The Children Of The Empire. free porn video

The Children of the Empire. Edited by commentator Author's notes. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are products of imagination. However, the story is based on some real-life facts I was researching for a few years. "Through the weakening of the causes of bondage, and by learning the method of sassing, the consciousness is transferred to the other body." The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. "There are many other examples of past meditators who could transfer their consciousness into other bodies. It is said that Marpa himself practiced transference of consciousness into another body four times during his life." Keisang Gyatso Introduction to Buddhism. "PARIS, June 18--An ?migr? Soviet physicist says that the Soviet Union has been doing secret work in parapsychology, for what appear to be military and police purposes... In Washington, officials said they were aware of Soviet research, adding that some of the work appeared aimed at developing psychological warfare methods." The New York Times. June 19, 1977. Main characters list: Svetlana Promov, Dmitry Choi (nickname Korean) - swapper. Igor Promov - surrogate father of Svetlana, friend of Choi. Sergey Vorlamov - popular video blogger. Vasyli Ryabkov - security head of the organization. Dmitry Dovzhov - chairman of the organization, son of Georgy Dovzhov. Georgy Dovzhov - Colonel, head of psy-research program. Andrey Sergeev - scientific head of the program. Elena Albac - deputy scientific head of the program. Anna Ivanova (nickname Phoenix) - second swapper. Moscow, Kutuzovsky Avenue. July the 20th 2018. Svetlana Promov entered her tiny studio flat on Kutuzovsky Avenue. With a sigh she dropped her purse on the floor and kicked her high heels off the second her door was closed. She liked her flat, as small as it is, it was her personal space; the place where she can relax and feel safe. Outside downtown it was possible to get a three-room apartment for the same amount of money but that would mean hours of driving in traffic or riding the overcrowded underground train. Here on Kutuzovsky avenue she needed only fifteen minutes to walk from the Moscow International Business Center to her flat building. Another couple of minutes to take it upstairs to her floor. One minute to kick off her heels and remove her business outfit. Seven minutes to take shower, sometimes it took ten minutes or even fifteen if the day was particularly stressful. A couple of minutes to dry and put on her favorite pink robe. And it took less than a minute to pour a little bit of red Martini in a glass - the final step of the daily ritual designed to remove the stress of the working day. But this particular day nothing worked. As usual, Svetlana tried to calm down and switch her mind off work during her walk. She took a small detour, taking an additional ten minutes making it a twenty-five minute walk. She took anextra long shower and consumed a double portion of her favored Red Martini, but nothing worked this time. She still felt stressed and humiliated. The pain in her throat wasn't allowing her to switch off her mind. She put the glass on the small table before pushing both hands to her face, and starting to sob, tears running from her eyes. Her phone started to ring, the screen showing the name "Papa". "Not now!" screamed Svetlana and pushed the phone away. But the telephone continued to ring again and again. Svetlana blamed her father for her psychological problems. The fact that she was working the way she did; the fact that she wasn't able to start any stable relationship - everything was her father's fault. He never showed any love to her. Yet, for some reason, she knew she must answer when he calls. She picked up the phone. "Hello?" she answered in a weak voice. "Hello princess on a purple cloud." A minute later the conversation was finished and Svetlana was starring blankly at the phone's screen, feeling strangely calm all of a sudden. Surprised by the change of her mood, she was trying to remember what her father was talking about this time, only to realize that in fact she coludn't remember a thing. Svetlana tried to comprehend the strange feeling of calm. Just an hour ago her boss abused and tormented her, forcing her to deep throat him; but now she felt calm and relaxed in spite of the pain in her throat. She remembered that she purchased and downloaded a voice recording application for her smartphone. She thought it is a good idea in case her boss calls and asks her to do a number of things for him. The application recorded all conversations automatically. She opened it and pressed the button to listen to the last conversation. "Hello?" she heard her own voice. "Hello princess on a purple cloud," her father answered. She blinked hard. The application showed the end of the recording. What is going on? she thought. She decided to skip the beginning and start playing the recording from the middle. "Leningrad 1967 I was working as a sailor," a cold voice was saying. A voice you would expect to hear from a Soviet era radio announcer reporting official state information. "Kiev 1968, Odessa 1969 I was serving my country," the cold voice continued. Svetlana's hands start to tremble, it wasn't her father's voice. "Novosibirsk 1971 ..." Svetlana couldn't take it anymore, she dropped the phone, pressed her hands to her ears and screamed "NO!" **** Serpukhov July the 20th 2018. Popular video blogger Sergey Vorlamov was looking at his friend and travel companion Michael. His friend nodded letting Sergey know that he started to record him. "Hello friends, today we are visiting Serpukhov," said Sergey smiling at the camera. "An ancient city established in year 1339. But we are not here to see historical sites, we are here to visit an abandoned military bunker. Since the collapse of USSR there are many abandoned military objects around Moscow, but this particular bunker is special, it is really huge and its underground part is enormous. Some even say there is an underground railway that connects it to Moscow. The main entrance is not available, but a friend of mine suggested another entrance to get in. Sorry, but we are not going to record where it is," Sergey nodded to Michael to stop recording. "I hope the entrance's location is real and we didn't waste two hours of our time driving from Moscow." The pair picked up backpacks from the ground and walked toward the Oka riverbank. Sergey's famous feature - unusual for a Russian -- thick curly dark hair waving in the breeze. In the middle ages the river served as a border between the Moscow princedom and the Tatars. When the Empire was built Oka become a transport route connecting the provincial cities in central Russia. But nowadays the bank of the river showed decay and neglect. Shattered berths, rusty remains of barges and vessels - everything showed decades of neglect of the once great river. "Careful, watch your step," Sergey warned his blond-haired companion as they were walking around a stone column of an old out of use bridge. They walked around the column, where the river's water had washed away a part of the ancient column and stopped. Sergey checked a map on his smartphone. "This is the place. Can you see this bush?" He showed a picture of a bush on his smartphone. The information he got contained GPS coordinates and a picture of the place. "I think it is here," said Michael pointing behind one of the bushes. Some garbage and a few boards were thrown over what looked like a crack in the river's bank. Apparently last spring the river flooded the place and washed away part of the ground and exposed an underground structure. "I can't say I'm impressed," said Sergey to the camera once they were inside a narrow passage. "If this is the famous bunker, then I'm afraid rumors exaggerated its size." They walked the narrow dusty passage, stopping from time to time