Maxim stood by the front door, staring at his reflection in the hallway’s dull mirror.
A faint pink glow from his earring flickered across the walls, making everything look like a bad dream after too many energy drinks and two sleepless nights.
He was still wearing *that* outfit — a strange blend of ethereal fabric, light, and pure embarrassment. His wings fluttered, as if impatient, though all he felt was the desperate wish to disappear.
At eye level, the interface window hovered in the air:
---
**[Mission #1 Active]**
**Objective:** Help an elderly woman carry out her trash.
**Tip:** A smile is the key to success!
---
> “A smile,” he rasped. “Perfect. If I step outside looking like this, they’ll sign me up for the ‘Pink Heavens’ cult and ship me straight to the psych ward.”
He tried turning sideways — one wing scraped the doorframe, leaving white paint on the feathers.
> “Fantastic. Add cleaning duty to the list,” he muttered, hunching his shoulders.
The system beeped:
**[Warning: Avoiding the mission lowers system trust level.]**
> “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he snapped, waving his hand. “I’ll help, I’ll save, I’ll smile — just maybe give me *normal clothes* first?”
No response. Only the faint pink shimmer on the wall — as if someone invisible were quietly smirking.
Maxim took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and — trying not to think about how ridiculous he looked — stepped out onto the landing. His wings brushed the railing, stirring the air, and he swore under his breath.
---
### **Outside**
The courtyard smelled of wet asphalt and stale bread.
Pigeons fluttered around the trash bins, where an old woman in a checkered robe was furiously waving her arms.
> “Filthy, thieving birds!” she shouted. “Scattering garbage everywhere, you pests!”
Maxim stopped near the entrance, watching her fend off the pigeons, and sighed to himself.
> *There she is. The mission target.*
He clenched his fist.
> “This isn’t a mission, it’s humiliation,” he muttered. “If I say a single word, she’ll curse me to the seventh generation.”
The interface blinked again:
**[Warning: Inaction lowers system trust level.]**
> “Oh for— fine,” he hissed and started forward.
His wings trailed behind him, almost touching the ground.
> “Um…” he said uncertainly as he approached. “Would you like some help carrying that?”
The old woman turned. Small, wiry, eyes sharp as needles.
She looked him up and down — from feathers to skirt hem — and squinted.
> “And who’re you supposed to be, a performer?”
> “Uh…” Maxim coughed, avoiding her gaze. “An angel… in training.”
> “Right,” she said dryly. “Kids these days. All fairies and freaks. Fine then, fashion boy — make yourself useful.”
Without waiting for an answer, she shoved a heavy bag into his hands. The smell hit instantly — acrid, rotten, straight from the pits of hell. His stomach lurched.
He swayed, one wing clipped the metal bin — it clanged loudly — and half the trash spilled out, both from the can and the torn bag.
Maxim froze, staring at the peels and filthy wrappers at his feet.
The system chimed cheerfully:
**[Excellent! +1 point to Goodness.]**
> “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he groaned.
The old woman was already walking away, muttering:
> “Angel, he says… Sure. Heaven help us. Could’ve at least cleaned up after himself.”
---
Maxim sat down on a bench by the flowerbed.
He’d managed to carry the bag — mostly — but now he just sat there, feeling the sticky moisture drying on his hands.
The wings drooped, weary.
Then the system lit up again:
---
**[Mission Complete]**
**Reward:** Mild stabilization of emotional state.
---
He closed his eyes.
The world seemed to soften.
The courtyard sounds grew gentler; even the pigeons stopped annoying him.
Inside, where anxiety usually buzzed, there was now silence — fragile, but real.
He inhaled slowly.
> “No way…” he whispered. “All that… because of a garbage bag?”
No answer. Only a soft motion behind him — the wings shifting, as if agreeing.
He lowered his head, clasping his hands together.
> “I did it out of fear,” he said quietly. “Fear of punishment. And the system still counted it.”
The pink interface flickered faintly, almost like a smile:
**[Sometimes goodness doesn’t need a motive. It just happens.]**
Maxim stared at the message until it dissolved into the air.
He sat there, in his ridiculous pink outfit, smelling of trash and exhaustion — and for the first time in ages felt not peace, not joy, but an emptiness without pain.
Strange. Almost serene.
He laughed softly — without humor.
> “So that’s what virtue looks like,” he murmured. “Dirty, wet, and unwanted.”
The wings stirred gently.
He looked up at the sky — gray, with a thin strip of light above the rooftops.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t want to close his eyes.
---
He was still sitting there when the world suddenly shivered.
First, a faint ringing in his ears. Then the air itself began to shimmer, like heat rising from invisible pavement.
He blinked.
> “Oh no. Don’t tell me there’s more. I’ve done my good deed. That’s enough for one day.”
His wings slowly spread, feathers rippling with pink sparks.
The system’s voice came — cold, neutral:
**[Data transfer complete.]**
**[User mission accomplished.]**
**[Returning to base zone.]**
> “Wait, what does ‘returning’ mean? Hey! I’m not—”
The world folded.
No explosion, no sound — just space collapsing like crumpled paper.
Maxim felt the ground vanish beneath him.
For a moment, it was as if he was falling inward — into his own breath.
Everything spun: asphalt, pigeons, air, sky.
The pink light melted into a solid veil, and he shut his eyes.
---
When he opened them again — he was standing in his room.
The monitor was on.
The mouse lay on the desk.
The air smelled familiar — of dust and coffee.
No wings. No costume.
He slowly turned around, heart racing.
> “No…” he whispered. “That’s impossible.”
He ran his hands over his shoulders, his back. Nothing.
Just a T-shirt, damp with sweat.
In the mirror — an ordinary guy.
Except… not quite.
His skin looked clearer, his brown eyes brighter, his hair neat, as if styled by someone else.
And in his left ear, the small rabbit-shaped earring still gleamed.
Maxim froze.
He stepped closer to the mirror.
The earring shimmered softly, breathing with a warm, steady light.
> “So you stayed,” he said quietly. “A reminder, huh? So I don’t forget I’m an angel now?”
He tried to take it off — his fingers touched the metal, but it wouldn’t budge.
Warm.
Too warm for ordinary jewelry.
For a second, it pulsed — in time with his heartbeat.
> “Great,” he exhaled. “Now I’ve got a biometric parasite in my ear. Perfect.”
The system was silent. No messages. No lights.
Only stillness — soft, deep, almost unnatural.
The silence he’d wanted for so long.
Maxim sat down on the couch.
His eyes drifted shut.
He listened to himself — and realized he truly *was* calm.
No anxiety, no inner hum.
But the calm felt… foreign.
Too smooth. Too clean.
As if someone had carefully erased every unnecessary feeling.
He exhaled, slow and even.
> “What did you do to me…” he whispered, not sure who he was speaking to.
> “I just wanted peace. Not *this*.”
The earring glowed faintly in response.
A single pink pulse — like a nod.
Maxim looked away.
For a moment, in the reflection of the monitor, he thought he saw a shadow — the faint outline of wings, transparent as smoke.
He blinked — and they were gone.
Only his reflection remained.
Tired, but strangely clear.
He rubbed his face and gave a weary smile.
> “Good deed done. System’s happy. And me… I’m starting to think this was just the beginning.”
The room fell silent again.
Real silence, at last.
But this time, it didn’t feel comforting anymore.
92Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡocldbJ4eQZ
and then Add to home screen.