Victims

Chapter 1

"Yaaawn..." — Yawning and stretching, Ira entered the kitchen. "Oh, Mom, you're back already."

"Ira." — Alexandra Vladimirovna Starikova shook her head and looked at her daughter with tenderness. "Why aren't you asleep? You have institute tomorrow."

"Mom, what institute?" — Sitting down opposite her mother, Ira asked. "We have New Year's holidays." — She looked at the calendar on her phone and said, "We still have three days left to relax."

"Mom." — Looking at her mother, Ira asked distrustfully. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, Irish." — Sasha answered, examining the empty coffee mug. "Just tired from the shift."

"I see." — Turning on the stove and placing the kettle on it, Ira asked. "How was the shift?"

"Don't even ask." — Sasha smiled unhappily and waved her hand. "Heard about the fire at the Berezka shopping center?"

"Of course." — Shaking her head, the daughter replied. "The whole network and TV channels are talking about it right now."

"They say there..." — Ira, taking her favorite mug with an image of an Asian dragon, poured in tea, then looked at her mother's empty cup and filled it too. "The security system malfunctioned and locked all the entrances."

"Thank you." — Sasha said when Ira poured boiling water into the cups. "That damn system also released a sleeping gas."

"How awful." — Said Ira, sitting opposite her mother. "They didn't say anything about that on TV."

"That's an understatement, six hundred people died there." — Remembering that about twenty years ago, when she was pregnant with Ira, she hadn't even heard of such systems. "And half the survivors were brought to our hospital."

"And again." — The girl said angrily, hitting the table with her fist. "They won't change a thing."

"You know how it is." — Sasha remembered the draconian measures introduced after the failed White Rose revolution. When she, with an infant in her arms, was almost killed as an employee of the CLN. "Even if thousands die due to flawed security systems."

"The District Council..." — Sasha stroked the aching scars on her chest. "Instead of revising the law on universal control and protecting the positions of district management council members, as well as officials from the Ministry of Population Behavior Control."

"They will bring back preventive torture." — Remembering the cheerful smile of Kolya, who was killed by the rebels during the suppression of another wave of unrest in the city just three months after their wedding. And three days after she told him she was pregnant. "And at the same time, they'll reinstate the tax for supporting social stability of the population."

"Gosh, back in your youth..." — Ira said sadly, sniffling. "When the law on population control still existed, people had more rights in the constitution than they do now."

"Ira, there's something." — After ten minutes of silence, Sasha sighed heavily and decided. "I received a summons for execution."

"What summons?" — Ira asked, stunned, looking at her mother. "You were pardoned as an accidental accomplice."

"They found another one." — Sasha looked at the streetlamp illuminating part of the sidewalk where large snowflakes were falling. "He turned out to be the son of a member of our region's management council."

"No, no, no. It can't be." — Ira jumped up and rushed to her mother. "You didn't do anything, you're not guilty."

"No, Irish, I am guilty." — Stroking the head of her daughter, who had buried her face in her chest, Sasha added sadly. "I was the one who handed over his heart to the courier back then."

"But you didn't know." — Raising her tear-streaked face to her mother, Ira said. "You simply couldn't have known."

"I should have known." — Looking at her daughter's surprised gaze, Sasha felt a tear run down her cheek. "I should have checked the documents about who the donor was."

"Mom, how could this happen?" — Ira buried her face in her mother's chest again, and muffled sobs once again filled the room. "How will I manage without you?"

"Now, daughter." — Standing up, Sasha said sternly. "You need to get some sleep; we have a difficult day tomorrow."

"What sleep?" — Jerking up, Ira shouted. "Mom, wake up, they're going to kill you in a few days."

"Now, daughter." — Sasha, taking Ira by the shoulders, said. "First, they won't 'kill' me, they will 'execute' me."

"And second..." — Gently stroking her daughter's head, Sasha turned off the kitchen light and led her to her room. "We need to register you as the last surviving family member within these three days."

"Otherwise..." — Sasha helped Ira undress and, after putting her to bed and undressing herself, lay down beside her. "You won't receive the benefit for the loss of all relatives."

"Mom..." — Curling up under the blanket, Ira whispered quietly. "I'm scared. What will happen to me?"