to video rusty hatches and the remains of unknown equipment. A few hundred steps ahead the passage came to an abrupt end. "Not much," said Sergey flashing his light on a steel covered wall. "I don't think we are going to publish it." "Wait, there is something," said Michael pointing his light to a particularly big hatch. This one was big enough for a man to get through, and it was ajar. The rusty hatch opened onto another passage. This time there was no abrupt end of the passage but rather a door leading to a big chamber with a few similar doors. Sergey whistled. "You know what I think? I think all these passages are a part of ventilation system. Can you imagine a ventilation system that big? I wonder how big the bunker is if it requires such a ventilation system? Let's go Michael, there is a stairway." Sergey and Michael started to go downstairs not noticing a small modern device mounted over the door. The device come to life as the pair passed it, a very small light-emitting diode started to flash a red light. **** Moscow, 84th floor of International Business Center. July the 20th 2018. A man in his late 30's, wearing an expensive Italian suit, his legs on a table, a whisky glass in his hand, was looking out ia window of his expensive office. "Vasyli, do you know that in Moscow there is not a single window on a high-rise building with direct view to the Kremlin?" said the man and took a drink from his glass. "Really?" said another man siting in a chair across the table. This man looked older but dressed in a similar expensive manner. "Yes, the bloody paranoiacs never allowed it. Not in 70's, not in 80's, not in 90's and not now. You see? Nothing really changes." "You know Dmitry, sometimes I wonder if we should try to influence the situation..." "No Vasyli! No way we are going to touch politics. Let it go its course. Our job is to save the technology they neglected and, of course, benefit from it." "We certainly are not going to benefit if the country collapses." "You never know what is good in the long run. Economic decay led to factories being closed, and large depopulations is happening in some big areas. And you know what? Nature is getting stronger in these areas. Clean rivers, healthy forests, animals. Future generations may be very happy about it." Dmitry took another gulp from his glass. "Anyway, we should concentrate on our goals. If we will achieve what was planned, we may even start thinking about the Kremlin. What is our progress with American Oil?" "American Oil is out of reach to us for political reasons. You know, nobody in the big business wants to touch Russian money now. And we don't have enough untraceable resources abroad to approach it from another country. It would require a miracle for us to get a hold on this company." "You know we can do miracles if we really want." "Are you talking about a swapper?" "Yes, Vasyli, a swapper. We urgently need one and you were careless enough to lose our last just recently!" "The swappers are very difficult to control!" said Vasyli looking at his glass. "I envy sometimes their freedom; to be whomever they like, to be able to choose the life they like." "There always a way to control a man. His relatives, people he loves, his fears. You are a KGB officer, you supposed to be a pro in this business." Dmitry made another gulp from his glass. "You did a poor job with Phenix. You have to find us a swapper and you have to find a way to control him this time." "I'm not sure how to do it. At the moment we don't have any trace of any swapper known to us. We are trying to trace Phenix, but it may require a lot of time." "A lot of time is the luxury we can't afford. There's another way." Dmitry took a list of paper in his hand. "There a list of people who were selected for the last stage of the swappers program, but something didn't work and they all been put in a sleeping mode. But so many years passed, who knows, we may find one or two who is ready now." Dmitry moved his legs from the table and sat straight facing the older man and banged the oak table with his empty glass. "And don't let us down this time!" Moscow, Kutuzovsky avenue. July the 20th 2018 It was Friday and the weather was good outside, but Svetlana was sitting in her tiny flat with no intention of going outside. Curled on her sofa, she stared at the phone. She knew her father was calling her every day but wasn't able to remember much about their conversation. She remembered telling him about the last guy she started to date, and she remember her father had ordered her to ditch the guy. Or when she started to go yoga classes and he forbade her to do it. Ordered? Forbid? Why on earth was she even talking to him? And what is behind the cold voice repeating numbers and cities? Her childhood was not easy. Her father didn't abuse her, but he also never showed any affection or love. Her mother was ill most of the time fighting cancer and she passed away when Svetlana was 15. Svetlana was growing up an extremely shy and lonely child. She remembers feeling being very awkward and not able to make friends at school or outside. In the beginning of 90's a Tae Kwon Do club has opened in the city and she joined. Quickly she become very good at it. She become a champion among girls in the city and in the whole federal district. And it was the only time her father was pleased with her. In fact, he was extremely pleased. "So, you are good at fighting," said her father with a smile. "Good! Very good, I knew you are going to crack it sooner or later!" Later Svetlana was about to join the national Tae Kwon Do team, but her father had other plans. He mades her to leave the Tae Kwon Do club and signed her up to another club. "This is one is much better. It will help to wake up real you," said her father, and he sound very excited for some reason. Svetlana didn't like the new club. It was about military style hand-to- hand combat, knife fighting, shooting and surviving. She was the only girl in the club, but she was doing remarkably well, in fact she was much better that many boys, and boys don't like to be humiliated by a girl. When she sparred with the boys, Svetlana was able to keep her distance and destroy her opponents with her long-range Tae Kwon Do kicks, humiliating many boys by doing so. But one day one of the boys managed to take her down and applied an arm bar on her and did it so forcefully her hand was broken. She was taken to a hospital in tears. She didn't get any sympathy from her father. in fact, he was insisting she will go back to the club as soon as her hand was healed. It was the last time her mother, very ill by this time, managed to interfere, saying "enough is enough" and "let the girl be," Mother died soon after, but her father stopped his attempts to make a soldier out of Svetlana. Is it was always so sad? Perhaps it was better when her mother was well? But strangely Svetlana wasn't able to remember anything about that. The earliest time she remembered was when she was 8 years old. She concentrated hard but wasn't able to remember anything beyond that. It was like part of her life was missing. Svetlana picked up her phone, she didn't know what was going on, but she knew where to get the answers - she is going to Serpukhov to face her father. Friday afternoon wasn't a good time to drive, traffic may be very bad, but she felt like she just couldn't wait. She checked her reflection in the mirror and tried to arrange a simple ponytail with her hair. But it didn't match her make up. She remembered one of the teachers in the secretaries' school complaining that she never knew a girl who knew so little about cosmetics. Before graduation they insisted that she get permanent makeup; and she renewed it recently. Now her bright makeup wouldn't match a simple ponytail. She has to go with her normal hairstyle. **** Serpukhov's underground July the 20th 2018. "Sometimes I feel proud about the