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Here memories awaited him.
Terrible memories of what happened to him, what was done to him.
Slavik felt weak, almost impotent, as if all of his blood had been released.

And yet – a shame.
Incredible, all-consuming.
Now he knew what it means to be “omitted.”
They made it that way.
THIS IS SCALE and his henchmen.
Slavik tried to rise in his arms and could not.
Pain in the lower abdomen.
He bit his lip and groaned dully.
No, better not move yet.
Then the pain will go away.
This pain.
But what to do with the other pain? How to make her go? He did not know.
He continued to lie in the same absurd pose.
The floor was cold and dirty, like himself.
Yes.
COLD and DIRTY.
Wild despair tumbled over Slavik and crushed him under him.
Tears flowed from their own eyes.
He was bitter.
And lonely.

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Despair was replaced by detachment, complete indifference.
And why THEY didn’t kill him? Why should he live now SUCH? COLD and DIRTY.
Like the floor of the hangar.
It was so quiet around that it was ringing in the ears.
What is day or night now? Unknown.
Most likely still night.
The eternal night that never ends, which reigns now once and for all.
The curse of evil, the gift of cruel hatred.
The verses of Marina Tsvetaeva and Slavik whispered them with their lips alone came to mind: Download me, star prow! Head tired of the waves! Too long to approach the ship, – The head is tired of feelings: Hymns – laurels – heroes – hydras, – The head is tired of games! Put between the grass and the needles, – The head is tired of wars.
He again tried to stand on his hands.

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This time he succeeded.
And the pain in the stomach was not so acute.
I wonder where the power comes from in a man.
Slavik spent a long time with his pants, trying to pull and fasten them.
Finally, he succeeded.
Now what ? Unknown.
What now ?.
There was no one to tell.
He rose to his feet.
He was loose.
There was a taste of iron in his mouth.
He spat on the floor.
Slavik clasped his head with his hands – she was buzzing like a bell.
Hair over forehead stuck together and stuck together.
What is it ? Blood ? Did they smash his head? NOT.
This answer gave his inflamed memory.
This is not blood, this is sperm.
He recalled that while Romanov “worked” on him, his assistants, taking their members out of his pants, ended up right on his face.
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