slipped her thought that she had always been cold and not able to show her feelings as others, so he should not suspect anything. Fragmented further: ...never able to accept the alien...sociopath. Clever and cold... A great future... incomprehensible.
The resentment stung again. What shouldn't he suspect? That his mother tolerated all his life, but did not love him? But it was true: neither hugs, nor strokes on the head, nor praises sincerely, with warmth! He did not really need it all ... or maybe he did, he just did not know that there is not emaciated atmosphere of the barracks, and the warmth of a home?

- Indeed," he grinned wryly, and turned on the recorder on his phone. - Tell me about your work.

My mother looked at the smartphone and began to speak as written: first about the problems of a country torn by internecine strife, then a little about democratic values, then about the advice to the locals. She spoke beautifully, but her thoughts about what a load of nonsense it was for naive idiots prevented her from believing the beautiful words. In the background were thoughts of disgusting personalities with suspicious nicknames, with whom she had to deal to keep this very democracy with its values alive.

Blood, death. Liquidation. Illegal mining farms. Promotion to parliament... Sybilla is running her own game and overplaying her hand, she has a more savvy underling.

As he thought, his mother was not at all concerned with economics, and there was no desire to pick at the pus. Desmond thanked her for the tea and got up to go to his room, after telling her about his academic progress, and then his mother couldn't stand it:

- I won't tell you which teacher (Desmond read in her mind that the English teacher) told me that you were into gambling, illegal substances, and trying to involve your classmates in your games, even created a private club for gamblers...

Desmond's eyes widened.

- What?! I must be a very lucky gambler, otherwise where did I get my money, right? Don't be absurd. - He threw up his hands. - Me and my friends were just betting on... On who would get the highest score, me, Max, or Pookie. Or whether it would rain before Saturday. Full board, you know, it's depressing. Toads and turtles in the pond. You know what I mean? As for substances, you can check that now, just by taking a blood test!

Her mother raised an eyebrow, thinking that the teacher was very concerned, that someone had misinformed him. Thoughts of Cocker and Sunday's event swirled in her head again. She was seriously worried about Cocker being interrupted by some faceless person who was watching everybody and prying everywhere.

A furious Desmond forgot about his mother's dislike; he was more interested in who was playing against him. Was that fucking Poups scheming to get revenge? Nothing has been proven yet, Desmond's reputation is impeccable, but you could fabricate evidence of his guilt if you wanted to.

- Thank you for your confidence," he said to his mother, and went to his room and sat down in his favorite smart chair, which immediately took the shape of his body and began to massage his back, where there was noted muscle tension.

What a day! First the duel, then the telepathy, though he had not been hit in the head, then the news that his mother did not love him, and now, here, the intrigue behind his back.

The phone beeped, Desmond swiped the screen, and a hologram of Dan's head hovered above him, moving his lips, completely imitating his real voice:

- Here you go, sending out a puppet joke. Enjoy.

Desmond said: "Accept," put on his augmented reality glasses, and the room turned into part of the park. Poops was bouncing off Linda, shaking his body, farting and waving away. Desmond, watching everyone's amusement and his smug face, was somehow not amused, but sickened.

Probably because if Poups complained, the whole company would be reprimanded on Monday. He was unlikely to be expelled, but it would put a dark spot on his reputation.

He grimaced, took off his glasses before watching the reel, put them back on, twisted in his chair, and told the helper skynet:

- Ree, who are the faceless ones?

He'd heard they were some mythical hacker-anonyms before, but he didn't go into details; he didn't care for folklore.

He meticulously created a hologram of Ree, a dark-haired, long-legged girl with a braid. He spent half a day creating her, working out every facial feature, he spent on the eyes alone - the iris was dark green, with orange rays forming around the pupil, like a dark golden sun. He wanted to create a real girl, not a doll, and the helper came out quite alive: with freckles appearing in spring, with a large birthmark on her collarbone, and a birthmark on her forearm, shaped like a triceratops head turned sideways.

- Faceless - a community of anonymous hackers who attack government servers and cause serious material and informational damage. Symbol: a joker in orange.

