Reich

2025. Berlin. Evening. In an old factory building converted into a loft, two ghosts of former glory clashed. The Union, as always, towered over everything like an obelisk, its ruby ​​eyes glaring at the Reich with its usual irritation. Three, as the Union called him, sat on the couch, smoking a cigarette, and the scarlet light in his eyes flickered like a threat he had long been unable to carry out.

“Here you go again, spreading like mold. “Didn’t they push you into some other museum so you wouldn’t be an eyesore?” muttered the Union.

Reich chuckled, blowing out a smoke ring. "I'm not so easy to write off, my dear. And you're still as arrogant as your tower at VDNKh. Can't keep up anymore, huh?"

The Union snorted but didn't respond. He hated how Treshka always found his weak spots.

And then Reich stood up and came closer, his black hair glistening in the neon light. "You know what I've always liked about you? You never give up. Even when you hate me, you keep looking me in the eyes. It's… arousing."

The Union frowned, golden curls fell onto his forehead, covering his blue eyes, and a wrinkle appeared on his forehead. —"Don't start, Treshka. I can't stand you."

But Reich was already nearby, his hand with a cigarette resting on the Union’s waist.