USSR. Russians, Tatars, Ukrainians, Armenians, Jews and all the other nations ruled by the iron hand of the party, were forced to do theeir best. They build the biggest empire in the history of mankind. They sent the first man to the space and they build this bunker." Sergey Vorlamov moved his arm to show a big hall behind him. "We've seen only part of it, but it's mind blowing! Something so huge hidden right bunder the city!" The pair moved to record the hall and remains of some equipment in the middle. "So far I have no idea what it was all about. I don't recognize the equipment. We will check adjoined rooms; maybe we'll find a clue there." Sergey nodded to Michael to stop recording and switch off sthe trong light they'd been using for recording. "Spooky, isn't it?" said Sergey directing his flashlight to the middle of the hall where lay some huge machine, spherical in shape. It was connected to the ceiling with cables. "I don't know what it was used for, but it seems like they were putting a man inside of it, there is a capsule and straps in the middle of it." "And it looks like someone was trying to destroy this machine with a hammer. Someone very strong judging by the blows he made. Let's see what's in the rooms." The first two rooms didn't reveal much. It looked like they were used as storage rooms. Pieces of equipment were spread out on the floor. "Something is not right," said Michael. "What?" "I don't know, but something is not right with this place." "You are trying to scare me. There is nothing, but empty dark space." They continued to search the rooms. It felt better to be in the rooms. The hall's huge empty space swallowed the light of their flashlights making them too aware of the pitch darkness around. Next room was an archive. Racks containing folders filled all the room. Sergey came to a table and read a folder's name 'Project Phenix 1987.' "Weren't they supposed to destroy all the papers when the operation was closed in 90's?" "I told you something is wrong with this place, let's go out!" "Why are you panicking? Don't chicken out!" "Sergey, please, let's go out!" "ok, calm down! One more room and we will go back." The next room they came to contained a few beds. The beds were designed to hold people with straps. "Now this is something out of a horror movie!" said Sergey, smiling nervously, thinking how many views and likes this video will collect. "I know what is wrong," said Michael with a trembling voice. "This place is clean!" "What?" asked Sergey turning to his companion and freezing when his flashlight had brought to light a man's figure in the doorway. He directed his flashlight to the doorway and watched a man in a white coat protecting his eyes from the light. "Thank you for coming where I want you to be, but please turn of this light from my face!" Old lamps on the ceiling came alive illuminating the room with a buzzing sound and a number of footsteps sounded outside. A bald man with a triangular scar on his forehead smiled and adjusted his white coat. **** "This Vorlamov is a famous blogger with more than half a million followers. His disappearance may bring trouble. So, we need to be cautious. Use mirror protocol." "I will," Aanswered the man in the white coat and returned to the room. **** "Sergey, please, let's go out!" "Ok, calm down! One more room and we will go back." Next room they come contained few beds. The beds were designed to hold people with straps. "Now this is something out of a horror movie!" said Sergey, smiling nervously, thinking how many views and likes this video will collect. "I know what is wrong," said Michael with a trembling voice. "This place is clean!" "What?" asked Sergey turning to his companion and freezing when his flashlight had brought to light a man strapped to one of the beds. "Somebody is still using this place, that's why it is clean. Sergey, we have to go!" But Sergey didn't answer. He walked slowly to the bed with a man strapped to it. The man's head was covered with dark thick curly hair - very unusual for Russia. "Where are you going? Let's get out!" pleaded Michael, but Sergey didn't answer, he continued to move toward the man on the bed; watching him turning his head slowly, seeing his own face looking at him; feeling his mouth become filled with a scream of terror, and watching his head on the bed scream back at him. **** Moskovskaya street, Serpukhov' July the 20th 2018, later afternoon. When Svetlana was still a child, Serpukhov was semi-closed city. With many factories producing military equipment, military schools, military patrols on the streets. It was forbidden for foreigners to visit the city; and everyone who intended to drive through coul expected to be stopped and searched. Inside it was clean and safe with zero criminal activities on the streets. But now, with many factories and military schools closed, the city degraded. Serpukhov was one of the places that was much better in the Soviet past. For Svetlana the difference was easy to see since she hadn't visited the city for a few years. She parked her red Fiat and went inside an old flat building. She come to her father's flat and pressed the doorbell. Nothing happened. She waited for a minute and then opened the door with her own keys. The old flat was in bad shape, apparently her father didn't care to repair things and cleaning wasn't his favorite pastime. The flat smell of cheap cigarettes and alcohol. Her father was in the kitchen; his grey-haired head on the table among an empty bottle of vodka and some little snacks. Svetlana watched him with disgust for a minute and then moved to the living room. There must be something, perhaps a picture would help her to understand why she doesn't remember part of her childhood, and why her relationship with her father is so strange. She started to think where the old pictures might be stored, when she noticed one picture on the table. It was an old black and white picture carefully framed. She'd never seen this picture before. Her father still young, dressed in a military uniform, smiling to the camera, one hand ion shoulders of another man. Seeing the face of this second man sent shivers down Svetlana's back. She was staring at the picture for a long time. Did she know the man? The dark haired man was also smiling, but his face was also intense and concentrated. His narrow eastern shaped eyes looked serious and calm. Svetlana turned the picture over. 'Igor Promov, Dmitry Choi, Afghanistan 1986' said the handwriting. "Sveta, is it you?" said her father's voice behind her. Svetlana turned to face her father standing unsteadily in front of her. "Sveta... you look like a whore!" said her father. "Who is this man?" asked Svetlana showing the picture. Something happened to her father's face. "Dmitry, the man who saved my life! He saved many lives. The greatest man I ever knew!" With astonishment Svetlana saw her father showing emotion on his face. Was he going to cry? "What happened to him?" "What happened to him?" He repeated the question and moved his eyes from the picture to Svetlana. His facial expression was changing again, showing pure hate this time. "You happened to him! You killed him, fucking whore!" Seeing her father making fists, Svetlana turned and ran out of the flat. Terrified she run all the way back to her car. He had never touched her in the past, but who knows what years of alcohol abuse can do to a man? **** Svetlana drove to the old railway bridge over the Oka river. The place offered a good view of the river and was popular among lovers. She remembered that when she was a teenager, all her peers wished to be invited by a nice boy to this place. You can kiss there and make a romantic picture like in a movie, they were saying. They were also laughing about Svetlana being a cold fish and not even kissing. Svetlana breathed in and out trying to calm down; but wasn't able to stop crying, feeling sorry for yourself. Why is everything so hard