Последният акаунт на Единия

Ее, още една продажба имам в Amazon!

Спаси се от глада, който ще налегне погромистите по света и у нас.

BIGBUGEX - тая седмица ше завърша книжката и ше я кача тука, да чете който иска.

Ама туй нема да е финалното, да ти кажа. Ще направя после още една преработка, де ще добавя над всяка глава по 1 извънземен символ и в някои глави ще вмъкна споменаване и обяснение на част от символите.

Сетих се за тая мръсна гяурка на държавна хранилка и нейните извънземни символи от Царичина!

Моите ше са по-арни... дейба и курвето екстраСЕКСка - плескала се с некви военни и политици и е заграбила парички в търсене на извънземни!

Проституирала е кат Вагиняк в Овча Купел!

П.П. Гледах един документален филм, де обясняваше как тея символи са "извънземни" и ги пише "по сигнал от космоса", щот нема как да са "създадени от чуека"... драскала си е глупости на лисче, гяурката!

Треа да разчиташ на символите на професионалистите. Тия символи струват проценти от бевепето на бг и е добре да се ползват.

BIGBUGEX

Треа да разчиташ на символите на професионалистите. Тия символи струват проценти от бевепето на бг и е добре да се ползват.

А ве на некво комунистическо курво - символите нема да ползвам, ама мое да ползвам символи от класиката...

Примерно символът "Д" може да се ползва (а и напомня на логото на Пловдив за европейско столица на културата)...

Може да го използвам като представям българския си герой в книжката...

Офф, зачетох се нещо за Св. Св. Кирил и Методи и се сетих как в гимназията, кат влеземе в некой супер със съучениците - все им виках да ходиме да се поклоним пред мощите на Свети Джулан и Свети Врат...

Исуската е казал, че леба е тялото му, а винцето е кръвта му, ама е обрекал народецЪ на леб и пиянство... и некоя риба тук таме... друго си е да си апнеш нещо свято...

П.П. Ей сетих се за тоя пич, Реми Гаярд (една меринджейка учеше френски и ми каза как се произнася)... тоя е древен кат Луи Дьо Финес вече...

За по-наблюдателните - могли са да забележат, че още тогава Франция отива на майната си - с появата на хора кат него...

Чуек, ако Исуската е знаел за ракията щеще нея да я припознае като кръвта си.

BIGBUGEX

Чуек, ако Исуската е знаел за ракията щеще нея да я припознае като кръвта си.

Туй е турско питие ве... Мафийотова правилно го е забранила на гяурчетата...

BIGBUGEX - на ти да пробваш една моя глава да кажеш мнение. Мисля, че е една от най-бруталните ми и помнещи се глави в книжката. От гледна точка на едно женско същество наподобяващо Parapuzosia е, дето е второстепенен герой.

Най-общо се разказва, как главния герой ся е в капан в една черна дупка, а през туй време съществото "Охлюв" му викат и един от приятелите на главния герой "Джестър" отиват в един бар да избият стотици хора, да ги превърнат в роби, Джестър да изнасили некви стриптизьорки, да избие некви ченгета и т.н. - да не ти разказвам сичко... пробвай го - човека в тая глава става пълен психопат... но най-забавна е гледната точка на "Охлюв"...

А Чата ми предложи заглавие на главата "Happy Hour"...

Chapter 55 — Happy Hour

Monday, November 16 — 05:41 PM**

Snail did not like the trunk.

It was dark.

It smelled of rubber, old cloth, oil and Father's friend.

Mostly Father's friend.

His blood had dried in several places near the latch where he had touched it earlier.

Snail tasted one spot with the end of a tentacle.

Old.

Not useful.

She pulled the tentacle back.

Outside, humans moved through the street.

Her ants showed them to her in pieces.

Shoes.

Faces.

Cars.

Lights.

Many soft bodies entering and leaving buildings.

Food everywhere.

New York was an excellent place.

Father had been correct to live here.

The car stopped.

The trunk remained closed.

Father's friend climbed out.

Snail watched through three ants hidden beneath the rear bumper.

He wore a coat over his damaged arm. Bandages covered part of his hand and most of his forehead.

He looked toward the building.

Colored lights glowed above the entrance.

Music vibrated through the pavement.

Humans went inside.

Most wore more clothing than necessary.

Some females wore very little.

