КНИГИ КИРИЛЛА ПОТЁМКИНА

15. THE MOUSETRAP

— «Too quiet,» — I said thoughtfully, abruptly stopping my movement.

Since crossing the Gravity Pit, we had covered another ten kilometers. And, frankly speaking, these ten kilometers turned out to be the easiest in this damned fog wormhole, forgotten by all gods and devils.

No windfall. No sudden sinkholes in the soil. The path, barely visible an hour ago, had now turned into something akin to the grand Nevsky Prospect. Branches no longer tried to whip my eyes out, and the greasy forest mud seemed to intentionally dry up right under the soles of my already heavily worn boots. Nature seemed to hold its breath, obligingly clearing the way for us.

— «Gena, don’t you think they’re rolling out the red carpet for us?» — I asked the void, feeling an invisible string tighten inside me.

«Analysis: Observing a statistical anomaly,» — the dry voice of my partner echoed in my cranium. «The density of aggressive life forms in this sector, according to all forecasts, should be eight to nine units per square kilometer. Current indicator: absolute zero. The probability of such luck: zero point three thousandths of a percent.»

— «My thoughts exactly. Free cheese is only found in a mousetrap. And, judging by the growing ringing in my ears, this mousetrap is going to snap shut… right about now.»

And it snapped shut. The metallic spring of fate triggered almost instantly.

We stepped out onto a wide, unnaturally even clearing — a perfect staging ground for an ambush.

Then it began.

First, the world lost its sounds.

Completely.

Even the barely audible rustle of pine needles and the crunch of dry branches under my feet disappeared. A vacuum set in. A vacuum of silence.

Then the light refracted. The usual gray fog swelled with a thick, heavy purple color, resembling a hematoma on the body of the sky.

«Attention! Registering spatial distortion! Perimeter lockdown!» — Gena wailed in my head, breaking into a mechanical screech.

[digital noise]

I spun around abruptly. The way back was cut off. The path we had just been walking on dissolved in a haze. Instead, a cyclopean wall of intertwined roots shot up from the ground. They pulsated, writhing like exposed veins under the scalpel of a mad surgeon. The red-blue-brown mass blocked the horizon.

Ahead, an identical living barrier rose up. We were locked in a box. We had fallen into a trap from which there was no scratching our way out.

And then they crawled out.

They didn’t look like the usual «Runners» or the ever-hungry «Gorgers».

From the damp earth, from the purple jelly of the fog, shadows began to rise. Taking shape, they gained flesh and began to resemble animated mannequins. It was as if someone had sewn them from dirty scraps of skin, sliced from the backs of numerous corpses. Instead of faces, these creatures had ugly growths bulging out — faceless masks, striated with the blueness of old scars. But the arms… They had long, multi-jointed limbs, ending in elongated bone blades instead of fingers.

They emerged from the fog in multitudes. Dozens. A silent, terrifying army that knew no fatigue.

«Class: Unknown. Threat Level: Off the charts,» — Gena was now clipping his words with difficulty. — «These are not random mutations. Before me are engineered, high-tech combat units.»

The creatures didn’t rush us en masse. There was no blind fury in their movements. Slowly, following some diabolical algorithm, they tightened the ring, which now resembled a hangman’s noose tightening around a throat. The creatures moved unhurriedly, as if savoring the triumph of the final moment. In this siege, not even a mouse could have found a loophole.

— «Gena, options?» — I wheezed, squeezing the weapon’s grip until my knuckles turned white.

«Options do not exist, Carrier…» — in Gena’s impartial computer timbre, I distinctly caught panicked, almost human notes. — «Ammunition: twelve rounds. Number of hostiles: forty plus. Escape routes: completely blocked. Estimated time of your survival: fourteen seconds.»

— «End of the line,» — I spat bitter saliva angrily at my feet and let loose a long, multi-story profanity construct. — «Well,» — I summed up, trying to calm the trembling in my knees, — «my luck has run out. The furry northern beast has finally dropped by for a visit.»

I threw up the shotgun, pressing the stock into my shoulder. There was no way out — my boiling brain produced only one, last and most important thought: «Our guys don’t surrender — you’re lying, you won’t take me!»

— «Come here, freak!» — I yelled into the face of the first mannequin that stepped out of the general formation.

The biological machine, having closed the distance to five meters, jerked… and froze, as if hitting an invisible wall. The entire crowd of uninvited guests turned into statues on command.

The air hummed. Not a sound wave emerged, but a deep vibration that made my teeth ache. From above, right out of the purple haze, a blinding beam struck down. Not crimson, like Fractal’s, not inky, like the Fog’s. It shone with the snow-white, theatrical light of a powerful spotlight.

This light carved out a narrow passage among the monsters. The mannequins obediently parted, bowing their heads in fake reverence, like lackeys throwing open a door for an important gentleman.

«Analysis: I see external control. Signature… painfully familiar. Registering an energy signature identical to the one recorded on the virtual ISS during the Invasion emulation. Access code: ‘Lust for Power’.»

— «Is this?..» — I exhaled, not lowering the barrel. — «Is this… That very ‘rogue’ +Ang?»

«Hypothesis: Maximum probability. He has started a game where we are the mice, and he is the cat. He completely controls this sector. And this is not a virtual amusement of the +Angi.»

In the pillar of light, right above the trampled grass, an object materialized. Not a box of ammo and not medical supplies. It… It turned out to be a ticket. A huge, billboard-sized, golden theatrical ticket hovering in the air. Letters flared and lit up on its surface:

«INVITATION TO THE PREMIERE. VIP BOX. IMATRA»

The passage remained clear. The monsters stood frozen, forming a living corridor smelling of death.

— «He wants me to come,» — I guessed. — «The death of the Executioner, that is, me, is not part of his plans. He intends… to put on a grand show.»

«It’s a trap, Carrier. A global, calculated trap.»

— «Well, I already got that, Gena. But do we have a choice left?»

«Calculating options.

[digital noise]

There is no choice. We go to the box. We follow the invitation.»

I took a step into this terrifying, monstrous corridor. From all sides, the stench of these horrific bodies and waves of suppressed bloodlust rolled over me. The creatures dared not move without the invisible Puppeteer’s order, but their fury literally burned my skin.

I blinked, as if my eyes were watering.

Slowly, I walked through the «ticket», and the golden glow crumbled into sparkling dust.

The mousetrap finally snapped shut behind my back. But now I realized: I wasn’t just moving toward my daughter. I was going to a personal meeting, a rendezvous, an audience with the Master of this bloody circus.

And he is waiting.

Judging by the gazes of the monsters accompanying me — aimed and burning, like invisible laser beams crossed on the back of my head — he is awaiting my appearance with immense impatience.