Evgenia Mikhailovna Fomina hated the United States of America with all her heart. For no particular reason, it seemed, but she was passionate about it. Whenever one of her students appeared in class wearing something that resembled Latin alphabet or expressed on a t-shirt a foreign way of life via palm trees, muscle cars, musicians and superheroes – Evgenia would explode into a lengthy outburst, explaining that in the land of Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky a rapper fast food culture is totally inappropriate. And she managed to do it in a rather poetic tone, never swearing or addressing the violator directly. Some students even exploited her passion, especially before tough exams, as it was safer to hear her yell for 20 minutes straight and clean the classroom for another 20, than to get bad grades, parents dragged into the head teacher’s office and spoiled school break.

What’s more, no one really knew why Evgenia was so upset with any mentioning of the US, as nothing hinted on a particular trauma or a certain event in the past. She’d never left her hometown of Orel in the midland Russia and had never missed a single day of work for the last God knows how many years. All those boys and girls of Orel’s High from tender age of 10 till mature 16 were locked up alongside the lady with strong opinions. Although, you have to give her credit – she did her best to hammer excerpts from Pushkin and Lermontov into empty heads of totally absent-minded teenagers.

Literature, especially well brewed, was on the other side of spectrum. Evgenia adored poetry, depictions of nature and lengthy, graphic, precise paragraphs taken from two centuries ago made her veins boil of excitement. She had been seen taking off one of her shoes and gently rubbing her own leg with a toe, while listening to her student citing Esenin. The poor kid was covered in sweat, because it was crucial not to stumble on classics while in Evgenia’s class, otherwise you would be demoted to a class clown that has nothing in common with a great culture – something no one wanted to undergo since Vasiliy Paradov’s incident. A poor 10th grader spent two hours in a corner of men’s toilet, retelling Fet’s poem to the strict teacher blocking the exit.

In personal life Evgenia had also been fighting an uneven two-front war. On the one hand, she was struggling with raising her 25-year-old Max, her tender boy in wide jeans and oversize hoodie who still lived with her and turned her every day into a huge disappointment. But on the other hand, Evgenia was waiting for keys to a place that she’d recently bought. The lucky buy would finally get her further away from her ex-husband who lived next door in a private home, with a new wife and a newborn child. Moving out was her main focus for years that she had been saving to make the first payment and it was close to fruition – a tall, newly built apartment building, with central heating and hot water, comforting facilities that she wished existed permanently in her life.

She was out of market for new romance, as her previous one ended in a catastrophe, almost 7 years ago. There was a roller coaster relationship with her daughter-in-law, the one that had the audacity to pull her elder son from the family and built walls around his relationship with mother. Evgenia tried to be nice to Oksana, but it was on the verge of impossible as that stiff upper lipped 30-something woman avoided any serious conversation or even conflict, because she’s been overtaken by best psychological practices, of American origin, of cause.

And there was also that election. As a prominent member of school administration, along with other duties, Evgenia had to work in a team made of teachers to organize the whole process. Each school, during those three very predictable but yet extremely tiresome days, turned into a voting point for the next\same president. Evgenia had to make sure that the right old man wins and she was dead serious about the position that she’d volunteered to fill.

One could say that she was alone against the world but that would be an overstatement, given how devoted Evgenia was to her parental, social and work-related duties, how she’d sacrificed her own well-being and personal ambitions to be a servant to those three pillars that had led her to where she was on that faithful day.

It all fell apart for Evgenia on the 17th of April 2024. For the entire day she had a burning feeling inside, like fire or heartburn from malnutrition and stress. She’d seen a doctor and the conclusion was – Evgenia became futile, a menopause finally caught up with her at the respectable age of 57. All she had to do, according to medicine, was to stick to a familiar three-act structure – endure, keep silent and let the nuisance pass her, causing minor disruption to others.