- Who's behind them? - Desmond continued, glad that the seeker had no thoughts and no rot in his soul.

- No data. Only speculation," Ree shrugged.

- "Just speculation," Rie shrugged. "Go with speculation.
- Version one, the most popular," Ree animated, "groups of talented programmers, not connected to each other, sponsored by Russia, China, criminal elements. Version two: unrelated groups of crypto-anarchists, hiding behind a pretty name. Version three: a well-organized network controlled by an unknown force. A fourth, conspiracy theory: aliens, visitors from the future, Satoshi Nakamoto...

- He's dead," Desmond grinned.

- Apparently, the proponents of the version are the ones who refuse to accept this fact...

Desmond didn't understand what had happened. A piercing spike pierced his temple, the hologram exploded into pixels and darkness, and a mechanical voice rumbled through his head, so loud it sounded like an elephant stomping on it:

- SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY. CHECK... CHECK... SOURCE...

With a hiss, Desmond dropped his glasses, and the pain ceased. The strange voice still echoed. What was it? Someone's thoughts or a strange glitch? He didn't want to check. It sounded like thoughts. But whose thoughts? They could only be read if the person was nearby, and since Desmond was alone in the room, it was more likely a glitch.

He rubbed his temple, closed his eyes, and the birthmark on Rhee's shoulder appeared on the other side of his closed eyelids. And with it, the certainty that he'd seen it somewhere before. A long, long time ago. Back when everything was different. And the birthmark, and the sunny eyes, and something else very important.

How interesting it all adds up! On the one hand, Desmond felt that he had touched a mystery, and curiosity pushed him to exploits-the same primal feeling that drove the ancient pioneers out of their places. But on the other hand, he knew very well what it was fraught with, and categorically did not want to destroy the familiar reality.

So he wondered who was scheming against him in class. Definitely Poups or someone from the opushchennye, because his friends love and respect him. I wanted to get out of my seat right now, rush to Poups and shake the truth out of him, and then shamefully expel him from the school for slander.

Desmond didn't dare go into the Dream anymore, even though he wanted to hear Ree. He'd programmed her to be bashful but sharp-tongued, and made it so that she would refuse him, no matter how he sought intimacy-it tickled the nerves. And the sensations in Dream were real, even the sex, which is why so many inferiorities have gone there with their heads: two hippos mating, and themselves seeing not a real carcass, but a beautiful clear-eyed elf. They live in a dump, but they see mansions around them, not puddled streets, but exotic lawns. That's what they see.

Desmond had no desire to embellish his reality. And lest it cloud his reality, he finally rejected curiosity and plunged himself into his studies, unable to wait until Monday, because with his abilities it would not be difficult to figure out the rat.

One thing he was afraid of: that he would wake up in the morning and find that he was no longer a telepath.

But on Saturday the powers were still there, but by Saturday evening his mother was gone - she said she was leaving for work, and Desmond spent the weekend in blissful loneliness.

And on Monday morning, as usual, at six o'clock, he got behind the wheel of the car and, jaw twisting, drove to school, expecting to arrive half an hour early, catch Poups, who lived there all the time, and have a heart-to-heart talk.

Desmond was not mistaken in ambushing the fat man near the cafeteria. Poupsy came out wearing augmented reality lenses, smiling blissfully. A couple of months ago, Desmond had purposely put on his glasses to see the image this behemoth had chosen. He thought it would be an elf or some sort of bodybuilder, but no: the fat man remained himself, only made his avatar slim.

He was still himself, only he'd made his avatar slimmer.

- Hey, stop right there!

A screech brought him to a halt, and Desmond came toward him at a brisk, determined pace. He was not frightened, but his belly flared and his nostrils flared as he spoke:

- "I will not be humiliated again!

Desmond was taken aback; he had expected a different reaction. Strangely, the fat man didn't hate him. He was afraid, but he was ready to fight. And he also didn't understand why he was being treated this way, his resentment and anger seething inside him as if it were his own. He didn't eat much at all; it was the head injury, when his father had hit him on the head, and the hypothalamus had been damaged...

