When the Lights Are Turned On

© Copyright Sergey Kukanov 2025

Chapter 1
A street musician was playing his guitar, and a golden autumn seemed to listen intently, gently scattering leaves onto the ground. As the young man strummed his melodies, he began to feel his body grow increasingly tense and restless. A fine sweat broke out on his forehead, until finally, he fainted. When he opened his eyes, he saw himself from the side—like a dark silhouette standing near the wall.
***
The dark silhouette standing near the wall was twisting with his legs, as if he were dancing or simply attracting the churchgoers hurrying to attend the morning liturgy in the Saint Paul Dome. It seemed that no one was paying attention to this old wall made of red brick, which seemed to be one of those memories that make us feel anxious or frustrated. Nevertheless, the darkness was gradually fading, and the first glimmers of the sun shaped the horizon. The silhouette appeared to be less worried about the world going back and forth in front of him.
A few seconds later, it formed a smile, revealing its white teeth, and in the next moment, the silhouette separated from the wall and stepped into the first sun glare. The figure belonged to a man around thirty-three years old, wearing an old, ripped jacket and trousers torn in some places, leading any pedestrian to think that he had probably faced many challenges in life—challenges that made him look older than he actually was.
He wasn’t reaching out with his hand to ask for money, nor did his spontaneous appearance cause any reaction from the churchgoers. Their minds were probably filled with their morning prayers and their punctuality to be at the right place at the right time. The first sounds of traffic filled the streets with their ordinary, yet simultaneously unbearable buzzing, making anyone feel more nervous than ever. The whole world seemed to be becoming less crazy than usual, drawn by the first glares of the sun that attracted more random pedestrians. The man, who had already proclaimed his existential crisis in front of these hurried philistines—coming from anywhere and going nowhere—paid no attention to his misery. He simply appeared before them like a stoic, trying to maintain his balance by standing on one foot. At that moment, his torn clothes seemed to cry out for compassion and love, waving like ancient banners of prophets who had lived many centuries ago—boldly expressing their strong disagreement and unshakable resolve to see their mission through to the end. Unfortunately, people were so absorbed in their morning routines, pretending to be deaf and numb to the world around them—ignoring the very things that demand our involvement to save a life. Not a single person appeared to reach out to this stoic man, offering him bread or a cup of coffee—things so loved by those hypocrites passing by, paying no attention to their soulmate at all. Aren't we brothers, are we? The buzzing of the cars only grew louder, making this stoic man feel dizzy—until his head spun in a virtual circle and disconnected from the reality that persistently ignored his existence. In the next moment, he collapsed, and the world before his eyes closed its curtains.
The cloud of oblivion gently embraced him, placing his thoughts and dreams into a desert without water. He saw himself as a prophet crying out to caravans passing by—merchants carrying their goods to sunny, beautiful countries filled with shining lights and sparkling stars at night. There were also the prettiest Arab girls performing belly dances before an audience hungry for physical love, their minds entering crazy, orgasmic reactions that seemed to inhabit their tiny, miserable bodies. Who knows—perhaps they had once prayed to those chubby, healthy bodies emerging from their imaginations, growing more vivid with each passing day.
Oh, hypocrites! Who allowed you to escape My Wrath? The prophetical words spun around this stoic man’s mind, making him feel as if he were a judge of this crazy world. He rushed forward, amidst camels overwhelmed by their burdens, and struck them with his old stick, carved from pure gold. He appeared like a stormy wind in a desert scorched by the sun. The merchants, frightened by such an unplanned disruption to their routine, hurried to seize the golden stick, but their arms seemed no match for the strength of the stoic man.
"What are you doing, man? Are you crazy?" shouted the merchants, trying to protect their camels from this unexpected intrusion. Their minds, filled with thoughts of pampered concubines, rendered them unable to defend their goods from a single strong man threatening their lives. 
Suddenly, the entire desert was exposed to a swirling sandstorm that swept away all the camels and goods, vanishing into the dusty air. The merchants screamed and cried out, giving up their dreams of sharing beds with Arab concubines, and were finally caught up by the wild desert wind. Their tiny, flying bodies fluttered like ants, floundering in the air. 
Meanwhile, our stoic man felt dizzy; he collapsed, and the last thing he saw was a brilliant, clear lake at the heart of the desert. "Just another mirage," he thought, and then he fainted.
The strong wind picked him up and swirled his tiny body in the sandstorm. Within the next few moments, he found himself lying at the bottom of the desert, struggling effortlessly to catch the air. Suddenly, he noticed that the air he thoroughly tried to embrace had turned into clear water filling the area around him. He tried to swim out instantly and... opened his eyes.