That very same day, as if a teacher’s cross wasn’t heavy enough, Oksana informed that she will be taking her son to Moscow, miles away from his natural habitat alongside Evgenia. Something work-related, unimportant in the grand-scale of things. Mother, as any real mother would, was furious and the burning inside became more painful. Then another bump – this time some fame-seeking idiot painted a huge penis on a wall of an almost finished apartment building where Evgenia was preparing to soon start a happier life. It burned. Again. Stronger this time. And finally, at the end of a day, as she and her cautious colleague were about to close the voting booth and call it a day, Evgenia realized that she had forgotten to drop a couple of hundred ballot bulletins in support of the current always present president. That was the last straw, she collapsed, trying to get rid of the burning sensation by hitting her chest. At first everyone around her thought that it was some kind of statement, but quickly realized that Evgenia was in serious trouble.

The most humiliating part was that the colleague called up her ex-husband along with an ambulance and he arrived earlier, even scolding the entire school for fixing the election – as if he ever cared about anything apart from himself and an always losing communist candidate. Evgenia made up her mind: she would deal with her colleague, ex and absent from the scene Max later, when she gets better. Ambulance was useless as they simply checked her pulse, temperature and blood pressure, advising sleep and rest. One of the paramedics was her former student, the one that barely crawled across school years. He insisted on driving Evgenia and her entourage home with sirens, where gently closed the bedroom door behind her, leaving a heavy breathing and angry woman in her own single bed.

Evgenia fell asleep, but woke up from an immediate shock mere seconds later. Her entire body was boiling, but she was unable to even cry for help as words didn’t really come out and when they did – she could not recognize them. Evgenia realized that she was not controlling her movements and had lost grip of her own body and mind: her legs shook, nails fell off, along with all hair, her face crushed, falling into two parts and her spine stretched, almost doubling in size. A short overweight woman that almost reached sixty was slowly transforming into something completely different. The entire bed was wet from sweat, piss and snot. Evgenia rolled around, trying to get up, but it was too late.

It was no longer Evgenia. The thing laid in bed, with arms and legs hanging out as they didn’t fit a tiny space. Something else also didn’t fit. A circumcised 7-inch penis.

“Hurts like a motherfucker. Every. Fucking. Time.” it talked loudly, with a deep masculine voice. The thing got up, covered in sweat. Sat on a bad. Scratched its hairy legs and looked at the wet sheets.

“Disgusting bitch.”

Clothes were already hidden in a secret place. In one of the multiple, mostly decorative, rarely used cupboards in the room. The thing took one of Evgenia’s dresses and wiped with it. Then it put on heritage boots, rolled up pants and a jean jacket. It looked like a lost hipster, but clean-shaven. It slowly opened the window and jumped outside.

At first the thing went to a nearby house, a five-story Soviet building that was home to about 35 families and was almost collapsing. It flashed its penis once again, urinating on the entry door handle. Barely escaped being noticed by two teenagers kissing nearby. It was creating havoc by flattening tires of parked cars, by melting buttons of old intercoms, by tearing fresh laundry that was kept hanging outside. Careless residents. It was acting like an escaped wild animal, but in the same time its actions resembled a pattern, as if the thing was on a mission to destroy the surrounding peace.

“Would fucking kill for a burger.” it was staring at the 24-hour kebab joint. The only bright light in a sleepy neighborhood. Finally, well lit, the creature revealed itself. A face of a 30-year-old man. Nothing remarkable, but not ugly either. Like an average university graduate, with a hint of intellect in his eyes, good height\weight balance and soft but muscular hands.

“Give me meat, pozhivee.” it spoke in Russian. Without any distinct accent. Addressing sharp words to a small-scale Asian man. Not looking at him directly. “Combo with fries.”

The thing was hungry, chewing fast. In a jacket it had a cardholder with a few thousand rubles sticking out. It never left the light of the kebab joint, finishing its meal on the spot.

“Got change?” an old vagabond addressed the unknown entity. He came from darkness. Even a kebab maker whispered something to himself, obviously startled by a sudden appearance of a dirty undefined man. He wanted to scare off the trespasser, but the thing waved him off.

“I have cash in my car. Follow.”

