King of 25 Cubs

As we all know, Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky, was a well-meaning Russian.

"Well-intentioned Maozi reported illegal organizations with his real name, well, it kind of rhymes."

I muttered in a low voice and left the public phone booth.

After returning to the orphanage with the hot water bottle in my arms, I went directly to the warehouse in the backyard.

Before the tip next door comes, I plan to explore the warehouse and cellar first, and search for useful clues in advance.

Unfortunately, except for the radish, potatoes, cabbage and sweet potatoes stored in the cellar, nothing of value is used.

"Well, it's somewhat disappointing..."

So Fyodor didn't lie to me, he really didn't find anything.

Disappointed, I picked up a few potatoes and sweet potatoes and stuffed them into the burning fireplace.

Because baked potatoes and sweet potatoes are too delicious, although we couldn't communicate with the girls in the same dormitory due to language barriers, we still became friends by stealing food.

I didn't go to sleep after the lights went out, but kept awake in case Fyodor sneaked into the house after he finished rummaging through the warehouse.

Nothing happened overnight, and Fyodor, who didn't find anything, probably left quietly.

I was thinking in my mind:

"Next, the police will focus on dealing with the 'Rat of the House of Death'. Since the name I left with the police is Fyodor, if this organization wants revenge, it will only find Fyodor in the end."

"After he gets into trouble, he shouldn't have time to come here to make troubles. I just need to wait quietly for Master to appear."

However, thinking that Master dug me out from the ruins of the orphanage, I subconsciously felt that things would not be so simple.

·

A month later, in a small hotel in the red light district of Moscow.

Fyodor sat by the bed, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a roll of bandages on the cabinet.

He slowly unscrewed the bottle cap and carefully poured the hydrogen peroxide on the wound on his arm.

It was a bullet scratch that wasn't too shallow, and because it hadn't been treated in time, the whitened wound opened hideously, showing signs of infection.

The hydrogen peroxide irritated the wound, and he frowned slightly, but did not make any sound.

In the past month, Fyodor has been hunted down very badly.And the organization that chased him down was the "Rat of the Dead House" that he had just joined a month ago.

The original intention of joining this organization was to eliminate the top management of the organization and even replace the leader.

Fyodor has considered borrowing the power of the police, and also thought about how to avoid being suspected by the organization and completely remove himself-that is, let other people "do it for" him.

As long as the important meeting in the organization is disclosed and the other party is guided to call the police, when the "rat of the dead house" is severely injured, their eyes will naturally focus on that person.

And without an organization with important high-level leaders and leaders, there will be chaos without a leader. He can take advantage of the vacancy, or cultivate a puppet.

It's a pity that before this plan was implemented, he was put together.

The "Rat of the Dead House" is not so much a rat, but more like a group of crazy spotted hyenas, assassinating, stalking, and biting him tightly.

Who did it?

Fyodor quickly wrapped the wound on his arm with the bandage in his mouth.He was barefoot, tucked into the bed with his legs curled up, his chin resting on his knees.

This is a very safe and conducive posture for thinking.

"The person who called the police knew me."

"He, or she, who is it?"

Fyodor bit his nails and asked softly into the air, but no one could answer him.

He stopped biting his nails suddenly, his eyes moved slightly: "Is it someone from that dream?"

On Christmas Day, Fyodor had an unexplained dream.

In the dream, he was tall and tall, obviously an adult.Many people passed him by, their faces were blurred, and the crowd came and went, sometimes intersecting, gathering and dispersing impermanently.

He didn't remember what happened halfway, he only knew what he seemed to be pursuing, some kind of truth, or a lifelong dream.

In the dream, after an unknown amount of time, he heard a childish voice:

"I disagree."

"Since when did your dream change? It became what it is now, full of blood and sin? It was supposed to be beautiful, right? What's the difference between you and the kind of people you used to hate?"

The voice paused, "I miss the old Fei Jia very much."

"I want him back."

That child... It should be a child, crying sadly: "You let him come back, you give him back to me!"

Fyodor in the dream said something else, which he couldn't understand.All he knew was that at the end of the dream, he got what he wanted, and the people around him who couldn't see their faces were suddenly wiped out, completely wiped out, and even the traces of their existence disappeared.

Including himself.

