Dilogy. Dead Inquisitor. Duology Quotes from the book “The Dead Inquisitor” Ivan Magazinnikov
Dead Inquisitor Ivan Magazinnikov
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Title: Dead Inquisitor
About the book “The Dead Inquisitor” Ivan Magazinnikov
Modern authors never cease to amaze fans of the LitRPG genre interesting stories and extraordinary approaches to creating books. Ivan Magazinnikov is one such writer who chose unusual way writing works and did not fail, because his series of books “The Dead Inquisitor” was very much to the liking of readers. As a result, this work consists of 5 works, the last of which is not yet completed:
"Dead Inquisitor 1. Prisoner of Fanmir";
"Dead Inquisitor 2. Gods of Fanmir";
"Dead Inquisitor 3. Abyss of Fanmir";
"Dead Inquisitor 4. Clans of Fanmir";
"Dead Inquisitor 5. The Death of Fanmir."
What is special about the writer’s novels? The fact is that the story tells about a young programmer Ivan Seleznev, who becomes a hostage of the game he created, and he appears in it not as a person, but as a mute zombie. As a result, the hero will have to find a way out of the virtual grave and not turn it into a real one...
Ivan Magazinnikov worked a lot, because the world he described is very thoughtful and logical, which left absolutely no one indifferent. Really high-quality humor, funny style, easy comprehension of books and unusual story did their job, and the author received a lot of fans who appreciated all the facets of his talent and creative approach to business. It is worth downloading once again that each book is perceived as a game, so reading it is fun, interesting and exciting, because the plot really will not allow you to fall asleep or start yawning from boredom.
An important point: Ivan Magazinnikov endowed his hero with one more feature: the absence of stupidity and a full understanding of what is happening. Often in similar books the reader watches the narrow-minded characters, only here there will be no such disappointment, because the hero evokes sympathy from the first pages. Both young people and adult fans of the genre will enjoy reading all 5 works, because the cycle contains all the most important details, allowing you to enjoy reading novels. To find out how the whole thing will end, you just need to wait for the exit last book, in the meantime, all the fans eager for an enchanting finale are re-reading the previous books, once again enjoying the talent of the writer.
Surely every lover of high-quality copies of LitRPG will be interested in whether Ivan will be able to get out of the game, how he will do it and how it will all end. Without any doubt, we can say that books will be “absorbed” in one breath, and a person will not wish for the time spent.
On our website about books you can download the site for free without registration or read online book"The Dead Inquisitor" Ivan Magazinnikov in epub formats, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. Buy full version you can from our partner. Also, here you will find last news from literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers there is a separate section with useful tips and recommendations, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.
Quotes from the book “The Dead Inquisitor” by Ivan Magazinnikov
I still have the audacity to remind you once again that the competition will begin in 20 incredibly short minutes!
I see that my lessons in saving were not in vain, and your thriftiness makes me happy.
Lyoshenka, I’m definitely starting to like this young man, even despite the horror of his face and bad breath,” the dwarf turned to Alex.
Won't we get lost?
-Who do you take me for? Of course we won't get lost! Because we have already done this for a long time...
Don’t kill me for too long and too painfully, Mr. Chief Ghoul - I have weak vocal cords, and I can’t scream loudly...
And he looks like such a decent young man. He doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, his cassock is clean, he believes in God... And all the same - he uses swear words in front of a child... - the dwarf shook his head disapprovingly.
So my old and sky blue eyes, like soot, don’t let me down in my old age? Is it all ours now? Tell me “yes”, so that I die happy in this very place!
My decaying friend - you can see for yourself that there hasn’t been such crazy money in the clan’s treasury for a long time!
- But you have it.
- Be afraid of the tax office - where did the stupid old e... dwarf get such money? And even if they were, do you know what an extortionate percentage I have? I’m afraid to lend myself money even for new socks, otherwise I won’t be left without pants for long...
So, the first and most important question! - Tabar took upon himself the right to vote, - Where can I get two million?!
- Why only two? - Shvorz asked an innocent question.
- Listen carefully, everyone, now the old and wise gnome will teach you, stupid people, the basics of saving!
- Economy?
- Savings! So why exactly two million? We will invest heavily in our common business with you in order to earn even more millions. And we’ll put the second one on the shelf and look at it and rejoice!
Schvorz grabbed the end of a stick sticking out of the hay and with one powerful jerk pulled out the long shaft.