Snail approved.

Less material to remove before eating.

Father's friend entered.

Snail followed him through the ants already crawling beneath the door.

Inside were tables.

Bottles.

Lights.

Food.

A great deal of food.

Perhaps forty.

Maybe more.

Snail clicked quietly inside the trunk.

This place was much better than the basement.

Father's friend sat beside a large male whose stomach pushed heavily against his shirt.

Snail recognized him faintly.

He smelled connected to the other humans they had taken.

Balsamo.

Mannino.

This one had been near them before.

The fat male slapped Father's friend on the shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, Jester. What happened to you?”

Father's friend smiled.

“Manhattan. I was close to the explosions.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

The male pointed at his head.

“Why the bandages? Debris fell on your head or something?”

“Something like that.”

“And the hand? Why aren't you in a hospital?”

“It's not that bad.”

The fat male whistled.

“Crazy fucking shit. Bridges, helicopters, half the cops in Manhattan running around like somebody kicked a hornet nest.” He drank from his glass. “And after what the bosses pulled? Forget it. Every federal agency in the country is gonna crawl up everybody's ass.”

Another male approached.

Dark suit.

Short gray hair.

He looked at Father's friend.

The fat one raised a hand.

“Tony. You know this guy?”

The second male shook his head.

“Friend of mine. Did some work for people back in the old country.”

“You've been to Italy?”

“Yeah.”

The second male stared at Father's friend a little longer.

Then recognition came.

“Oh, you're that car guy.”

Father's friend nodded.

“That's me.”

Snail wondered why this was important.

Humans seemed to enjoy remembering one another through activities.

Car guy.

Gun guy.

Money guy.

Father's friend had many activities.

The fat male opened his mouth to say something else.

Then stopped.

His eyes moved toward a large television above the bar.

“Oh, shit.”

He pointed.

“Turn that up!”

The bartender increased the volume.

A human female spoke from the screen.

Snail recognized the shapes before she understood why.

Father's old family.

She felt them too.

Very faintly.

Amber.

Red.

Connected.

All of them.

An older female sat at one side.

Thin.

Gray hair.

Hands folded tightly in her lap.

Beside her sat Father's former mate.

Barbara.

Snail remembered the name because Father had thought it many times.

Her hair was pale brown with yellow in it. Her body was healthier than the old female's. She looked frightened.

Three younger humans sat beside her.

One tall male with dark hair and broad shoulders.

Two smaller females with hair like their mother.

The network moved through all five.

Snail clicked softly.

Converted.

Good.

They belonged to the family now.

The woman on the television asked Barbara something.

Barbara wiped at her eyes.

“I don't know what he's capable of anymore.”

Father's friend stopped drinking.

Snail felt his attention sharpen.

Barbara continued.

“We separated because I couldn't live like that anymore. Jack was hardly home. Even after Iraq was over for him, it felt like he was somewhere else all the time.”

Snail searched the network.

That felt true.

Not because she understood marriage.

But Father remembered empty rooms.

Arguments.

Promises.

Leaving.

Barbara looked down.

“When he was home, everything had to be his way. He could get angry. Very angry.”

Also true.

Father became angry frequently.

Snail liked that about him.

Then Barbara said:

“He hit me.”

Barbara continued.

“He threatened the children. Once he told me if I ever tried to take them away, he'd make sure I never saw them again.”

The tall young male spoke next.

Their son.

“Dad wasn't around much.”

That was true.

“We were kind of relieved when he left.”

Pain moved through the network.

Not from the young male.

Far away.

Father.

Snail lifted her head inside the trunk.

She could barely feel him.

But he was there.

Somewhere impossible.

The son continued.

“I knew he worked with military people. Guns. Security stuff. But I never imagined he was a terrorist.”

One of the daughters was crying.

Father's mother spoke last.

“My husband knew people in the Pentagon. Contractors. People in the weapons business. He introduced Jack to some of them when he was younger.”

Father's friend leaned forward.

The old woman looked toward the interviewer.

“I should have said something years ago.”

“About what?”

She hesitated.

“Jack once threatened to kill me if I talked about what he was involved in.”

Father's friend laughed quietly.

Not amusement.

Disbelief.

The fat male beside him shook his head.

“What kind of crazy motherfucker is this Jack?”

Father's friend looked at him.

