The Reaper turned his head slightly and tossed casually: — It would be better for you if she really was a whore, — he adjusted his hat, his face brightened by a ghastly smile, — but for your trouble, she's like my shadow. Kenny strode forward, opened the door and stepped inside without fear, knowing that the girl, he had picked up dying in one of the streets of Underground City, would not allow anyone to disturb his special conversation. One of fate's quirks, but fate itself is a funny thing.

Twenty fifth of December. Apparently, everyone was in a hurry to finish affairs before the New Year, ignoring the fact that many were already celebrating Christmas on this day. The man, who will turn twenty-nine next year, did not care at all about these holidays. Useless, stupid vanity with a hint of hypocrisy. But still this date mattered. Large enough for a person, who has never built illusions about the structure of the world and human essence. Today was his nephew's birthday.