Like a zombie, the bum went after the thing. They crossed an empty road and entered a dark yard. Someone’s home. The thing grabbed the poor wanderer. Choked him viciously until he fell unconscious. Not dead yet. The old tired man didn’t really put up a fight and was calmly breathing. Catching a first proper sleep in days. The thing undressed him and tied to the nearby fence, covering bum’s mouth with his own underwear. It was only the beginning as the thing went to search for another victim. Later, in that yard, it tied two desperate unconscious men to each other. It made an effort to make the whole scene look like a gay kinky sex. In the morning the yard would be swollen by people who go to work on a factory nearby. The performance would definitely attract attention of neighbors, press and authorities. Both homeless men would be arrested, charged for misbehavior and sentenced to years in prison. That was probably the whole point. The explicit performance, of course, not changing someone’s fate.

The thing went on, night had just started. Later it would climb the school fence and paint walls with anti-current-presidential inscriptions. Nothing fancy. Childish remarks about sucking and allusions to anal sex. It didn’t intend to act as an intellectual. The whole ordeal was aimed at quick result. Reaction of shock and disgust. With a few lives, walls, cars ruined. The creature seemed satisfied by that point.

It went to a bar. The closest of the three that were open in the entire town. As a pitstop before going further in its destructional rampage. It sipped whiskey, enjoying itself in an almost empty place on a Tuesday night. Max was also there. He promised dad that he would watch over Evgenia. He had no idea that it was important. Just sat on a barstool, tearing off a label from cheap empty bear bottle, calculating whether he could afford another one.

“Not sleeping well?” the thing asked. There was no one else around to reply except for Max. But he hesitated, didn’t want to engage in a lengthy conversation with a stranger.

“I sometimes think that this shithole would forever be my home. Makes you question the career choice, huh?” thrown in the air yet again. Max took a deep breath.

“What is that you do?”

The thing turned to Max, smiling. “Freelance.”

That should have been all. But they sat in a bar, not really having a plan. Or a decent conversation. Just random remarks of two seemingly free men. The thing confessed that it wanted to get out. Not from the bar. Not from Orel. Entirely. Out of the country. Out of the universe. Away. As far as humanly and inhumanly possible. Max sort of knew the feeling. But he was too afraid to do anything drastic. He’d been controlled, looked after by the always present mother.

“Fuck that bitch.” the thing sounded supportive. “Drop her. Drop them all. Be yourself.”

It didn’t even sound like another sabotage. The creature was sincere. It said nothing worth remembering, but the whole bar scene was a cliché, so no one cared. Max’s mature compatriots preferred to drink at home, only the younger ones went to bars, as advertised in popular culture. But in case with Max – the poor young adult had no choice but to escape from home. Sometimes. The thing could not understand the connection that Max had with his mother. That umbilical cord that still tied them together. Metaphorically, of course.

“And? You look like a grown up. Why don’t you act like one? Pussy.” the thing finished third or fourth glass of whiskey.

Max ordered another beer. He was getting visibly drunk. Not from a small portion of alcohol. His drink was spiked by the thing. It had its ways to do things. Thinking few moves ahead. Playfully. Like a local devil.

“Right. You are. I hate it. Here. I hate.”

“That’s better. Want to go?”

The thing proposed to change the setting. Max’s head didn’t work properly, but he still didn’t think that was a good idea. Briefly considered calling it a night.

“I’m Adam, by the way.”

“Max…” he almost fell.

“Looks like you need fresh air.”

They both ended up outside the bar. Max was heavily leaning on a streetlight. Not focusing. The thing called Adam was examining its victim. Almost like evaluating goods in a store. At that moment it could have gone either way.

Evgenia woke up late and immediately felt that her bed and even the entire room smelled funny. She was given a long-deserved break from work to the excitement of her students and the majority of teachers. She felt terrible, with only one good side to it – her boiling feeling inside went away, but left a strange aftertaste, as if she was filthy and sinful, something that Evgenia had never experienced before and she could not properly discover where the notion was coming from.

She was alone at home, with no trace of usually oversleeping Max anywhere. Evgenia used all her free time to prepare a proper meal, the one they normally had on big holidays, – a stuffed chicken with mashed potatoes. A comfort food for Fomin’s family that brought back good memories and masked their desperate social and financial situation.

After a while it became obvious that no one was coming for dinner. Her son was missing, not answering his phone and after examining his room it became clear that he hadn’t spent a night in his bed. He appeared much later, almost on the sundown, looking exhausted and frightened, not revealing where he’d been. Evgenia wanted to question him properly while he would consume the already less attractive frozen chicken and matted potatoes, but he opted to go to his room, refusing to have a meal with his mother.

