Alexey sat down heavily on the floor along the wall, pulling off his pierced bulletproof vest. A young medical lieutenant, noticing him, immediately hurried, but he waved his hand: "I'll be patient, help those who are seriously injured." Instead of a doctor, a short, inconspicuous man, who managed to keep his uniform clean even in this bloody hell, approached him with silent catlike movements:
— Alexey Anatolyevich, do you know that today, according to the totality of your merits, your criminal record is reset? When the assault is over, you can return to your family.
— Don't, — Leha waved his wounded hand and grimaced: — Why? You didn't tell them that I volunteered, did you? They don't really need me. They stole all my money, my wife became a whore, my daughter... Well, the whore ruined my daughter too...
— So what should I tell them?
— Tell them that I... died in prison! That the cause was... — he looked at the medical lieutenant for help: What whas it called?..
— The blood clot has come off, — the girl suggested: — The easiest death.
"Well, as you wish, Alexey Anatolyevich," — the man bowed and disappeared into the darkness.
Leha got up and approached the nurse when it was his turn. And the burning AKHZ smoked outside, the artillery shook the ground, sparing no shells for the Azov fleeing from imminent retribution. And above the ruins of Avdeevka, the Russian tricolor was flying high, fluttering in the February winds.
Russian flag, raised by the hands of Russian nationalist Alexey Navalny...