- Do you have any potential value in mind for this thing, or do you just have an unhealthy interest in long, solid objects? - just in case, the gnome moved away.
- This is a flagpole! You can stick it outside and hang a flag with the symbol of our clan!
- Hmm... Hmm... By the way, Mr. Chief Ghoul... Is our clan called “Ruinum”?
- Right…
...23 seconds... 22 seconds...
Oh thank you, my Zaya, what would I do without you?
This means that I will suffocate and be reborn here again, only to die from lack of air in 40–50 seconds, then be reborn again... And so in a circle over the next few years... Mmm!
I began pounding the wooden partition with my hands and screaming as loud as I could. But all this only led to the fact that the countdown jumped forward by ten seconds and...
Ugh! How unpleasant it is, death by suffocation! It’s a gift that sensations are transmitted using neural feedback, but still how convincingly they are simulated! By the way, I didn’t feel any pain at all, just like when I smashed my hands into blood against the walls of the coffin. Which means painful sensations disabled. That's right, otherwise my body will also experience an imitation of pain, and the pain, in turn, will put my chip in emergency mode, and the signal will be amplified a hundredfold. Quite enough to break through any blockade and inform a satellite of my location.
So. I am in virtual, in some kind of game. I’m lying in a coffin, probably somewhere deep underground in a place forgotten by all the gods. And this is assuming that there are gods in the game at all. And if I don’t do anything, I’ll soon suffocate again - and so on ad infinitum...
Since I find myself in a game, the first thing I need to do is find out which one and what opportunities I have here. The easiest way to do this is by opening the game help. Of course, if she works here...
Welcome to the service game help Fantasy World, Object 347!
To my surprise, the game help was available to me. Now I knew what game I was in and what name my character was registered under! Wow, I wish I could get to the person who came up with this nickname for me. Surely this was someone endowed with boundless imagination and truly encyclopedic knowledge.
The first good news is that I am not in some special virtual space, but in a very ordinary game. Where there are a lot of players, moderators, game administration... Representatives of which, in fact, put me here!
...34 seconds... 33 seconds...
Yes, yes, thanks for the reminder, dear. So. What helps you navigate the terrain in Fanworld? I started quickly clicking on the system window icons and looking through them diagonally in search of the information I needed:
Quest log: empty.
World map: empty.
Mini-map: black and black, like an orc in the back... in the bins, in the bins, of course.
Local chat: blocked.
Global chat: blocked.
Private chat: blocked.
Access to the forum: blocked.
Access to external game encyclopedia: blocked.
As well as a store of virtual services and goods, a postal service, access to a bank and search for guilds - all this was inaccessible to me, as it should be for ZK model capsules intended for convicts. Of course, the exit button was also blocked. And no connection with outside world.
Eeeey! Someone! - no longer counting on anything, I screamed, burning the remaining oxygen.
More precisely, he tried to scream...
Attention! You died and were resurrected at the respawn point!
So this is how it is. Inventive, to say the least. On top of everything else, they also cut out my tongue. And when revived, it did not grow back as expected. This means that this was included during character generation. However, in this game the administration from Virtukom are creators and gods. They probably buried me at the bottom of the ocean or in some closed location.
And not only me,” I muttered, remembering the rows of “sarcophagi” blinking with lights.
So! I didn’t intend to endlessly die and be reborn, and therefore I decided to study my only chance for salvation - myself. That is, created for me by the kidnappers game character and your equipment...
* * *
Attention! You died and were resurrected at the respawn point!
This was already starting to irritate me. Twenty deaths later, I conducted a full audit and found out that with such a starter set I will be able to swallow priceless air molecules until the end of time or until the game’s databases are completely cleared.
So, the sophisticated fantasy of the kidnappers gave me this alter ego:
Race: human
Name: Object 347
Account type: limited (ZK ver.4.1)
Age: 20 years
Level: 1 (Experience: 0 out of 100)
Class: wanderer (unspecified)
Agility: 1
Stamina: 1
Intelligence: 1
Perception: 21
Charisma: 1
Secondary parameters:
Health: 10/10
Energy: 10/10
Grace: 0
Accuracy: 51%
Dodge chance: 0.5%
Crit chance: 2.5%
Mag. Attack: 0-1
Of course, all resistances were zero, no skills or talents, not to mention skills or spells. My memory and body were pristine. The backpack was not far from them. Well, aren't they handsome, huh? When generating a character, all my legitimate 20 points were thrown into the most useless parameter in my situation: Perception. Just look and listen to me here, yeah.