Max was becoming uncontrollable: having secrets, spending more and more time away from home, he completely stopped listening to his mother. Evgenia wanted to confront him, but he’d always pick the same slippery tactic as her daughter-in-law, just avoiding any conversation. Evgenia even considered punishing him by refusing to land money – the tactic that always worked on Max as he’d been permanently out of work. That time it failed, he stopped caring about money either, even yelling at his confused mother for disturbing his life with her old lady assumptions. He became obnoxious at the age of 25, experiencing a second pubertal transformation, as Evgenia thought. She had decided to let it slide, to wait patiently while he expresses himself fully and runs out of steam and money in few days. But as days went by, nothing really changed and she felt left alone, abandoned by ungrateful son.

The whole ground around Evgenia was slowly slipping into uncontrolled madness. A local or most likely visitant troublemaker was interrupting well-being of a provincial town: painting on walls, harassing people, breaking windows, stealing cars. Registered crime rate escalated and most of Orel’s natives were perplexed by the sudden outburst of misdemeanor in their backyards, be that another R-rated scene with vagabonds and sometimes even law-abiding citizens, or simple damage of private property, no one tolerated the evasive intruder. Evgenia, of course, was one of those still keeping her cool, reporting any inappropriate behavior to the authorities. She even told on one of her students, suspecting a 15-year-old of being part of an organized group that brought West-inspired violence to her hometown. Evgenia felt the wind of change and she hated its smell. Even the trusted news on TV, according to Evgenia, stopped transmitting the whole truth about the gruesome and desperate situation that the town of Orel was swept by. She bought her first ever laptop and even forced Max to teach her how to visit a few websites, dedicated to uncovering the ugly state of affairs.

For a couple of months Evgenia tried to hide her deteriorating health from colleagues, acting normal, teaching and preaching to her students. But the pain, the burning notion had reappeared two days after her sudden collapse and rarely let her go since then. She was taking painkillers and almost stopped eating. It didn’t go unnoticed as the head teacher asked Evgenia to take a long-awaited vocation that was rudely refused. The woman knew that somehow her town, or even a whole region, or God forbid, the entire country was overrun by something evil. Regardless, she could not express her concerns to anyone as there was no trust in certain individuals, only in a system that was unfortunately preoccupied by more substantial and less visible issues, according to Evgenia.

That’s why she spent more and more time online, slowly typing questions to the all-knowing Web. Her appeals to the Internet were becoming eerie – like that one time when she typed – “who is the most evil person in Orel?”. The answer was “Ariel Fifemann”, but she didn’t know the man. After extensive research she stumbled upon a user who had same questions on numerous websites of news outlets. Slowly, Evgenia started to communicate with him, trying to get information, and understandably agreeing that they both ended up living in the worst time in human history, sandwiched between the West and the East, two powers that went crushing on one another, dragging along the rest of the world.

The woman was hesitant to go beyond a simple online conversation but eventually gave up, agreeing to meet with the man in the real world. His name was Adam, which hinted to her that he might have been of Chechen descent, or from a westernized family – both options were not ideal, but he knew too much to be neglected, was always polite, like a real gentleman, something otherwise completely missing from Evgenia’s life. He claimed that he worked shifts and could not always stay online, that’s why all their correspondence resembled the old days, when you write something and don’t wait for an immediate reply, a case that made Evgenia comfortable around the man as it wasn’t too modern and rushed.

Evgenia even found herself thinking about her wardrobe. She wanted to wear something simple yet shiny to a first meeting, something that could draw attention but not scare off the new acquaintance. She almost slapped herself on a wrist, catching a long-forgotten, quick, nonetheless nasty thought of being around a man. She cited her favorite passage from “Evgeni Onegin” to relax, cool off and eventually put on an everyday skirt and blowse.

