Wind in the Hands by Rami Yudovin

instantaneously attack. The agent took out photographs.
    “Know them?”
    The Soldier, peering in the photographs, shouted wildly:
    “That’s my buddy, battled together. He was killed, my trusted friend, treacherously, in the back!”
    Tears were running down his face. He recollected a real case from his life and tears were almost sincere. The agents did not expect the performance, were at a loss for several seconds, and relaxed. This was enough. The agents were not wearing safety vests and the Soldier sharply made an uppercut in the celiac plexus with the maximum strength allowed by his hip and shoulder, and hit the other one who did not have time to react with his right hand on the jaw. The security employee staggered, swayed and started to fall onto his back, but the Soldier caught him to prevent him breaking his back against the tiled floor. He unfastened handcuffs from the agent’s belt, cuffed their hands behind their backs fast and pushed them into a bathroom stall. Fetched the photographs and read their IDs.
    “Breathe deeper, secret war warrior,” he said to the agent who was convulsively swallowing air.
    The Soldier ignited toilet paper, threw it in the dustbin and left the toilet shouting: “Fire! All is on fire!” People panicked, a fire siren went off. He ran outside unnoticed in that turmoil and dived in a taxi.
    About half an hour later he was greeted by the worried Stranger in the Tower hotel lounge.
    “You look well in pictures,” the Soldier grinned slightly pointing at photograph.
    “The Seer,” the Stranger drawled. “Why?”
    “I didn’t want to go to him,” the Soldier reminded gloomily.
    “Just think, he set agents on us. They were in ambush directly at the railway station. After I deprived them of the right to exclusively use our photos, the railway station is a taboo.”
    “I hope you have killed or mutilated no one?” the Stranger did not find it funny.
    “What if so!” the Soldier seemed to be mortally hurt. “I was insulted when I saw our photographs held by others. Maybe they decided to earn on our glory. It’s not good. I ask, by what right? I didn’t give permission to be shot. I made a scandal and they decided not to deal with me and returned the photographs without litigation.”
    “You must write fairy tales! Remember, violence pays back. It’s not our way,” the Stranger said thoughtfully. “By the way the Seer can find the hotel. We have to leave.”
    “Can the Seer find our location at any time?”
    “I think yes. Wait here. I need to speed up someone.”
    “Found one more companion?”
    “A woman, living in the City. She’ll give us shelter,” the Stranger said going out.
    The Soldier followed him with his eyes, “You would never tell he is this type by looking at him.”
    The Stranger entered the room, sat down on the bed beside a sweetly wheezing woman.
    “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.”
    “Sleeping beauties are kissed to wake up,” she muttered without opening her eyes.
    “I’d love too, but you haven’t brushed your teeth,” the Stranger said moving away just in case.
    “What?” the Medium jumped up pulling the blanket up.
    “Well, no kiss and you are awake. My comrade has come. We have a small trouble. I’m waiting for you in the lounge. Just don’t be slow.”
    Closing the door, he pressed against the wall: “I’m not in the City yet, and it has started. The Soldier used force to take away the photographs, most likely there are casualties. I don’t like that at all and it is going to be worse.” He wanted to quit and run away without looking back. Having prayed, he understood that desire was impermissible weakness and slowly went down to the lounge. The Soldier was standing near the window and looking at the road.
    “Who is she?” he asked the Stranger who came up to him without turning.
    “Medium.”
    “A medium? A guide between the world of the dead and the living?”
    “No this is her name.”
    “So, I’ve heard about