And to top it all off, in the list of congenital characteristics there was this inscription:
Injuries:
Tongue torn out (acquired, permanent)
“Description: At the age of 15, you fell off a horse and bit off your tongue. Unfortunately, healers and magicians were unable to cure this illness, and you had to learn to live with limited communication capabilities, forever forgetting about your dream of becoming a magician..."
Fines:
You cannot use spells.
There is no sensation of taste.
Well, for dessert, something that plunged me into a state of slight shock:
Bonuses:
You know sign language.
Any potions affect you with 50% power.
There is no sensation of taste.
Bonuses from a bitten tongue! Which are more than half the same as the list of fines! Wow, show me the genius who came up with all this, I’ll tear out his tongue and teach him sign language - the middle finger, the “cut off” elbow, and a fist in the teeth...
After another ten resurrections, I only had to admit that my cell was created by a real master. With such parameters, I could not destroy the coffin or free myself in any other way - on my own or with outside help. Well, for example, charm a worm crawling past with your Charisma, age a tree with your unbending Will, or rely on Luck...
The prospect of spinning forever in this pressure chamber did not appeal to me at all. In general, you need to make a to-do list and outline goals to strive for in order not only to survive, but also to gain the desired freedom.
But my plans turned out to be quite simple and dictated by harsh reality. Or, would it be more correct, virtuality? So, my minimum plan looked something like this:
1) Survive.
2) Get out of this damned coffin. (Note: change the anchor point)
3) Get on your feet in this game.
Actually, all this logically followed from my maximum plan:
1) Remove restrictions on your account and get in touch with the outside world. (Note: without attracting the attention of the administration.)
2) Find your body and ensure its safe removal.
3) Get out of the virtual into the real world.
4) Disappear from the horizon of Virtucom...
That's all. How to send two bytes, right?
However, although it was scanty, I still had some chance to realize my plans. In the end, this trap was probably a standard one, and not individually designed for me. And who am I, my favorite? That's right - interface programmer for virtual systems!..
Therefore, after two hundred I-don’t-remember-what reincarnation, I went into a special section of the interface settings, intended exclusively for experienced users.
Viva! - I couldn’t hold back my joyful cry when I saw the interface window for setting up and developing custom modifications. - There is access!
Of course, this did not mean at all that I would be able to get into the game code or change anything in the game world. No, the developers followed this especially closely. It’s just that a person familiar with programming could slightly modify the standard game interface, using the built-in editor and a set of functions specially opened by the developers for these purposes.
But even with this meager set, with the proper skill and imagination, you could make life a lot easier for yourself, and, if desired, for other players. But, as usually happens, as soon as I began to think about how and for what I could use such an unexpected gift of fate, I was interrupted in the most unceremonious way - something made a noise right above me, and then into the lid of my (wow, I already started consider him yours!) There was a knock on the coffin...
Risen from the dead. Repeatedly
The knocking became more and more insistent. At first I wanted to respond, to knock in response, but thought better of it in time: it was not enough for Kondraty to grab my potential savior when he heard an answering knock from the coffin.
Although, on the other hand, good man will not mock corpses. Or he’ll even finish me off as an extra witness. However, I’m already used to death. So I lay low and, after waiting several more deaths from suffocation and rebirths, I finally waited for my “liberator.”
The lid of the coffin split with a nasty crack from another blow, and clods of earth fell on me. Although I tried to pretend to be a “dead man,” the dirt that got into my eyes and nose confused all my plans, forcing me to sneeze deafeningly.
Hey, look, Gwarl, this one is alive! - a surprised, creaky voice came from above.
The owner ordered them to carry the dead for him,” the second voice responded judiciously, no less disgusting than the first.
Your right. The owner will not pay us for the living. Let's dig it back! - the owner of the first voice came to a disappointing conclusion for me.
Clods of earth drummed on my face, not allowing me to get a word in: it seemed that his words did not diverge from his deeds.
Yours, stop, Murgle. The owner pays for every corpse.
So this dead thing is still alive.
“Well, let’s say, not yet, but again,” I would say if I had a tongue and there wasn’t a hard-to-chew lump of earth in my mouth.
“Now he will be completely dead,” came from above, and at the same time something hot settled in my chest - this is how my virtual body now felt pain.
Attention! You died and were resurrected at the respawn point!
