THE WORLD WILL END IN 12 HOURS.

Hagard Hill, "In 12 hours, the world will end," he heard a strange voice in his head that didn't belong to him.

"So what?" he replied mentally. The world hadn't been kind to him lately, and the news that it could suddenly cease to exist didn't stir much emotion in him.

He emerged from the St. Adalbert's Shelter, where he'd spent the night, and with his hands in his pockets, he set off down the street toward the city center. The world seemed normal and unthreatened. People, as they did every morning, were rushing to their duties, their jobs, their betrayed wives, and the money they longed to accumulate. And only people like him leisurely began their day without calculating it or planning more than a few minutes ahead. For him, he'd be one of the next, bored, sitting in the park until noon and then heading for a free meal at the Evangelists' Church. On his way back, he'd probably stop for a moment in front of a TV store and watch the news through the window. Once the shopkeeper shooed him away from the window, he'd start thinking about where to spend the night and how to get another cigarette. Maybe he'd go to the Elizabethan Sisters' or to the outskirts of town, where the municipal homeless shelter was located. If Helga wasn't on duty, they'd let him in for the night and he'd stay there until morning. And if not, well, he'd go to the station and sneak onto one of the suburban train cars. He liked it when they sometimes dragged him off those trains and put him in jail for a few long hours. In that time, he'd gain a warm shower and breakfast. But lately, he couldn't get in because they were too heavily guarded by security.

For him, the world had long since ceased to exist, and it didn't matter when that actually happened.

Across the street, he saw two uniformed officers. They stopped and stared at him intently. In their eyes, he looked like a tramp, and they weren't far off in their assessment. His dirty and torn clothes, unshaven face and arms, and emaciated figure didn't make a good impression. To escape their gaze, he turned down the first side street, where there was less traffic and the houses and shops were less exclusive. Here, at least, he attracted less attention from others, who were more accustomed to seeing people like him. Sometimes they even sympathized and offered him something to eat, knowing that people like him were just waiting for their own death.

He tried not to look too deeply into people's eyes, for fear that he would stop them and demand money.

He had tried that once, but the police would show up, handcuff him, and take him to the police station. There, instead of putting him in jail, they would punch him in the face and take him out of town so that he could think carefully about his actions on the way back.

This messed-up world was so twisted that even in prison he didn't deserve peace. People like him were harmless vagrants who tried to exploit the state and squeeze it out of unnecessary expenses. They didn't even deserve a cell, just a few slaps in the face and a good kick in the ass to say goodbye.

So let this messed-up world end and finally leave him alone.

He continued walking, further and further away from the Center. He no longer felt like going there. He probably wouldn't reach the main square anyway. A few streets away, he'd be stopped, then politely told to go wherever they wanted to see him. Which meant only one place: the city's outskirts, near a garbage dump and a chemical storage facility. There, although there were fewer people, there were bonfires, and occasionally a guy with a roasted rabbit on the grill. If he was good enough, he managed to chat for a while and get a bite. And he had a knack for engaging others with his thoughts about the world he invented for them on the spot.

But he rarely encountered intelligent vagrants. Most often, they were ordinary alcoholics drinking sewage from the local spirits factory. Coughing and breathing fire, they chased away people like him with sticks and insults. Even though they were useless vagabonds themselves, they guarded their sanctuary and refused to let anyone in who might in any way rob them of their independence.

Sometimes he thought that people like him should be subjected to forced euthanasia, because they only aroused pity among the small group of people who ran shelters and good churches for the poor. For others, they simply didn't exist.

He turned down another street; it seemed quieter here, fewer shops, fewer people, and less clean. He heard that strange voice again in his head.

"Hagard Hill, the world will end in 11 hours!

" "To hell with him. What do I even care? Shouldn't someone else know about it more than he? The world is a big, fresh mess that prefers to walk around. Despite everything, he was drawn to people like a honeycomb. He couldn't live without them. Without this constant contact with them and the furtive glances at their faces. It was his daily game of guessing who they were and where they were going. Most often, they turned their heads, but he still knew what made them unhappy. Here, he could compete with them, because he had fewer problems than they did. He didn't have to run around to the banks, pay taxes, and wasn't listed in any computer databases. He only worried about eating, sleeping, and not needlessly upsetting anyone. And nothing more. Only occasionally did jealousy creep in, as he remembered that he had once been one of them.

If it were up to him, the world could end right now.

To hell with him...