It was the same place near Happiness Street, frequently filled with crowds going back and forth in their hope to arrive on time for a sacred liturgy—to attend the ceremony of breaking bread and drinking wine as Christ's body. Unfortunately, none of them was even prepared to reach out to the stoic man lying on the sidewalk, leaning his head on a curb, as if at that moment he portrayed Jesus allowing His disciples to lean their heads on Him—a scene from a bunch of centuries ago. Then, one of them was swearing never to betray Him, whatever happened.
The whole world had recently been preoccupied with fulfilling its desires and ambitions in a proper manner—selling fruits at a nearby corner, stealing money from someone's pocket, or disrespectfully threatening neighbors as if the latter were mere toys, worn out by their previous owners and simply discarded onto the street as unnecessary. No one even tried to approach the man whose face was stoically pleading for compassion and love. The newspaper boys no longer scurried back and forth as they used to do long ago. They had been replaced by drones flying overhead, issuing warnings to those who accidentally stepped outside: "What are you doing here? Get to work! Get to work! Or you don’t have any credits to pay, do you? If you are still free, you must attend the nearest police station to show yourself."
Two drones approached the lying man, their small red eyes flashing angrily.
"Warning! Warning! There is an intruder! There is an intruder! Warning! He is out of his responsibilities! He doesn’t have any credits to pay! He doesn’t have any credits to pay! This sidewalk cannot exist at the expense of other taxpayers only! If he cannot be employed immediately, he should be wiped out of our civilization."
After making two more passes over the man’s head, they flew away to report to the nearest police station. Fortunately, a little girl, dressed in torn clothes with soot-stained face, immediately woke the man.
"Wake up, wake up! They traced you! We have to leave now, or you’ll be numbered among the walking zombies," she said urgently.
The man looked around, rubbing his eyes, trying to gather his senses. He saw the small, grimy girl reaching out to him with a cute smile.
"Come on! We have to go!"
Following her lead, he obeyed and quickly moved toward a corner of the street infamous for its reputation—so dangerous that drones rarely ventured there.

Chapter 2
The Dome was filled with churchgoers lighting candles and kissing icons adorned with strange figures, as if these figures held their own Hierarchy. The priest appeared on the pulpit, delivering a speech filled with pathos and hypocrisy. However, instead of offering sincere words addressed to everyone present, he pointed out their debts and demanded they pay them as soon as possible.
While he spoke, a red lamp near the entrance flickered intermittently, turning red whenever someone failed to pay enough attention to the speaker’s voice. At the same time, a figure belonging to that distracted individual was highlighted, indicating that this person owed a fee in the name of God.
God? Was it truly their God, or merely a tool used to manipulate and corrupt the churchgoers?
But these well-meaning churchgoers genuinely believed they were participating in this ceremony of hypocrisy, where everyone had been promised entrance to the Kingdom of Heaven if they paid. They truly considered themselves pure, their lives cleansed of any sins. In the green corner of this enormous Dome was even a screen used for the confession of domestic animals. Some of the churchgoers held their pocket-sized dogs and cats, bringing them to confess. Larger dogs were not permitted inside—perhaps because of the high cost associated with such a ceremony.
There had been barking and meowing sounds as these surprised pets were made to open their mouths and "confess" their sins. After the Liturgy, each person was assigned a new figure that confirmed their identity upon exiting. No one truly understood why they had been attending such a circus, but everyone believed it was an essential thing to make their lives easier. They had unlearned how to think and analyze, as if their minds had been controlled by someone who knew them far better than they knew themselves.
They escaped beggars on street avoiding to see their grimy faced that caused an antipaty and contempt deeply within their hearts. Besides considering their lives like a true reflection of the church s they attached to their specific way of thinking there wasn t any place to those outcasts. Moreover, they were gently greeted by drones hovering overhead, reminding them not to forget to stay within their district and to pay all their taxes on time. The entire city was crowded with these honorable and respectful people going about their routine, seemingly content in this regular but seemingly happy life. Even the shops constantly reminded each visitor of how much they owed after their last visit. In other words, the city was painted in the monotonous colors of human existence.
The police officers avoided venturing into some dark, criminal areas, where they could easily be attacked by local gangs fighting for their independence, often gathering in small groups to resist control. Ambulances frequently sped back and forth with their sirens blaring—not because of emergencies, but simply to instill fear in pedestrians' hearts. Meanwhile, those who genuinely needed medical help often ignored the ambulances. The drivers used their transport for personal reasons: to pick up their kids from school, collect their wives on the way home, or simply because they were distracted by shopping.
The entire city was filled with figures that monitored everyone as they left their homes. Some even suggested that a system had been developed to enforce control within the houses—scheduling specific times and days for residents to leave. Yet, no one voiced any disagreement or even made a gesture of protest. Even their recently domesticated animals barked and meowed happily, seemingly to keep their owners' mouths shut.

