Moscow Collective: They All Sleep (TAS), #1

By Cyril Prytula

Tested in infancy and deprived of sleep, a group of misfits try to figure out what happened to them in the past and why they are hunted by an unknown organization in the present.

From 1986 till 1996 a group of scientists in USSR and later – Russia conducted a number of secret experiments with a goal to deprive infants of sleep. That program had no real outcome, was abandoned and forgotten, until years later, in early 20s a number of former test subjects stopped sleeping.

The story is told in a series of interviews with some of those sleepless people that survived recent events, as well as some of the members of a secret organization otherwise known as the Senior Circle whose mission is to continue the sleep deprivation program.

During those interviews a gruesome truth about real motives of both parties reemerges. In a torn by war part of the world another war takes place. It is less visible and concerns different generations that have nothing in common in terms of values and are somewhat similar in their approaches.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cyril Prytula
• Release date: May 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798872955368

Book preview

TAS: They All Sleep

The Moscow Collective

Cyril Prytula

Copyright © 2024 Cyril Prytula

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 979-8872955368

ISBN: 9798872955368

Cover design by: Cyril Prytula

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

1. THE NIGHTMARE

2. THE AWAKENING

3. THE CATCH

4. THE INTERVIEW

5. THE NIGHT

6. THE BEGINNING

7. THE BIRTH

8. THE TEAM

9. THE RECRUITMENT

10. THE VAPE

11. THE TORTURE

12. THE SCIENCE

13. THE RUN

14. THE LAB

15. THE INTERROGATION

16. THE REMORSE

17. THE NORM

18. THE UDACHA

19. THE PRISONER

20. THE RAGE

21. THE RELATIVE

22. THE DIVIDE

23. THE COLLECTIVE

24. THE TECH

25. THE GOAL

26. THE FILE

27. THE EMBRACE

28. THE AFTERMATH

About The Author

1. THE NIGHTMARE

There was a time when I felt much better. I remember the exact day. Friday. I had my 50,000 rubles. Not enough to start a new life anywhere, but while passing an old bomzh on a street I could calmly look at him and reflect on my average self. I had things – he didn’t. But everything got much worse later that day.

Listen… I know that starting my story so early will probably scare you off. You want to hear about my involvement in sleep deprivation program, all those murders and attempted murders, all secrets and deceptions, all this tupaya mystery. But I have time now, why not use it? Hope you do too, otherwise we both will rush through things that happened, and you will not be able to understand them properly. I have to meticulously explain those events to you. As I remember them, using a foreign language. Tak ponyatno? And to comprehend why I sit here for many hours in this beautiful country of yours – requires time. Keep calm and… add whatever verb you like. Leave questions for later.

Picture this. Shiny streets of Moscow. Clean, full of pedestrians and cars. City center is 15 minutes away if you travel by subway. But it depends on what you call center. For you I would say – Red Square. But ok, that would make it 25 minutes. Polished buildings and indifferent people. Me and my 50,000 rubles. I honesty carried them home. No coffee on the go, no running into a grocery store. All in, all home. Throwing smoke from my new vape on everyone around me. To be a complete villain, I lacked only an electric rental scooter. But using feet was a better option. Still is for me. I even produced that silly walk, when you sort of jump up at each step. Usually, I walked like that while listening to music. I was almost happy that day. And please believe me – not because of the money. I sort of woke up recently – as a grown man. And that was a grown man’s walk.

See for yourself. I had an apartment. I still paid ipoteka, but it was almost mine. The furniture for sure. I also had a nice Honda. New. Grey and shiny. And I had Vika. Don’t want to sound cheesy, but she was the love of my life. Kind, resourceful, pretty. We’ve been married for 10 years, and she was not going anywhere. She was also a happy recipient of those 50,000. That was part of the advance payment for a high-end maternity hospital where our first baby was supposed to appear to the world. In 3 months. Or a little less. It’s not an exact science, you know.

