Life likes to surprise. Sometimes a light stripe comes – and you think: this is it, finally life will get better! Finally, everything will follow the path of calm and peaceful, full of happiness and pink ponies!

As if not so! It's all just a self-deception, no more. If you just relax, the fate will immediately turn back on you. And you will smell this unpleasant smell of feces, into which your supposedly carefree life turns.

This smell is what I see (or maybe not) in someone else's trunk, where I lie tied up. What or who in general was driven before me here?

But I am not so helpless! I always carry with me a knife-butterfly, I love to cut apples, and in general a useful thing in everyday life. My hands are tied behind my back, but I could turn away and the knife fell out of my pocket. Now it is necessary to catch it while I am thrown from side to side. It seems that my kidnappers drove off the paved road. This is not good for me.

Having hit my head, elbows, knees several times, I still managed to catch the knife and cut the rope. Having adopted a more comfortable position to less crippled, I started to wait. Alas, it is dark in the trunk, and at night it is a matter of time, so I have no idea, at least approximately in what direction they take me.

Something has rattled in my chest. No, I certainly do not learn from mistakes. I remember the first time I died... or don't remember? I tried to reproduce pictures of sleep that I often saw in my childhood. My death. To be more exact, my last death from my first life. Unfortunately, for almost thirty years on Earth I lost most of my memories. On the other hand, why do I need them here?

Well, here we are. I felt the car stop, heard footsteps and doorbells: it seems that there are three of them. Well, Vladimir, this is your way out. It is scary, of course, who will meet there, I crossed a lot of roads. The main thing is to be ahead of the curve.

Turn the keys in the trunk lock.

Bright light in the eyes from the lantern and a figure, or rather two.

I immediately throw a fire extinguisher into one of them, hear a sounding blow and a scream, hopefully, right in the nose. I jump out of the trunk and meet the second figure who was confused. My butterfly entered under his ribs. I dump the body, easily pull the first one behind his wrist and until he came to, turn my back to me and then wrap my forearm around his neck. The bloodied butterfly turns out to be at his throat.

And then I finally managed to look around.

Oh, shit!

Teenagers! One kid is lying on the ground, grabbing a twisted belly and moaning. I hardly inflicted a fatal wound on him, the length of the blade was too short and the blow came anywhere. A girl of fifteen years old looks at me with her mouth open, stands and does not make a sound with frozen terror on her face. The smartphone from her hands falls to the ground and she, screaming, runs from me.

I made a triangle capture of the hostage and knocked him out until better times. I rushed after the girl and quickly caught up with her, painfully broke her hand and, taking just in case, also by the hair, the wolf back to the car. A rusty six with dirty numbers. It made me laugh. What is this nonsense? Night, street, lantern. The pharmacy is missing. But it's not exactly a street, it's a dirt road, on the one hand a forest, on the other a field or a wasteland. It is dark there, you can't see anything.

I looked at the guys. It looks like years... and what the hell do you understand, modern youth, how old they are. Conditionally – from fifteen to twenty, quite decently dressed. They certainly do not come from poor families. To be honest, at that moment I was even confused who it was that came out on me; I do not remember having conflicts with children.

– You killed them! – yells at the girl I've been twisting.

– I did not kill anybody, you stupid little girl! – I shouted at her. – Who are you, why did you kidnap her?

The girl whines, mascara leaked. Damn her understand, whether her wrist was too twisted, or she was just nervous.

– It's a prank, man! – she whines.

– Prank? What? I'm gonna show you a prank like that now, you fool...

I've been seduced. I have already shown. For the rest of my life, I will be remembered.

Cotton, painfully familiar sound. Shit. It hurts.

Wild stinging pain in the chest. I put my eyes down and saw the blood stain that spread on my shirt.

How painful! I let go of the girl's wrist and slowly turned around. Another one, the same painted baby. In her shaky hands, obviously transformed into a weapon of war injuries, tears on her cheeks and terror in her eyes. I saw her face well, just in front of the lantern. She is beautiful, stupid.

It hurt. How painful.

I reached for the second girl in an attempt to take the gun and almost went deaf: she screamed like a cut and gave a dera in the dark of the night, throwing the gun on the ground.