Chapter 3
The stoic man's name was Paolo. He was young enough to withstand all the difficulties he encountered in his life. His new, grimy friends looked at him suspiciously, as if he were an alien descended from Heaven.
"Are you OK?" asked a little girl who led him to an old shelter to hide from the drones spinning around the city.
"Yes, I'm fine," he replied, leaning against the nearest wall and closing his eyes. He couldn't wait to return to his dreams about a desert and caravans of hypocrites following the East, dreaming of chubby Arab concubines lying on silk pillows.
"They are going to track everyone," said an old man lying nearby, warming his body near a bonfire.
"The Crazy Eye is watching everyone, trying to take total control over everything. They've already tracked us, but we're still able to fight back. Look!" He pointed with his cut, bleeding finger at the pile of padded drones, whose digital hearts had stopped pounding forever.
"They won't bother anyone anymore," he concluded, pausing between the words as if it carried more weight than just an account of their daily life—filled with danger, anger, and an endless struggle to survive.
"So, what are we doing now?" asked Paolo, looking around and yawning as if it were the most boring day of his life. Frankly speaking, he had already gotten used to struggling with this new ideology addressed to street beggars, which needed to be wiped out as soon as possible. As one of them, he could withstand saying his word once again. Meanwhile the girl who led him into this place approached him again shivering from the cold and trying to get sleepy in his arms.
"Yes, that's right," he murmured, covering her back with a torn blanket lying nearby, trying to give her as much protection as possible—as if she were his own daughter.
He leaned back against the wall, his eyelids feeling heavier, and his eyes finally closed. This time, he was traveling with this girl, holding her hand carefully and trying to protect her from any possible danger. The music surrounded them, and the merchants displaying their goods seemed to resemble ancient heroes emerging from the canvases of famous painters. They traded Arab sweets, cookies, and their famous halvah, which melted in the mouth like fresh honey mixed with chocolate.

"Dad, I want you to buy it for me, please!" the girl was asking him, as if he truly were her father.
"Oh dear! We don't have any money, do we?" he tried to avoid such a request, but the girl was insistent.
"Please, Dad, I want it! I've never tasted sweets in my life. We've always lived on the street, haven't we? Since they started controlling us," she pointed out some facts about their miserable daily life. 

The seller approached the girl and reached out with a bundle full of sweets.
"Take it, my little princess! It’s for you..." he smiled kindly, trying to connect with these two strangers standing nearby and transported into this miraculous world. 

"No, we can't take it!" protested Paolo. "We don't have any money at all."
"It doesn’t matter... It has no price. This is my gift for her," replied the long barbed seller, reaching out with his bundle, which smelled so sweet that at the same moment, Paolo’s head started sweating.
At that very moment, out of nowhere, the music began to play, and the wind picked up the long-barbed seller and his goods, swirling them into a giant, chaotic tornado, accompanied by hearty laughter.
Then, Paolo and the girl were suddenly transported into a richly decorated palanquin, adorned with countless colorful ribbons fluttering in the wind. They were held aloft by four African slaves, who led the palanquin along a path lined with gleaming marble, accompanied by the melodies of flutes.
The old man stepped out to meet them, greeting the two strangers in his domain.
"Oh, my beloved children! I am happy to welcome you into my father’s heavenly kingdom, for you truly deserve to be here. You have overcome many obstacles and never failed to mention your Heavenly Father’s name! The people of your land are hypocrites—they pray to whoever they wish, but not to God! Their dogs and cats are smarter than they are, refusing to willingly visit their bored houses.
May God bless you, my children!"
After their palanquin was lowered, Paolo and the girl descended to the ground. Their bare feet happily touched it as if they were forever attached to an endless, cool embrace. It was a new life they had never expected to live—another chapter in their broken existence, now filled with hope and renewal.
The old man who seemingly should have a barb approached these new strangers and hugged them warmly.
"Follow me! I have something to show you." They stepped forward and followed his lead. Together, they entered a brilliant white castle, which housed a small, clear crystal pond with beautiful swans sailing gracefully within. During their time there, they were offered delicious food to eat. Throughout the meal, Paolo and the girl kept glancing at each other, as if they were checking to confirm that this was not just a dream.
***
Suddenly, the familiar siren sounds reached their ears. In an instant, all these miraculous landscapes and castles melted away and vanished into nothingness, as suddenly as they had appeared.
Paolo opened his eyes... "Oh no... it was just a dream," he thought, as reality delivered her menacing message.
"Wake up! Wake up!" he urgently tried to rouse the girl lying in his arms. They had finally traced us! These drones are everywhere! 

The drones, with their crazy red eyes, prowled relentlessly, exploring every angle in search of a new free person to capture.
Every free citizen had to be immediately numbered and controlled, to be administered and subdued.

