He wallowed in dirt and drank cheap beer at the roof of Erika Computing Headquarters' building in the heavy rain. Actually, instead of beer he could buy triple cannabis with his peanuts but he took this filthy swill to show off to his buddies next day: look at me, I drink natural alcohol, it is not a hippy glitterboys' trash! The fact that there was no bit of natural malt in his bottle didn't interest him.
He was gulping brown water when three guys came there. The first wore a dark robe at his shoulders and Oppressor Mask at his head. The second likely was an employee at Arkona Internet Providing – blue-and-white uniform told about that. The third couldn't be unrecognized: Nakkole Krojtzel, the Procurator of Jaromarsburg.
Nakkole stepped forward, poked drunkard with his cane and said:
“Your passport, pan Wlesowski.”
Wlesowski fumbled in waistcoat pockets and stretched his passport out. Procurator opened the booklet and slowly leafed over pages.
“Juuwhen Wlesowski. Born May 19, 2042 in Vizovice, Czech Republic. Class O. And that physiognomy. There is no question. We found him, brothers.”
The Oppressor pushed Krojtzel, raised Juuwhen catching his neck and then threw him to concrete roof with his face down. Wlesowski howled. The Oppressor went closer, stepped on his nape with cobblestone boots and began to interrogate sometimes pressing Wlesowski's face to the sharp surface.
“Was YOU that bitch? Did YOU soykafted in Czech Vichan's /b/ 12 millions posts of fucking drivel?”
“Yeah, I did… a-aphhhh, you whore, stop it! Whach did I to you?”
“You murdered the most popular board in Province Czech. We had the strongest community in Europe, we were an anvil of original content. And then Hornak and Luwakowicz decided to make fun on us and made thousands of soykafting cockerels like you fill our home. Now I'm forced to visit bloody Nullchan. Why have you done it?”
“Knives pointed it for me… H-haaa…”
“And you promoted him.”
“Yes. He's kinda cool, doesn't use capital letters and saves his rep…”
“And it can inspire you? And for this soykaf you killed one of the best IBs at the Earth? You schmuck.”
The guy in Oppressor Mask kicked the soykaf brewer the last time, spitted and stepped back.
Procurator cleared his throat and uttered:
“Pan Juuwhen Wlesowski! For your brewing soykaf in court hall after you rewrite your OSK testing you surely will be downgraded to class S oPost too long. Click here to view the full text.