In the distance, he saw the uniformed patrol again. He had to cross a busy intersection to avoid running into them. He turned right onto an even narrower street with even worse pavement and worse-dressed people. In fact, he was almost alone, as the alley was one of those inappropriate places to enter. Small shops were boarded up, wooden windows with plastic foil instead of glass. Not many people lived here anymore. He could have moved into one of those abandoned houses, but he disliked these gloomy places where fear and loneliness were palpable at night. He preferred the shelter and those like him in the same room, who similarly complained about the world around them. At least they were sober and sometimes even managed to smile and rejoice in their complicated fate. Perhaps, after all, the world needed people like him? Or at least so that humanity could retain a modicum of compassion?

Because, in truth, the world had no conscience, allowing people like him to live on Earth and feel miserable. He no longer expected much from others; he was capable of enjoying the smallest morsel of happiness, but even that was rarely found on his journey.

He finally reached a fork in the road, where he spotted a large truck being loaded with furniture from a nearby store. Inside was a large leather couch and two armchairs. As the porters entered the store, a silly idea struck him. What would happen if he took that truck to wherever he was going? He hadn't expected it to take him to an upscale neighborhood, as none of them would shop in such a place. Still, it was a chance to experience something new.

He didn't hesitate, but jumped onto the truck and hid behind a heavy, old-fashioned couch. Soon, the truck was loaded with other furniture and the metal door was slammed shut behind him.

He didn't pull such stunts often, as he usually ended up at a house guarded by security. If the owner was kind enough to have a shred of compassion, he'd let him go in peace and even get a dollar for the trip. But most often, he'd goad him with a stick, threaten the police, and set the dogs on him. He had many marks on his pants from his encounter with them. Still, a thrill of excitement compelled him to try a similar stunt again. And would the knife be his luck this time? He just couldn't imagine what his luck would look like.

"Hagard Hill, the world will end in 10 hours," he heard again in his head.

While the car was still moving, he wondered what could happen in such a short time that the world would cease to exist? Perhaps a bomb would drop and wipe everything off the face of the Earth? The news hadn't announced any political crisis, though anything was possible these days. Besides, what did he know about the world and politics? He knew nothing beyond what he'd heard from others and through the thick glass of a TV shop. Even if there had been a war, he'd surely be the last to hear about it.

It was a messed-up world, but that knowledge had been of no use to him since he'd chosen to be who he was now.

The car stopped with a screech of tires. He heard muffled voices, and then silence. No one seemed to be unloading anytime soon, which pleased him greatly. He decided to wait a few minutes and then set off to explore the room where the vehicle was parked. A thrill ran through his spine, giving him the feeling of a well-made decision. For those few minutes, he tried to guess where he was and what he might find there. And how much it would improve his mood. However, he had his principles and never stole anything. He called what he took from the places he visited sharing the wealth. He knew perfectly well it certainly wouldn't harm these people.

This world had existed for too long already, and perhaps it was time to start sharing the luxury that others didn't even notice.

When he decided it was time, he opened the car door and stepped out into the dark garage. Somewhere off to the side, he spotted a pale shaft of light leading from the stairwell. Everything was quiet and peaceful, and clearly no one was around. His innate foresight forced him to tiptoe up the stairs. The light grew stronger, and he could see more and more detail. Soon he found himself in the hallway of the house and saw a large, lavishly furnished living room before him. He stood for a moment on the threshold, dazzled by the opulence of the interior and the modern décor. His heart began to pound, and his hearing strained to its limits, trying to discern any unfamiliar sound. It seemed no one was inside; he was alone in the home of someone important and wealthy, unprotected to boot.

He seemed exceptionally lucky, given at least a few hours to satisfy his curiosity and become a normal-looking citizen again.

First, he found a large kitchen with a refrigerator as large as a wardrobe, packed to the brim with food, the sight of which made his stomach lurch. He thought he might eat quietly at the table, but before doing so, he'd prepare food for the trip. The large black bag on the chair soon filled with sausages and cans of ham, and a fresh piece of turkey grated in his teeth. Then he set the bag down in the hallway and peered into the house.

He peered into the first room and saw an open closet filled with clothes. His own smelled bad and wasn't clean, as he hadn't had a chance to change anything in a month, and sleeping in alleyways wasn't conducive to neatness and hygiene.

So he began to pull out everything he thought he would need, so that after a refreshing bath and shaving his bearded face, he would have the courage to look at himself in the mirror again and be sure that no one would show him false sympathy on the street.

He chose an elegant suit, a white shirt, a tie, and a long coat for rainy weather. He also packed a warm woolen sweater and black leather shoes into a bag and left the room, satisfied.