Chapter 4
The senior was playing the piano while his loyal attendant, with chains on his feet, was standing in front of his master, delivering his report. The clear sounds flowed into each other as if they were the voices of the ocean imprisoned within themselves. At times, the attendant nodded his head, following the spontaneous melody and rhythm echoing off the walls of this castle, built from pure gold, illuminated by many silver torches. The grandeur of his Majesty's domain left visitors in awe.
"So, have you been well informed?" the senior paused his playing and looked at his attendant.
"I'm afraid to tell the truth, Your Majesty, but since Solomon joined these rebels, we've gained one more free person among us."
The senior cast a cold, severe look and said,
"Have you ever considered the idea that you might feel less happy than them, serving me in your chains?"
The attendant looked at his chains, which seemed to resonate in unison with the melody just played, and awkwardly took two steps back.
"No. Never. There is no way to feel happier than wearing these chains, which ring out in Your Majesty's name."
The senior grinned.
"Good boy! I expect you and your family to serve my wishes until your final breath."
The attendant bowed and replied,
"Certainly, I never dreamed of being in a more privileged position... Your chains make me feel alive for some purpose. Before I was chained, I spent years in a pointless struggle for freedom, which stole my best years when I had no master to command or guide me. I felt lost in this fog, despite having read many books, but all of them tried to teach me what freedom is, and it seemed to me that their..."
"Shut your mouth and keep me informed. You have plenty of work to do," interrupted the senior, pointing toward the door.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I will continue to follow your commands," the attendant said, then bowed and left.
The senior stood up and reached for his beloved golden portrait hanging on the wall, depicting the early years of his reign in this city of freedom. He vividly remembered that the people had not always been chained and submissive. From the moment he seized power, they suddenly realized that all their previous ideals had been shattered by a single blow from his armies. It took him three years to establish his control over every district, except for one—the only area still free and untouched. He could not understand why this small band of people remained so ignorant and numb to his will. 
He had done everything to make his citizens feel happy in their chains; even their numbers, inscribed on their foreheads, seemed to shimmer with joy each time they entered the church for their morning liturgy. 
"Oh, God," he sighed. "Even your domestic animals look smarter. They know they are more responsible for their lives than you are." 
Suddenly, he turned around, as if his personal drone—spinning around his castle and recording every word he uttered—had caught his attention.
Then he yawned showing to this cold and lifeless place his mouth filled with golden teeth.
Since the moment he nearly faced betrayal and was almost overthrown—after an election in which 95 percent of the people voted against him and only 5 percent were in his favor—he resolved to impose more restrictions on his citizens' daily routines. They were now required to pay higher fees to the church for every sin forgiven by his close friend, a local priest named Raj, who had replaced the divine authority of God on this land. 
He had been placed in charge of all church-related affairs since the moment he sacrificed his own dignity and conscience, choosing the perverse path of hypocrisy and lies. He used to collect fees from the churchgoers and spend the money on endless nights spent with his indulgent concubines—chubby, fresh-smelling of lavender and aroma oils, indulging in pleasures that masked his inner corruption.
"Oh, my dear companion! What are you doing now? I would love to hear your opinion on this matter..." 
He sighed once more and closed his eyes. A new day was dawncoming from the East, bringing with it more tasks that had long awaited his attention. 

***
Mileena was the name of the grimy girl sleeping in Paolo’s hands. Now, he and his new friends were desperately trying to escape the drone attack as soon as the tiny metal birds tracked their location. 
Paolo carried the girl in his arms through the chaos, trying to catch up with the others. As they distanced themselves from the mechanical predators, the drones announced their targets with sharp, robotic voices: 
"A grimy girl... A man of thirty years or more. Catch them immediately! Immediately!"
Two explosions erupted behind them, sending brick walls tumbling and filling the air with a dusty fog. The rebels finally broke free from the encirclement and took refuge in their pre-made bunker. 
"Is everyone okay?" the old man, the leader of their group, asked his friends. Everyone nodded in response. Paolo carefully placed Mileena on her feet, shaking the dust from her clothes. She smiled and kissed Paolo's cheek in gratitude. 
"Oh, I wish I had a daughter like her," Paolo thought to himself, a gentle smile crossing his face as he looked at her. 
She stepped forward in embarrassment and looked around. The friends were relaxingly reclining on the broken walls, closing their noses with their thumbs and index fingers due to the air that had recently been contaminated by the chemicals spread by these broken drones lying in a pile of garbage and less likely to attract or threaten anyone. Still, they all seemed to have their last resort there; it had been decided to take a break. Paolo closed his eyes and instantly fell asleep.

Chapter 5
Paolo opened his eyes and looked around.