For several seconds he said nothing.

Snail felt something pass through him.

Anger.

Then amusement.

Then something colder.

“He's my friend.”

The fat male blinked.

“Oh. You served with him?”

Father's friend stood.

“Something like that. Why don't you come outside?”

“What?”

“I want to show you something.”

“What?”

“You'll like it.”

The fat male looked toward the other man.

Then back at Father's friend.

“What is it?”

Father's friend smiled.

“Come see.”

They left through the side entrance.

Snail became excited.

Footsteps approached.

The trunk opened.

Cold air entered.

The fat male looked down.

His mouth opened.

Snail spread her tentacles happily.

“What the FUCK is—”

She shocked him.

His body jerked.

The smell was wonderful.

Burned cloth.

Burned hair.

Cooked meat.

The male screamed.

Snail grabbed his arm and bit.

Blood filled her mouth.

Better.

Father's friend laughed.

The door behind him opened.

Three more males came outside.

“What the hell?”

One reached beneath his jacket.

Father's friend's bandaged hand moved.

The cloth tore.

Scaled fingers closed around the man's face.

Father's friend slammed him into the wall.

Bone broke.

The human made a wet sound.

Father's friend hit him again.

He stopped moving.

The other two reached for weapons.

Snail called the ants.

They came from beneath the car.

From the wall.

From the garbage containers.

One male screamed as they climbed inside his trousers.

The other fired once.

The bullet struck the trunk.

Snail became angry.

The ants covered his hand.

Acid hissed across his pistol.

He dropped it.

Father's friend grabbed his head.

Twisted.

Crack.

The body fell.

The remaining male lasted longer.

He kicked.

Swore.

Crushed several ants.

Then enough bites reached his neck.

His movements slowed.

Snail returned to the fat one.

He was still alive.

Good.

She bit deeper into his arm.

Father's friend did not stop her.

Snail felt gratitude.

Father often prevented her from eating humans.

Father's friend understood better.

Mobsters.

Criminals.

Deserve to die.

The thoughts came from him repeatedly.

Snail did not understand them.

Food did not need to deserve anything.

Food was food.

Perhaps humans required permission from themselves before eating.

Humans invented very complicated rules.

Father's friend stepped over the dead male.

“Come on.”

Snail looked up.

He gestured toward the door.

“Inside.”

Snail clicked happily.

More food.

She climbed from the trunk.

Someone inside screamed before she even entered.

A male raised a pistol.

He fired.

The round struck Snail's shell.

Metal sparked.

Snail barely felt it.

Father's friend dropped beside her.

“Ants.”

She released them.

The floor moved.

Humans screamed.

Weapons came out.

The ants reached them first.

Metal smoked.

Slides jammed.

Hands blistered.

People kicked chairs aside and ran.

Snail smelled acid.

Blood.

Burned meat.

Wonderful.

She moved through the room.

A male struck her with a bottle.

Snail grabbed him around the waist and threw him across a table.

Wood broke.

Another tried to run.

Ants covered his legs.

He fell.

Father's friend shot someone.

Then another.

Then stopped using the gun.

He didn't need it.

His scaled hand punched a man in the chest hard enough to throw him backward.

Snail felt the network expanding.

Deaths.

One.

Three.

Seven.

More.

Something changed inside Father's friend.

He stopped.

Touched his head.

Blood had soaked through the bandage.

He frowned.

Then screamed.

Snail turned.

Something hard pushed through the bandage above his forehead.

Amber.

Red inside.

A sharp crystalline point tore through blood and cloth.

Father's friend fell to one knee.

“Fuck!”

Snail hurried toward him.

He slapped her tentacle away.

“Wait.”

The crystal kept growing.

Not one of the old crystals.

New.

Father's friend touched it.

His eyes widened.

“Holy shit.”

He gripped the protruding piece.

Pulled.

Blood ran down his face.

The crystal snapped free.

He stared at it in his palm.

A complete crystal fragment.

Amber.

Alive with red veins.

Snail clicked.

Beautiful.

Father's friend began laughing.

Around them, people were still dying.

The network grew.

Something opened.

Far below.

Father's friend froze.

Snail felt what he saw.

Not clearly.

A cavern.

No.

Too large.

Something beneath Manhattan glowed reddish amber through distances Snail could not understand.

A structure.

Or a body.

