What about black? Its easier to sleep.
The horror experienced by the priest of the temple of creativity is difficult to describe. When Tiberius finally grew tired of listening to his moaning, which was a bizarre cocktail of eastern philosophy, modern psychiatry and his personal (rather superficial) knowledge in the field of architecture, he asked: Is it not the designers job to satisfy the customers desires?
Turns out it wasnt; the designers job was to explain to an unreasonable client what was best for him, and this task had to be fulfilled, regardless of any protest. In the end, the apartment was given a complete makeover, but Tiberius couldnt see any difference, no matter how hard he tried.
Tiberius parked the car in one of the anonymous concrete courtyards and with a kind of vengeful pleasure he listened to its hysterical monologue. This parking lot cannot be found in the database! There is no satellite connection! I cannot process the payment! Sir, you are in breach of rule this and rule that. But I cannot send the data there is no connection!
Very good, Tiberius answered gently. Now shut up, stay here and wait for me.
The car fell into a gloomy silence. Tiberius tenderly patted it on its polished fender, like an obstinate but beloved horse, and, whistling, set off along the broken sidewalk. It was hard to imagine that this place was bristling with life just a few years ago; everything was young and fresh. Eden the cradle of the empire. In this huge, now abandoned district, lived the ones who built the great Libertionne. The empire city, a great and modern Babilon, a realm of intelligence and freedom.
At the intersection he was supposed to turn right, but Tiberius slowed, glancing at the crooked sign that read Peace Street. 2 km. In Eden, streets still had names; the more modern and practical Libertionne had decisively rejected them. There, on Peace Street, was his old apartment. Somehow he had to go there and have a look. Probably the windows were broken, highly likely on the first floor; the lawn, which had never been mowed, was a jungle of sagebrush and wild mint. But not now; time was pressing and he was already late. Tiberius began walking faster.
What a difference there was between the aging modern buildings and their elderly cousins! These jewels of baroque and gothic architecture over time only got better, acquiring a special gloss unique to each one, the dust and cobwebs making their chiseled reliefs and sculptures even more mysterious and beautiful. Modern buildings, if not looked after even for a short time, started to resemble dented cardboard boxes, rotting in the rain. Their beauty depends directly on their cleanliness and shine; if a little dirt or the smallest imperfection should appear on their straight, smooth walls, just look how pathetic they become. In similar fashion, a Meissen porcelain plate becomes an antique, while a modern, plastic one turns into garbage.
Tiberius, taking a precautionary look around, went into an indiscernible little courtyard which looked like its thousands of cousins, opened a rusty door and descended a dimly lit and dirty staircase. The further down he went, the louder the noise and shouting of the crowd became. At the end of a dark corridor, Beelzebubs fiery mouth burned in the arched passageway; a plywood sign hung with the handwritten inscription:
Pankrationne
No-holds-barred fighting
As with any advertisement, even ones that had put down their roots here like weeds, the sign was a cunning one. There were rules in this club, for sure, how else would successful businessmen, lawyers, and bankers in short, people who were born to fight and having the bad luck of being born in such a peaceful and trouble-free era. Rules, and of course, restrictions. Besides an ordinary taboo list, finger holds and manipulations. Overall, this was nothing surprising for a modern person, this was the main part of the body, the most essential part for survival. If you couldnt pound on a keyboard, you would be deprived of your daily bread, and friends and family. Punches to the face were also not welcome. This was specifically mentioned to Tiberius on the first day of his membership. That being the case, there was nothing written against hits to the groin. And what of it? In our day and age, the face was more important that the genitals.
Tiberius went into the changing room, by the way, not immediately. The door literally would not close; it was letting people in and out. Men and women were changing clothes together; after all they were not to generate interest among each other. There he quickly undressed, changing from a business suit into shorts and a stretch t-shirt. Today there were so many people that he barely was able to find a place on the narrow iron bench to put his briefcase.
Hello, Raven, said a tall, skinny brunette, firmly shaking his hand.
Here people knew each other by nicknames. The last thing the members of the club wanted was for any information to leak beyond the walls of Pankrationne. Absolutely everything that took place here in the evenings was strictly illegal. The owner of the venue was a Mr. Smith. Small and altogether invisible, this person had a truly rare sense of intuition in business. Thinking up and bringing to fruition the idea of a secret fight club, he easily and unfailingly found potential clients. Held in the grips of business ethics, forced to hold themselves back, and to all day be nice, pleasant and right-minded, people here had the priceless opportunity for a few minutes to be themselves. To forget about bank loans, to stop worrying whether you laughed hard enough when your boss told a joke. Mr. Smith himself had no more feelings for the members of his club than a frigid prostitute for her clients, but with the same degree of success he derived a profit, rationalizing: If people are willing to pay five hundred a month for the hope of taking one in the neck, then heaven bless them. And their hopes and aspirations, too.
A heavy-set girl with a mobile terminal walked into the changing room. Who hasnt paid their dues for this month? she asked. Tiberius placed his palm on the scanning device. His payment was processed as a visit to a Thai massage salon. How Mr. Smith did it after all, gone were the carefree days when a person could pay for anything he or she wanted unsupervised only God knew, but no one could deny that he had a sense of humor. When he was finished with the payment, he assisted Nyx the name given to his female acquaintance, in removing the pads from her hands.
Youre still wearing the six-ounce ones? Youre not a beginner.
Ill switch to the ones you have. Today is just a nightmare. One guy broke his collarbone, knockouts right and left. As if everyone had a tough week.
Thats actually true. You know what happened at the stock exchange. All right, I have to go.
He nodded farewell to Nyx and approached the entrance to the hall, where someones lifeless body was being carried out. There was a traffic jam at the entrance, and scarcely had Tiberius got through it into the packed hall, or rather elbowed his way in, when he heard his name called by the swarthy, stocky man in charge of drawing lots. As Tiberius made his way to the ring, he caught a glimpse of a new face in the crowd a young man, almost a boy. Feminine, skinny, impeccably dressed, with long, blond carefully-styled hair, a typical little baby doll. Although the face, with its clear and expressive individual features, indicated that he was the same age as Tiberius, if not older. In his paws, like a chipmunk with an acorn, he firmly held a smartphone. Tiberius frowned. Clearly he was one of the curious ones. Mister Smith welcomed as members to the club not only those who wanted to insult someone close to them, but also those who wanted to watch. True, for this he charged triple. But heres what was strange usually these people had joy and desire written all over their faces, yet the baby doll was observing the proceedings with a look of horror and mistrust. His hands were clearly shaking, and his face was white as chalk. Tiberius had no time to commiserate, however, as his opponent had already climbed into the ring.