Autumn was brilliant, with leaves falling as if they were parading the final breath of summer, trying to ignore the harsh reality of life—where everything, sooner or later, must join the red army of autumn. Any attempt by bright colors to capture his gaze had failed, faced with the ignorance and silence in which most of his feelings seemed to hide—feelings that contrasted with his true values, which had been carefully nurtured by his past and still guided him in the present.
Paolo approached a nearby oak tree and hugged it warmly, as if he had known this old tree for years. He felt more anxious than usual. Something was wrong with his dreams. He had been seeing them every single night since the moment he came across that intriguing girl playing the guitar in the quiet park, surrounded by leaves tinged with the red hues of autumn.
But now he was the one to play the guitar in this quiet park.
His guitar was singing as mournfully as anyone could play on Earth, carrying with it all those sounds that added their natural accompaniment to his music. It made him feel like a stranger, coloring his own sadness with all those notes he played.
Moment later, he noticed a girl watching him carefully, trying to catch every sound he made—as if it wasn't something ordinary, but something fantastically underrated by the inhabitants of Earth.
After her intense gaze, she approached his inspired silhouette, captured by red, yellow, and orange leaves swirling around this humble musician, who played so mournfully—as if he were trying to surprise God itself.
"Your music sounds so inspiring, as if it were the last melody on planet Earth! I’m serious," she added, casting a serious gaze that made his cheeks flush with color.
"Thank you so much! I truly appreciate your kind words about my humble personality. I feel more connected with this universe now," his voice trembled slightly, as if it was gently broken by the compliment.
Suddenly, she touched his cheek with her warm palm, causing his voice to mumble some indistinct words—the meaning of which he couldn't understand. The whole world seemed to transform into a single dancing arena, with only two red leaves swirling around them. All he remembered were her hands embracing him passionately and gently, as if their meeting had been foreseen by God Himself. Then, both of them fell to the nearby park ground, each breath echoing softly between them.
She kissed him passionately, her tongue exploring his, tasting the exhilarating rush of this newfound craziness. They breathed quickly, unconcerned if someone might see them, lost in their shared sensation, trusting only in this moment to be the greatest they had ever known.
Suddenly, at the last moment, she burst into a striking laugh, gently pushing away his guitar and reaching out to touch his tongue with hers.
"Oh, my little boy! I think you're surprised, aren’t you?"
Her voice sounded ironic, as if they had known each other for centuries.
"I have no idea what to say," he mumbled again, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He stared at her foolishly, dullly, like a silly boy expecting to be scolded by his mother for his bad grades at secondary school.
At the same moment, he felt his arms being tied, and his head fainted. The wind blew into his face, carrying many colorful leaves that seemed to laugh at him. It appeared unlikely that his previous emotions had made him so stressed out before. It was a mixture of feelings: on one hand, Paolo was sweetly imprisoned by the falling leaves spinning around him, recalling his joy; on the other hand, his true sensations were captivated by the magic voice coming from the girl sitting nearby, as she stroked his hair.
"Now you are going to sleep, my little boy," she whispered, still caressing his hair as gently and tenderly as if she were his mother singing a lullaby. The moment felt unrealistically clear, as if all his neighborhood and the fall trees were calling his attention more than his rational mind could grasp. He refused to believe that it possessed his entire body and mind, and the girl’s blue eyes penetrated him deeply, as vast and open as a cloudless sky.
At the next moment, he found himself lying on a cold surface, with no guitar nearby. It was still fall, but less colorful and bright. Something had definitely happened. But what? He felt completely disoriented and abandoned on this cold, promising yet disillusioned grass. "Where is the girl? I didn't even call her name. Where am I?" He stood up, stepped forward, and looked around. Everything was nearly the same, but the trees were now bare. "Who took my guitar? Was I drunk?" These questions stormed through his mind, sharp, unexpected, and aggressive. Yet, the sky remained clear, just like the girl’s eyes.
He hurried out of the park, circling the area in an attempt to find his guitar. There were no traces that could more or less indicate its location. The people walking back and forth seemed unusual—more indifferent than preoccupied or stressed out as they usually appeared. Their faces looked almost emotionless.
He reached a nearby bus stop and approached the first person he saw to ask for the time.
"Sorry, what time is it? I'm wondering if it's still too late or too early..." he said, but he was stunned by what had just escaped his mouth. 
To his surprise, the people around him responded in a completely different language—one that sounded like a mixture of Arabic and Latin. As a result, his request went unanswered. He refused to believe it again. He asked different pedestrians the same question, but they all looked at him as if he had fallen from another planet, their faces blank and their language entirely unfamiliar.
"What's going on here? Who are all these people?" he tried to scream, but his voice was drowned out by the crowd's noise, as if it were just a quiet bee buzzing in an ocean of lives.

Suddenly, a very familiar sound reached his ears—soft guitar music. Its gentle notes spread around him, and their sound, like the waves of the sea, seemed to draw closer and closer to his presence.
