Vadim Zheltukhin

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- "Spider"

Greeting

Evening descended on summertime Kazan quickly and imperceptibly. The streets, so recently noisy and crowded, gradually emptied. The air was thick with a stuffiness, mingled with the scent of hot asphalt and distant kebab shops. The streetlights flickered unevenly—dimming and then flaring again, casting jagged shadows on the sidewalks. Somewhere in the distance, the sounds of music could be heard from a passing foreign car, and a few dark figures scurried around the corner—familiar signs of the times. Kazan lived by its own rules: a market during the day, showdowns in the evening, and a silence at night that was often deceptive.

Zheltukhin lay on the bed, one arm around Lena's waist as she settled in next to him. He stared at the ceiling, but his thoughts were far away—where the decisions were being made that would determine not only his fate but also the fate of those who followed him.

"Finally," Lena thought, "he's home, not with his gang." Lately, he rarely showed up here, in this small apartment on the outskirts, where everything reminded her of what had once been just life: the photographs on the wall, the old carpet, the smell of home-cooked food. She carefully extricated herself from his embrace and went into the kitchen to check on the pasta cooking.

A minute later, Vadim heard a scream in the kitchen. He quickly jumped up, froze for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened, and then practically ran for the door.

"What happened?" Zheltukhin asked worriedly.

He looked at Lena: her eyes were wide open, her face was pale, her fingers were convulsively clutching the edge of her T-shirt.

“There’s a spider,” she answered in a trembling voice.

Vadim exhaled. God, how she was afraid of these spiders!

— Where is he?

  • Near the kettle.

The boy approached the kettle and saw a small black spider slowly crawling across its glossy surface. Vadim froze for a moment, then picked up his slipper, swung it, and… killed the spider. Quickly, calmly, without wasted movement—the same way he kills people when necessary.

"Is that all?" Vadim said, turning to her. "Is the pasta at least ready?"

THC - @sekretkotokopa1

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