for her? She was always terrible with other people. When her young body demanded sexual satisfaction, she tried to date boys, but nothing worked. Failing miserably in relations she tried to compensate by studying hard. She got the highest possible grades in school and in college but wasn't able to find any decent work in Serpukhov. Moscow offered a few possibilities, but housing was too expensive to move there. Svetlana was looking for a job publishing her CV in the Internet when an agency approached her and invited her for a presentation. The agency was looking for young good-looking and intelligent girls to train as secretaries for rich businessman. They promised free training and huge salaries, but there was also a catch - each girl must agree to become a fuck-toy for her employer. "You should understand that all these rich bosses are real upper-class gentlemen, they know how treat a lady. And it is not uncommon when some of them marry their secretaries," Some of the girls started to leave, Svetlana among them. "Get real girls, how else you are going to prosper?" Svetlana returned home from Moscow very late this day. When she was about to enter the building, Igor the local thug with his friends has blocked the path. Svetlana was afraid that something like this may happen. As soon as Igor come close enough she kicked him right in his face, knocking him down. She ran away and, as she was running, a thought come to her that it may be better to give himself to a rich guy in a nice place, than being gang-raped in a dark street of provincial city. Her phone started to ring, stopping her chain of thoughts. She took it from the purse and see 'Papa' on the screen. It was definitely not her father. After visiting him, she doubts that he even owned a phone. The phone continued ringing, and she felt a strong pull to answer. If it not her father than who was ordering her to do things all this years? The pull to answer was getting stronger with every ring. She got the phone in her hand and watched her finger pressing the answer icon; her hand started to rise the phone to her ear and she heard usual greeting phrase "Hello princess..." starts to sound, when she noticed the picture she took from the flat. The dark-haired man was looking right at her from the picture. Svetlana stopped the hand and moved it away from her ear. "I don't know who you are and why you mess with my life, but I'm not going to listen to you anymore!" She said to the phone before canceling the call and throwing the phone back in the purse. From her car she saw evening glow of the setting sun highlighted opposite site of the river. Two men walked there toward the bridge. They stopped half way argued with each other and then broke into a fight. Probably drug addicted, thought Svetlana, but she couldn't remember anyone in Serpukhov to have such thick curly hair. ****** Mardagan, Afganistan. February the 23th 1986. Political officer Georgy Tarasenko was slightly drunk, and when he was drunk he liked to talk. He was talking about the communist party, and the Red Army Day they all been celebrating. Slightly swaying his doughy body back and forth he was talking and talking to the soldiers who had no choice but to listen to the propaganda. "The Soviet army is the vanguard of the party. Our achievements are undeniable and, together with the working class of Afghanistan, we will..." Suddenly someone grabbed Tarasenko from behind, makes him turn and pulls him out of the room. "Cut this crap!" hissed colonel Igor Ivanov, his body of a heavy weight wrestler towered over political officer. "This country is living in the stone age, which working class you are talking about?" "Colonel! I will have to report about your political illiteracy!" Squealed the political officer. "Idi v zhopu with your report. These soldiers will have to march early in the morning and I need them to have rest and not listen to your drunken ranting." "Drunken ranting? Is that what you call political education?" Tarasenko tried to push back and adjusted his glasses. "Go educate local the mujahideen! You know the intel, a big group from Pakistan is going to attack us and we need our soldiers to be ready early in the morning. The political education is over for today. Get lost!" Political officer Tarasenko muttered something about reporting the colonel's behavior first thing in the morning but walked away. And the colonel Ivanov walked back to dismiss the soldiers. Ivanov wasn't afraid of Tarasenko's reports. He had already been under fire for proposing to hire some of the Afghanistan tribes to fight against the other tribes. He was trying to argue that there are only two ways to win: one way is to hire tribes to fight against each other; the second is the total destruction of the local population. Otherwise there was no way to win against highland tribes armed to the teeth with the most modern USA weaponry. Ivanov got reprimanded and a warning. He was told that it is totally against Communist party standards and even mentioning such possibility is disgrace. But when they been shaming him on the meeting he stood up and asked why than the party doesn't have problems with spending young soldiers' lives. Nobody answered, his fellow officers were averting their eyes when he looked at them. **** Mujahid Jalaluddin Haqqani was sitting in the shade of a transport helicopter, watching as his people were unloading weapons. They are so prepared this time! All his people were trained for weeks in Pakistan; all of them wore new black uniforms with yellow-red stripes. Haqqani's second in command mujahid Allah-dad was playing with a portable radio - even the Shuravi (Russians) don't have such small transmitters. But Haqqani was more fascinated with rocket launcher Stinger, Americans told him they will be able to take down a helicopter with just one shot. "You remember what was this Arab preacher was saying about Americans and Shuravi?" Allah-dad asked his commander. "Laden, the preacher who helped with money?" "Yes, Laden. He said that the Shuravi is a small devil and America is the big devil." "Yes, he said so." "Then why are Americans are helping us to kill Shuravi? "Because whom Allah wishes to destroy, he first drives mad. Bin Laden is right, we will destroy Shuravi now, but we will also get to the big devil one day." Allah-dad looked in his commander with respect, he always knew the right answers. They don't call him Lion for nothing. **** Early in the morning Promov's squad was moved to the north from Mardagan. It was very unlikely that mujahideen will be able to attack from the north. They would need Pakistan's helicopters to fly over the mountains; and so far, Pakistan was trying not to be involved so directly. Therefore, it was deemed to be no more than just a precaution that twelve soldiers will take hill 2343 to control the northeast access point to the valley. Digging in stony soil with spades is not easy. By the middle of the day the position was still not ready. One of the soldiers, the one everybody called Plywood, stopped digging and raised to his full height. He got his nickname for being very tall and very thin. "Igor, I'm done digging, lets have a lunch break!" "Yea, I'm starving!" Another soldier stopped digging. They call him Roach, but Igor didn't remember why. Probably because he was short and his brown hair was becoming ash-grey under Afghanistan's sun. "And remember what the politruk (political officer) was saying? We are close to the glorious victory anyway," Continued Plywood. Sometimes it was difficult to be a squad leader. "Politruk never pokes his nose off of the base; but Colonel ordered to dig in by 1400 sharp and you know what will happen if he checks on us and finds that we are not ready." It was a small lie, thebColonel was not going to check on them, but just mentioning him helped to change the soldiers' mood. "No rest until we are ready." They continued digging. Later Igor