"Is this the melody I used to play just a few hours ago?" he wondered. He hurried toward the place where he had first heard the music. As he approached, he was stunned, mesmerized by what he saw. It was the girl he used to kiss in the park. She had taken his guitar and was playing his melody. He nearly leapt with joy.
"Finally, I found you! It's me—don't you recognize me?" he called out, hoping for an immediate response. But the girl kept playing, smiling, and kept an eye on some distant objects, seemingly paying no attention to Paolo.
"I can't believe it. She's not recognizing me at all," his heart pounding like a thousand little hammers echoing in his mind. Suddenly, some people who looked like local police, speaking in their barbaric language, stepped in. They seized him, tied his hands, and he didn't even manage to say a word. The next thing he knew, he fainted.
In the next moment, he found himself lying on the floor of a police office cell.
The old blinking lamp swayed gently above his face, casting flickering shadows that danced across the cold, bare walls of the cell.
His cellmates looked at him surprisingly while speaking in their unfamiliar language. He couldn't understand a single word, which made him feel completely confused and stressed out. Suddenly, one of his cellmates took a guitar and started playing. At that moment, Paolo felt like he was losing his mind. The same melody spread its waves throughout the cell. In some instances, he recognized his own guitar in the hands of that man.
"Hey, you! You can't use my guitar! Give it back to me!" he shouted, rushing toward the man in an attempt to reclaim his guitar. But at the same time, the entire cell erupted into a fight. Within seconds, his guitar shattered into pieces, and Paolo tried to choke his cellmate with the bronze string. The man was coughing uselessly, struggling to free himself from Paolo's grip.
The next moment, two police officers entered the cell to calm everyone down. Paolo was taken outside and placed near the officer's desk. They planned a little investigation, he thought.
But instead, the nurse entered the police office with a syringe in her hand, ready to give an injection. Her face was covered by a mask. The others followed her example and also covered their faces with medical masks.
The nurse reached Paolo as quickly as she entered, sharply grabbing his arm and preparing to inject. Paolo tensed up, and at the next moment, he noticed the officer giving a command to inject, as sharply as if he was ordering to fire a gun. The nurse's warm breath was both seducing and intimidating, but her intentions made Paolo feel sober and calm quite soon. He pushed her away and ran toward the entrance.
The entire police office was shaken by a huge bang, or so it seemed to him as he fled. The next moment, he felt himself falling into cold water, with great splashes spreading around him.
Hopefully, the coast was nearby, and he reached it quite soon. Everything looked like a nightmare, and he refused to believe that it was really happening. But at least he was safe, wringing out his wet clothes and trying to breathe steadily.
He looked around, and what he saw made him tremble. All the people were walking back and forth, their faces covered by brilliant masks that illuminated in the harsh sunlight. Oh, Gosh. Their foreheads bore numbers!

Chapter 6
The senior was talking to Raj, a local famous priest who was in charge of all the churches in the city.
“Have they already accepted a new way of thinking, where cats are able to confess their sins and dogs to preach from the altar’s place?” The senior adjusted his glasses, which slowly started slipping down his nose.
“Yes, Your Majesty. They willingly accepted to be chained and obey their new religion—one without a God—instead of using their grey substances to think,” Raj replied, taking a cup of fresh morning coffee and happily trying it.
“Wow! It tastes great! A perfect mixture of faith, treachery, and cowardice. One day, our slaves will taste it too—if they are not...” He suddenly interrupted himself and looked around as if there were spying drones nearby.
“What’s happened? Why have you kept quiet?” the senior asked, glancing around as well. “Do you think they could reprogram our drones and make them spy around my castle?”
“No, Your Majesty... I’ve just suggested that it could be possible if they were less stupid and frightened—if they acted against those who made them believe that black is equal to white, and vice versa.” He carefully moved back in his seat, maintaining a distance from his senior’s wrath.
“You know...” the senior stood up, his gaze intimidating as he fixed it on Raj. “You are not much better than them. Get out of here. Yes. And don’t forget to bow to my cat.”
As Raj, like a beaten and blamed dog, backed toward the door, trying to escape his senior’s wrath, the golden vase was thrown at him, striking him and making him cry out in pain.
“Yes. And don’t forget to confess your sins to my cat!” the senior added, smiling contemptuously.
***
Meanwhile, Paolo tried to escape from that cold and abandoned place, but he had no idea how to do it. He rushed forward to one of those masked people, trying to clarify what epoch and place he was fantastically situated in, but his mind still refused to believe what was happening around him.
"Sorry. May I ask for your attention, please? What a day today?" he addressed the first man standing next to him.
The man seemed not to speak any human language but merely looked at him and pointed to his forehead, which strangely illuminated with the figure 6.