She came to a secluded area, where the man, her online man, was supposed to wait. The place was a forsaken park that used to bloom during Soviet era but recently turned into a dumpster, filled with needles on the grass, graffiti on walls and stray dogs, lurking behind dying trees. Evgenia felt the decadence of the whole area and knew what her online friend tried to say by choosing that specific meeting point – it highlighted the shortcoming of law and order. Even a single thought of general decay made Evgenia whisper in terror and simultaneously led to the burning feeling inside her flare into a bonfire. She fell on the ground, trying to scream for help, and before fading all that she could think about was the potential embarrassment in case her acquittance sees her as a vulnerable old woman, rolling on the disgusting and filthy grass. It was noon, on a covered with low clouds day when Evgenia started to transform into a monster, unlike other times, when it had occurred only during the night.

The thing that called itself Adam was happy to arrive instead of Evgenia during the day. It had a busy schedule. And most certainly was gaining more and more control over the shared body. It learned how to get out, and was determined to stay for as long as possible.

There, in the abandoned park, it had a secret mobile phone, stolen and restored from yet another pedestrian. The thing called abroad via messenger, looking around for a hidden bag with fresh clothes. This time, while waiting for an answer, it dressed into a suit.

“It’s Adam, serial number 347-8910AD.”

The call went through but there was no answer.

“How long should I stay here? It’s getting ridiculous. The election is over. Town is done. Nothing to do.” it waited but was losing patience. “You hear me? I’m done. Want out.”

Then, a loud mechanical voice “Hold”.

“I’m fucking held hostage here!” the thing was yelling into the phone.

“Adam 347-8910AD you are being redirected to manual assistance.”

The thing paced around torn Evgenia’s clothes, trying to keep calm.

“Hi, this is Scott, you manual assistant. Could you describe your problem?”

“You are my fucking problem!”

“Sir, please repeat.”

The thing seemed accustomed to those dealings. It stopped itself from escalating.

“I’ve met some of the goals. Some – didn’t, but the next election is in 7 years. I’m done here.”

“Let me see what the goals were.”

The thing was nervous, biting nails unlike its usual confident behavior.

“They were supposed to adjust to my eventual point of arrival. It’s Orel, middle of nowhere, for fuck’s sake! What can be even done from this place?!”

“Just give me a minute, sir.”

It felt much longer. For the first time in days, it looked remotely full of human emotions – nervous and impatient.

“I see.” the human voice finally came back with an answer and the man was painfully slow in spelling words. “Your mission is not over. Is it clear?”

“What a fuck am I supposed to do? What else?” the thing kicked grass.

“It is not clear. I don’t have access to the entire dossier.”

 “Then get it!”

“I’m sorry. Good luck.” the human voice disappeared and a mechanical reappeared and offered the thing to evaluate a quality of service.

The creature was in distress. It threw the phone away, destroyed it, stepping on it multiple times. “Fucking insane! I will die in this shithole!”

That’s when the creature noticed a man watching from a distant bench. He was visibly drunk. Hugging a precious vodka bottle. Very much alive and even gazing in surprise, as he probably witnessed the whole dialogue. The thing approached a man and snapped his neck, not even trying to be stealth. It poured the remaining alcohol on the body and set it on fire.

“We are doing the riot tonight” the thing was confident again, entering a basement.

The place was dimly lit, but it was possible to recognize Max and few others inside. A boy in a school uniform was drawing on a big piece of paper. Brochure against the government. An older man, in a tin foil hat jumped up in excitement.

“We are not ready” Max was not even ready to confront their supposed leader, Adam.

“Losers are never ready. Tonight.” the thing was angry with the crowd that it handpicked for a new mission. It would be a sudden strike on a house of a local mogul Ariel Fifemann, who’s been polluting the atmosphere with his chemical production on the outskirts of Orel. Supposedly.

“We’ll be ready. Don’t warry.” the woman in the corner sounded more certain. She was sewing together few condoms filled with gasoline. Her huge glasses were covering almost entire face. Only violet hair stuck out.

The group that consisted of 9 in-and-out members was about to make the first impression. To emerge as the force to be reckoned with in silenced and inactive town. The ugly bunch of protestors against anyone and anything. But the thing had no intention to witness that. It had finished the game of deception. Wanted to end the mission to go back to whatever life it had before. No one knew for certain, even the manual assistants, but prior to enrolling into Swapping Program of Internal Enemy Destruction (a.k.a. SPIED) the thing had a consistent human form. But during tests, multiple missteps and errors – most of those who took part in the groundbreaking experimental program were stripped of any distinctive traits and attachments. They all were very well trained and probably had a military background. Which was not important as long as they made impact, internally destructing any given enemy.