I don’t remember where I’ve got the money back then, but that was probably a huge portion of my last salary. And I didn’t care. I provided. I was about to become a father – that made me hustle more. Sometimes against my nature.

But Vika was not home. Probably went to see her mamasha. The one with ugly pointy fingers. She loved to stick them in my direction, whispering words like "slabak or idiot". Well… not directly. But I knew what she meant behind all her grinning. That mamasha was not a nice lady, but she gave birth to Vika, I could only respect that. And Vika adored her. Even when hitting her foot on the doorstep that I promised to fix – she yelled "mamochka". And still probably does. However, there was only one person nearby all the time – and that was me. She could not avoid me, and that was mutual.

I will spare you the details of what I did while on my own at home. It wasn’t pretty if described in detail. But I found myself on our queen-size bed. Staring at white sealing. With just one naughty thought. I felt like ready for a threesome. I knew it was unachievable, even with money I could take back from the cupboard. After all, 50,000 back then, counting the recession, could have given me only a headache and no satisfaction. Even if a miracle happened and Vika would have agreed to add a person – it was not looking realistic. She was deeply pregnant after all. But the idea… I went for another round of drochka. That was not common for me. It just felt great at that moment. Victorious. And I’m telling this not to gross you out, but to make sure that now I regret my actions during that part of the day.

Usually after drochka I felt exhausted and frustrated. But that day, that Friday, I felt great. Not sleepy, not unhappy at the slightest. I was ready for colossal shifts in my life. Of course, I hoped for another outcome not the one that eventually took place.

Sorry again for bringing all these details. I can’t say they will come in handy later. I just want to make sure that you understand what was going on that day. In few hours I was about to meet Vika’s bat’ya. He wanted to offer me a job. A proper – with an office attached to it, secretaries, watercoolers, unlimited pens. All that. Old school.

And I was hoping to impress him. The thing is – he left Vika and her mamasha when my wife was very young, so I wanted to make sure he will not dump me the same way. For that I needed a plan. And then, pants down, I was trying to assemble it.

Piotr Sergeevich was an influential businessman. Oil, gas, real estate. Not a big player, but probably that is why he was always doing well. Not sticking his head too high, knowing his place. I bet nobody had ever considered taking him out. But that was also why he was always so cautious. Even with hiring me, for 0,0000000001% of his company’s income. Stupid, I know. But I played with whatever cards I had. And we’ve agreed to meet when I told him that I need a real job and ready for anything. Not in these words exactly. I had a whole speech ready, but you get the point.

The meeting, yes. I had to dress. My reflection in the mirror was giving me confidence. I was well-prepared, now with those threesome thoughts that included his daughter out of my mind. I didn’t know what exactly I could do in the office when hired. Go-and-fix-a-problem kind of things, probably. I have a degree in business and economics, but you know how it goes – it is easier to get by when you can cut hair or plunder pipes. The rest, all these MBA’s and years at the University, – just udacha to get a well-paid job, as the good ones are always already taken.

Me, for instance. I never had one. Jumping from small businesses to self-employment and back. I really felt like udacha was not on my side. And I wanted Piotr Sergeevich to be there for me. I imagined his wide smile, his calm demeanor, his huge paws shaking my hand. I needed him more than Vika ever did, than his ex-wife or his partners.

I wrote to Vika that I’ll be back later. Had to lie that I’m still not at home. I knew that she would probably drop all her friends and come home to see me, but I didn’t want her to disturb my thoughts of future success. I needed to stay focused.

To be completely honest – we didn’t see each other a lot lately. I went to work in the morning, then went for a long walk home in the evening. While back there I stayed mostly in the kitchen, cooking stuff I wasn’t even going to eat. Then I came to bed – she was already asleep. And that lasted for a week, maybe a bit more. I was lying in bed beside Vika, sleepless, with new ideas on how to make it as a grown man – popping up in my head. Then back to work the very next morning. But it didn’t feel depressing in the slightest. Just a phase, I guess. I probably needed some professional to explain to me what was going on. But I’m glad I didn’t get one – it would have been a waste of money.