asked Plywood to relieve Korean on his watch over the road. Korean, Dmitry Folomeev, got his nickname for saying that his father was a Korean from Kazakhstan. Korean was the best shot in the squad and Igor would prefer him to continue watching the road. But Igor also saw that Plywood was going to try skipping the work again. Better to send him watching the road than start a dispute again. Finally, the position was ready and all the soldiers lay down tired of digging. Someone started to open canned food. "At last, I will eat something!" said Plywood standing on the edge of the position. "Plywood, who is watching the road?" asked Igor. "Relax, the road is em..." The echo of a shot stopped him from finishing the phrase. With disbelief he looked at his chest where a red circle was quickly growing on his shirt. He looked at Igor, his eyes wide with a silent question before falling face down. "Duhi!" someone screams and all hell broke loose. Explosions, shots and screams, "Allah akbar!" filled the air. Igor looked out from his cover. Dressed in black figures were taking their positions pointing their M-16s to the hill. Two pairs of mujahedeen were busy reloading two M224s. And more black figures appeared on the road with every second. "Machine-gun, open fire! On the radio, call the base!" Igor was trying to sound confident, but he knew it may take 40 minutes or more for a helicopter to come and he was not sure they were going to last that long. **** Serpukhov's underground July the 20th 2018. "I can't say I'm impressed," said Sergey to the camera once they got inside a narrow passage. "If this is the famous bunker, then I'm afraid rumors exaggerated its size." They walked the narrow dusty passage, stopping from time to time to picture rusty hatches and remains of unknown equipment. Few hundred steps ahead the passage come to an abrupt end. "Not much," said Sergey flashing his light on steel covered wall. "I don't think we are going to publish it." "Wait, there is something," said Michael pointing his light to a particularly big hatch. This one was big enough for a man to get through, and it was ajar. Michael pulled the hatch to open. With a loud squeak the rusty hatch opened revealing masonry with a human head buried in the bricks. Paralyzed with horror Michael recognized that it was his own face that was look back at him. Screams filled his throat and ears. ***** "I hope the entrance's location is real and we didn't waste two hours of our time driving from Moscow." The pair picked up backpacks from the ground and walked toward Oka river bank. Sergey's famous feature - unusual for Russia thick curly dark hair waving in the breeze. "Careful, watch your step," Sergey warned his blond-haired companion, as they were walking around a stone column of an old out of use bridge. They walked around the column, where river's water washed away a part of the ancient column and stopped. Sergey checked a map on his smartphone. "This is the place. Can you see this bush?" He showed a picture of a bush on his smartphone. The information he got contained GPS coordinates and a picture of the place. "I think it is here," said Michael pointing behind one of the bushes. Some garbage and a few boards were thrown over what looked like a crack in the river's bank. Apparently last spring the b river flooded the place and washed away part of the ground. But there was nothing. Under the board there was some more garbage and an empty pit. "Hell, I knew it was fake!" said Sergey disappointed. "And where is my smartphone?" Just a second ago he was holding it in his hand and now it was nowhere to be found. The pair spent the next hour turning the garbage trying to locate the smartphone; only to find that the camera had also disappeared without a trace. Evening came. Tired and upset they walked back to the car. Sergey was stealing glances at his partner; somehow it was Michael's fault. "Tell me the truth Michael, why did you throw my phone in the river?" said Sergey stopping and turning to Michael. "I didn't touch your smartphone. But what you did you do with my camera?" The pair looked at each other with hate before starting to fight. ***** Hill 2342 Mardagan province, Afganistan. February 24th 1986. Igor pressed his head hard to the earth, peering from his cover. The road was full of black dressed mujahedeen. A big part of them were walking toward the hill now. Not hiding, the tall bearded men walked confidently up the hills in a human wave attack. Igor looked back at his people. Half of them dead, the rest including him wounded or shell shocked. He tried to scream a command but wasn't able to hear himself. He saw Roach trying to take aim and fire only to take cover and drop his riffle a second later. The black dressed men continued to go uphill calmly, nerve-wracking the young solders. One of the mujahedeen took out a sword showing what he was going to do with the Shuravi. Igor aimed his rifle, at least he is going to get one or two of the bastards. But something happened, the mujahedeen stopped. One mujahid, who was swaying his sword, fell backwards. Than another one fell and yet another. Instead of walking in the open mujahedeen now started to take cover, but yet another one fell and rolled down the hill. The fire from the road intensified, bullets danced all around and two mujahedeen started to reload the USA made M224 mortar. But a big explosion erupted before they finished. **** A long pipe like weapon was lying on the ground inside the Mardagan military base. LOT NO. GDP84K001-322 SERIAL NO. 304290 18876 11487821 MISSILE ROUND Was written on side of it. "What I'm looking at?" asked Colonel Igor Ivanov. "We don't know for sure, it is something new. But judging by the look and the fact that the mujahidin was aiming at the helicopter with this, we can assume it is a portable ground to air missile launcher," Base's engineer commented. "And you," Colonel turned to Igor Promov and Dmitry Choi, "how did you do it? It was more than 1000 meters and yet you detonated a mortar shell with a shot. And you killed a man holding this launcher on the distance about 1300 meters with a standard SVD rifle? How it is possible?" Dmitry wasn't a talkative person, but he knew that if the Colonel is asking you it is better to answer. "I was thinking we are all going to die ... my father ... he was teaching me to hunt. He taught how in time of danger to imagine that you are already dead and concentrate on what you have to do," Dmitry looked down, he didn't know how he did it and he felt embarrassed talking about it. "I will recommend a Red Star decoration for both of you." **** Moscow, 84th floor of International Business Center. July the 21th 2018. "Andrey Abramovich I'm sorry for insisting that we will have a meeting on Saturday," said Dmitry Dovzhov with such a cheeky grin that it was obvious that he is not sorry at all. He checked his expensive looking gold watch. "But shabbat is over by now, so we are all decent." "Are you sure you don't want to try our coffee? Or maybe a cigar? This box arrived from Cuba just yesterday," continued Dmitry. "Don't waste my time. I still don't understand who you are or what your company is doing," the portly man said. He was not smiling and looked irritated. "Why am I here?" Dmitry also stopped to smile and moved his body forward. "We are not a company, but rather an organization, a very powerful organization. And you are here because you have what we need - large funds abroad with no connection to Russia." Abramovich started to rise from his seat. "Now, there are several ways we can arrange our cooperation," said Dmitry with such force that it made Abramovich hesitate. "Perhaps a small demonstration will help clarify our intent." Dmitry opened his briefcase and took out something that looked like a short piece of pipe with a few buttons. He directed the tube at Abramovich's bodyguard and pressed one button. The huge man, faormer