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In the backyard of the ХВ Palace, where the annual "Golden Persimmon" award ceremony was taking place, sat a gloomy Volke, carefully pulling a hood over his face and adjusting his glued-on beard. His photos, with the caption "Wanted," were plastered all over the Forum, so he was currently in hiding. Suddenly, the door opened, and Vervolka burst out, almost running into the yard. She was about to head towards the forest, which loomed dark on the horizon, but when she saw Volke, she stopped.
"What are you doing here? Missing something?"
"Not really. What are you rushing off to?"
Vervolka scratched behind her ear. "Well, Vesker almost shot me with a Japanese pistol," she admitted reluctantly. The full moon was approaching, and a green spark flickered in her eyes. "How about we do something mischievous?"
"Nah, I don't feel like it. And I'm lazy. Besides, I'm already wanted." Volke hesitated but was already rummaging through his pockets for a can of paint. "How about we paint all the walls? With swear words?"
"No, that's too much. Let's just write some meaningless doodles, and let them rack their brains trying to find a meaning," Vervolka giggled. "Come on," Volke agreed, brightening up. Their conversation was interrupted by the gruff voice of Arandor. "So, what are you two up to?" he asked, trying to push his jester's cap deeper into his pocket. The bells jingled betrayingly. "You, go away, kid! You'll gather the whole Forum here with your jingling," Vervolka said, spitting. "Go on, you still have a hundred snowflakes to carve." Volke laughed mockingly. "No, I have a feeling we're about to start some serious trouble! And I can't miss it!" Arandor settled in comfortably, not intending to leave.
"It's too late! Disaster!!!" Volke shouted desperately. Vesker was walking towards them at a brisk pace from the open door of the Palace, unfastening his holster and adjusting his police uniform. "Yeah, he's not going to read us our rights," Vervolka thought. "He'll shoot, and that's it, the wolf pack is gone. And in the hall, there's Kosha with her banhammer..."
But in reality, the petty hooligans should have been afraid not of Vesker with his Japanese pistol, nor of the stern-looking but kind-hearted Kosha, and not even of the wealthy Admin. They should have been afraid of the one who was now approaching down the alley, making a terrible racket. The noise was so loud that everyone froze, even Vesker, who didn't have time to draw his pistol. After a few minutes, they saw what was making the noise – a huge tank was slowly but steadily entering through the open gates, its armor riddled with blast holes and covered in some suspicious dark brown stains. The tank stopped. The gears clicked ominously, moving the turret. The tank's cannon inexorably aimed at the group of offenders. Suddenly, complete silence fell, even the birds stopped singing in the trees. Very slowly, putting everyone in a state of complete stupor, the tank's hatch began to open. A head in a helmet and huge anti-blast goggles appeared from the hatch. "What?! Are you causing trouble?! You little brats!!! Get out of here!!!" the head roared in a familiar voice.
"Vesker, step aside! I'll take them out with a bazooka!"
"Sir, we're just kidding... We're just... We're nothing... We'll clean everything up..."
But it was too late... Siever (and you've probably guessed that it was him in the tank) had already locked the petty hooligans in the crosshairs of his optical sight and... (the story, unfortunately, ends here!)
Published with Vesker's permission. ))