I took my car to the meeting. It wasn’t the best option, as the place was right near the subway. I had my reasons. And I came early, as usual. Old promka. Moscow is full of places like that. In Soviet times there used to be a factory of some sort, now just industrial buildings occupied by whoever can pay the rent. Huge brick building that has seen better days. Still crowded as there was a bar nearby. I secretly hoped we would meet there. As Piotr Sergeevich was much nicer to deal with when a bit drunk. Not too drunk, just enough to tell dikiye stories of his past.

And if you are wondering – Vika didn’t know I was meeting him that day. She knew we were in touch. That didn’t make her happy, but I’ve explained that it was part of making us both happy. Happy and rich. I wanted to stand on my both feet, providing her with everything, because she was still on his payroll, even though she would have never admitted it.

I stood near the unmarked door, overlooking the bar, with guests drinking and smoking outside. It was getting darker, so their faces were becoming more humane. Mostly young men, now smiling and laughing. Huge difference as to very same people from an hour ago – with grim faces, assembling in silence. In the beginning they looked as if they’ve buried an old friend recently and gathered for pominki. Later it became obvious that it was just a standard closeted behavior of modern Russian youth. Shiny sneakers, white hoodies, green hair – but grey, death-like faces. I’m used to that. I am part of that culture even being a bit older. But that day I was looking fresh. Even completely sober looked more cheerful than those guys.

The door behind me opened widely. A man, not Piotr Sergeevich, appeared. A bold servant of his. He never spoke, or at least I never heard his voice before and after. That time he just showed me to follow him, into the darkness. I don’t want to sound dramatic, but we’ve descended a couple of stairs into the abyss of an old building. No signs, no windows. If he had just instructed me what to do – I would have done the same descent, as there were no other routes.

Finally, we reached the next door. There was another man standing. Younger, but with a same absent look as the bold one. I wasn’t supposed to pitch to them, they were just bodyguards, probably, but I already felt with each step, that these men were my future colleagues. In the broad sense, of course. They worked for a man that I was going to work for. With slightly different roles, of course. As I was becoming a manager, and they are just trupi. Troops, sorry. I see, my linguistic jokes fly out of the window in this place.

Piotr Sergeevich was immediately visible – his face, nonetheless old, looked glowing, with certain surgeries done to it. It was an old gym. Or a stylized new one. On the ring I saw a man hitting another one. Sparring, but rather vegan one, with no serious punches. Two gromily, doing it in front of a small crowd. They looked like computer-generated giants. With no remarkable traits.

The small crowd consisted of Piotr Sergeevich, few other servants and a couple of people who looked like HR to me. And that made me immediately focused. Even if all of them were focused on the fight. I must say – I did have a few potasovki when I was younger. At school. Last one happened in the University’s dorm. But that was mainly with gopniki. I was not a big fan of fighting as you probably guessed. I saw no sense in them. All this MMA, boxing… what is the point? I did imagine Vika being taken hostage by some bandits, but I’ve always felt like I can stand a punch and kick back to show my abilities.

The fight meanwhile was not ending. Piotr Sergeevich nodded in my direction, shook my hand, without any enthusiasm. And continued watching. The rest did the same, but without even acknowledging my presence. I tried to focus on the action, but with no real intention of doing so. I would rather watch depressed young people get drunk then to see two middle-aged guys beating each other topless.

- Was it great or was it perfect?

Piotr Sergeevich sounded happy after the fight. Someone he was supporting probably won.

- I knew that Sasha can beat him up.

Now… I know this dialogue sounds cliché, when described like that. I assure you – Piotr Sergeevich said those things with such a tone and superiority that his words didn’t come out lame. I nodded, trying to mimic his silent entourage.

- Next time, Dima, don’t come late to miss the show.

Something I wasn’t happy to hear. I came exactly on time that we’ve agreed upon. Even an hour in advance, following his instructions. But it all faded quickly.

