Struggle: Grip of steel - стр. 13

The Jackal? Yes, yes, the sly shifter we didn't have time to execute in front of the entire Hivi

leadership… But just because he's a traitor doesn't mean he's wrong. There is, indeed, good sense in his words. The power of the Mountain is fundamentally different from that of the Hivi, who do not have their own backbone, the structure of the organization that he has. A subterranean organization, where one can only enter and leave by strict permission. Where they don't see the sun every day, but only when they are allowed. Where the Sun for them is a prefect who does what he wants with them with the permission of the plagues. And, as it turned out, also decides to live or not to live for them as he wants … No, these are not the Kiwis, who have been rattling their weapons for a hundred years, but cannot seriously agree with each other....

Raven pressed the communication button, and he was immediately answered…

***

The plan was to send the first platoon first, then the second, then descend with the third, and leave the fourth on the surface. But the instructions from the prefect went against this understanding. "Only 20 men and no more," it was said from downstairs over the communications, and it was clear that either this would have to be agreed to or just leave. Raven had to agree.

He stood next to the elevator, realizing that this way he would have more control, and perhaps even something to negotiate if something went wrong. Besides, he was genuinely curious about what a man who was always ready to die might feel inside.

– My name is Raven. – He began, realizing that he had to start somewhere when talking to this man. – I'm the Hivi commander. Do you know about us?

The elevator operator was quite neatly dressed; his work clothes were clean, straight, and well-groomed. It looked as if he loved his work, his clothes, and even his own life. There was nothing terrifying about his eyes, except that the depth of thought coming out of them was a little startling, as if he were very old, though he was clearly in his early twenties. And it was no surprise that his left hand was always in his pants pocket, just as Cobra had warned.

– I know. Everybody here knows a hevy.

– Will you tell me your name? You know mine.

– Name? The name I used to have is gone. A ghost has it. I was once called Kiril. But that name means nothing to me now. It's just a shard of the past.

– Why? Isn't driving an elevator a man's job?

– Ooh, so worthy. That's why the past name doesn't matter      And we don't call it an elevator,