« And this second one is still greedy! Ready to kill for an extra copper! Well, it’s okay, I’ll get out of here,” was my first thought when I was reborn.
By the way, about getting out! Apparently, I was definitely moving somewhere, moving in a way that was very unusual for me. Imperceptibly opening my eyes and looking around, I first saw my legs in front of me, raised up. Then - thick fingers, tightly squeezing my ankles. Short fingers ended with dirty and rather long nails. However, the hands themselves were pretty dirty with earth.
A wide back in a leather and very worn jacket, and a bald, completely smooth and green crown sticking out above the shoulders.
So. I’m lying on my back, and I’m being dragged somewhere by my legs by some green-skinned bald freak, almost two heads shorter than me and who doesn’t have the slightest idea about manicure and nail care. And even with spreading burdock ears that bounce with every step he takes.
Ah-ah-ah! - I screamed when my head hit some kind of stone and hundreds of lights flashed in my eyes.
Hey Gwarl, your dead guy is still alive! - came from the side.
Gvarl kill the dead man. Where is he alive from? - The freak who was dragging me stopped and let go of my legs. Turned around.
A wide, fleshy nose, almost hanging over the chin, small, deep-set eyes, a narrow forehead with prominent brow ridges, and to top it all off, a wide mouth full of small, sharp teeth. Looks like a feral Master Yoda or, given the list of races on Fanmir, a goblin.
Oh, you bitch, yours can’t even kill a living dead thing!
Something moved forward, blocking the sun, and...
Attention! You died and were resurrected at the respawn point!
I opened my eyes. Of course, after death I returned to my anchor point: my coffin. Or, quite possibly, into a hole, which, by the way, was now much wider and accessible to sunlight.
Hey yours, down there! - a familiar voice came from above. - Is yours alive again?
Squinting from the sunlight, I took a closer look. Right above me, on the edge of the pit, sat two goblins and looked straight at me.
Maybe we should bury this dead thing back? - suggested one of them. - I can’t even see how the dead thing jumps back into its hole. Strange dead man. And alive.
What if the owner pays more for the strange dead thing?
Now my sharp stick is a strange dead thing to poke in the eye. If it’s completely dead, you need to take it with you.
One of the figures stood up and disappeared from sight: he probably went to look for a rather long and sharp stick. And before the return of this genius of ophthalmology, I needed to come up with a way to not end up in the hole again after the revival.
So, the anchor point in Fanworld can be a place owned by the player or any object. There is also a temporary portal binding, but this is clearly not the case. It is unlikely that the attackers made the pit my property or rented it to me, so, most likely, they simply tied me to the coffin.
Convincing these green mass entertainers to take a coffin with me is unlikely to work, with my Charisma and tongue hanging somewhere separate from the body. This means you need to quietly take a piece of it yourself.
Careful not to give myself away, I felt the bottom of the hole as far as I could reach. Eat! I found a fairly decent piece of a coffin, all that was left was to figure out where to hide it - there were no clothes.
The sound of approaching footsteps was heard from above. Looks like I'm about to be assigned honorary title Kutuzov - due to disability. Where should I put this damn piece of wood? In this damn game, the characters don't even have a loincloth by default!
And then I almost laughed: here it is, the answer! I’m in the game, which means I just need to put a piece of wood in my inventory, since each character has standard six slots, even without bags and pockets. And I managed to beat them all with fragments of boards and, just in case, earth, before I died again...
Attention! You died and were resurrected at the respawn point!
You have received the game achievement “Brother of Death”!
To this one, before opening my eyes, I listened. Wood creaks. The clang of iron. The sound of the wind. Quiet familiar voices. A light snort from a horse - here they are, the voices of freedom! And then I took a deep breath and realized that I liked the smell of freedom much less than its sounds. Because the stench around was such that I wanted to forget how to breathe and again return to the bottom of my cozy hole, where there are no sounds or smells.
Opening my eyes, I was finally convinced that the trick of filling my inventory with “memorable” trash had worked. I was lying in a cart, surrounded on all sides by corpses of varying degrees of staleness. Somewhere in front sat my goblin acquaintances, driving horses. Finding out where we were going was hampered by bodies blocking our view.
Well, I have a little time before I appear before their owner in the guise of a “strange living dead thing.” Escape was out of the question: what if I’m on some godforsaken island, and these gravediggers arrived here using a portal or by air? No, I had to get to the areas inhabited by the players first.
In the meantime, I had a little time to take care of myself. For example, find out what achievement I received.