- Meet Sveta, my secretary.

Piotr Sergeevich pointed at a woman in her late 50s.

I immediately realized that Sveta was important. Looked at her, as she was staring back at me.

- Sveta will go through your CV to help you shape it.

My CV didn’t need shaping. It needed to be forgotten. I wanted a job with benefits, not an advice on how to get there.

- Piotr Sergeevich, thank you. Nice to meet you, Sveta. I was hoping that you could help.

Now I was addressing Sveta, as a smaller aim. But she was silent, suka. Or it was one of those HR-techniques that we spot only when it is too late. Nonetheless I was prepared.

- I am currently available for work. And with a University degree in business and economics I will not let you down.

I addressed this to Piotr Sergeevich again. I didn’t care about Sveta and her wrinkled face that she tried to fix a couple of times. But there was no offer, no money on the table. We were not even sitting anywhere. Just standing, watching one of the fighters getting back on his feet with the help of victorious Sasha. I was about to say something to stop the uncomfortable pause. I am always good at filling gaps with humor. Well, maybe here this skill doesn’t work.

- Just please don’t make me fight anyone. I prefer a desk job.

Nobody even smiled. Sveta took a deep breath. Shoved me her card Svetlana Vasiliyevna Pozharskaya, secretary. There was more to it. That old-school style to call your right hand a secretary. However, I didn’t need a lower contact person. It looked like Piotr Sergeevich was actually doing his well-rehearsed move with a dump.

I felt angry, I didn’t want to talk to him about Vika. There was nothing to say, except for –

- Oh, thank you, I will send my CV…

No oil, no gas, no real estate for me. Just another dead end. And no money in the nearest future. At that point I would have preferred to be poslan na hui via phone or email. Now I had to look them all in the eyes and pretend to be consent. I really felt like fighting. Not with Sasha, of course, not even with his opponent. But smashing something would have felt great.

- You look splendid. Hope becoming a father will not ruin your appearance, as it does to women. Just don’t forget whose grandson you will be raising.

Piotr Sergeevich said that in all seriousness. As if he cared. And for a second, I believed him. Maybe I need to wait 3 more months to approach him about work again. It didn’t feel right. The only calming thought was that I didn’t beg him for anything. It was his game. He had all the best cards, after all. I could only oblige and plan my next move carefully.

We had a slow walk towards his car. Bentley, I believe. It was a usual small-talk among distant relatives. It felt over sooner, but I hanged in for a while, trying not to run away from Piotr Sergeevich. Finally, he slapped me on a shoulder and said something like "do vstrechi". In the darkness of the parking lot, I didn’t see Sveta anywhere. All that was left of her – a card with a corporate phone number and a corporate email laying in my wallet.

I know that there are entire nations that are starving. People who srut on the street, with no food and water. I’d seen a bomzh the very same day I was dumped by Piotr Sergeevich. I was doing much better than a majority of people, I guess. Some never even experience 50,000 in one day. These thoughts usually helped me get through any terrible meeting. Remembering how I signed ipoteka for the apartment, took a car v kredit and could actually afford to drink a caramel latte every single day. Not bad, yes. But is that all I could do? Was there a way to actually drive a Bentley myself? Or afford a threesome? Or to buy a latter shop, blyat’?! I couldn’t get rid of those thoughts.

I never chased money. Never wanted a lot for myself. But seeing it around, in the hands of an old guard like Piotr Sergeevich – I felt like missing out. I did miss the party when those old guys were earning their millions-billions. Later they sold me an apartment on a price that I couldn’t actually afford, and advertised their lavish cars that I felt like I also needed. They took it all and gave me back my tiny portion.

And all this didn’t feel right. I was supposed to be among them, not under, not sidelined. I didn’t blame anyone. Not even old suka Sveta. Let them all be, sort of, no worries. I will climb that hill on my own. At the end of the day – there will be a party-time for me as well. I thought about that, calming myself down. Back then I just hoped the wealth circle would not skip my generation as it does sometimes.

