“...London stupefies with a beautiful spring, greenery on blue, bright sun, uncertain crooked smiles. Idyll, but only two and a half minutes ago. Now the office building in the City has been destroyed almost to the ground, on the asphalt the red mixes with the sickening, everyone is running and shouting about terrorists. Of course, they knock me off my feet, well, I wouldn’t be tall enough, and they even try to trample me. Not the best place to think, but eight conversations with Mechanics on the other end did not yield results. The main thing here is not to slow down, not to let reality become cemented, so for such a case they keep a squad of suicide bombers like me, whose brains are already askew, that they have a dozen changes of one probability...”