- Did you tell Mark about me? - Desmond came straight to the point, stopping two steps away from him.

The fat man calmed down, stammering, wondering which Mark he meant.

- Not you," Desmond waved a hand and finished, "I'm sorry.

- Which Mark? - I heard a noise in the back.

- The English teacher," said Desmond, stopping and asking for some reason: - Why don't you go home for the weekend?

- I don't want to," muttered Poups.

Actually, it was because they lived in a trailer, and there was nothing to eat. His mother's whole salary went to that school, and that was why Poups, that was Nick, was jumping out of his pants. This, of course, the boy did not say, believing that the information would go further, and his classmates would despise him even more.
Desmond walked away, and the borrowed emotion faded, as did the shame of bullying a boy who had been beaten by his father and who knew firsthand what hunger was.

Near the mirrored door stood Martha, overshadowing her two gray-haired friends. She saw Desmond and smiled, stepping toward him. She reeked of warmth, sincerity... Until the distance between them shrank to twenty meters.

- ...that nerdy bastard would do better with puffy, pimply cheeks. This way, it's nice to touch. I wonder what he'll get me. If nothing, I'll have to find someone more useful.

It's her birthday. Desmond completely forgot and didn't even buy any flowers. What an embarrassment. What can I think of to get out of it?

He smiled back, put his arms around her and kissed her:

- Hi, honey! Happy birthday!

- И? Where are the flowers, motherfucker? The girls are watching, waiting. What a shame!

- I'm inviting you to Galactica after school, where there's a surprise for you.

- No way! What about now? What kept you from pleasing me? You didn't even bring a flower, asshole! I guess he forgot. Or didn't think it was necessary. What an asshole.

Desmond wasn't offended by the goat and the bastard. He deserved it. He was disgusted by the other thing: Martha, smiling, hung around his neck and whispered fervently:

- I thought you'd forgotten... Darling, I'm going to die from waiting! I'm sure the surprise will be unforgettable!

- Huh, now the cheapskate will surely splurge on something big. I should demand at least emeralds, and I shouldn't have turned Hoffman down for nothing, should I? He would have been generous. But that's all right, he's not going anywhere.

Her game was flawless, she lied without blushing, she played along with love and care, and even the most advanced connoisseur of human souls couldn't have caught her in a lie. Pulling away a little, Desmond whispered warmly:

- Martha, sweetheart, answer me honestly, will you? Promise?

She gave a concerned look, clapped her bottomless eyes.

- You're scaring me. What's the matter?

- Promise me.

- Of course I promise.

- Why would you want me?

The girl was taken aback, opened her mouth, but quickly pulled herself together.

- What do you mean, why? Because you're the best, and I love you! - Out of her mouth was oozing piss, while in her soul there was blackness and the thought that Desmond was a status guy with a great future, who would provide and little time at home, which would allow to have someone more human for the soul.

He laughed. A status girl and a status guy. The gas station marries the supermarket. What was he counting on? The love of a sell-out doll who invests everything in the boobs and ass that will feed her?

- How could I doubt that," he said, mimicking her intonation. - You're a sweetheart. The sincerity and warmth.

He wanted so badly to pull away, to cut off her worm-infested mind, but it would have looked strange, so he hugged her, listened to her about what a beautiful necklace she'd seen.

The battleship of his reality turned out to be a pleasure boat, bumping into a reef and letting it lurch.

Finally the bell sounded for class, and with great relief Desmond staggered into the classroom, to the one safe place with friends who wouldn't betray. That women are corrupt is normal.

First up was Japanese. Desmond sat down at his desk, shook hands with Max, Dan, and nodded to the others. With a tremendous effort of will, he forced himself not to read their minds, but other people's voices rang through his head - something to be longed for, something to be feared, someone to complain about. At last old Naoki appeared; he was stern and austere, and did not behave in an official manner like the others, but knew his business. Strangely enough, he thought well of every pupil, even if in Japanese.

But the economist turned out to be more of a hypocrite than Marta.

