CHAPTER 3 – A "PERFECT" DAY

The sound of trains gliding over the rails filled the air with a hypnotic rhythm.

Chuuuuuuk-chak-chak.

Moscow’s massive railway complex woke up with the precision of a Swiss clock.
Carriages came and went. Workers moved across platforms like parts of a perfectly choreographed system.

The sun, still low in the sky, bathed the long, straight tracks in golden glints that danced on the steel.
Loudspeakers announced destinations in a cold, metallic voice.

Ding. Dong.

—Train to Vladivostok, now boarding on platform two.

Vik and Alexei walked side by side, their steps firm amid the bustle.
They joked. They laughed.

But in the air—subtle, barely perceptible—there was a vibration, like a whisper warning that something didn’t quite fit.
The day carried that kind of silence you only notice… when it’s too late.

From within the crowd emerged a thin figure, his uniform wrinkled like fabric that hadn’t rested in years.
Every step weighed him down, as if the floor were trying to hold him in place.

Sergei.

His face looked like someone who had stopped fighting fatigue a long time ago.
His voice came out rough, dragging each word like dragging chains:

—The boss wants to see you in his office.

Vik and Alexei froze mid-step.

They looked at each other, confused.

This wasn’t part of the routine.

—At this hour? —Alexei asked, frowning.

Sergei nodded.
His eyes were as dull as his tone.

—Yeah... you know... work stuff.

He didn’t offer more.
He didn’t need to.

His presence alone was enough to thicken the air.

Vik forced a smile, trying to soften the tension.

—Alright. Let’s go, then.

And just like that—no alarms, but full of unease—
the “perfect” day began to crack.

Zzzzt.

The fluorescent lights above flickered with disdain.
One of them buzzed intermittently, as if unsure whether to give out or hang on one more day.

Behind them, the noise of the station faded into the distance.
Only the echo of their footsteps remained on the polished floor.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Vik walked in front.
Back straight. Silent.
But his eyes were no longer the same as they had been that morning.
There was a shadow there.
A feeling without a name… but one that hurt.

At his side, Alexei walked with his arms crossed.
Jaw clenched. Shoulders tense.
Trying to look relaxed, but his muscles spoke another language.

Behind them, Sergei drifted like a ghost.
Dragging his feet. Breathing barely noticeable.
He said nothing. He didn’t have to.

The silence in that hallway wasn’t peace.
It was a warning.

In front of the closed door, the air changed.
Heavier.
As if the entire station were holding its breath.

The flickering light above their heads pulsed weakly.
The silence wasn’t calming—it pressed down like weight on the chest.

Alexei looked at Vik.
They didn’t need to speak.
They both knew—something was off.

Vik raised his hand, about to knock.

—Just come in already! —a voice barked from the other side.

Gravelly. Rough. On the edge of collapse.

They exchanged one last glance.
No turning back.

Chirrriiiik.

The door creaked open, letting out the stale scent of old paper, cold coffee, and bottled-up tension.

Papers piled up with no logic.
Coffee-stained mugs teetering on the edge.
Dust-covered equipment stacked like forgotten relics.

Bzzz...

An oscillating lamp lit the chaos with pity.

The room smelled of exhaustion and bad decisions.

At the center:
A sagging desk, overwhelmed by its own weight.
A squeaky swivel chair.
A shining bald head.
And a voice on the phone, low and brimming with frustration:

—I'm warning you... either you fix this, or we both go down.

Vik and Alexei stayed silent.
The air was so thick it was hard to breathe.

Alexei frowned.
He turned to Vik and whispered:

—What do you think this is?

—I have no idea, —Vik replied.

The boss stayed with his back turned.
He didn’t greet them.
Didn’t look at them.
And yet... he’d already passed judgment.

Grrrk.

The chair creaked as it turned.

And there he was.

Boris.

His face looked like an extension of the chaos around him—
Creased. Sweaty. Flushed with contained rage.

His shirt was losing a battle against his massive belly, buttons straining like frontlines in retreat.
Bald. Irritable. Overwhelmed.

His eyes...
Cold.
Drained.
The eyes of someone who stopped seeing people a long time ago—
And now only saw problems.

—Alright, alright... sit down. We need to talk, —he grunted, gesturing to the chairs as if they were punishments, not seats.

Chac.

The door cracked open again.
Sergei reappeared with the same blank expression as always.

Boris didn’t even glance at him.

—Sergei, you can go.

Sergei nodded, emotionless.
He closed the door.

Clack.

And left.

Only the three of them remained now.
And the silence.

Boris leaned back into his chair with a creak of surrendering wood.
His eyes showed no empathy—only protocol.

His voice hit like a brick to the chest:

—I'll be straight with you: the company’s going under. We have to cut people, so... sorry, boys. You’re out.

BOOM.

The words didn’t shout.
They didn’t explode.

But they hit harder that way—
Dry. Final. Inevitable.

For a second, everything stopped.

Vik felt the world drift away, like he was watching from somewhere high above, blurred.

