Jurgen&Sergiej vol.1

"

"Chemistry Experiment."

Jurgen rose delicately on tiptoe to peer through the crowd milling in front of the noticeboard. All eyes were focused on a rather inconspicuous piece of paper placed behind the glass. The only thing he could make out from this distance was the headline:

"Chemistry Experiment."

"Doesn't sound good," he said, returning to his normal posture. Beside him, his friend Sergei was sharpening a pencil.

"Ugh... we have to find out what it is... Maybe we'll manage to survive somehow." They usually had no trouble getting out of trouble, but the prospect of a new task set before them by their chemistry teacher might have been too much for them.

For a moment, the gentlemen silenced their inner protests and fell into a reverie. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and they opened the runway during every break. A day like this couldn't be wasted.

Eventually, the crowd left the office, and the two friends could finally examine the document that had so terrified half the proud student body.

"Chemistry Experiment."

I hereby publicly announce that by the end of today, students from each class should divide into groups of two and choose one of the topics I have provided for their semester chemistry project. The deadline for submitting the papers was initially two months from the date of this announcement, but due to my illness, you are to submit them tomorrow.

Good luck and prosperity, from Mr. Professor Molotov.

"Oh <censored>..." Sergei expressed his disapproval with incredible finesse. "Why does this always happen to us?" he concluded with a deft rhetorical question.

"Well, that'll be meat..." Jurgen didn't hide his pessimism. "Come on, let's go... chemistry soon...

" * * *

The classroom was buzzing. The vast majority of students were bustling around the lab, throwing curses, backpacks, and sometimes even other students at the walls. Only a few exceptions remained seated while the rest vented their displeasure. Suddenly, everything fell silent.

Professor Molotov's sweaty face appeared in the doorway at the end of the lab. A murderous gaze, reminiscent of a basilisk, immobilized the riotous company.

Molotov slowly activated his leg muscles and pushed his bulk toward the desk. He walked slowly, each step echoing hollowly in the room. No one dared even bat an eyelid.

"The situation has become as tense as sheep's eggs," whispered Jurgen, while Sergei merely smiled beneath his irregular mustache. His gaze focused more on the whale-like body of the ruthless chemist, which practically flowed over the surrounding desks. Finally, he reached his destination, took a deep breath, wiped his sweat-stained forehead with a handkerchief, and ruffled the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Today you will choose your thesis topics," he announced loudly, his voice resembling the final wail of a slaughtered pig. "Get two people in groups and report to me one by one."

The students obediently approached Molotov. Despair, disgust, and helplessness were etched on their faces. He simply had no heart.

"You... hehe... now it's our turn," Sergei announced, tugging at his friend. When they reached the teacher's position (the term "sat" is completely inappropriate for his demeanor)

, Jurgen lost his natural confidence and desperately searched for some murder weapon. Better to kill than be killed.

"Hello, boys," Molotov smiled as artificially as a McDonald's salesman. "Are you taking on a topic about the achievements of ancient Egyptian alchemy? Or perhaps you have an interesting idea of ​​your own?" Now his powerful jaw formed a semicircle, baring teeth darkened by cocoa and caked with Snickers bars he'd devoured in the teachers' restroom during his shift. He hadn't expected any creative initiative from two average students.

Jurgen nervously glanced around the room. He hadn't seen anything that would quickly and painfully dismember a Molotov, so he decided to evacuate this gloomy place himself. Unfortunately, there were bars on the windows, and the merciless Helga reigned in the hallway, her favorite pastime being charging at unsuspecting students with a duster in her hand. Escape was out of the question. The same could be said for a chemistry essay on such a fascinating topic. The only solution, as always, was to rely on his invaluable sense of timing and compose a stunning sentence. Without thinking, he began:

"We can write an essay on 'The Harmful Effect of Ethyl Alcohol on the Brain of a 17-Year-Old'," he blurted out, smiling broadly, pleased with his eloquence. Molotov and Sergei were speechless. No one had expected Jurgen to utter such a long sentence in chemistry class today. Molotov's reaction was unexpected and spontaneous:

"Er... that might be good," he replied, and hurriedly called out the next pair to get rid of the bothersome brats as quickly as possible.

"What have you <censored> done, you idiot?!," Sergei hissed as soon as they left the professor's desk. "How are you going to collect material for research? I have no money, and there's no place to get vodka, because they recently stopped selling meth...

" "I have a plan. Be at the corner at 11:45 p.m.," Jurgen muttered, mentally sketching out a plan for writing the paper.

* * *

The corner was dark. The last streetlight they put up here had been removed due to job cuts, and even The local prostitutes had to find another place to work. Even the wind didn't bother them. And they were there.