English was the third lesson. The teacher, a lanky redheaded American, whose ancestors, he said, had come two hundred years ago, was already in the study, and Desmond went up to him and spoke:

- Hello, Mark. I want to ask you a not very pleasant question.

The teacher guessed that it would be about drugs and gambling, and he was pretty sure that Desmond was a gambler, but he doubted that he was a drug addict. He didn't like Desmond very much, because he was arrogant and cocky.

- Let's go out into the hallway," he nodded, glancing around at the students, "and we'll talk there, without any extra ears.

Desmond could hardly wait. He asked when the door closed:

- Who slandered me?

- I don't understand..." muttered the teacher.

- What makes you think I use drugs and lose money in the casino?

- Was he lying? He was so sincere in his concern about his friend... He asked his mother not to say anything, but to keep an eye on his son. I don't trust anyone.

- One of my friends? - Desmond wheezed, his heart pounding and hot.

The faces of his friends flashed before his eyes: Linda, Alice, Martha, Max, Dan, Willie, Harry... Of course, the nigger had not forgiven his defeat and decided to take out his rival...

- Oh, boy, if that's slanderous, you're going to be very upset. No wonder your best friend's as good as a bastard like you, though.

Desmond's face twisted. The world shattered and the ground fell from under his feet.

- Max? Is that him?
Desmond must have looked so murdered that the teacher genuinely felt sorry for him.

- I'm sorry. But I'm glad you're not in trouble... well, that depends on how you look at it. Hey, kid? - The teacher shook him. - Don't be silly, okay? You hear me?

Gritting his teeth, Desmond nodded. Mark continued, genuinely sympathizing with him:

- No shithead is worth getting kicked out of the best school in the state, so no fights...

- No fighting," Desmond repeated, and the signal for the start of class came through, ending their conversation.

Back at his desk, he glanced at Max, chewing on his pen. He was thinking about Vicki, Linda's friend - how he was inviting her to the pool, hoping to get her to have sex with him. Then his thoughts drifted to the retrograde terrorist attack that denied augmented reality lenses, or rather, the terrorist attack that shook the bars of several major cities where the Dreamers had developed. Not a thought of betrayal or devious plans for his best friend.

What a scoundrel! Sensing Desmond's gaze, he turned his head, smiled, waved at him. He had to smile back. Max didn't think of betrayal: whether he'd told Desmond off a long time ago and had already forgotten, or whether it was all untrue, someone had misunderstood something.

Barely able to make it to the break, Desmond walked up to Max and read his thoughts:

- He's acting kind of weird.

- What's the matter, don't you have a face on you?

- Let's go outside and talk.

Desmond was struck by the fear of his former friend. Thoughts swirled, and again none of them about betrayal, but a glimpse of how the day before yesterday Max had wanted to ask Vicky out, but Martha had come and drunk, and he'd almost had her. And if it hadn't been for that club, he would have gone to the Dreamers and might have gotten hurt. Dan stopped and put his ear to the ground.

- Whoa! They're having a fight! It's got to be about Martha the whore. It's gonna be a show. It's a battle of the titans. How am I supposed to watch this so I don't get in trouble?

- She was all over me! She wouldn't give me a pass," Max began to justify himself, and Desmond, listening to his thoughts, wouldn't shut him up. Oh, how much he had learned about himself! That he takes not by talent but by impudence. Teachers are afraid of him and inflate his grades. Everyone hates him, but for some reason they fear him, and unfairly, he gets the best of everything, including women. Wow, how much envy and crap in one man!

I felt like settling the matter quietly and peacefully. Let my classmates listen. Now everything was clear, and the mistake was ruled out. Desmond grabbed Max by the chest and hissed:

- Now tell me, why the fuck did you slander me in front of Mark? That I'm a gambler and a junkie?

My mind whirled:

- Deny I didn't tell you? That's how Mark will confirm it. I'll get kicked out of school for slander. So I'd have to play dumb, then no one would prove anything. And he'll be afraid to hit me.

- I was worried about you," he said. - You've got so much riding on the odds...

