Agility prevails over accuracy. Cowardice is the main of these three parameters,” — answered the Second Thought.
Ahead appeared a huge arch, looking like a plastic hand frozen in the gesture: “Okay.” The crafty weapons tried to fly over it, between the upper fingers, to confuse the pursuers. Unfortunately for themselves, they only fluttered helplessly, realizing they would not be able to rise to the required height.
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Then all of them burst together into the space formed by this peculiar entrance. Their enemies rushed in right after them. Rolling over their heads, I and You regained form.
The firearms vanished. Apparently, this space did not allow entry with weapons, and the enforcement of this uncompromising rule was closely monitored.
— Why is there a sweater here? — You asked in confusion, picking up an empty soda can from the floor. — Did it get tired of being itself? Did it want to change its image?
— The smell. It’s bitter, isn’t it? Unwelcoming to the nostrils. — I complained.
It truly did not caress the sense of smell. A sort of mixture of mold, cheap hairspray, and burnt vinyl. The spine of a beached whale, lying where the bar counter should have been, made it impossible to forget — glasses were stocked here too.
There they were — standing straight on every rib! But drinks were not served here. Liquid poured only from the can that You placed next to the glasses, causing it to tip over and begin boiling something tasty inside itself. With rosemary.
Where the ceiling usually is — that is, above — a disco ball was spinning. Peeling and brand new at the same time, because it had conceived itself that way. Chipped mirrored squares cast off themselves and reattached, using the souls of those stuck in a rave of the past, who never managed to crawl back into ordinary life, returning to their families and the slow fading into the routine of the present.
— Look. It’s moving. — You pointed.
From the ball came the hum of wires, and a display appeared on its surface, recording the BPM of the steps of the newly arrived. There was no music.
And it wasn’t needed for the dance floor covered with a thin layer of dust!
I squatted and ran my hand across it, and the dust softly chimed, imitating a xylophone, bells, and many other sounds. At times it rose into the air and assembled itself into the outlines of long-vanished bodies. Then it settled again.
— Curtains. Behind them — surely doors. — You decided to guess and approached first, pulling the fabric aside. Behind the doors there was surely nothing, and no exit was provided from here.
— The third door leads into one’s own echo and freezes there at a single point. — I shared. — And then it deafens. Listen.
You honestly tried, but couldn’t. So he raised his head, looking at the disco ball and silently asking it for help. The object responded with pleasure, spinning and whistling. Two beams shot out of it, smearing across the floor and beginning to shuffle rapidly, assembling the necessary features like a construction set.
One of the beams lingered, when already Bright I was ready and, theatrically running up on tiptoe, extended a hand to her future dance partner. She knelt on one knee and placed the offered hand on her head. The head, too, began to softly shimmer. After that they clasped hands and rushed to the center of the dance floor, beginning the very thing they had gathered here for.
Their music was Silence, and it set the overall tempo and rhythm. The mood was created by the dancers themselves, who changed styles and blazed, absorbing all the light of the delicate disco ball.
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and then Add to home screen.