When I opened the achievements window, I saw the following:
Achievement "Brother of Death". You died 500 times in a row without breaking the chain of deaths and without leaving your respawn point.
Description: Death itself took pity on you, looking at your torment, and endowed you with the gift of incorporeality after resurrection.
Bonus: Now, when you respawn at your anchor point, you become completely incorporeal and invulnerable to any form of influence for 3 seconds or until you leave the respawn point.
Not bad! I wonder if I had this gift there, in the coffin, would I be able to get out in the form of a disembodied spirit, or would I be stuck in the ground, barely leaving my “shelter”? I don't really want to check. And all it took was a couple of weeks [Rebirth occurs after a minute, and this time doubles each time if the pause between deaths is less than 8 hours or the rebirth time is less than 4 hours... 8 revivals in a row will take about 8 hours in total, plus the time during which the player managed to suffocate...] fall into a coffin, dying on cooldown.
Now it was necessary to outline our future path. Having opened the game help, the first thing I did was open the section dedicated to skills and abilities, without which you simply cannot survive in the “World of Fantasy”.
So, Skills. Skill- means the degree of mastery of a particular skill and opens access to skills, techniques, recipes and spells related to this Skill. A character can have no more than 10 Skills in total, including combat, craft, magic and everyday. The Skill could be learned from the appropriate masters, and mastery of it could be improved through constant use. So, that means it’s not for me yet.
Skills. These are the very “techniques, recipes and spells”. They were tied to the corresponding Skills or character class. Improved by constant use or with increasing Skill level. In general, this is clearly not my case either.
And finally, Talents. These are unique features or skills obtained by performing special conditions. Quantity is not limited. There was nothing else about this in the game help.
By the way, I still had one talent:
Sign language: you can communicate by signs with those who understand sign language, but you yourself do not understand their signs.
Level: 1/10 (progress 0%)- you understand 10 basic gestures.
Yeah. So much for your torn out tongue. Following the logic of the developers, I could get several talents by losing an eye, arm or ear. No, thanks.
Well, with the parameters, in fact, everything was more or less clear: I was a weak, clumsy dead guy with the rudiments of intelligence and fatal bad luck. But he is sharp-sighted - what accuracy! Actually, it was the parameters that determined who my character could become.
The road to becoming Warriors of any stripe was forbidden to me: they desperately need Strength and Endurance. Similarly, with Mages, starting from elementalists or demonologists, and ending with necromancers or druids, I didn’t come out smart. So I started looking at classes that could benefit from Perception as a primary or secondary stat.
Thieves and Shooters. As it turned out, not only accuracy depended on Perception, but also the chance to deliver a fatal blow by finding a weak spot in the enemy’s defense, the chance to detect invisible objects and hidden objects. Therefore, by reaching Agility or Luck, which were the main parameters for these classes, I could turn into a completely passable Assassin, Hunter, Sniper or Robber. Not too bad! Given my extreme fragility, the emphasis on invisibility or fighting at a distance was just right.
Prologue. Creator of Worlds
… somewhere on the outskirts of the world
The Creator descended from the surface of the water onto the velvet sand. He looked around the beach with a satisfied look, noting its shape, color and dispersion of sand, shells and stones neatly laid out here and there, rising above the golden surface of the beach.
The rising wave rolled onto the shore, fearfully bending around the feet of the Creator standing on the sand, so as not to distract him from his thoughts. He suddenly frowned, noticing something that shouldn't have been there. The fallen birch tree rested on a stone with one end of its trunk, forming something like a natural hut from branches bent to the ground.
The Creator approached the tree, leaving no traces on the golden sand, and touched the trunk.
The tree disappeared, as if it had never been there, and in its place a palm tree grew, the same as dozens of other tropical giants that grew around. The Creator moved his hand barely noticeably. The tree broke and fell, resting its top on the same stone. Now everything was in its place, but still something was missing. Thoughtfully rubbing his chin, the Creator snapped his fingers, and several coconuts fell onto the smooth surface of the sand near the fallen palm tree.
A transparent bottle with a narrow, high neck appeared in his hand. Empty. The Creator’s fingers moved, as if he were weaving an invisible web, and the color of the bottle began to change right before our eyes, turning dark green.