"There, there, it's okay." — Gently stroking her daughter's head, Sasha comforted her. "You're strong, you'll manage."

Chapter 2

Quietly, so as not to wake her daughter, Sasha, without having breakfast, got dressed and slipped out of the apartment, leaving a farewell note in the kitchen. Exiting the building entrance, Sasha frowned with displeasure when her life-worn boots stepped into a huge puddle right in front of the door. The snow that had been falling almost non-stop for the past week had now turned into a light-gray slush, dotted here and there with puddles. A fine, nasty drizzle fell from the sky covered in leaden clouds.

Sighing heavily, Sasha pulled up the hood of her fur coat and trudged towards the center. Her mood of sad farewell to the world was replaced by irritation and anger at herself. Instead of ordering a taxi to the CIN, she had decided the evening before to take one last walk through the still-sleeping city, saying goodbye to the place where she had lived for the last 22 years, having come here after graduating from institute on assignment. The weather, it seemed, like winter itself, having taken offense at her for something, decided to arrange a thaw, spoiling the woman's melancholic mood.

Clumsily making her way through the snowy slush, Sasha, after crossing the road, found herself before wide gates. This was the entrance to the Center for Execution of Punishments. The very center that exactly twenty years ago was called the Center for Liquidation of the Population. It was from its courthouse that she had miraculously escaped when an enraged mob, having killed the guards, broke into the building, smashing everything in their path, and incidentally killing every person they laid eyes on. As Sasha later learned, besides her, none of the staff survived. And she was lucky that her neighbors, not knowing where she worked, didn't give her away to the groups of bereaved relatives of those executed under liquidation sentences, who were prowling the city in search of hidden employees of the Centers for Liquidation of the Population.

The entrance to the center's courtyard had changed radically. In front of the massive gate leaves, concrete blocks stood in a staggered pattern. Around the perimeter at the base of the slabs, coiled loops of barbed wire, waist-high to a person, snaked. In front of it, also around the perimeter at equal distances from each other, anti-tank hedgehogs were placed. Above the wall, watchtowers were visible, where soldiers in camouflage uniforms looked bored through the embrasures as they surveyed the city.

Passing through the checkpoint, presenting her documents and summons to a young soldier, Sasha, going through the turnstile, noted that twenty years ago the centers had their own security services. The riot had radically changed the attitude towards population execution centers. And now everything looked not like a hospital where lethal procedures would be performed on a person, but like a real prison, with rooms equipped for executions.

Exiting the checkpoint, Sasha whistled at the sight that opened before her. In the parking lot where employees had left their cars twenty years ago, now stood two APCs, between which was a monument to the staff who died during the riot. The monument, made of gray marble, depicted a young girl in a center employee's uniform impaled on a stake. The frozen pose of agony symbolically told of the torment experienced before death by people who were simply doing their job.

Entering the building's registry, Sasha understood that the center had changed not only on the outside. Instead of plastic panels in pastel colors just above human height, now there were bare walls painted dark blue. Instead of small benches with soft padding, now there were roughly made, long, varnished benches of thick planks. Approaching the first window, Sasha realized that the center had become a full-fledged military facility, as behind the barred window, sorting through papers, sat a soldier with sergeant's shoulder straps.

"Good morning." — Sasha greeted politely. "I have been directed here by court sentence."

"Passport and summons." — Said the sergeant. Taking the passport, he spent a few seconds comparing the photo with Sasha's face. Then, after checking the summons, he said dryly, "Room 11."

A man about forty years old, with the rank of senior lieutenant, quickly processed all the necessary documents. Handing over a folder with the personal file, he directed Sasha to the second floor to the preliminary examination room. Going up to the second floor, Sasha walked down a long corridor to the needed door. Realizing the room was occupied, Sasha sighed heavily and sat on the hard bench opposite the entrance.

"Excuse me." — A woman's voice brought Sasha out of her thoughts about her daughter's future fate. "May I sit down?"

"Of course, of course." — Picking up the folder with the personal file from the bench, Sasha said. "Have a seat."

"Thank you." — Said the woman, sitting down next to her.