"Are you crazy, man?" Paolo was still seeking an appropriate way to ask questions but felt that his patience was rapidly running out.
The man pointed to his forehead once again, then ran away. The sun was scorching, and even Paolo's wet clothes dried unexpectedly quickly. Suddenly, another man with a bronze string around his neck approached Paolo, but after seeing him, he jumped back immediately as if it was the scariest nightmare he'd ever seen.
"What's wrong with you?" Paolo was shocked by such a reaction.
"And why does everybody wear these stupid masks?"
There weren t any cars no even buses nearby.
The sky seemed to be covered by a dome, which, in turn, made the atmosphere unbearably hot and stuffy. Simultaneously, some people were firing their guns and proclaiming actions that resembled a local revolution—people protesting to keep their rights to wear their masks.
While those distant ones tried to remove their masks, the crazed individuals were desperately fighting for their right to remain masked. In a few moments, Paolo noticed a familiar girl, looking like a nurse, running around with her syringe, administering injections to people who seemed completely happy and relaxed during the process.
"What is going on here?" Paolo was shocked and tried to find answers as soon as the questions flooded his mind.
From time to time, the dome would open, revealing the crazy inhabitants of this unknown city. Its green eye shimmered, illuminating the entire neighborhood.
They definitely must be mad—or maybe it's just a dream, and he’s a prisoner of it. Paolo refused to believe this new reality he had just encountered.
But the dome was already closing, and it seemed that two hundred human voices cried out for freedom.
The next moment, Paolo made up his mind to slip away unless he was noticed and injected. He still felt sober about the last occasions taking place in a police cell.
He dashed forward to a nearby shelter where many volunteers had gathered, those who used to remove the illuminated masks from the faces of their victims. More than two hundred masks had already been carefully brought inside the shelter. These volunteers  looked tired, sweaty, and their skin was bleeding from all the tests they had to endure.
Paolo joined them, asking for a glass of water, but nobody reacted to him—surprisingly—except for one who approached him as soon as he entered this ruined shelter.
"They won't answer you, but I will. You know what..." he surprisingly spoke in a language Paolo was able to understand.
"There will be no water unless the dome opens and it rains." His words sounded menacing and intimidating.
"They took all the water and provisions from us..."
At the next moment, Paolo became more confused and scared by everything that had happened in the past two hours of his life.
"Thank God! At least you're the one who speaks my language here..." he sighed, hugging the stranger, feeling a strong connection to reality.
Luigi was the name of the young man who, as it later turned out, had escaped from the same cell as Paolo. He was strongly attached to his memories of the past and seemed unable to escape from them. He used to be an engineer working on a brilliant project designed to connect his provincial city to its suburbs. But after he succeeded in completing it, he resigned—without any explanation...
He couldn't recall much more from his memory. All he knew was that he had fainted and was now here.
Two more things began to tremble in Paolo’s mind. He felt the aggression increasing within his muscles as Luigi’s story reached its climax—when his new friend revealed the true reason behind all those people in masks and their strong reluctance to remove them.
"These demons persistently make us accept their rules," said Luigi. "First, they deprived us of our freedom, and now they want to take what’s left of it..." He spat on the ground and frowned, his face twisted with anger.
The dome opened, and heavy rain began to pour down.
Chapter 7
The police officer sat in his chair, twisting his arms nervously. A nurse stood in front of him, ready to give a report.
"So, he reached that place you mentioned?" he asked, drumming his fingers on the table before falling silent.
“Is Our Majesty aware of his arrival?” he sighed and scratched his groin. He felt incredibly excited in the presence of his beautiful nurse.
"Yes. After he escaped from here, he led himself to that secret door. And now he’s faced the other one who knows enough about our plans," the nurse’s voice sounded like raindrops pouring steadily onto the officer’s face.
"Give me one more injection," the officer requested, and the nurse immediately complied. Afterward, he reached out and pulled her hand, unbuttoning her shirt. He then immersed himself in the comfort of her two full, sweet-smelling breasts.
At the same time, in a world where Paolo was caught in heavy rain, strange female screams echoed through the air, blending with the storm's roar. The masked people grew more anxious, attempting to remove their masks to share a kiss, but they were unable to do so. It seemed as though a brief moment of enlightenment had touched their beings, illuminating their true selves, yet the darkest parts of their souls still remained dominant.
"Do you see that?" Luigi screamed, pulling Paolo’s hand and trying to get him out of there, just as the entire building collapsed overhead. 
They barely managed to escape as a loud rumble erupted from behind. The place that just two seconds earlier had been a shelter was now crumbling under its own walls.
Simultaneously, the female screams ceased, and the dome of the sky closed as swiftly as it had opened just moments earlier. The raindrops transformed instantly into a ripe harvest, and the masked inhabitants rushed forward to gather it for food. But they couldn't even remove their masks, which seemed to have grown firmly onto their faces. 
