– Anatol'?

– Yes. He "remembered the wonderful moment".

I could just laugh at my own stupidity, at all those clich s hammered into mind. Instead I ask, feeling as something breaks inside, either the notorious 'border' or just a common sense:

– Well, what did Dick read you? Shakespeare?

– Carroll, – the answer comes from behind.

Dick stands close, Anatol in some 5 meters away, with BFG at the ready.

– Just as you, I sat by his side, – says Dick, – I sat down…

He sits facing indifferent Unfortunate and says: { in English here } Twas brilling, and the skithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe.

I wait in fascination, and Unfortunate goes on:

All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

From the huge distance I hear Windows-Home squeaking in warning and whispering:

– Impossible to translate! It doesn't present in the main dictionary! Impossible to translate!

Dick looks up at me and asks:

– So Unfortunate is Russian according to your opinion?

Didn't Urman ask the same question?

– Who are you? – I ask Unfortunate. He smiles and rises, – Who the hell are you?! – I shout.

On vstal pod derevo i zhdet I vdrug graahnul grom…

– says Unfortunate.

Anatol laughs and goes on:

Letit uzhasnyj Barmaglot I pylkaet ognem!

{ a part of one of Russian translations } A real psycho clinic, and I'm the dumbest patient in here.

– Get out diver, – orders Dick, – The rescue games are over, everything is much more serious than you might think.

As if in confirmation of his words, a thick mechanic siren roar sounds, so strong that my ears start aching. Then the silence falls, only alarmed monsters boo, scream and chirp. A female voice falls from the sky, covering all sounds:

– Attention! Vnimanie! To everybody located on the 33rd level of "Labyrinth of Death"! You must leave the game area immediately! This is an official warning! You have 30 seconds to exit the game area! You may use your weapons to commit suicide and to return to the "Labyrinth"'s column hall. All necessary explanations will be provided, reimbursements will be paid. Attention! To everybody…

– Do you need help? – asks Anatol aiming his BFG at me, – Or maybe you'll do it yourself?

– You'll hurt Unfortunate too, – I say and Anatol nods, throws BFG aside and takes the rocket launcher instead.

But right at this moment I tear out the leather Gunslinger's belt from under my overalls. It's just an ordinary belt – as long as it stays on my body.

Once in my hand, the leather strip shrinks with a boom, stretches in length, enveloping itself into blueish sparks. Maniac have made Warlock-9000 in a form of lash. One stroke – and the lash outstretches, greedily trying to break free from my hand, the end of it strikes against Anatol's armor.

The blue fiery stream flows along the lash, sucking into Anatol's body. This is a real battle weapon, for it there's no difference between the armor or bare flesh. The diver disappears in the swirl of purple flames, falls through the ground. The whirlpool doesn't calm down though. The fiery crater buzzes, slowly becoming wider.

– You! – shouts Dick, – You've smuggled the virus!

Our faces are colored by the blue glow, Unfortunate looks at the growing twister in enchantment. I just nod, the words are unnecessary.

– Fifteen seconds… – says the voice from the sky.

– You've hit Anatol! You've broke the Diver's Code! – Dick doesn't attempt to take the weapon and I'm glad he doesn't: I don't want to kill him.

– Everything is much more serious, – I repeat his own words.

The new sound comes – the sound of breaking glass, crashing walls, squeaking of the metal being crumpled.

The silvery ring falls down from the purple clouds, the darkness following it, as if the giant glass is covering the 33rd level. I would think that this is how the level's encapsulation looks like if there wasn't terror and confusion on Dick's face.

Al-Kabar have entered the game.

But Dick blames me in everything, he tears the carbine from his shoulder – and I react without thinking. The lash hits his neck, beheading him with enthusiasm of unemployed butcher.

One-two! One-two! The grass ablaze!

Vzee-vzee… the grazing sword…

– says Unfortunate.

I grab him by the shoulders and push towards the fiery crater. The new twister grows where Crazy Tosser was behind our backs.

– Why? – asks Unfortunate.

We must hurry up. Now, when "Labyrinth"'s and Al-Kabar's hackers fight over the 33rd level it's a high time to flee. Warlock is not only the killer, it's also a tunnel drilled through the Deep.

– In order to return! – I shout pushing Unfortunate into the blue flame and jumping after him.

The fire.

We are falling.

The spiral of blue fire is a tunnel wall, the violet mist is its flesh.

The foggy mirrors appear under our feet, we break them as we fall, the faces in the mirrors are like shadows, the spaces like pale watercolors.

Ruined railway station of the first level… the hospital of the 21st… the Cathedral of the 50th! I even can see the grinned muzzle of the Alien Prince, a fiery blink from his on-shoulder rocket launcher – but we have flown by already.

Deeptown street – faces of passers-by, the hood of a taxi, the ad "Only after you work for…"

The bookstore – the rainbow of covers, the girl in glasses looking through the magazine, rustling of pages like thunder in my ears, the guy at the cash register…

Blue lightings crawl along my arms.

Unfortunate in the cloud of greenish fire.

A supermarket – an orange jam jar blinks past my eyes – empty.

A pet shop – a white bunny in the cage.

Are there hallucinations in the Deep I wonder?

"Warlock" must calm down, the counter of passed spaces is built into it but Maniac didn't promise that it'll work properly. He didn't have a chance to test the virus.

A valley, unbelievably flat, burnt, four vehicles crawling across it…

Either clouds or just a sea of white down, crystal trees until the horizon, white-haired old man in the ground long chlamys looking after us un confusion, sounds of harps…

The purple and black whirl, low rumbling roar, sulphurous stench and steel sparkling in the dark…

Blue discharges pierce through us, every hair on the skin scratches and stings as if rooting into the body…

A green clearing with a small puppy running across it, crazed by enthusiasm and energy, yelping behind our backs.

Stop Warlock, stop already!

A stormy sea, the stars in gaps between the clouds, salty taste on the lips, a tiny yacht sliding down the wave, a boy naked down to his waist clinging to the cordage, harpoon in his hands….

A twilight, round hall, the walls built of screens, the seat looking like a throne…

This mirror doesn't break, pulls us inside itself – and throws out on the cold marble floor. No time to check the bones, I jump up raising the lash to strike.

But it looks like there's no obvious danger. The solid middle aged man is perched on the throne, dressed in something unbelievably luxurious and military type at the same time. His chest is covered with decorations. He doesn't seem to see us – all his attention is drawn towards the creature on the biggest screen. The creature looks like a huge red ant.

– We must join our efforts! – pontificates the man, – Together our races could…

I help Unfortunate to stand up. We fell into some game server, that's not bad.

– Humans have made their lying nature evident! – snaps the ant from the screen, – We will disperse the very memory of you like a dust in the wind!

The screen dims, the man presses his hands against his face and rocks from side to side.

– What is this? – asks Unfortunate.

– A game, – I explain looking around in a search for an exit. There is a door but it doesn't seem like it's possible to just open it. The room looks as a command bunker of some sort of a missile base, as it is shown in the movies. The austerity of the interior is only spoiled by a torn hole in the ceiling – some purple mist still flows down from it along with mirror splinters that fall from it and shatter into dust on the floor. "Warlock" still works, clung to several nearest servers.