I can't breathe, it looks like a lung is punctured. Ha! Well, I am lucky here, if I can say so in such a situation! I will definitely last another half hour. The main thing is to have time to meet with the doctors before all the blood runs out.

Trying to ignore the pain, I raised my gun.

The boy wounded in the stomach was no longer just moaning, but rather panicking:

– It hurt. I will die. Hospital, I have to go to hospital.

– Shut up! – I kicked a whiner a little bit and he whined from pain.

– Asshole! My father will kill you, you bastard! – the guy sneezed angrily in return.

The girl I was holding at the time of the shot was still standing next to me, not moving a step. She was shaking and repeating "oh my God," looking at the bloody guy with terror.

Yes, these are obviously not killers, but just drunken teenagers. What then is the course of action? Well, first of all, I can't leave these idiots. If I do this and that kid digs up – it will be harder to justify their actions in self-defense. But if I take them out ... hehe, it will be even possible to benefit from this situation.

I roughly grabbed the girl by the forearm and shaked.

– Look at me! – I barked and attracted her attention. – Hear, look at me! Calm down. Everything will be fine. Now you will help me and we will all go to the hospital, you understand?

She was nervous, but affirmatively, shaken her head looking at the gun in my hands.

– Where is the phone? Call an ambulance.

– Oh, mine is broken," she whines.

Oh, come on!

– Where's yours? – I kick slightly in the shoulder with a wounded knife.

– Do not touch me, asshole! You will answer for it. Do you understand? My dad... – I kicked him again, breaking off at half a word.

– It was my fault, you idiot. You give me the phone.

Hudo is poor, he took the smartphone out of his pocket and told the girl that she immediately grabbed the gadget.

– And how do you call an ambulance?

– Dial 112, – I tell her.

A few seconds of silence.

– The network and no, – she stretched out and cried.

I cursed the children, the cellular communication and my own unluckiness that evening. It seems that I will have to go myself, if not to the hospital, then at least to the place where there is a connection.

– Help me throw it in the trunk, – I'm poking a stunned guy.

– Is he dead?

– No, he is asleep, just asleep. He is alive, do not be afraid. We need to go to the hospital.

She nods at me and confidently takes the guy under my armpit, drags him to the trunk, where he puts him without my help. I slam the lid and address the wounded man:

– Where are the keys?

– Fuck you – this wounded young moron apparently wants to die.

– I will go and you will stay here to die. Don't be stupid, where are the keys?

The guy took the keys out of his pants pocket and threw them under my feet. I took three steps back and asked the girl to lift it, which she did after handing it to me.

– Do you know how to drive?

– No!

– I don't care! Take this whiner and put it on the front passenger.

She nodded again and started to help the moaning bug to get off the ground. Meanwhile, I sat on the driver's seat and looked through the glove compartment: some papers, cigarettes and a lighter. So, I haven't found any weapons yet, and this is the main thing. No one can give me another unpleasant surprise.

Meanwhile, I was getting worse, dizziness and nausea started: it seemed that I was losing a lot of blood and now every minute counts.

Meanwhile, the wounded man was already seated and buckled up; the girl herself sat on the back and froze.

– Get behind the wheel," I told her and got out of the car. I was rocking and I grabbed the roof and opened the door to finally sit in the back. – Are you still here?

This fool still sits on the back and looks at me with terror. I start to get angry and point a gun muzzle at her.

– I said drive now! – I shouted and cried out in pain, and then turned to the wounded man: – Remember the road? – he nodded. – So, you will be a navigator!

The girl jumped out of the car and circled it, sitting behind the wheel. I explained to her what to do, she turned the ignition key. And the hell began. I caught overloads from her coarse pressure on the pedals: she was confused time and again, she pressed the gas and brake hard. Over and over again, the car stalled. I even started to regret that I did not drive myself, but it would probably be even more risky. And I could threaten with a gun from the back seat and nobody would choke me from behind (such an idea could come to this stoned cut).

And here we finally went. Slowly, in the first gear and then in the second, when the local "navigator" helped her to change gear. What else could go wrong? Ha! With a girl driving? Worst of all: she once again mixed up the gas with the brake, like a fool started spinning the steering wheel and... we got off the road.

I got yanked, I flew up, hitting the roof. It seems that we flew to the ditch and I lost consciousness.

