“No assailants please, just the Victim.”

Hi, me am the Victim. Or Victoria Timbal, 27, a decent red-haired and green-eyed girl with an astonishing body and everything else, you know.

They think they use me. It’s their right. I am smart and clever. Maybe sometimes I lack experience, maybe. Thus, I’m not perfect but I’m striving for it.

Hostages were seized by a maniac, so they call him. Heretofore he had killed five citizens – tremendously terrifying, isn’t it? They’re sure he should be sentenced for life. “Why have we banned capital punishment?!” they cry swinging their arms. They remind of his victims and can’t understand how their contemporary could do it in reality. Ha, some of them have killed dozens.

They’re afraid of new murders, so they send me and not a SWAT team. No, they are afraid of television, they say, but they lie. Than can easily intimidate any filthy corrupted reporter but what they do fear is a hand camera and a private blog to publish this dirty material. Then the e-plague will burst out for sure. It can even devour them, it’s unlikely but all the same.

They don’t esteem life, just care for their image. It means a high position in the society. It means power. It means money. Who am I talking to?!

“Victim, task one: check the boy is alone; task 2: fuck him up.”

“Clear,” my response. Yeah, it’s clear. Afterwards they will tear their hair out and blink with eyes full of tears: they’ve done their best, they tried to arrest the scoundrel. They failed. The lethal shot stopped his heart beating after the villain raised his weapon against helpless hostages. It will work. They’ll assure with sincerity they’re going to retire. They’ll even hand in a notice of resignation. Ha! They are heroes. They saved the world. Ever again.

I raise my hands and turn around to show there’s no gun. Only then I enter the building. No shots are heard or felt. Can a bullet stop an appealing lass? I doubt. If I didn’t, I would have chosen another job.

The hall. One main passage. I’m on the spot.

“Hey Billy Boy,” I greet the monster being cursed at the moment by all tv channels. A few seconds before, I switched off the microphone. “Why have you gone mad? Stressy out there, isn’t it?”

The man looks into my eyes and blinks. “Why? That’s how my uncle called me when I was a child.”

“I do know, you can imagine.” I study his gun pointing somewhere in the stratosphere, the hostages some twenty steps away. Poor guy.

“You’ve read my dossier, I may guess.” He’s embarrassed a bit but in no way aggressive. Just an old exhausted man. Too early he got old.

“I even worked with you before. They call me the Victim.”

“Oh, I see, I heard of you once or twice”.

That was our ex-informer. Stop, I would rather put it down another way. Informer is a lousy dirty bastard who eavesdrops and thinks of himself as of a patriot. In his turn, William supplied information. He was an honored well-respected person. Cutie, I would add. Once. The information he supplied was only partly illegal. Ha, what is partly illegal – of course it was illegal. Working in a financial institution, he was in the middle of the data stream that was interesting for them. They could collect it by other means but it would have cost more. They paid, he got the money. William sold no souls or dirty wash. Just some off-shore issues. A tiny island in the sea of illegally collected data. However, one day it was enough for him. He could stand the pressure on more – of his consciousness, I assume. He gave up and ran mad. Began to shoot at others, took hostages.

“Vic-tim. Does the nick-name have anything in common with your real name?”

“Yes, it’s Victoria Timbal.”

“Is it the real one?”

“No, of course.” I grinned.

“And what’s your real name? Tell me!”

“What for? Wanna look it up in Twitter, eh?”

“I just want to know the name of the little girl that came to a pack of predators and became one of them: ready to tear apart and gulp anything that moves in the opposite direction. You came not to parley but to kill me. As simple as that.”


“And why did they send you? They have no other? You’re the best in your league? Or you get a kick out of the process.”

The situation made me smile. I came here to talk and probably to find out a piece of truth but then it was me who was interrogated.

“I…” for a moment I was dazed. “I would choose the fourth variant. I came to talk to you.”

“What for? All the same you are to shoot me down and rescue the folk. I bet you didn’t come to convince me of my mistakes and bring me to light. No, thanks.”

“I’m just curious about one question: why?”

“Do you dare to ask me?! You, a little monster from the filthy world out there, ask me why I’ve committed all this?!”

“It’s your world as well, I can tell. You supplied us with information, betrayed your boss who would rather let his right arm cut off than believe in your deceit. You conceived two siblings and put them in this world you are scorning. How is that possible?” Without waiting for an answer I rushed ahead: “Was it a moment in your life when you said enough! I’m fed up with it up to the brim? Was it? Just one moment, one incidental eye-winkle and you’re lost for the society you hate now. Or have you been accumulating anger for a long time? Weren’t you able to tolerate the horrors of the modern world even in the childhood when you were called Billy Boy? Were you too weak to struggle against, too terrified to stand up and say I don’t want to live with you. And then the day came when you felt you can’t anymore. The day you took a gun and shot down a couple of useless fools. Just because you want no more, the game is over, let everything drown in the ocean of blood…”

I stared at the murderer and waited for response. No, not today. This one won’t say anything valuable. Neither will he shed light on the tangled skein of threads piercing the world. So, conversation is over, his eyes are empty, I will learn nothing from him.

Do you need a gun to shoot? I don’t.

*             *             *

“What about the micro?”

“Silence, as always.”

I laughed and climbed into the dark-blue van.

“Hey, Victim, what are you doing to them up there? Why was your micro dead again?”

“Me? Dating.”

So am I, too weak to fight against them, still clever enough to be on their side.

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