It stretched beyond sight.

Something translucent moved beside it.

Enormous.

Soft.

Trailing long shapes through tunnels that looked tiny around it.

Then blackness returned.

Another presence touched Father's friend's mind.

Grey.

Horned.

Cold.

Before, it had felt infinitely far above him.

Now—

Closer.

The thing noticed him.

Father's friend smiled.

“You see me.”

Snail did not know whom he meant.

Humans wearing very little clothing ran toward the rear exit.

Females.

One had long yellow hair.

Another had dark hair and large rounded growths on her chest.

Snail found both poorly designed.

No shell.

No tentacles.

Very little protective covering.

Father's friend stared especially hard at the yellow-haired one's exposed rear.

Snail did not understand why.

It appeared soft.

Easy to damage.

“Don't let them out.”

Snail obeyed.

Ants filled the doorway.

The females screamed and retreated.

Father's friend looked at the crystal in his hand.

“I want to try something.”

He pointed at the dark-haired female.

“Get her.”

Snail sent ants across the floor.

They bit her ankles.

She fell.

Snail wrapped a tentacle around her waist and dragged her back.

The female screamed.

“No! Please!”

Father's friend knelt beside her.

“Open her head.”

Snail obeyed.

Her tentacle pressed into the scalp.

Skin split.

The female screamed louder.

Bone resisted.

Snail pushed harder.

It cracked.

Father's friend inserted the new crystal.

For several seconds the female convulsed.

Then the network caught her.

Her fear became visible.

Then smaller.

Then distant.

Father's friend pushed.

Snail felt him forcing the connection faster.

Harder.

The female's body went still.

Her eyes opened.

She looked at Jester.

That was the name.

Father called him Jester.

The others called him Jester.

Snail decided she liked the sound.

Jester smiled.

“Stand up.”

The female stood.

Snail clicked.

Excellent.

New family.

More screaming came from outside.

Humans who had escaped were running along the street.

Jester felt them through the ants.

His head hurt again.

Another crystal point began forcing its way through the bloody bandage.

He laughed.

“Genghis fucking Khan.”

Snail paused.

Who was Genghis Khan?

The network gave her fragments from Jester's memory.

Horses.

Cities.

Bodies.

Conquest.

Slaves.

A human who had taken many other humans and decided they belonged to him.

Jester liked the comparison.

A conqueror deserved slaves.

Snail found this extremely confusing.

Why would food have rights?

Why would Jester require permission to own food?

Why did humans invent rules and then admire humans who ignored them?

Perhaps Genghis Khan had been unusually intelligent.

Jester tore the second new crystal from his skull.

Blood sprayed across his cheek.

“Bring me another one.”

Snail caught the yellow-haired female.

The process was faster this time.

Then another.

A male who managed the bar.

He cried while Jester questioned him.

Accounts.

Names.

Cash.

Properties.

Snail understood none of it.

“Bank accounts.”

Jester wanted the human to tell him about bank accounts.

Apparently numbers could contain food.

Or power.

Humans were ridiculous.

Outside, the ants reached the fleeing people.

Snail felt them fall.

More deaths.

More pressure.

More growth.

Jester collapsed.

His body twitched against the floor.

Blood ran from his head.

He laughed so loudly Snail briefly worried something had broken inside him.

“I can feel them.”

He looked upward.

“All of them.”

The network expanded again.

Zodiak appeared somewhere in memory.

Powerful once.

Now—

Far below Jester.

Not physically.

In control.

Authority.

Jester pushed deeper beneath New York.

The interference bent.

For one instant he saw another chamber.

Gigantic red triangular objects.

The horned shape from the subway moved on absurdly long limbs, with smaller shapes near it.

A nest, maybe.

Thousands of naked humans.

Then a face.

Human.

Older.

Heavy brow.

Prominent nose.

A familiar political face Jester had seen on television.

The image vanished.

Jester didn't pursue it.

Дейба и тъпия форумЪ - клъцнал е главата... ей продължението...

He looked instead at the newly converted humans.

His.

That mattered more.

Later Snail found him on a couch with the converted dark-haired female.

He had removed some of his clothing.

So had she.

Snail watched for several seconds.

Jester was using her body for one of the strange human acts associated with pleasure.

The female obeyed because he wanted her to.

Snail saw no meaningful difference between that and ordering her to stand.

