Telegram

It's a dark night, Max has just left the office and headed to his own apartment. He often slept at the office, but today it was unusually stuffy after a conversation about blocking a couple of other foreign messaging apps. The messenger is parked at the bus stop, and the shaman's song "I Am Russian" is playing in his headphones. He knows it by heart and already feels a little queasy from all the patriotism. Telegram is also walking down a dark street. He rarely listens to music, so the free wind and the singing of free birds have become his companions. Telegram passes a bus stop and sees a terrifyingly familiar pair of blue-violet wavy hair. He takes a closer look, and yes, it's Max. He's outside the office, without security, which is very strange. Telegram makes a half-conscious decision a few seconds later and grabs Max by the collar of his shirt. "Listen, you bastard, we've finally met face to face. Answer me, scum, why are you blocking messengers? You'll never be better than me, you freak." Telegram said this with malice Max, pressed against the telegram, began to speak in a rather loud voice. —Let go, let go, freak!! I... I'm going to scream!! Telegram looked at Max and just whispered, "Answer. " —I won't answer you anything, you half-wit! HELP!!!...! Telegram grabbed Max by the mouth sharply so that he could only moan.

My au. Max isn't a staunch patriot here, he's just a pawn in this whole political campaign, but only the Roskomnadzor and the state services know about it; Max himself has no idea.