22:59

18:30

In the donut box, there is an assortment of twelve types, there are only two left: one with raspberry icing and the other with powdered sugar. Oliver takes the one with powdered sugar.

For fifteen minutes now Roger and Oliver had been arguing over Oliver's ideas when the phone rings. It's Patrick.

"Yes," Roger was on edge. Maybe because of the dispute, or maybe because he did not like raspberries in any other form, except real berries—he winced at the pink frosting. Exactly, it was because of the donut.

"Mister Stone."

"Speak, Patrick. Did something happen?" Roger was glad for the break. He and Oliver had been discussing their plan of action for over two hours, and his brain seemed to be about to boil over.

"Yes something happened, Mr. Stone. I'm afraid... There has been an accident, sir..." By the sound of his voice Patrick was very frightened.

"A serious accident? Are there casualties? Are any of the Offenders to blame?" Roger jumped up, starting to shake. He realized that he was speaking too quickly, not letting the subordinate explain everything. How could this have happened on this very day, on the first and only day, when he had not read the daily report and had not visited the evening shift?!

"There are no casualties, Mr. Stone." Roger fell back into the chair, legs stretched out. He seemed blown away. "One of our Offenders is to blame, sir... But... That's not all..." Patrick began to mumble.

"Speak, Patrick, quickly!" Roger started screaming.

"Mister Stone, the road is completely blocked, there is no way forward or back."

"Uh... Is that a problem, Patrick?" I think one of our guys did a great job! Roger even smiled, a little nervously.

"At first I thought so too, sir... Mr. Stone... But in the very center of the traffic jam there is an ambulance. With the flashing lights on, sir..." Patrick exhaled, the worst was said.

Roger jumped up again. It seemed to him that his heart was beating ten times faster than normal, and the nerves in his solar plexus area were wrapped into a fist and were jerking with all their might. He doubled over, gasping for air from the sudden sharp pain.

An ambulance stuck in a traffic jam is a failure. And if the flashing lights are on, it means that someone is being taken to the hospital... And that means that someone will not get there. For each fatal case, the Offender was immediately expelled, without talk or explanation, even if the fault was indirect and if he was a direct participant in the accident that led to the death, he was sent to prison. The head of the department also got the full treatment: either dismissal, or transfer to the position of the fired offender. Roger heard that his predecessor got burned in this way and is now on his daily list.

Roger looked at Oliver, who was still munching on a donut. From his breath, white powdered sugar flew into the air and slowly settled on the same white table.

"Wait a second, Patrick," Roger said into the phone, then covered the microphone with his hand and whispered to his guest, "Oliver!

Oliver was absorbed in saving his trousers from the white misfortune. He looked at Roger in surprise.

"Do the Patients have an evening shift now?" a quick nod in return. "For how much longer?"

Oliver looked at his watch and whispered: "One more hour."

"Hell!"

The life of a man heading for salvation but now caught in a traffic jam, his life hanging by a thread.

"Patrick, contact the ambulance, find out which hospital they are going to and the diagnosis of the person they are taking there. Call back," Roger thought a little and added: "And Patrick ... who was the Offender?"

Roger knew what he would hear, but still turned white when he heard: "Christian, sir."

"Got it. Send me all the reports on Christian for the last two weeks. I'll be waiting for your call." Without waiting for Patrick's answer, Roger hung up.

"Problems, Roger?" Oliver glanced at the last remaining donut.

Whether out of spite or because of his nerves, Roger did not pay attention to the hungry glances of his guest, flopped into his chair, grabbed the last donut with the damned raspberries and angrily began to eat quickly. He winced as his taste buds recognized the raspberry icing.

"Trouble is the wrong word here Oliver," Roger said with a mouthful. "Tell me, do you constantly monitor the Patients?"

"I? What? Are you kidding? I almost never have enough time for that, but I do try to monitor at least two shifts a day."

Roger thought it over.

"Listen, it turns out that you still often watch your own. I also keep an eye on the Offenders all the time. But this is not part of our job descriptions. Right?" Oliver nodded slowly, wondering where Roger was heading with this.

Roger jumped up from his chair again and started darting about the office.

"What if we oblige all of our bosses to look after their employees, at least one shift a week? Huh?" Roger stopped and looked at Oliver. "Look, you and I are the only two departments that performed above the norm. You and I spent two hours trying to understand what our success is, but we didn't think that it is for exactly this reason that we are different—we watch the progress of our employees. So? How do you like that idea? This can be checked simply by checking the daily reports. So?"

"Look, there's something in this..." Oliver leaned back in his chair, looked up at the ceiling and scratched the back of his head. Then he jumped up and almost shouted: "I am off to request reports, but for now, deal with your problem! I'll be back in thirty minutes!"

Oliver had already run out of the office and Roger was still standing in one place, looking at the closed door and rubbing his stomach in the solar plexus area.

It seems that the last hope I had that everything could change has disappeared. You play brave as much as you like and pretend that everything is in order, but if the Black Hole has already begun to eat away at your flesh, grabbing it in pieces, like a hungry animal, then everything is a write off. Like all those people who are in the traffic jam at the roundabout, already in despair over never receiving magical salvation, the same with me, I no longer expect anything. I remember at school we went through the basics of theology, an archaic science, and the professor, Mr. Bailey, talked a lot about humility and about how a person should have patience. He also that it is important to submit to the higher power at the right time. The history of mankind shows that we do not know how to submit to anyone's power. Even people kneeling before their gods pray not for humility to what is happening, but that everything will be according to their own will. Mr. Bailey always called people "sinners", and once when he came to a school holiday very drunk, he confessed that he himself was also a "sinner" and called on everyone to repent. Poor Mr. Bailey... It was his last day at school. But he, like me, was one of the few in this deceitful mass of people who understood the truth: the Black Hole came for our souls for a reason. We ourselves, by our actions, made evolution kill us. And so cruelly. So that we would not just die, but suffer... I wonder how much I will suffer when the Black Hole finally comes into its own in my body? It seems that it hurts less. Or is it just because I don't care anymore...