After a moment, he opened another one and, at a large desk, saw a computer facing him and another unfamiliar device. The second one was connected to it by several thick cables, and at the end of the room, he saw a satellite dish pointing towards the window. A red and a green light glowed on the device's casing, and beneath it were two matching buttons.

The word computer evoked a surge of dreams within him. He had never been so close to this technological marvel, which he had only been able to admire in shop windows and in designer stores, back when they still allowed him in. He should have given up on it and focused on what he needed to do: take a bath, satisfy his hunger, and get out of there as quickly as possible. However, his caution was lulled by the sight of something that had always fascinated him. Heart pounding, he sat down at his desk and, driven by curiosity, pressed the green button. A humming sound echoed around him, and the air swirled, momentarily making him lose his grip on reality. But his alertness wasn't heightened, but dulled even further by the words on the screen:

Enter Password.

Well, surely that was the end of the fun, or does everyone have to use passwords?

He didn't feel like searching for something that was beyond his reach anyway. Nevertheless, looking around at the very professorial decor of the office, most of it filled with books on the shelves, he typed the most absurd sentence he could think of:

No password.

"Hagard Hill, the world will end in 9 hours," he heard again in his head.

But immediately after that voice came astonishment, as the screen lit up with a pink light, revealing the program's welcome screen and a row of numbers scrolling downward. A moment later, they transformed into an image of his beloved city. He had apparently accidentally activated a video recording, which didn't particularly interest him at the moment. The wandering image found itself among the streets, among the people, and slowly moved among them, revealing ever-changing locations. He touched the keyboard and noticed that he could control the image and command it to travel through any street he desired. He was utterly captivated, and began to enjoy himself immensely, forgetting that he was not, after all, a welcome guest in the house.

Suddenly, he found himself in front of his favorite vegetarian food store. A woman worked there, his favorite saleswoman, who always gave him something when he appeared in the window. He pressed enter and paused, watching life unfold for a brief moment. He wondered if this was a representation of events that had already taken place? Or was it the present, the present moment, of which he was a hidden observer? He knew the area intimately and couldn't guess where the hidden camera might be?

He pressed enter again, and the image froze, and several captions appeared on the screen.

Eleonora Dimont would contract cancer on May 21st and die within a few months. Do you want that to happen? Choose one of three ways to change history.

1. Her body would be mutilated in the accident.

2. She would recover without any complications.

3. Enter your version of events.

He was completely surprised by what he saw. May 21st was six days away, and he didn't understand what this game was about—he shouldn't call it that anymore. Suddenly, the computer ordered him to change the story that was supposed to happen? This was complete nonsense! Surely he couldn't do that?

Nevertheless, he entered under number three: "She will recover and meet a charming and just as good man, with whom she will have three children."

She deserved it, and at least in the game, she deserved something from him.

He now pointed the cursor at the street and moved further into the city.

The game captivated him so much that he began to change various events that were to unfold, knowing almost all the people he encountered intimately. Playing the Good Samaritan, he took from the wealthy and gave to those in need. He wondered who had come up with such a brilliant idea and devised such a brilliant game? Was it the owner of this house? He made the time more enjoyable, knowing it was a game and realizing that this might be his one and only opportunity. He realized how many things he was unaware of, how being lonely and poor had pushed him to the margins of society. Only one thing caught his attention in particular. Each person he paid close attention to was expected to die or perish miserably within the next few days. He prolonged the lives of those he liked, and spared others who had previously caused him trouble from further suffering.

He knew perfectly well that he was irretrievably wasting precious time, and that at any moment they might discover him here, and then they would probably treat him rather unkindly. Still, he continued playing, taking risks, unaware of the extraordinary cause he was involved in.

Eventually, the image led him unnoticed to a place particularly dear to him. It was his former childhood home. But now it belonged to someone else, for his father had sold it to save the company from debt, which still didn't save them from bankruptcy, and he himself soon died of a heart attack.

A small house on the outskirts of town, now inhabited by a man he didn't know. There were so many memories and joys there, but also despair and sadness.

He saw the owner leaving the house and paused on the image. The message on the monitor read:

1. Gregory Black will marry in a year and become president of a bank.

2. He will be hit by a car and die on June 2nd.

3. Choose your version of events.

He knew this man and had often seen him passing by, gazing out of the window and garden. At least in the game, I can be what I can be, he thought.

"On June 23rd, Gregory Black will find Haggadah Hill and return the family estate to him, providing him with a lifetime annuity that would allow him to live comfortably," he typed on the screen.