In an instant, the world reversed, the sun and the moon looked new, and the wheel of history suddenly changed its course and rolled forward.

That immature voice sounded again at this moment, as if descended from a god.

"I want everything, to start over," she said.

The wheels stopped suddenly, like a humble surrender, and slowly retreated to the place where it started.

Fyodor in his sleep suddenly opened his eyes.

"I had that dream again..."

He looked at the ceiling in a daze, with a rare look of bewilderment on his still youthful face.

Suddenly hurried footsteps sounded outside the door, and the bewilderment on Fyodor's face quickly faded away, and he frowned again, seemingly a little displeased.

"Oh!"

The door was kicked open, and a tall man wrapped in a turban rushed in with a machine gun and looked at the bed first.

There was no one on the bed, the window was wide open, and the swift cold air blew the curtains into the air.

The turbaned man ran to the window and poked his head out.

"There is no one below, no one on either side, this is the sixth floor, that little bastard—"

A white arm suddenly hangs down from the window, aiming at the head of the turbaned man with precision.

His eyes lost their brilliance in an instant.

The blood blossomed suddenly, and only a heavy "plop" was heard. The man convulsed and fell to the ground, and lost his life within a few seconds.

Fyodor crawled back by grabbing the window sill. He sat on the window sill and looked at his woolen collar that was spattered with blood with some disgust.

"It's not an option to always be hunted down like this. If you are shot in the vitals, you will really die."

Fyodor turned his head thoughtfully, his purple eyes looked at the child's dress that was drying on the window sill next door and that he had forgotten to take back.

He pinched his chin, eyes gloomy.

·

"Hi, I'm buying a newspaper."

I said in my broken Russian, tiptoeing, and handed the coin to the old lady at the cash register.

Sitting on the bench outside the small shop with the newspaper, I took a picture of today's "Moscow Daily" with my new mobile phone, and then used translation software to grab the text and translate it into English.

"... On the evening of January 1, the Moscow police successfully arrested three high-level members of a gang organization who had been chasing for many years in the XX bar. Most of the remnants were also arrested within a month..."

"...five fugitives died in different places, and their deaths were miserable..."

"...The following are the seven criminals who are still absconding. Please call if you see the..."

I shook the newspaper: "Well, you don't see Fyodor in these photos."

"The paper media, TV, and Internet media all reported it, but no one mentioned Fyodor's name in a very tacit understanding. This is a bit intriguing."

I folded up the newspaper, put it under my armpits, put on my hat and scarf, covered my ears and face tightly, and returned to the orphanage.

Several children who were sweeping the snow saw me coming in, stood at attention, and saluted: "Hello, boss!"

I stroked the two brown bears in the yard, and said casually, "Well, keep sweeping."

"Yes, boss!"

"Don't forget to feed Xiong Da and Xiong Er later."

The two brown bears I'm stroking are from a nearby forest I encountered not long ago.

We had a fight first, and then they "happily" came to the orphanage to help guard the yard~

Although I am just a string, starting today, I can proudly say: I am a Russian who has fought a bear!

As for their names... Bald Qiang has them all, and of course Xiong Da and Xiong Er must be arranged.

Next time the tip next door comes to visit again, you can let the cute bear brother play with him, I think he will be very happy!

After stroking the bear, I went into the house and touched the banister.

Not bad, wiped pretty clean.

I nodded.

When I first came here a month ago, the orphanage was still extremely dirty, with gray nets hanging everywhere, and the long dining table where the director and a dozen children ate was also covered with thick grease.

Now, except for the slightly dilapidated and faded exterior of the house, the interior of the orphanage is quite different from a month ago.

Why this change occurred, we have to start from when I first came here.

Karama, the director of the Maria Welfare Institute, is a good man, but definitely not a reliable adult.

Compared with many deans who are harsh and physically punish children, Calama can be said to be very kind and friendly.

When he is in a good mood, he even takes the children to play snowballs together... But everyone doesn't like to play with him because he never lets them go, which makes the children have no fun in the game.

But most of the time, he was either drunk or on his way.

Calama liked to drink so much that he always carried a glass full of cheap vodka.

Since he was drunk most of the time and lacked control over the children, they could only manage themselves, which caused chaos in Maria's orphanage.

I just came here for the first week, and I found out that this place is like a preparatory camp for juvenile delinquents.

