It was long past midnight when he finally turned off the monitor.
The room sank into half-darkness.
Outside, a streetlight cast moving shadows over the cluttered desk.
The guy rubbed his tired eyes. His temples throbbed — from exhaustion, from the neighbors, from life in general.
The neighbors had been yelling all evening again: someone upstairs was stomping and arguing, someone next door was drinking and singing along to the radio.
Sometimes it felt like the whole building was running an experiment on the limits of his nervous system.
And then those same neighbors would complain — “your computers are humming”, or “your lights keep flickering at night.”
As if he was the one who’d eaten the forbidden fruit and was now to blame for every sin in the world.
He took a deep breath, sat down on the couch, and muttered to the ceiling:
“I just want a bit of quiet. One single day without yelling. Is that really too much to ask?”
The universe answered with a loud crash from behind the wall.
Something fell with a dull thud. Then came laughter.
“Okay. Message received,” he sighed.
**
It all began with another neighborly scandal in the courtyard.
Old Pavel Nikolaevich — the local drunk and source of most local drama — was shouting at someone by the trash bins again.
Maxim tried to walk past, keeping his eyes down, but fate clearly had a sense of humor that morning.
“Hey, you!” a voice slurred behind him. “Give me a hand with this bag, my hands are shaking!”
He turned, but before he could answer, the man stumbled, waved an arm — and bumped straight into him.
One step — and the world flipped upside down.
Asphalt. Bushes. Cold.
He landed in a ditch full of filthy water.
“Sorry!” came the distant shout.
Maxim’s ears rang. Shame and fear crashed over him like ice water.
He flinched when he heard laughter — people were watching. He shrank, like a rabbit surrounded by wolves.
Slowly, he got to his feet, touching his sore knee; the cold muck was seeping into his jeans. The air smelled of rust and damp.
A crushed bottle and a broken umbrella lay nearby. He swallowed hard and muttered:
“Perfect. Just perfect.”
The drunk was already gone. The bystanders chuckled a bit more and wandered off, not bothering to help.
Maxim climbed out, biting back curses.
Each breath felt heavier, and he could barely keep from crying.
He was about to leave — when something caught his eye.
At the bottom of the ditch, half-buried in mud, lay a toy — a small pink rabbit. Faded, missing a ribbon, one bent paw. Dusty, but somehow… warm.
He froze.
For some reason, it felt like the toy was looking at him.
Nonsense, of course.
But he couldn’t look away.
He picked up the rabbit and brushed off the dirt.
The fur was surprisingly soft — almost silky.
“Who left you here, huh?” he murmured.
No answer — only the rustle of leaves.
He wanted to toss it back… but something in his chest stopped him.
Just a tiny tug — and his fingers refused to let go.
The rabbit stayed in his hands.
**
Back home, he washed the toy under warm running water until it came out clean.
The fur lightened, and the ruby-like button eyes glimmered faintly.
“Handsome,” Maxim chuckled, setting it on a towel to dry.
The apartment greeted him with its usual mix of silence and faint hum — the computer fan, the neighbors’ muffled noise behind the wall.
He glanced at the rabbit, almost dry now — and felt something strange.
Calm.
As if someone had turned off the anxiety in his head. For the first time in months, Maxim fell asleep easily. The rabbit sat by the monitor — silent, almost like a guardian.
**
Maxim woke up with a weird feeling.
Something was off.
Not the furniture — the air itself. It felt softer, clearer, almost filtered.
He yawned, reached for his phone. 9:04. Late.
He went to move the rabbit — but his hand met empty space.
The desk was bare. No toy. No trace.
He looked around, under the table — nothing.
A dull ache twisted in his chest.
“Oh great... gone.”
He got up and went to the bathroom.
The moment he turned on the light, his breath caught.
The reflection wasn’t quite… him.
Well — it was him, but as if someone had gone wild with the “idealize” slider in Photoshop.
His skin seemed to glow, his hair fell perfectly, his eyes sparkled unnaturally bright.
And most absurdly — a small pink rabbit-shaped earring gleamed in his left ear, with ruby-red eyes.
He frowned, leaned closer.
“What the hell…?”
He didn’t remember ever piercing his ears. Or wearing jewelry.
And definitely not this.
He touched the earring — and the air rippled.
Like someone invisible had snapped their fingers.
A faint pink holographic panel shimmered into existence before his eyes.
__
[System: “Pink Rabbit” activated]
Welcome, new user.
Status: Angel on probation.
Please keep your identity secret.
__
“...What?” he breathed, stumbling back.
The screen didn’t disappear.
It pulsed gently, pink and teasing.
__
Initialization complete.
Body parameters updated.