Humans complicated everything.

Snail returned to eating.

Sirens interrupted them.

Jester emerged fastening his trousers.

“Of course.”

The newly converted female followed.

Outside, red and blue lights approached.

Police vehicles.

Many.

Jester took the large worm from Snail.

“Sorry, buddy.”

The worm opened.

Jester broke part of the crystal growth from his head and fed it into the organism.

The worm swallowed.

Its weapon formed.

A third of a crystal.

Enough.

Police vehicles reached the intersection.

Jester fired.

The street folded.

Metal screamed.

Several vehicles slammed together as space collapsed around them.

Glass filled the air.

A helicopter banked above the buildings.

More sirens answered from farther away.

Jester watched through the ants.

More police.

Many more.

He could keep going.

Snail felt him consider it.

Then:

Enough.

“Time to go.”

Jester dropped the worm.

The creature immediately crawled toward a dead human and began cutting pieces from the body.

Snail felt terrible for it.

Poor Wormie.

It had barely eaten for days.

Father never let it eat properly.

Snail moved toward the corpse to help.

“Snail.”

She stopped.

Jester pointed toward the survivors.

“Take some.”

Snail looked around.

Fewer than two hundred dead.

Fewer than a dozen new crystals.

Several converted humans.

So much food remained.

Why leave?

But Jester had decided.

Snail obeyed.

She grabbed a red-haired female whose legs were covered in bites.

Another female had short yellow hair.

Jester looked at that one longer.

Save her for later.

Snail wrapped a tentacle around her too.

Then she collected a fat male.

Rich.

Another human word.

Apparently he possessed many numbers.

Jester looked across his new followers.

His new mob.

That word Snail understood now.

A group.

A hierarchy.

People beneath someone else.

Jester considered lieutenants.

Second-in-command.

Someone who could manage things while he was gone.

His thoughts moved toward another familiar human.

Father's other friend.

Rabbi.

Snail clicked happily.

Perhaps Rabbi would like the new family.

Sirens grew louder.

Jester smiled.

“Let's go.”

Snail followed him into the street.

Хах, а уний либералче де метка за Украйна (Васил Попов) се мисли за мАж, щото в "Мамник" отрепал 1 куче и неколко пенсии на село... за цела книжка... а язе утрепах 100+ чуека за една глава...

Baj_boeb - и не тебе мое ти хареса книжката... у предишната глава, мръсния еврей рекетира едни айтита да му пратят едни файлове тип "Epstein Files", за да рекетират хамериканските политици. Ню Йорк гори, а они си мислят, как да си правят далаверите...

Ей ся са захващам сериозно чуек. Тия мравки истински мравки ли са? И охлюва истински охлюв ли е? Или човек който мисли ръката си за пипало? Ни съм чел художествена литература на английски чуек, ши ма извиниш.

Мравките са базирани на най-голямата праисторическа мравка - Titanomyrma, но са един извънземен вид дето е братчед на тая изчезнала мравка.

Да не ти развалям историята (то туй не го обяснявам в тая книга де), но тая мравка и онова с пипалата са реално същества дето са братчеди на праисторическите, развили се на друга планета, щото преди мелеарди години, извънземните са докарали малко животни на Земята...

Та да - истински животни са...

Хм, човек дет мисли ръката си за пипало - аха, туй не се разбира от тая глава... тоя пич е инфектиран с един "рептилски" вирус и става лека полека некъв вид гущер - за сега само раката му е гущерова...

П.П. Охлювът е ей такова... ама еволюирало да се движи на земята и отглежда мравките в черупката си...

И я прави метална с разни сегменти подобно на този подводен охльов с метална черупка...

Оо, David Baldacci ще има книга за AI...

Последният акаунт на Единия

Baj_boeb - и не тебе мое ти хареса книжката... у предишната глава, мръсния еврей рекетира едни айтита да му пратят едни файлове тип "Epstein Files", за да рекетират хамериканските политици. Ню Йорк гори, а они си мислят, как да си правят далаверите...

Аз кода "си" не чета вече, ти искаш книги да чета, хахаха.

Baj_boeb

Аз кода "си" не чета вече, ти искаш книги да чета, хахаха.

И аз тъй - пускам си ги да си ги слушам.

Требва да пробвам да си изслушам целата книжка кат напиша и последните глави...