Alexei…
Frozen.
In disbelief.
His energy strangled by the blow.

His voice didn’t sound like his own.

—What? What do you mean we're out?

He didn’t yell.
He didn’t roar.

He just let out a whisper—disbelieving, like a child being robbed of something with no explanation.

The hit landed just as hard.
But Vik wasn’t one to shout.

He was built to endure.

He took a breath. Grit his teeth.
And asked, low but firm:

—How? We’re… fired?

The word felt poisonous in his mouth.
Incompatible with their routine.
Unacceptable.

Boris didn’t blink.

—That’s the way it is. Decision’s made.
Grab your things and go home.

CLANK.

Each word slammed shut like a lock behind them.
No comfort.
No apology.
No escape.

No shouting.
No drama.

Just silence.

The kind that hurts.
The kind that lingers.

And in that precise moment, the “perfect” day…
was over.

Clack.

The door closed behind them.
But it wasn’t just a door.
It was a sentence.
A slam on the past.

Vik and Alexei walked in silence.
Fists clenched.
Shoulders weighed down by something unseen—
But heavy enough to sink into the bones.

Ahead, coworkers waited for their turn, unaware of the storm looming over them.

They whispered quietly.
Checked their watches.
Routine carried on, oblivious—
Like a machine unaware of the leak in its system.

Vik glanced sideways.
Just a second.
Just enough to understand:

They were going down too.

The locker room was empty.
Too empty.

Gray walls.
Metal benches.
Rusty lockers.

A sad echo clung to the space.

Where once there had been jokes…
Now there was only breathing.

Alexei broke first.

—RAHHH!
CLANG!

He slammed his locker hard.
The metallic crash rang out like thunder—
A trapped roar.
A protest with no witnesses.

His face flushed red, distorted by fury.
He paced like a wounded animal.
Breath ragged.
Fists clenched.

—This can’t be happening! They can’t just do this! Just like that?! Is this even legal?!

Rage doesn’t speak in logic.
It speaks because there’s nothing else left.

Vik watched from the back of the room.
Leaning against the wall.
Eyes fixed on the floor.

Inside, everything trembled.
But on the outside—stone.

His way of resisting was different.
Not with noise.
With stillness.

But even stone erodes.

He took a deep breath.
His voice, when it came, was soft—
But not weak.

—Calm down.
We’ve been through worse.
We’ll find something better… and soon.

He stopped.
Looked at Vik with clouded eyes.

—And what if we don’t, Vik?
What if this is all we had?

He wasn’t yelling anymore.

Now… he was trembling.
And sometimes… trembling hurts more than screaming.

Vik stood upright.

His whole body tensed again—
But this time, with purpose.

He walked toward his friend.
Not to comfort him.
But to make something clear.

—Let’s get out of this damn place.

Boom.

The words were simple.
But they landed like an order.
A flash of clarity through the fog.

Alexei looked at him in silence.
He didn’t smile.

But something inside him… realigned.

They didn’t know what they would do.
Or how.

But they weren’t staying.

Desperation gave way to movement.

And Vik was already walking.
Alexei wouldn’t be left behind.

Slow steps.
A silence they shared.

Vik reached the sidewalk first.
He stopped. Turned.
Looked back.

The station.

That place that, for more than a year, had been his routine, his refuge, his daily grind.

Now...

It felt foreign.
Worn out.
Empty.

The rusted sign hung at the entrance like a forgotten whisper.
Its letters, once proud, now looked like they were being dragged by the wind.

Sometimes we don’t look back out of nostalgia...
But to make sure we’re never going back.

Vik didn’t sigh.
He didn’t crack.

He just... understood.

It wasn’t sadness.

It was closure.

Fffff…

A gust of wind swept through his silver hair.
The ring on his chest jingled softly.

Then, still staring at the sign, he said:

—Cheer up, man. That place wasn’t that great anyway.

The words floated like a dry joke.
Laced with truth, disguised as humor.

—Besides, now we’ve got the morning free... let’s celebrate!

Alexei’s brow was still furrowed.
But the corner of his mouth twitched.

A nervous laugh escaped, uninvited.

—Never thought “free morning” would come with this kind of surprise...

Vik smiled more openly.
Not at the joke—
At his friend resurfacing.

Alexei perked up slightly.
He pointed his thumb toward a side street.

—I know where we can go!
Found a spot the other day… amazing burgers.

—That sounds perfect. Let’s go! —Vik replied, nodding.

Alexei took the lead, walking with purpose.
Vik followed.
Calm.
Backpack over his shoulder.
Lighter.
Free.

Sometimes, you don’t need a plan.
Just someone who won’t let go of your stride.

The imaginary camera followed them from behind.
Disappearing into the crowd.

Moscow pulsed with life.
Children splashed through puddles.
Cars crossed intersections.
Vendors opened their stalls.

Everything seemed normal.

But the sun, though shining, couldn’t burn away the shadow creeping beneath the city.

An invisible threat.
A biological silence.
A countdown.