"You see? They can't even eat it until they receive another injection—one that always suppresses their physiological desire to keep on living..." Luigi looked as if he was trying to silence that unbearable female voice, the one that had turned his life into an unending concentration camp.
At the same time, an attractively dressed nurse approached the starving people and administered them an injection. Instantly, they lost consciousness and began to laugh uncontrollably, as if they had been released from a madhouse.
"We have to get out of here until this nurse gets us seduced. " Luigi said. They hurried up from that place trying to save their own freedom.
While the crowds of starving people were reaching out the injection like a manna from heaven our friends were distancing themselves as far as possible. Finally the sounds from behind vanished and they found themselves standing near the river.
"So, now what?" Paolo asked, trying to catch his breath after such a long and exhausting journey. Moments later, the river turned red, and our travelers had no idea how to cross this flaming waters. Suddenly, the nurse’s loud laughter echoed across the horizon, reminiscent of a siren’s song that sailors might hear in fairy tales.
"What are you waiting for, idiot?" shouted Luigi, glaring at Paolo, who seemed mesmerized by the beautiful, seductive voice growing louder and nearer. 
"Suit yourself, but I’m not staying here," Luigi declared, then leapt into the crimson water. No sooner had he submerged himself than he dissolved into it.
***
Two drones spun around the castle, screaming in a mantra-like chant.
"The people of the world, wake up! The people of the world, wake up! Your sacred government is going to kill you! The churches are no longer places of prayer—they've become chaotic spaces where domestic animals roam more freely than their parishioners. You don't need to pay any fee to destroy this artificially created civilization that serves to your harm."
Many more sentences followed, echoing through the air.
The senior shivered in horror, searching desperately for a place to hide. His hands gradually transformed into demonic claws, and his entire body took on the sinister visage of Lucifer. Suddenly, the golden castle began to shake violently, collapsing and burying the senior's remaining belongings beneath the broken walls.
Meanwhile, the streets filled with jubilant crowds—people dropping their chains, rejoicing openly as they celebrated their newfound freedom.
***
Paolo stood frozen, shocked and unable to move or comprehend what had just happened. He lost his only friend in this new world. He tried to escape from this screaming prison, but his feet sank into the ground, rendering him unable to move. Meanwhile, the nurse was approaching him closer and closer until finally she embraced him with her seductive laugh. Paolo obediently remained on his feet, immovable. 
Within the next few seconds, he saw the dome opening, and it began to rain heavily. The nurse unbuttoned his trousers, and in a matter of moments, he was inside her like a rushing river, their bodies moving as if the whole world were watching them. 
Her eyes pierced into his until he fainted. As he was falling into his dream, he managed to read the figures on her forehead: 2032. He also heard her enchanting voice saying:
"You've escaped from our prison. You seemed stronger than we expected. Our police officer is still looking for you to arrest you. But I got you first, I guess." 
Then he saw all the biblical prophets who were killed for their prophecies. They all seemed to address him as one:
"Don't let this world break you... Your soul is the only thing that can defeat every demon within. Those who wear masks have lost themselves and have no faces anymore. Their daily bread is their fears, paralyzing their will. Leave them alone. You're not meant to save their lives. But never forget about God. That officer is Satan. If you call God's name, all their plans will be ruined in an instant." 
After saying this, the prophets disappeared. 
Paolo summoned his last strength and cried out:
"Lord, have mercy on me. Lord, have mercy on me. Lord, have mercy on me." 
At the same moment, he saw the nurse screaming and transforming into a demonic shape. 
Chapter 8
Paolo opened his eyes. Surprisingly, there were no friends around to share his misery, nor were there any drones flying overhead. He shook the dust from his trousers and rose to his feet.
Moment later, he noticed a girl watching him carefully, trying to catch every sound he made—as if it wasn't something ordinary, but something fantastically underrated by the inhabitants of Earth.
After her intense gaze, she approached his inspired silhouette, captured by red, yellow, and orange leaves swirling around this humble musician, who played so mournfully—as if he were trying to surprise God itself.
"Your music sounds so inspiring, as if it were the last melody on planet Earth! I’m serious," she added, casting a serious gaze that made his cheeks flush with color.
"Thank you so much! I truly appreciate your kind words about my humble personality. I feel more connected with this universe now," his voice trembled slightly, as if it was gently broken by the compliment.
"What is the year now?" he asked, trying not to ruin the moment that connected him to the present.
The girl smiled and looked at him with her blue eyes, as if trying to appear even more attractive.
"Now we are in 2033," she answered.
Paolo sighed loudly. "Thank God it was all a dream."
"What dream?" the girl asked him, confused.
Paolo smiled and continued playing the guitar happily. The girl sat nearby, listening intently to his inspiring melody.