It was almost midnight. I wrote to Vika, saying that I need to go back to work, that she should not wait for me. She replied with a sad emoji. I was too angry to even write something back. She thought that I had a very demanding full-time job. I didn’t. I used to be a conference producer, organizing B2B events. Vika knew that every time before the upcoming event I had to work long hours. But the reality was that I left the sad company few days ago. I thought of becoming an influencer, telling people how to actually organize big B2B events. But that thought faded over hours of actually trying to figure out how to stick my face into this govyenny influencer-business. As I didn’t want to do anything related to serving someone else’s needs. Or lead the crowd towards whatever the goal. Or be in the spotlight. I wanted a desk job that paid well. A secretary. A young one. And a corporate everything.

I started my Honda motor and fled into the night. I’ve installed a taxi app recently. Went through a simple authentication and was ready to pick up customers. I didn’t want to do anything thought-provoking at night. Just to cruise through the sleepless city and earn little money. This is no-briner when you are unable to sleep.

I stopped near Bolshoy Theatre. By a twist of faith, it was not far from promka. Wide streets, boutique stores with polished brand names. In your face. Buildings turned from ugly to unbelievably beautiful like my recent mood.

I was the silent type of driver. Occupied by my own thoughts. I didn’t want to stick my nose into other people’s problems. Aiming at 4-5 clients to call it a night and crawl into the day.

- Garibaldi street, 15?

The old lady sat on the back seat. She was a theatrical type – full makeup, nails nicely done, a soft and timid voice. Lake a granny from commercials.

- Da, dorogoi. Bring me home safely.

She was probably my fifth or sixth client in that short-lived career as an uber-like driver. And a first one that night. But I already knew what she would say… eventually. We’ve crossed Sadovoye, when she quietly leaned towards me.

- Nice to have a Slavic driver, white and good-mannered guy like you.

What is it with these theatrical old ladies and immigrants? Some unknown hatred whose roots I don’t understand. That didn’t even sound racist, coming from her. Just an observation. But then she added.

- A lot of churka’s drove me lately. I have nothing against those people, but never feel safe around them.

My third ever client was from some Asian country. I sort of caught the vibe, because it felt like he was about to rob me. But he didn’t. I never liked when people are called churki. So, I decided to focus on myself being good.

- Don’t worry. I’ll drive you straight to your destination.

The lady relaxed. Put down her purse, unbuttoned her coat. It wasn’t cold to even have a coat on, but she was old. Smiling already. She found a soul-mate in me. Now, if I was right about her type – she would ask…

- Why are you doing this job?

- It is not a main one.

In fact, at that moment, it was. I followed the pattern of all taxi drivers who say that driving a taxi is not their real job. So, I decided to change the subject.

- What play did you watch?

She ignored. Which was already strange, as these ladies love to tell you what they’ve seen. And there was still about 20 minutes to drive. Awkward, but I guessed she didn’t like the ballet or whatever was shown that day.

- Don’t you feel tired? Or sleepy?

- Not at all. A can do this all night. And then do another job in the morning.

I suddenly felt relaxed. Never been to a therapy, unlike Vika, but that is probably how it goes there. With my eyes on a road, I was about to tell that old lady everything.

- Everyone needs to sleep. That is how we supply our energy.

She was right.

- But… I don’t. I think that is stress… or something else. I stopped sleeping a week ago or a bit longer. I can’t explain. Just… believe me… I’m fine.

That sounded like I was that cartoon-dog from a meme. And the lady seemed worried. She grabbed her purse and took her phone out.

- That’s not a joke. Sorry, I didn’t want to scare you. 

- Not in a slightest. I am sorry to hear that.