The woman was Sasha's age. On her face, framed by not very long chestnut hair, traces of burns were visible. Sasha didn't immediately notice that she was missing three fingers on her left hand, and her right hand was disfigured by a long, ragged scar that ran from the wrist and disappeared into the sleeve of a warm sweater. From these marks, Sasha guessed that the woman, about twenty years ago, had also worked at the CLN and, having fallen into the hands of the rioters, had miraculously survived.

"Oh, sorry." — Said the woman when her right hand, trembling, dropped the folder with her personal file, which fell open to the first page.

"It's nothing." — Said Sasha, bending down to pick up the folder, and glancing at the surname, she thought about the strange coincidence of the woman's surname and that of her old friend and former colleague, Galina Fedorovna Smirnova. "Here you go."

"Thank you." — The woman replied. And Sasha noted that if not for the chestnut hair, she really would have somewhat resembled Galya from the hall where executions by garroting were carried out.

"Excuse me." — Sasha addressed the woman. "Did you work in this Center about twenty years ago?"

"Why do you ask?" — The woman immediately became wary.

"It's just..." — Sasha replied, looking even more carefully at the woman's face. "About twenty years ago, I had a friend who worked in this center."

"Whew." — The woman exhaled with relief, adjusting her hair. "Sorry, I thought you might have had a relative executed here under a liquidation sentence."

"No, it's just I..." — Sasha looked closely at the woman's hairstyle and, seeing that the tips were reddish, exclaimed. "Gal, is that you?"

"Umm..." — Looking more carefully at Sasha, the woman opened her eyes in shock and said. "Sashka, it can't be you."

"Who else?" — Sasha said, hugging her friend tightly. "I thought you were killed."

"Gosh." — A tear ran down Galya's cheek, falling onto Sasha's palm. "And I thought you were."

"How did you figure..." — Finally detaching from her friend, still holding her hands, Sasha asked. "That I was dead?"

"When I was running from the center..." — Galya replied, scratching the back of her head. "I saw a decapitated female corpse in clothes similar to what you were wearing that day."

"I see." — Smiling, Sasha suddenly realized that Galya wasn't on the lists of staff who died then, and asked. "Wait, but why weren't you on the lists, neither the living nor the dead?"

"That day, I..." — Galya smirked. "Was fired after another complaint from my executioner."

"How so?" — Sasha stared uncomprehendingly. "I never heard that Zinaida Sergeevna filed complaints against you."

"Sash." — Galya sighed heavily. "Zinaida Sergeevna was crucified on a cross in another CLN ten days before that day."

"Sorry." — Sasha apologized, stroking her friend's right shoulder. "I didn't know."

"The director there..." — Clenching her fists, Galya hissed through her teeth. "That bastard! Prescribed a red-hot chastity belt and a steel bra for her."

"Horror." — Covering her mouth with her palms, Sasha said, shocked. "Poor Zinaida Sergeevna, she was about our age back then."

"Yep." — Galya grunted. "Can you imagine, she was crucified with our Andrei Borisovich."

"Sergeev?" — Sasha's eyes nearly popped out of her head at this news.

"Himself." — Galya sighed sadly. "They crucified a woman from the center itself along with them."

"I don't remember the surname exactly." — Scratching her cheek, Galya said. "But her assistant in our center was flayed ten days before her."

"Wait." — A terrible guess came to Sasha. "So we saw her."

"Who?" — Galya didn't understand. "Saw?"

"Well, the girl who was flayed." — Sasha replied. "The one whose executioner was executed along with Andrei Borisovich and Zinaida Sergeevna."

"Oh, right, I remember." — Slapping her forehead, Galya said. "I swapped her, that fat cow, for two students back then."

"Yeah." — Sasha smiled. "If I remember correctly, besides her, they executed Katya, Masha, Anya, and the assistant herself was named Ira."

"Yep." — Galya said with displeasure. "And that fat bitch was named Margo."

"More precisely, Margarita Petrovna Kryukova." — Sasha smirked and asked. "By the way, tell me, did the students torture her for long?"

"Ooh... It was something." — Galya smiled widely and said cheerfully. "Imagine, she broke free from the straps when one of the trainees, as a joke, yanked her by the tit."

"And what?" — Sasha asked with great interest. "What happened next?"

"Can you believe it, she lifted him over her head." — Demonstrating how it happened. "By the throat and