Additional modules will unlock as adaptation progresses.
__
His heart was pounding. Fingers trembling. His whole body felt light — almost alien.
He looked back at the mirror — and froze.
Something white moved behind him.
He turned slowly — and the world tilted again.
Two wings. Real ones.
White, soft, woven from light.
He didn’t even scream — just stared.
When he tried to move, one wing brushed the wall, sending a shiver through his back.
Not pain — just… sensation. Sharp, electric.
“Oh my God…” he whispered, leaning on the wall. “This is real…?”
The wings responded, gently shifting — as if they’d heard him.
Every feather seemed alive.
He reached out and touched one — and gasped.
It was too sensitive. Like touching his own skin, multiplied by a hundred.
“Aagh! What the— was that nerves?!”
He was breathing hard.
The wings trembled, moving almost on their own.
Warmth ran down his spine — not pain, just ticklish and strange.
“Okay, okay. Calm down. It’s stress. Overwork. Hallucination,” he muttered.
He leaned closer to the mirror. The wings moved with every breath.
«Они даже синхронизируются с дыханием... О, здорово, это же бред на уровне биоинженерии!»
Он задел бутылку с шампунем — плюх! — пена вылилась на пол.
«Идеально. Спасибо, жизнь. Как раз то, что мне было нужно — уборка».
Крылья обидчиво дернулись.
«Ладно, ладно, — вздохнул он. — Давай просто признаем, что я сошёл с ума».
Он закрыл глаза.
Это нереально. Это нереально. Это нереально.
Он открыл их.
Крылья все еще были на месте.
Хуже того — одна из них мягко обняла его за плечи.
«АААА! Не трогай меня! Я не подписывалась на объятия!»
Он поскользнулся, схватился за раковину, уставился на свое отражение: бледное лицо, крылья, серьга.
Затем — еще одна вспышка розового света.
__
[Система: «Розовый Кролик»]
Адаптация завершена.
Поздравляю! Этап пробуждения пройден успешно.
Миссия №1: «Сделай доброе дело — и постарайся не умереть от стресса».
Подсказка: добрые дела все равно имеют значение, даже в период паники.
Награда: стабилизация параметров.
Штраф за бездействие: Неизвестно.
__
Прежде чем он успел отреагировать, сережка снова загорелась.
Вокруг него кружились перья и искры, а когда свет померк, он увидел себя в зеркале... в розовом топе и короткой юбке.
Ткань мерцала, словно живая.
Он попытался это сделать — система выдала предупреждение:
__
Пожалуйста, сохраняйте свою личность в тайне.
Крылья чрезвычайно чувствительны.
Следите за своей формой.
Удачи!
__
Максим медленно сполз на пол.
«Нет, нет, нет. Это не смешно», — прошептал он.
Да, крылья все еще были на месте.
Да, и юбка тоже.
И да, он выглядел так, будто выпал из волшебного аниме-клипа.
«Отлично, Максим. У тебя стресс, переутомление и галлюцинации в высоком разрешении».
«Что дальше — дебют персонажа гача?»
Он потянул за верхушку – бесполезно. Крылья дёрнулись, словно хихикая.
«Ха-ха, очень смешно», — пробормотал он. «Я просто борюсь за своё достоинство!»
Крылья вздохнули.
«Извини, ладно? Просто… не привыкла общаться со своей анатомией».
Экран снова моргнул:
__
[Совет дня]
Доверьтесь своим крыльям — они — ключ к успеху.
Помните: они — часть вас.
__
«Отлично. Теперь я должен доверять своим перьям. Может, и им дать имена? Левое — Стыд, правое — Паника?»
Крылья возмущенно захлопали.
«Ладно, ладно! Только не… ой, голова кружится… ладно, перестань махать руками!»
Он сел на кровать, обняв колени.
«Вообще-то…» — пробормотал он, взглянув на шелковистую, блестящую юбку, а затем на белые чулки.
Его лицо стало ярко-красным, и он вскочил.
«Нет! Нет, Максим, даже не думай! Это неудобно, это безумие!»
Розовый огонек снова мигнул.
__
[Миссия №1 активна]
«Сделайте доброе дело — и постарайтесь не умереть от стресса».
Местоположение цели: ближайшая лестничная клетка.
Цель: пожилая женщина с мусорным мешком.
Подсказка: улыбка — величайшее оружие ангела!
__
Максим уставился на экран.
«Улыбка? В этом наряде? Я доведу её до инфаркта!»
Крылья задрожали — на этот раз определенно от смеха.
Он закрыл лицо руками.
«Почему я вообще отношусь к этому как к чему-то нормальному…?»
ns216.73.216.13da2
and then Add to home screen.