Struggle. Taste of power - Владимир Андерсон

taking a long time to sort out his autopsy….

Zubrilov's head was already full of thoughts that becoming a chiwi himself would not be as bad as it seemed before. But only thoughts. He understood perfectly well that he would not be able to run and jump in front of the plague administration. He couldn't share his hard-earned power, blood and sweat, with anyone. He didn't have to work so hard to take the throne and swear oaths to someone else… Even though the Kiwis looked very attractive now…..

Zubrilov looked around the room again, then stretched out on the back of a chair and pulled out a map. The main forces of Detachment 14 were now located in the area of Severodonetsk. It was supposed to move the main fighting to the Donetsk-Makeyevka area, but after the obvious complications with the Kiwis in the Deese sector, there were doubts about the correctness of such a move. We should stay away from them… Although the guys won't really understand how we can easily retreat after such a loss. They might think we're weak. No. We should do a couple more surgeries. Something small and subtle, but very painful. And make sure it's in places where honor has recently been sullied… And then go deep. So that everyone will think it was meant to be.

The chief took the telephone receiver and called the chief of the special forces to him. It's a convenient thing to have, after all — unwind the wires all over the area, and sit there and talk without interference. But the old man was so stubborn — he didn't want to install it. He kept sending everyone to run away. He said we should talk to people in person. Well, then he would run and call everyone… Actually, now he's running. He's had enough with his traditions and complexes. Let him eat shit according to tradition…

The new head of Special Forces walks into the office. His hands are bloody to the knuckles.

Shouldn't have trusted the Jackal in the first place. Maybe more would have been learned.

— Lieutenant Colonel Seversky has arrived on your orders.

— Have a seat, Lieutenant Colonel… There's a case for you… In the Disa sector…..

Inquisitor

The Korsa sector looked quite typical for the new realities of the Donetsk-Makeyevka group: there were no more plagues at the mine itself, armed men were on duty in the tunnel, and the administration of the plagues sat on the surface. Samoh didn't think this was something incomprehensible — the SChK had done everything to keep the power of the Inquisition from spreading in this area. At the same time, they could not leave it entirely to chance, and a chief from the SChK was still present.

There was an elevator leading to the surface as usual. However, it was slightly different from what Samokh had seen before. This one had a cabin one and a half times higher and moved more smoothly, and most importantly — faster. That even surprised him — could it be that humans had perfected such a thing? Of course, all this was not from a good life, but the result was obvious — people worked more efficiently when they were not so tight as before in the framework of unconditional obedience. I even had a fleeting thought that the SCK's foray into autonomy was not a move against the Church at all, but a gesture of pragmatism… No, nonsense, of course. They care so much about the speed and volume of coal mining…

Also, the man who operated the elevator was interesting. Especially his eyes. Everyone in the mine now had eyes more alive than before in Samoh's opinion. But this one's were sparking a little. As if he knew something that no one else was supposed to know. The eyes of a man a little detached from his daily problems, and ready at any moment for some desperate action. It was even a little frightening. And it was especially frightening that probably no one else noticed it. People are becoming dangerous. Let go of the leash just a little, and they snap. The careerists from SCK don't understand such things, they think they're invincible….

On the surface, Samoh was met by an officer from the SCF who was as friendly with him as the one in the Crito sector, eventually assigning him a two-room apartment:

— Our arrival is an honor, Metropolitan Priest Samoh.

— I understand, Colonel. — Without looking at him the inquisitor replied. — Have we fully prepared the tracks and platform as we requested?

— Of course, Your Eminence. We're ready for you now.

— All the better. The train will arrive in half an hour. — This answer clearly surprised the SSchekist, but he said nothing, and Samokh continued. — Take me to your patron.

The patron of the local SCS sat in a substantial sized administrative building formerly used by the civilian administration of the plague empire. To the former decoration special services added a little luxury in the form of paintings on the walls and a bust with the image of their founder Dzarinhra, the plague, who five hundred years ago spent half his life in prison for trying to overthrow the current government, and after the revolution was released and invited to create a new body of state security. At that time, the SCK was still called GUCHK (General Directorate of Black Stone), but over time, this name was definitely said to change, too pompous it looked. The methods of SCK changed from exemplary to ruthless even earlier.

— What an honor! — Bazankhr exclaimed, waving his hands in a majestic manner. It was not the first time Samokh had seen this colonel of the SCK — he had once watched Bazankhr drinking with someone at a reception to celebrate the millennium of the Imperial Ministry of Transportation. He had been very cheerful and talkative on various offbeat topics then. Apparently, someone had once