Appeared in the second hand Blank sheet paper, on which letters began to appear under the gaze of the Creator. Having finished the note, he shook the piece of paper, aging it - the paper darkened, became frayed, the characters on it faded in places, as if touched by merciless time. Having rolled the note into a tube, the creator put it into the bottle and sealed it. He swung it and threw it away, watching as those reflected by the glass danced across the sand. sunbeams. Obeying a snap of his fingers, one of the stones lying on the beach jumped straight into his hands. A small, flat pebble - just the kind that can be thrown across the surface of the water, causing it to jump over the waves. Which is what the creator did.
One, two, three, four,” he counted the jumps.
Are you having fun? - a pleasant sound came from behind female voice.
“I’m working,” the Creator responded sparingly, looking around.
Two dozen steps behind him, an angel hung in the air, slowly flapping his snow-white wings. The angel was beautiful - more precisely, beautiful and almost perfect, from the expressive curve of her full, sensual lips to the neat nails on her miniature toes.
It’s time for you to go on vacation,” the angel smiled.
The project must be submitted,” the creator sighed, “But then I promise - to the fullest!”
Okay, as you know. I just popped in to say we're leaving. Only you are left.
I'll probably be a little longer. Don't worry, I've already made arrangements with the security.
Fine. Be careful not to overstrain yourself...
You will say the same - I don’t create a world in seven days, I just make edits. The final touches, so to speak.
The angel disappeared as if he had never been there. Left alone, the creator soared high into the sky and hovered in the air. He stretched out his hand and touched only him, a visible thread that ran off into infinity. Closing his eyes, he squeezed it tightly and smiled contentedly at some of his thoughts.
A bright spark lit up on his outstretched palm and began to rotate, increasing in size. A couple of seconds, and now the creator is holding in his hand the whole world, shrunk to the size of a small ball. I carefully touched some point on its motley surface and... found myself in a cemetery.
This place reigned deep night, but this did not bother the Creator - he clapped his hands, and the sun immediately rose, illuminating the gloomy landscape of tombstones and crypts. The creator went to one of them. He walked straight through the wall and froze, looking around. Satisfied with the result, he stepped into the farthest corner and sat down there. With his palm he wiped away the dust and cobwebs from the wall, and with his finger he drew a symbol - a seven-pointed star inscribed in a circle. Movement of the hand, now the mysterious drawing is supplemented with dozens of icons, devoid of power and meaning. But not for him.
Properties,” the Creator muttered barely audibly.
And right in the air in front of him a rectangle of a system window appeared.
Link to the Perception parameter equal to 36. Link to race... No! Remove links to race. Replace with link to account type. Type "ZK", version no lower than 4.0.1. Link to main task...
Having finished the settings, he rubbed his hands contentedly: the mysterious symbol disappeared from the wall.
Download the test configuration with the ZK account settings!
As if obeying an incomprehensible command, a drawing slowly appeared on the wall. Thoughtfully rubbing his chin, the Creator drew an arrow pointing down in the center of the star. He took out a long box from his pocket, on the lid of which the exact same symbol was carved, and plunged it straight into the ground.
Shaking his hands off the non-existent dirt, he again created a miniature copy of the world in his palm. There were still many places ahead that he had to visit, and so little time to have time to do everything he had planned...
…two years later.
Internal Security Department of the VP Project
Virtucom Corporation...
Petr Sergeevich, we have an emergency! - a heavyset man, out of breath from quickly running through the corridors, burst into the office of the assistant senior programmer without knocking.
Testers are again hung with codes for immortality and are complaining that the latest update has simplified the game too much?
The AI at Station-4 came out of passive mode...
The young man sitting at the table wearing a virtual helmet shuddered and pulled the bulky device off his head. The boy looked to be barely over twenty. A typical “student” is thin, pale, with an unremarkable face, except perhaps for early bald patches on the sides, dressed in a colorful sweater and wide jeans that don’t fit. In general, the most ordinary, modest assistant to the senior programmer of one of the virtual game simulators, whom the girls from the HR department addressed only as “Petenka”.
Those who had access to the corporation's secret developments knew him under the nickname "Cerberus". And not at all because of his vile, grumpy character, but because of his ability to think through several problems at the same time. And solving them effectively and firmly are very valuable qualities for a virtual security specialist in Virtukom’s most secret project.
The man who ran into the office had more than sufficient level of access, so he addressed not Petenka, but Cerberus himself. And in his gaze one could read immense respect and even fear.
Have the reasons been established?
Deviation of parameters from the norm is higher than permissible amplitudes.
What parameters exactly? - Cerberus impatiently drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair.
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