special forces soldier and former heavy weight boxer dropped on the floor, his eyes wide open, hands pressed to his body. "Oh God! No, no, please ..." the bodyguard pleaded between sobs and wet his trousers. "What did you do to him? Stop it!" demanded Abramovich, but Dmitry pressed a finger to his lip, directed the tube toward Abramovich and pressed another button. Abramovich's face lighted up and he started to laugh aloud shaking his big body with it. **** "There is no way something like this was abandoned." "Believe it or not it was. And it is not the only example. Remember the story with NK-33 rocket engines? Brilliant rocket engines were designed and hundreds of them build in 70's. But some stupid bureaucrats ordered them all destroyed. One general disobeyed the order and hid therm for 20 years. Now Russia is still selling these 40 year old engines to USA for billions." Dmitry puffed his cigar before continuing. "Something like this happened to this project. The only difference is that in our case it happened in the beginning of 90's and that there was a couple of bad accidents with ... ehhh ... test subjects. But the main outcome is the same, stupid bureaucrats not able to recognize the significance of the project, and one smart officer being able to save part of it." Abramovich puffed his cigar before gulping his coffee. "You convince me about significance of it all, but what's your end game?" "There is no end game. If we reopen the program to full capacity and add latest western technology to enhance it, then anything will be possible. And anything includes eternal life. Yes, I'm not joking, one of the latest achievements of the project was to transfer consciousness from one person to another." "What it will cost me to become a part of your organization?" A cheeky grin returned to Dmitry Dovzhov's face, he leaned forward. "Just everything, Mr. Abramovich, just everything you have." **** Later the same day the security head of the organization Vasyli Ryabkov entered the office. "Judging by your happy face you are bringing good news," Dmitry greeted him. "Good news indeed. One of the sleeping swappers from your list become active just yesterday. A warning was received through the old system. We hijacked the signal; the old company (KGB) will do nothing about it." "Great! What is his name?" "It is not he, it is she, Svetlana Promov. And the funny thing is that she is working in the building next to ours." "It is not fun, it is destiny," said Dmitry with a serious face. "The swapper is the last thing we needed for American Oil. After this deal we will start to buy high-tech companies and we will apply western technologies to the project. Don't let the swapper disappear this time!" Object P12G01, Serpukhov's underground April the 21th 1986 A small room was filled with loud noise produced by a dot-matrix printer. The printer was using rolls of perforated paper for output. The noise was so loud that neither the bald man in a white coat standing in front of the printer, nor the woman in a similar white coat sitting in front of most modern soviet DVS computer, had noticed a man entering the room. "So, how areb our new candidates doing?" asked Colonel Georgy Dovzhov when the printer stopped. Man and woman turned their heads with a start. The man, chief scientist of the program Andrey Sergeev was of a similar height and age as the Colonel, but every time he talked to him he feels like Dovzhov is much bigger. The Colonel's uniform was always flawless; his military build and posture, his tough commanding voice - everything was making Andrey wish to obey and please the Colonel. "... ehh ..." Sergeev started to read the printed document again and wiped his bald head, marked with a fresh triangular scar, with his right sleeve. "Promov's results are average, not too promising. But Choi is a remarkable candidate, outstanding concentration power! His results are not stable, but I'm sure he is the candidate we've been looking for." "Good, that means we found at least one more for the program." "It is too early to say, but I think we should start looking for the first host," answered Sergeev and smiled cheerfully. **** Igor was trying to shoot the mujahedeen that were coming very close to him. He rotated his rifle from side to side and was pressing the trigger before aim was taken. And the more he was missing the more desperate he was becoming. He turned his riffle again pointing it at the mujtahid no more than couple of steps from him. He tried to force himself to take a proper aim this time and pressed the trigger. Nothing happened. "Help me! I'm out of ammo!" cried Igor seeing a big bearded man laughing and approaching him with a curved sword. He waked up with a start and sat in his bed. Dim light of a desk lamp showed Korean sitting in his bed with closed eyes. Every day Igor woke up early in the morning covered in cold sweat. And every time he saw Korean he felt gratitude toward the guy. He even stopped calling him Korean and started calling him by his real name. Igor knows only too well that he owes his life to his friend. Ten days ago, or about, Igor lost count of days, he and Dmitry where transported to Moscow. They thought at that time that they were going to be decorated there. But as soon as they landed in the airport, they been transported in a back of a military car somewhere outside Moscow. They ended up in a building with no windows. There were five small bedrooms for two persons each, a bathroom, a common room with a ping-pong table, dining room and a library with a chess table. At first it was pleasant change to be able to relax and do nothing for hours. But after a few days Igor was becoming extremely bored. A few times every day they been invited for testing and strange exercises. Igor didn't understand the nature of it but found it weird and extremely boring. "Dima," he called his friend. "Dima, what are you doing?" Dmitry slowly opened his eyes and looked at Igor. "You woke me up again with your screams." "I know, sorry. But what are you doing sitting like this, with your eyes closed?" "My eyes are not closed completely." "But what you were doing anyway?" "I don't know." "You don't know what you were doing?" "I don't know for sure. You see ... my family was deported from the far- east of USSR before the war. The government was afraid that Koreans would cooperate with the Japanese, I guess they didn't understand the difference at that time." "What it has to do with you sitting with your eyes closed?" "My grandfather was teaching me to do it, but he was teaching me without words." "Without words?" "Yes. He didn't speak Russian and I didn't understood Korean. But now I started to think that you actually don't need words for it. I think he was teaching me Zen." "Ze.. what?" "Zen-Buddhism, a religion of the Far East." "I saw Buddhist monks in Buryatia (south of Siberia) once, they were wearing such funny hats. Did your grandfather also wear ..," Loudspeakers announcing that it was time to wake p and that breakfast would be served in 30 minutes didn't allow Igor to continue his questions. Moscow River. July the 23th 2018. It was 8:45 in the morning and Svetlana was crossing footbridge over the Moscow river. The bridge offered a good view of the river, but Svetlana's mood was getting progressively worse. The closer she was getting to her work the worset her mood was becoming. Last weekend's events jogged her memory, making her aware how disturbed and awkward her life is. An elderly woman walked slowly in front of her with big plastic bags in her hands. Suddenly, as Svetlana was about to go around the slow-moving babushka, one of the bags burst open spilling pieces of food and clothes all around. "Babushka! Your bag!" cried Svetlana and leaned over to help the woman to collect the things. "Oh, thank you sweetie, thank you!" the old lady cried. "If you want to know the truth, come to the coffee shop on the ground