Desmond shook him by the shirt - the torn buttons popped.

- What fucking bets? You know that's a lie!

- You weren't yourself, and how could I help you? - Max blurted out, getting bolder. - To the mothers to tell - so you do not forgive ...

After all, Max was right to choose his future profession! He would become a devil's advocate, any murderer or maniac would be exonerated. Madly wanted to bring his fist down on his face, to hear the crunch of bones, to feel the hot blood. And beat, beat, beat, beat, crush the bones into his skull until he shut up...

You can't. Later. Revenge is a dish that is served cold. So Desmond unclenched his fists, and Max slumped in his chair to the silence of the class.

- Is there anyone else who thinks I'm a junkie? Someone who's so sure of it that he snitches on teachers like that rat? Someone who's jealous that I get the best women, and it's not fair? Take them all. It's all rotten.

Thoughts echoed in my head in different voices-most of them condemning Max, who'd thought about writing a letter saying he was being threatened just in case, but Desmond had ruined his plans with his own weapon.

- There's cameras everywhere; they've got it all on tape. My mother almost had a heart attack when she found out I was an alleged gambler! And Mark will confirm that you lied to me, and it almost had unfortunate consequences, and you know what that's like.

Desmond caught the look in Poups', or Nick's, eye, and read the sympathy in it. He cursed in anger and headed for the exit, Dan following him, Harry running too, but Desmond shrugged them off so he wouldn't be disappointed in them, too.

All through the next class he pondered the fact that telepathy was actually a curse. Thought life was a success - ha ha! He thought he was happy and successful, thought he was valued and respected in the team, but there it was! How rotten people are after all. Or maybe not everyone was like that, but he, by making status a selection criterion, surrounded himself with moral freaks?

For the first time in his life, he was afraid to sit at the dining room table with the boys, lest he overhear them envying him, so he went to his room and locked himself in. He flinched when there was a knock on the door. There were no security cameras, so I had to ask:

- Who?

- Linda. Brought you lunch. Open up and I'll leave it and go.
Not Dan, not Harry - Linda. Desmond took out his key card, and the door unlocked. The girl stepped over the threshold, slid a glance across her face, stepped to the table and placed a sealed plastic bag on the table, put a spoon down.

- I need to leave quickly, or else he'll think I'm imposing. He's in pain right now, and definitely not interested in me.

- French fries and pork chops. Bon appétit.

- Linda! - he called out, and Linda stopped in the doorway, giving me a sympathetic look. - She paused in the doorway, glanced at him sympathetically.

She hated it, but slammed the door shut with a smile:

- I have to run.

Linda is definitely sincere. With her status, there's no reason to lie for profit.

He finished his lunch without appetite and was about to distract himself, but the phone rang, and Martha's pretty face appeared over the screen. Desmond cursed, but answered.

- Darling, where are we meeting tonight?

- I was thinking... Martha, why don't you go to... Max's. Don't call me again.

Just as he cut the line, a second call came through, from the school administration. A mechanical voice advised him to see a psychologist, otherwise "action will be taken". Holy shit! The administration was interested in his and Max's quarrel! Fucking cameras. They must be in his room, too. You raise your voice and it gets recorded, you have to be extra careful, or they'll give him a psychiatric record.

Desmond stared at the screen, where an advertisement for a card game had begun, and cards were jumping out of the darkness: the ace of spades, the nine of spades, the joker in an orange cap, with orange lips... what nonsense!

And then came the news: smoke, smoke, smoke, smoke, bodies on stretchers, medics, and a close-up of a hanged man with his blue tongue hanging out. The reporter's voice announced cheerfully:

- A stateless man nicknamed Cocker, mastermind of a terrorist attack and leader of a cell of so-called faceless people, was found dead today in his own trailer...

Desmond cursed again - where was it coming from? Desmond cursed again, cursing again. "Where is it coming from? That would be later, but now he had to see a psychologist. Repent for my outburst, apologize to Max, if he was...

Desmond was already in the corridor and was struck by a lightning bolt: Cocker! Could it be the same one...