The thing didn’t remember why it wanted home and what awaited there. Or even where it was located. Before coming to Orel, it had a very successful mission in Constantinople and even before that – a trouble in Heliopolis. It recalled that fifty-fifty success rate, but didn’t remember much of the past. It was a never-ending loop with short acquaintances and quickly changing landscape. Switch into the body, create damage, leave. Always sounded simple.

Sometimes bodies it fell into were stronger and harder to overtake, but the creature was learning faster than unsuspecting commoners. And faster than its creators, as it figured the way out – through a failure. Ironically, in order to get out it had to give back control to the initial host of fat, muscles and bones with whom it shared the space in the universe.

Evgenia woke up from a continuous nightmare that felt like she was dragged straight into hell, unwillingly and unstoppably, over and over. She was naked, but not in her own house, with walls covered in blood and gasoline. Some of the stains contained messages that an educated person would not dare to read, others – fingerprints. The place was filled with torn book covers and cut curtains, reminding of war that had just swirled through the room.

Evgenia got up and could not contain herself from approaching the book covers with vivid, very inappropriate for the occasion interest. She knew all the titles, they were classics, most even old editions of great cultural importance. Evgenia covered her genitalia with Brodsky’s book, whom she appreciated less then others and slowly moved towards the exit. She wasn’t in panic, tried to stay calm for her own sake, even when realizing that her legs were covered in someone else’s blood. She saw what was remaining of a person with violet hair, head was separated from the body, a tin foil hat was held by another lifeless man, almost like a great battle took place in a rich man’s house. She’d never been to one, but could tell from the look of expensive vases and paintings. The battle was neither won or lost, as Evgenia could not see any victorious party, everyone seemed dead, brutally killed by other corpses.

Somehow, through dark yards of a sleepy town she got home. It was a jog of shame made with maximum effort by a desperate and puzzled woman, something to forget and never bring up. Max was in his room, luckily unwilling to communicate, and for once his childish behavior played in Evgenia’s favor as she slipped into bathroom and finally was able to unlock her fear, anxiety and feeling of great letdown of all her pillars in life. In Evgenia’s eyes the town was the same, people were the same, but she betrayed them, she participated in an awful massacre, in an orgy of death and even had the audacity to come out victorious. She didn’t remember any events since falling on the grass in an abandoned park, but it didn’t matter, as a sane and devoted person should have never gotten into such circumstance.

Next few days passed like a speeding train through the shattered platform of Evgenia’s life. She wasn’t herself and barely reacted to news of Fifemann’s mansion massacre and failed to noticed that the burning sensation inside her was gone, she was free of any pain. She also didn’t react to her son’s weak attempts to make peace, just threw money in his face without saying a word. Evgenia was waiting for a tribunal, not necessarily human, but of higher powers as she slowly migrated from atheism to discovering God. And she was right.

After approximately a week, she was asked to get in a black foreign car, parked outside school and guarded by an indistinctive man in a grey suit. They could have done anything to her as she would have easily excepted her fate. But the outcome was different. She was driven to Moscow, accompanied to an indistinctive building and thoroughly interrogated by kind and understanding men in grey suits. Evgenia would not have dared to lie, but there was also no reason to – they knew everything and were even prepared to answer some of her surprised questions.

By the end of the day Evgenia signed tons of papers, went through a lie detector, gave her blood samples and was even weighed and measured by unknown yet welcoming men in lab coats. They didn’t have to ask her twice, because she knew that the body swapping program worked both ways. It had to, as it always did, since the arms race. Strict and thorough training was imminent, her past would slowly fade, but there was a greater goal, a bigger picture, a broader view. She might never get to a chosen destination, given how fragile and unstable the new technology was. She might even end up in some remote village instead of Washington, but it was worth the try. Men smiled at her, as she cited Tolstoy, almost making them repeat after her as if they were her simple students, the words of internal wisdom that were given to humanity to prosper and progress. The quotation was slightly off, but no one noticed, of course.

Evgenia stood up, straightened her dress. “Bring me to fucking America.”

And it started again.