floor, order something and then go to the lady's room," whispered the old woman suddenly. Svetlana looked at her, noticing that the woman is not as old as she is trying to look. "Who are you?" asked Svetlana. "I'm the one who know who you are," whispered the woman again before answering in a loud voice "Thank you sweetie, I can do the rest, thank you!" Svetlana hesitated for a moment and then continued walking. On the ground floor of a high rise building there was a coffee shop and a number of people were coming inside to grab a cup of good coffee there. Svetlana checked the time, 5 minutes to 9 and her boss would probably will not appear before 10. She went into the coffee shop and waited in the line to order a cup of Americano coffee. After getting her cup she located the rest room and walked inside. The mirror in the room revealed her long wavy hair, recently renewed permanent makeup on her face, hoops, earrings, a typical business combination of jacket and rather short skirt, and matching 5-inch stiletto heels. A little provocative, but all in order and looking good. The old women's whispering was probably some kind of a joke. She checked the mirror one more time and turned to leave. The door opened and a good looking middle-aged woman came inside. The woman walked inside briskly, checked stalls and turned to Svetlana. "We have little time, they are following you." "Who are they and who are you?" "I'm a friend, my name is Anna, you also can call me Phoenix. And they are not friends. It is all you need to know for the moment. Now help me!" Svetlana watched as Anna was trying to open a window, not sure what she should do. Woman looked back at her. "I'm your only chance to learn the truth. They want to control you and use you. Now help me or they will catch both of us!" The strange phone calls, meeting with her father and now this woman is offering to tell her the truth. Svetlana made a decision and stepped forward to help with the window. **** "Where are you taking me?" asked Svetlana when Anna accelerated her car driving them away from the business center. "A safe place," answerd Anna shortly. "Give me your phone." Reluctantly Svetlana gave her phone and watched in shock as Anna threw it out of window. "Are you going to explain what is going on?" "It is better to do it when we come to the place." Svetlana fished the Afganistan picture in her purse. "Tell me at least who this man is?" she asked pointing at the dark- haired man. Anna looked at the picture. "This man is you." **** Ryazan's hospital, intensive care April the 21th 1986 "I'm sorry, but your daughter was announced brain dead. There is nothing we can do for her," the doctor announced to the parents. The doctor was looking tired and sad. "Sveta!" a middle-aged woman cried the name of her daughter and pressed hands to her mouth. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "There must be something! She looks so good! Just wake her up! Transfer her to Moscow!" said the man holding his crying wife. "I'm very sorry, but as soon as we stop the artificial ventilation her body will die. And her brain is already dead. There is nothing we or anyone else can do." The doctor stayed with the parents for another minute, performing his unpleasant duty, before returning to intensive care. ***** Elena Albac was putting her two kids to sleep when someone rang the doorbell. "Who is it?" she heard her husband coming to the door. Then later, "Lena, it is for you." Elena kissed her younger daughter, switched off the light in the children's room, checked her robe and walked to the door. Andrey Sergeev the scientific head of the program and her boss was waiting for her there with an officer. "Elena, we urgently need you!" said the scientist sounding excited. He leaned forward and added in whisper, "We found a host! The body will arrive tonight." **** This time Dmitry Choi was wakened up in the middle of the night not by Igor's screams, and not by loudspeaker, but by one of the officers shaking him. The soldier was vaguely aware that they are kept deep underground. To reach the testing facility, it was necessary to walk a long corridor, ride an elevator and walk another corridor. And not a single window was to be seen. Dmitry sighed when he saw the room they come to. The most boring exercise of all. He had been asked before to lay a warm water in a big lightless, soundproof tank for hours. But this time was different, a female doctor injected him with something and connected electrodes to his head before helping him into the tank. The whole procedure of getting into the tank was much longer than usual. The doctor connected wires on his head to a cable and put a mouthpiece connected to a tube into his mouth. It wasn't required before as dense salt water wasn't allowing his body to sink. Finally, the heavy lid was closed and Dmitry found himself in a familiar nothingness. His body was laying in warm water weightless. No light, no sound. Soon it was impossible to say how much time passed. Was it 5 minutes? Was it one hour? Igor said to him that he was getting slowly crazy with this exercise. The nothingness of the tank was getting to his nerves. First Igor would start to touch his own body just to make sure that he still exists, then he would start to make splashes, and finally he would start shouting to let him out. But Dmitry knew how to handle this exercise. He would stop thinking and concentrate on his breathing. Then he would slowly accept the nothingness. The complete silence and darkness would not bother him. Time itself would stop existing and it wouldn't matter if they keep him there for an hour or a day. But this time something was different. Maybe it was because of the strange taste of the air in his mouthpiece. Or maybe it was because of the injection he received. There were injections before, and some of the injections were playing tricks with his mind. Suddenly there was a sound and then a light. The light was becoming brighter. An image of a young girl body in dim yellow light appeared right in from of him. The girl's eyes were kept open with a device. Electrodes attached to her shaved head in the same manner as to his, and a mouthpiece in her mouth in exactly the same position as in his. Dmitry took a deep breath and saw the girl's body breathe in with perfect synch with him. In the back of his mind Dmitry understood that the girl was not in front of him; that the girl was lying in an adjoined tank and her image was transferred to him with mirrors. But the perfect illusion was making it look like she was floating right in front of his eyes. **** Georgy Dovzhov was walking back and forth impatiently. "When you think it is going to happen?" he asked stopping in front of the scientist looking into computer reading. "It is hard to say. He doesn't get any instructions, but he's got nothing but the girl to concentrate upon and his concentration power is remarkable," answered Sergeev. "Wouldn't it be better to explain to the poor guy what we are trying to do to?" asked Elena Albac. "No! The whole point of the experiment is to see if it is possible to initiate the swap without the person's awareness of what is going on." **** Time was a foreign concept in this place. Nothing, but steady breathing was marking that Dmitry existed at all. Otherwise he could be a bodyless spirit as well. But this time he was able to see his breathing, the girl's chest was going up and down perfectly synchronized with his breathing. The girl's wide-open eyes were right in front of Dmitry and he was concentrating more and more on it. The face and the eyes were becoming bigger, slowly filling his field of vision. It started to feel like he was the girl and he was looking in a mirror. He felt the mouthpiece in her mouth, he felt her breathing, and suddenly he started to feel the pain from restraints on her eyes. **** It was late morning and even die-hard Colonel was sitting at a table and