* * *
I lie on something hard on my back. There is no pain, just fatigue. Monotonous mumbling. I opened my eyes and scolded. Some man in a hoodie is holding a dagger above me and something is muttering, rolling his eyes.

He is tied to a stone in an asterisk position, and nobody pays attention to the screams. I looked around as far as the position allowed me to, and I saw a circle of knee-knee-loving men and women in hoodies with hoods on their heads in their forties. The place looks like a cave, the torches are burning, lighting the uneven surface of the walls.

From fire to hollow, huh? First, it was pinned down, then almost crashed, and now it got under the knife to the sectarians?

No, well, that's great at all. That's how you do it? Although, stop. I lift my head and look at my chest. It doesn't hurt, I'm all right. That's why my head completely went round.

– Dear, why don't you untie me? – I asked the thundering old man with a dagger in his hands and did not get any reaction in response. – Well, excellent. All the same, the fate of me to die. Who am I talking to? Does anybody hear me?

I heard a rumble in the distance. What is it? The sound of battle? It seems to be swords and some explosions, screams, people's hue. Several people in armor fell into the cave. Of course, they have a ragged look, but they would know how happy I am to see them!

– I am here! – yelling at me. – Get this crazy man away from me!!!

It seems they have understood me. Well, or they just go to the sound.

Three of the ring got up from their knees and, Holy Virgin Mary, magic!!! These three magicians began to water the Heroes (well, who else could it be?) with natural spells: one was pouring fire, the second was throwing icicles, the third was throwing lightning. I cried. Magic, born.

Heroes, though ragged, but fast. Really fast, a swordsman man as if teleported, the second skinny guy in dark clothes as if in a shadow turned and slid like a fog, paired with gladiuses. The blonde with a staff in a once white dress, now covered with blood, dirt and green something, was doing the spells of Light that struck in defense of magicians, making the one less durable. Another big guy with dark skin was equipped with an axe. And the fifth and the last one was a little magician girl, a witch, throwing fire spells and had a wrong tiny staff or a big magic wand.

When the girls weakened the magicians, the fighters quickly dealt with them. And there was a massacre. Why the rest of the ring did not get up, I do not know. Only when the Heroes were one step away from them, the sectarians unsuccessfully tried to do something. They killed everyone. And, last, to my relief, the man with the dagger above me. But here the Hero with a sword in his hands and a stone facial expression swung, and clearly not on the rope of a meth!

– What are you doing! You're going to kill! Are you crazy? I am tied, naked, at least give me a blade, huh? Pathetic, isn't it? What a bad luck, to die naked and tied up!

I know, it's crazy. But what would you say?!

– Algirdas, stop! – it was the magician of Light who stopped the guy. – It is not worth killing, he is a prisoner. We need to find out who it is. Perhaps, the family is looking for him.

– And the money is being cooked for his return, – somehow dreamily stretched ... Ninja? A thief? The one I thought was a skinny guy because of the black fog that enveloped him was a girl with a thin waist, dark face, scarlet lips and brown eyes. Some tantalizing oriental beauty.

– Ilyna, are you back for yours? – The girl judgingly declared. And then she turned to me, but she did not smile even. And it's a pity, a beautiful devil, angelic appearance, wide hips and a size three or even four. – What is your name?

– Vladimir.

The heroes turned their eyes and shook their heads: none of them had ever heard such a name before. Algirdas swung again.

– Hold it right there! I am good, honestly. I was called.

The situation vaguely resembled the stories of my niece from her second past life (and I was definitely killed). In the first life, the heroes were not called; they were the best representatives of their people, no more. How I was surprised when as an adult I got acquainted with the hobby of my niece: books and cartoons, whose stories remotely resembled facts from the first life. In a critical situation, the consciousness snatched a half-remembered memory of the call of heroes in fictional stories.

The heroes laughed. You are stinked. I'm lying here frosty without a chance to cover myself, and they are laughing. How uncultured!

– Do not talk nonsense! Egle, check what he is.

– Excuse me? – I clapped my eyes in bewilderment, how could this chesty blonde check me? Only obscenity went into my head.

– Intensified analysis! – whispered to Egle, after which I looked at the knight confusedly. – He is really a Hero of the first level.