"Jurgen. Jurgen," Sergei whispered, looking around for his friend, "where are you?"

"Over here!" a voice answered from the bushes, and after a moment, the whole figure emerged. It was indeed Jurgen. His face was a little red and his breathing was rapid, which made Sergei ponder.

"What were you doing there?" he asked after a moment.

"Uh... well, I..." he seemed to stumble. "Never mind. My plan is this. First, we'll break into the chemistry classroom, then we'll get to the cabinet where Molotov keeps all those bottles. He's sure he has vodka in there. We'll take some, drink it, write down our observations, and leave. And tomorrow we'll come back as usual and hand in our work. What do you think?

" "Hmm," Sergei mused, "that might work... It's not some brilliant plan, but a plan nonetheless... Let's go!"

Jurgen didn't need to be told twice. They set off along the street, keeping close to the wall, taking careful steps. When they reached the end of the buildings, they still had to pass a small strip of open space to get to the school building itself. They encountered one small problem.

"You Sergei! Gabryś will see us!" Jurgen remembered at the last moment that a statue stood in front of the entrance – the head of the school's patron, Gabriel Narutowicz. People in town sometimes said that during long breaks, Gabryś's eyes would look around at the students, and all smokers would be listed. No one knew what devil was behind it...

"Jurgen! Gabryś was thankfully asleep – indeed, his head was covered with a nightcap, and black goggles were placed over his eyes to protect him from the glare of oncoming headlights. The patron was asleep. The students silently ran to the school door.

"Oh <censored> it's closed! What now?" Sergei had clearly lost confidence.

"Think, think, what Hugo would do now." Jurgen nervously paced back and forth. "I know!" There must be a hatch somewhere around here to the bunker beneath the school in case Self-Defense takes over.

Sergei got the idea and began nervously searching the surrounding grass. Both of them knelt, searching the school grounds. Soon, they came across a hatch. Jurgen, using his technical knowledge and innate handyman skills, blew the padlock open with a single well-aimed kick. A moment later, they were inside.

The interior wasn't particularly impressive. Aside from the maintenance man hanging up photos of naked girls from the showers in the girls' locker room, there was nothing there to catch the eye, even for a moment. After a short walk, they went directly to the janitors' locker. Three empty glasses lay on the table, but there was no liquid in them, much less vodka.

"Huh... the lab is there, but there are no samples," Sergei commented.

They didn't linger in the locker for long, and a few moments later, Jurgen opened the chemistry lab with another well-aimed kick. Without a moment's hesitation, they rushed to explore the cabinets.

They found a truly diverse array of items there. From countless test tubes, pipettes, glasses, and pots to Ukrainian cigarettes, four pipettes, a jar of pickles, and...

"Vodka! Here it is!" Jurgen exclaimed, raising the one-liter bottle in a gesture of victory. Sergei bowed low and immediately began drinking. They drank, ate, and laughed. As one drank, the other took notes, and vice versa. The bottle's contents neatly translated into the substantive value of the observations. When the work was finished, due to the use of all the substrates

(and Sergei even excreted one product directly into the sink under the influence), the gentlemen decided to end the experiment.

"Uh... let's go, mate... mission complete or something," Jurgen mumbled.

"Uh... let's go..." Sergei confirmed. "I'll leave the work on his desk."

* * *

The next day, Molotov was in a bad mood. Not only had someone puked on his favorite slob, but those two idiots weren't even there. The strangest thing was that despite their absence, the work had been handed in. The general state of the studio didn't faze him so much, because just before he arrived, the janitor had cleaned up some of the mess. Molotov was still upset. His blood glucose level had dropped dangerously, so to protect his health and life, the professor decided to go down to the teachers' lounge for his hidden stash of honey petit fours.

On the way down, a maintenance man unexpectedly called out to him:

"Hello, Professor. I see you're not in a good mood, Professor?" Molotov stopped and looked at him.

"Well, not in a good mood, you're right. Let's just say my day started off a bit strangely," he replied.

"Sir, give me a break! Strange things are happening to me, sir." Imagine, sir, I'm going downstairs through the closet, into the bunker, sir, everything's ruined, the light bulbs are broken, it's dark, sir, and suddenly two devils jump out at me, sir, disheveled, with huge teeth, horns, tails tipped with triangles, sir, sir, I chased them away with pliers, sir, when they started down the street, sir... I lost them behind the bushes...

"That's truly astonishing, sir. I'd say unheard of," Molotov replied calmly, and continued into the room. But something told him that every story had a grain of truth...