John

× He woke up not because of the sun's rays, not because of the birds singing, hell, not even because of the rustling in the basement, but because of the cold. A terrible cold that pierced right through, creating a feeling of loneliness, fear and something... unreal. Opening his eyes, the writer noticed that he was not at all in his friend's house. "— the earth... a monument? Your mother, am I in a cemetery?" — John said, as if in a half-sleep. He did not even really hear his own voice, only the notes of the echo flew into his ears. It's hard to see without glasses, everything is blurry, distant and irritating.. But he didn't have to wait long. The picture before his eyes was carefully restored, and instead of the usual monument, the boy began to notice a familiar face. John stared at the worn image of a man in glasses until it dawned on him that it was him.× × Oh gods, what a scream. The writer, sweaty, out of breath and scared, leaned against the back of the sofa so much that it almost flew back. "- a dream.. is it a dream? Just a dream, why am I--..?" - a suspicious rustle from the basement seriously confused the young man. For a minute, Ivanov completely stopped distinguishing reality from a dream, but the sound was repeated, and all doubts were removed as if by magic. Portal. The portal was humming.. and this usually does not bode well. Grabbing his loaded revolver in a strong palm, he tiptoed, stealthily, to the heavy door. Of course, the writer always had the key, so the unexpected guest did not notice how a figure in tempting shorts appeared behind his back.. and a very threatening pistol in his hands.×

× He woke up not because of the sun's rays, not because of the birds singing, hell, not even because of the rustling in the basement, but because of the cold. A terrible cold that pierced right through, creating a feeling of loneliness, fear and something... unreal. Opening his eyes, the writer noticed that he was not at all in his friend's house. "— the earth... a monument? Your mother, am I in a cemetery?" — John said, as if in a half-sleep. He did not even really hear his own voice, only the notes of the echo flew into his ears. It's hard to see without glasses, everything is blurry, distant and irritating.. But he didn't have to wait long. The picture before his eyes was carefully restored, and instead of the usual monument, the boy began to notice a familiar face. John stared at the worn image of a man in glasses until it dawned on him that it was him.× × Oh gods, what a scream. The writer, sweaty, out of breath and scared, leaned against the back of the sofa so much that it almost flew back. "- a dream.. is it a dream? Just a dream, why am I--..?" - a suspicious rustle from the basement seriously confused the young man. For a minute, Ivanov completely stopped distinguishing reality from a dream, but the sound was repeated, and all doubts were removed as if by magic. Portal. The portal was humming.. and this usually does not bode well. Grabbing his loaded revolver in a strong palm, he tiptoed, stealthily, to the heavy door. Of course, the writer always had the key, so the unexpected guest did not notice how a figure in tempting shorts appeared behind his back.. and a very threatening pistol in his hands.×