The younger ones are fine, those ten-year-olds have unclean hands and feet more or less; there are two more than 13 years old, I don’t know if they are gangsters outside, often stay out at night, and occasionally drink Come back drunk, with stolen or robbed things on your body, show off in front of other children.

Once I even saw with my own eyes a child who sneaked into Dean Karama's room and stole his wallet to buy cigarettes and alcohol, which he returned to distribute to the other children.

If it continues to develop, taking | drugs is not impossible.

Originally, I didn't want to be nosy, I just wanted to be an "ordinary" eight-year-old child, waiting for Master to pick me up.

There are two reasons why I made up my mind to rectify the orphanage——

One, Takaho Ikue's bank card was stolen by a child.

Second, there is a shotgun hidden under the dean's bed. The kid who stole the bank card also stole the gun. I don't know why he wants to take it out.

Bank cards all have withdrawal passwords, he bullied me as a newcomer, took his younger brother, and frightened me with the stolen shot|gun, asking me to tell the password.

Don't say that I don't know what the password is at all, even if I knew it, I wouldn't be threatened by these ignorant brats.

Facing the bluffing muzzle, I smiled softly, with a relaxed face, and walked over slowly.

The kid took a step back and yelled at me with a tense face, an expletive that I couldn't understand.

Is this kid touching a gun for the first time?

Sister, the guns I have played with are much more advanced than this one; sister, I have killed more people with guns than you have stayed up at night.

I tapped my forehead with my fingertips and signaled him: "I have the ability to shoot here."

The child's expression became more and more tense, and the finger on the trigger tightened unconsciously.

"boom!"

The bullet passed the side of my cheek without even scratching the skin, but the shooter was taken aback by himself and threw the gun directly on the snow.

"That's not how guns work."

I walked over, picked up the shot|gun with my toes, reached out to catch it, and fired at him without aiming.

"boom!"

The bullet passed through the gap between the opponent's legs, brushed against his vital parts, and nailed to the door panel behind him.

His legs went limp, and he peed in fright.

I bent down, took out the bank card from his jacket pocket with two fingers, dusted off the non-existent dust on it, and walked away with the shot|gun on my shoulder.

Although the self-made soil hunting | gun is not very powerful, it cannot continue to be placed in the dean's room, otherwise something will happen sooner or later.

I locked the gun in the utility room and hung three more locks.

After this incident, the younger brothers of that child resolutely abandoned the hopeless boss and followed me.

Anyway, I was idle, so I assigned them a task-scrubbing the orphanage.

By the way, I also keep Takaho Ikue's bank card myself.

I cracked the password, withdrew the money, bought a new smartphone, and was no longer blind, and finally lived a good life with translation software.

It's just that the boy who stole the gun ran away, and he didn't know where he went, and I didn't see him back in the next month.

Anyway, he can't get in now, Xiong Da is in the front yard, and Xiong Er will be put in the backyard at night, all the front and back roads are blocked, wanting to come back, dreaming!

When it was time for dinner, Natasha, who was in charge of cooking today, hadn't come back yet.

Natasha is the 14-year-old blond-haired, brown-eyed little girl who dragged the dean out of the house on my first day here.

She recently volunteered at the Maria Hospital for the Poor and plans to become a full-time employee of the hospital after gaining experience.

It was getting dark, and I was a little worried, because Natasha said before that she was stalked by some gangsters in the town, and when she was thinking about whether to pick her up, I happened to see her walking to the orphanage through the window on the second floor .

Next to Natasha was another girl.

She is slender, fair-skinned, wearing a snow cap, a lavender plush dress, a short cotton jacket, high boots, and half-length black hair tied in a bun behind her head.

Has Natasha made a new friend?

I poured myself a glass of milk and sipped it.

Seemingly aware of my gaze, the girl raised her head and met my eyes.

It was a pair of purple-red eyes that looked like jelly fruit.

I spit out a mouthful of milk: "...???"

The author has something to say:

感谢在2020-06-0123:47:07~2020-06-0223:43:50期间为我投出霸王票或灌溉营养液的小天使哦~

Thanks to the little angels of irrigation nutrient solution: 30 bottles of Ivy; 20 bottles of Aqing; 10 bottles of liuliu; 233651 bottles of south wind and north direction;

Thank you very much for your support, I will continue to work hard!