He knew he normally couldn't afford any sympathy. Gregory would sell out another to achieve his desired goal. He never gave him a single dollar or even entertained him, even though he knew perfectly well who he was.

He almost laughed out loud. What was he even thinking? What was he imagining? The fun he was participating in had completely thrown him out of reality, completely losing his instinct for self-preservation.

Fortunately, he didn't have to pay for his dreams and the illusion of a better world, and he decided that these moments were worth continuing.

He finally reached the district of banks and research institutes, where he sometimes appeared and sat on a bench in front of a large office building, which was entered by elegantly dressed people. As he sat there, observing the people, he tried to reevaluate them, wondering if they were good or bad.

"Hagard Hill, the world will end in eight hours."

This voice increasingly disturbed him, making him wonder if it really wasn't true.

As he continued to study the image, he suddenly saw someone he knew very well. It was a young man in a distinguished suit, carrying a brown leather briefcase. Every time he passed him, the man said hello. He was certainly someone important, even though he wasn't many years old. He greatly admired his manner; he even thought he cared about human suffering. However, he never dared to ask him for anything. It seemed to him that this would destroy the strange bond of familiarity between them.

He pressed enter and read.

On May 15th, during a test launch of a ballistic missile to destroy enemy missiles, he will accidentally trigger the launch procedure for a thermonuclear warhead placed in space. The rocket will spontaneously explode in Earth's atmosphere, causing the total annihilation of all life on Earth. "

Oh fuck," he exclaimed after reading the text. "So was he really that important and had access to such secrets? May 15th was today... No... But since he's already here?"

He was surprised that there weren't any alternative events listed next to his name. He thought that if the world was going to end, surely nothing could happen afterward. He felt sorry for the boy, because if he were to cause a total catastrophe through sheer bad luck, it would be terribly unfair. So at least let this game be different, and let him not start his life by destroying the entire world.

Next to his name, he wrote, "Before leaving the house in the bathroom, he slips on the wet floor and breaks his left leg." That should prevent him from destroying the world, he thought.

And he suddenly felt bored. He'd had enough of sitting around and toying with someone else's imagined fate.

Unfortunately, as he rose from his desk, his foot accidentally tripped over a pile of cables, and a moment later, the large plastic box fell to the floor, shattering its casing. The screen went dark.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed, but he wasn't particularly bothered. The owner could probably afford to throw a computer out the window every day.

He left the room, heading for the next room.

In the large guest room, lined with a Persian rug, he was surprised to find an open briefcase on the table, neatly stacked with banknotes. Beside it was a stack of credit cards and a well-stocked liquor cabinet. He couldn't believe his luck, but he also remembered his principle: never steal or take anything he didn't absolutely need, anything he couldn't consume quickly. He didn't consider himself a thief, and if he managed to get into such houses, he contented himself with a full refrigerator, a hot bath, and clean clothes. He never took anything more. So he should follow that principle this time too and leave and forget what he'd seen here. But had he never faced such an opportunity before?

Suddenly, the phone rang. A terrifying sound echoed all around, and he tensed his muscles and ears. He wanted to run, but something drew him to the phone, and without knowing why, he reached for the receiver.

"Alex? It's James. Why haven't you been in touch since this morning?" I've got everything ready and I'm waiting for your further instructions. Just don't tell me you're backing out at the last minute. What you're doing seems pointless to me, but what if you think it's the best solution? I've already informed everyone, and we'll manage somehow. But why the hell are you buying furniture at a time like this?! Probably to pretend everything is normal? If it's a distraction, it's definitely a good idea. I have to go, but don't forget, all that's left is… damn, how time flies. Do you really want to do this? The man called out, and then hung up without waiting for a response.

He didn't understand anything, though he tried so hard. He wanted to leave this house as quickly as possible, but since he was already here, maybe he could enjoy his minimal set of pleasures?

He tried to ignore the cash on the table and not think about what kind of fool would leave such a large sum unattended.

He went to the bathroom earlier, grabbing a set of fresh, new underwear from the closet. At least for a few days, no one would call him smelly.

Before he reached for the door, he heard another reminder in his head.

"Hagard Hill, the world will end in seven hours."

It no longer made any impression on him, though, and he didn't even bother to consider whether it was a sign of madness or something else entirely. Still, he asked himself, trying to explain the meaning of the words. Why the world and not life, and his own at that?