holding his head. He was half napping, vaguely aware of the surrounding. He was thinking about the whole psi program he was in charge of. And he was thinking about the future. In the Kremlin Gorbachev started to speak about changes only confirming the colonel's suspicious that USSR is in very bad shape. Recent attempt to build a new Soviet Republic out of Afganistan was failing. The economy was dying. And some bureaucrats started to say that the experimenting on young children is not matching Communist Party standards; which means they are looking for a way to cut funding. The stupid bureaucrats are not able to understand the significance of the program, they are only thinking about money. He needed a new success to get things going and it is possible he should start thinking about his own future... A girl's cry transmitted by a loudspeaker interrupted colonel's thoughts. Two scientists and the officer jumped with a start and ran to the tank with number 2 written on it. The crying girl was quickly removed from the tank and freed from electrodes and eyes restraints. "Stop crying, soldier!" tried to command Colonel, but the girl looked back at him and only cried harder. Elena seat down in front of the girl. "Hey, what is your name?" she said drawing attention of the girl with looking into her eyes. The girl stopped crying for a moment. "I... I ... I don't know!" said the girl and started to cry again. The scientist and the Colonel looked at each other. ***** Serpukhov February the 15th 1992 Elena Albac was moving down Borisovskaya avenue carrying two plastic bags full of grocery. She was trying to save some rubles by walking to a big shop on Borisovskaya avenue and then walking all the way back to her home. She was unemployed after the program was closed, and her family was struggling financially. Since she was part of a secret program, it was forbidden for Elena to travel abroad or even mentioned her experience in a resume. It was possible to get jail time if she even talks about the program. And now, as bright as she was, there was no way to find a job matching her skills. She felt as her feet were becoming cold in spite of the walking, new winter boots were long overdue. The darkness of Centralnaya street makes her wonder if electricity was cut off again this week. Elena came to the street door of her building and stepped inside. It was dark inside. Elena sighed and started to go up the stairs. Suddenly someone stepped behind her and pressed something sharp and cold to her throat. "Not a sound!" she heard a man's voice in her ear. "Dmitry Choi!" "What?" "You tell me what happened to Dmitry Choi or I will kill you right now and there!" "He died, this is all I can say!" "I don't buy this shit! I was there, I was one of your guinea pigs. None of your tests were able to kill him. Tell me the truth or I swear to god I will kill you!" Elena felt as the knife was pressed harder against her throat. Tears ran down her checks. "His body is dead, it is true!" "You said his body?" "His consciousness was transferred to a body of a little girl. He lost his memories in the process. We tried to make him remember, but it didn't work. After the program was closed we erased his memory and placed her in the local orphanage under the name Svetlana Ivanova," Elena said quickly with closed eyes, hearing milk dripping down stairs from a broken bottle. Suddenly there was no more pressure to her throat and someone slammed the door running out of the building. ***** Igor Promov was running down Centralnaya street hiding his knife. He knew what he is going to do. Finally, he knew how to pay back Dmitry. He will take him in his family and he will make him remember who he really was. Maybe then he will stop seeing the nightmares every night. Maybe then he will find peace with himself. ***** Later the same day Elena Albac was cleaning the dishes when someone rang her doorbell. Her husband was away working as a builder and she was alone with her kids. What if it is the man with a knife again? "Who is it?" she asked cautiously. "It is me, Andrey," she heard the familiar voice of her boss and opened the door. Andrey Sergeev and Colonel Georgy Dovzhov were standing there. It was weird to see Colonel dressed as a civil though. "We have good news for you Elena," said Sergeev smiling. "We are reopening the program ...eh... privately." Moscow, 84th floor of International Business Center. July the 23th 2018 Dmitry Dovzhov was slamming his table again and again. Then picked up and threw an expensive looking phone against the wall. "How? How that possible? A swapper is awake and gone the very next day? You said your people were following her?" "She got help! And look at the pictures from security cameras." Vasyli Ryabkov placed a few printed pictures on the table. Dmitry checked a few of them. "So, you got the face of the helper and the number of the car? You are searching for it now?" "Yes, of course, but not only that. We recognized the face of the woman. She was present when Phoenix disappeared." "Which means?" "It was Phoenix who helped her to escape. We will find both of them now!" Dmitry looked at the pictures again, then looked at Vasyli. "You better find them or we will find your worst nightmare and will make it a reality for you." **** Barvicha village, Moscow's suburb. July the 24th 2018 Dmitry Choi was laying on a yoga mat with his eyes wide open. He had vomited just recently and still felt it in his mouth. He was the soldier who was put inside the isolation tank just a few hours ago and yet, when he saw his ample breasts going up and down with every breath, she was Svetlana Promov who suddenly remembered being a soldier as a man would suddenly remember a dream. He is Dmitry and she is Svetlana at the same time. It makes her head swirl and she felt like vomiting again. "The fact that you managed your first swap makes you special. I know it is not easy, but You have to concentrate and make your consciousness the whole," she heard Anna's voice. "This ... the people who you said were following me, what do they want?" "You were under control of the KGB. They have been calling you every day to control you. But you stopped responding to the calls which means your psychic power was back." "So, is it secret service that was following me?" "No. the people that followed you belong to a private organization. They privatized the soviet psi program and use it to gain wealth and power," Anna sighed. "I was working for them many years." "You were working for them?" Svetlana turned her head to look at Anna. "Yes, unfortunately. I was swapping from one body to another as they ordered me. And each swap means killing. The conscious of the man in the host body is dying." Anna looked down and sigh. "I was trying to resist them, but they found a way to control me - people I love." "Then I got help as I'm helping you know and was able to find a body of a woman willing to die. She got terminal cancer and was about to suicide when I found this body." "You now have it, I mean cancer?" "Yes, I gothave. I'm looking for a man willing to suicide or will try my chances with a brain-dead body, but I would never kill again anyone!" "You said my host was brain-dead?" "Yes, they learned the hard way that it is easy to transfer the consciousness to a brain-dead body, but there is always a risk. Also, your host was too young for the transfer. Small children's bodies can overwhelm a grown up swapper and make him lose hos memory." "I wasn't the only one?" "Or no, there was plenty of attempts. Some were successful and some were not. Some of the successful have died, suicide most of the time. Some have escaped and are now hiding." "Are you in contact with them?" "Not really. I have contact with only one swapper. It was a telekinetic who helped me to escape. And there is another person, he is a telepath and he is saying that the organization is trying to rebuild a big transmitter, a