I knew that this story would not end like this. According to the law of the genre and today's reality, it must necessarily have a completely surreal interchange. Life is the best writer. It was necessary only to wait for the interview. So, our favorite heading "Kafka nervously smoking aside".

And here you are Andrey Nikitin, you are a captain of the Airborne Forces, graduated from the Ryazan School, you serve in Chechnya with faith and truth, you retire, you accept Islam, you work as a trucker, and then at an unnecessary time you go in an unnecessary place in the subway.

And some investigator, looking through the recordings from the surveillance cameras, simply dumbly dabs at you with his finger: "Here it is" - just because you perfectly fit for the role of Wahhabi, and - voila! - your life is fucking doggy.

Under the pressure of the regional investigative committee, you are immediately dismissed from work, you are removed from the flight, because passengers refuse to fly with you in one plane, journalists turn your life into hell and it's still fucking fucking you, because you managed to come to the police yourself, for A couple of hours before the FSB unleashed your case and made you an extremist and a terrorist, as it did many terrorists and many before and shut them down for quite Stalin's terms up to life-long. How, say, eight years has served Zara Murtazalieva. Or simply "the suspect in the commission of terrorist acts was destroyed during the detention".

The homeland will leave you, sonny. Always.

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