When he stood on the other side of the door, he was shocked. A half-naked man lay on the floor, his head covered in blood. What bad luck, he thought. He must have slipped on the wet floor and hit the back of his head on the edge of the metal bathtub. Maybe he was still alive?

He leaned over him and touched the artery, but he couldn't feel a pulse. The man was still warm, and blood was slowly draining from his head. It was as if everything had just happened! What a terrible day and what a coincidence. But when he looked into his face, his heart stopped. This was the man whose life he had just changed! He had the same innocent eyes, only now they were frozen in a deadly expression.

He was liking it all less and less, because it couldn't possibly be true. What he'd written on the monitor couldn't possibly have caused real events, especially in such a short time? And even if it had, the consequences wouldn't be fatal!

If someone showed up here now and saw him, they'd be the prime suspect in the owner's murder… He felt himself panicking; he'd left his fingerprints everywhere in the house, and he was on the police's record!

He was done for now, and there was no way he could get out of this.

He closed the bathroom door, ran back into the living room, and began to think intensely: what next? At first, he wanted to run away and leave everything as it was. He could have left the city within a few hours and gone to the countryside, where he could hide. But was that really the right thing to do? Or perhaps he could learn everything that was really going on here?

While the man's death was certainly accidental, the phone call he'd received and the voice that had been echoing hourly in his head certainly weren't pure coincidence. He suspected he'd become entangled in some very suspicious story, the elements of which, however, didn't quite fit together.

He wanted nothing more than to leave this place as quickly as possible and forget about everything. So he grabbed a large bag from the hallway and, probably making a fool of himself, ran, shaking, into the street and started running as fast as he could. Farther, farther away. Finally, exhaustion burned his lungs, and he realized he was far away and could rest. He ran down the street toward the outskirts of the city, and there, beyond, began the road to the countryside, where he had a chance to find refuge.

He'd had enough of this excitement and promised himself that if he ever found himself in a similar situation again, he'd think twice before pulling such a stunt.

He glanced at his watch and was surprised to find that another hour had passed and the mysterious voice in his head hadn't reappeared. Besides, what did he care? Apparently, the madness he'd been succumbing to had left him alone for a while.

He wandered aimlessly through the suburbs all day, trying to forget what had happened that morning. Finally, he changed into fresh clothes so as not to arouse suspicion while carrying a heavy bag. At the shelter, he even shaved and bathed, and the residents began to look at him with admiration. For a few days, he was someone again, and he certainly wouldn't have any trouble getting a good night's sleep. He still had a few things to give away. Reassured, he decided to go to the Center and take a closer look at people like himself and now. However, he soon regretted his decision.

Suddenly, he saw a police car approaching from the opposite direction, clearly heading his way.

So… it hadn't worked, and the man's death had already been discovered?

He had nowhere to run, and he didn't even want to. He stopped, dropped his bag, and waited to be handcuffed. Two officers ran out of the patrol car, and one of them said, "

Hagard Hill?

" "Yes?"

"Aren't you listening? You need to contact Mr. Gregory Black urgently. A few hours ago, he announced that he was relinquishing all the material possessions he acquired from your father. You're damn lucky, you've become the owner of a house in Chestnut Park, and a lot of cash has been deposited into your account. Want a ride? Everyone in town is looking for you!" he said in an unusually polite voice.

He stood for a moment, completely stunned. Something he'd typed in playfully had become a fact, and suddenly his life had changed. He happily climbed into the car, though for a long time he still couldn't believe his luck. Now he felt anew what it meant to be an important man.

While driving, he was pondering what was happening around him and how he would live on, when he heard an announcement on the radio.

"As the police informed us, an attempted terrorist act was foiled this morning at the headquarters of the American Armed Forces. The target of the attack was the Anti-Missile Satellite System. However, the military spokesman refused to provide us with further information. The person involved turned out to be a young physicist, Gregory Black, who was found dead in his home this morning.

Everything began to fit together like Lego blocks. What had happened in his life in the last few hours wasn't a game; it was something much more, but he didn't want to even guess how it all was and was even possible. The knowledge of a duty well done was enough for him. And the fact that an alien force had perhaps touched him and chosen him didn't matter to him. He could only thank it, but most likely also thank fate, luck, chance. Everything that guided human actions.

And had he really saved the whole world? He thought that with the crashed computer, the chance to explain anything had probably vanished forever. But maybe it was for the best? Maybe it's not worth reaching where your hands don't always reach? Although, in this one case, it paid off.

"Hagard Hill," he said to himself. "For once in your life, you were truly lucky.

And providence took care of the world.