But I went on, opening my secrets. There was something about that lady that felt calming, normal. She was like my long-gone grandmother. And the good part is that she would be gone in 20 minutes to never appear again. I tried to explain to her how it all started, but realized that I don’t remember it in details. It was another busy day that progressed into the night and I couldn’t point out a certain moment when my brain told me – now you don’t sleep at all. In fact, I thought that at a certain moment the sleep would come. I just hoped it won’t happen while I was driving. My body must have been tired, I thought, but somehow, I felt… ok. Nothing hurt. My eyes didn’t look tired. While saying all that to the old lady I came to the internal conclusion that, tvoyu mat’, I can do something with that. Something more… pragmatic, rather than driving old ladies from their theatres.

- I am so sorry.

She said that, while looking at her quite modern phone.

- Please don’t be…

- No. Not that. I see… we are approaching Garibaldi. But I needed to go to another place.

That already didn’t sound great.

- Can you finish the ride, and I will tell you another address. I can pay in cash for the inconvenience.

She sounded certain. And also, that calming old voice. Like a wise matriarch.

- Two thousand rubles. And we go to Nezhdanovka.

I stopped. Looked at the map. She was talking about a suburb outside Moscow center. Not the outcome I was hoping for. She probably read this emotion from the back of my head.

- No, it’s too far away. I see. Let it be three thousand.

That was a lot for a drive on empty night streets. But she was safe with me, and that also counted.

- I messed up. So sorry. My son Oleg lives there. We’ve agreed that I spend a few days with him.

She was already telling me a lot about herself. And I told her my secret. Well… not necessarily a secret. An occurring inconvenience, as I thought. And those three thousand could have stopped my troubles for the night. Dogovorilis. I nodded. And she was happy. We were both happy.

The rest of the ride was silent – through bright and empty highways. She was smiling from behind. Was she pitying me? - I thought. Was she scared? I hoped not. I turned on the radio, feeling a bit let down by the lady that used to be my therapist and then just stopped talking.

- Here, please stop.

I looked around. It was an empty street. Near Nezhdanovka but not quite there yet. I could see the straight road from the rear mirror, and in front of me – it had no end. There were blocks of apartment buildings all around us. But they all were lifeless. No lights, no sound.

- Are you sure?

I was trying to figure out my next move, as she didn’t seem to have those three thousand anywhere in her hands.

- Let’s wait a second. He will come to pick me up. I already texted him.

That was not what we agreed on. Sounded like a long wait, as I could not see anyone anywhere near the car. Podstava, I thought. I felt a bit betrayed. First Piotr Sergeevich, now this unnamed old lady. I wanted to go home. Maybe to prepare early breakfast for Vika. Anything. I finally realized that whatever I was doing to get rich – I was not doing it right. Those thoughts circled around my head.

- You know what… I should drive home now. It is still a ride back and all…

- Just a few more minutes, dorogoi.

- I’ll take two thousand now. Streets are empty… nothing will happen to you here. I must go.

She checked her phone again. As if it had all the answers. She didn’t feel like my therapist anymore. More like an obstacle. I think I even started to hate her already.

- Please, lady. Just leave me two thousand and… leave. Your son will meet you soon.

She probably guessed my anxiety and took a deep breath. Checked her phone for the last time, grabbed her purse.

I was thinking about falling short on a thousand, when purse handles suddenly fell from behind and started choking me. It was a quick blow out of nowhere. I remember my legs hitting the pedals of the car. My hands were trying to lift the handles but with no luck. I felt that perfume right near me. The old theatrical lady’s perfume. But I was not choking because of it. She was holding my neck with her purse handles leaning back with all her weight. I was probably yelling something, or whispering. That I don’t remember. But I am certain, that was an ugly show. I couldn’t get out.

I’ve seen fight scenes in movies – when you lower the backrest and escape. But I didn’t think of that at the moment. I saw the lady taking out a needle. It had something inside with a transparent color. I remember thinking that she wanted to inject her perfume into my body. Tupo, I know. But nearing a surprising death all my thoughts were idiotic, for some reason.

I managed to grab a transmission and drove a few meters ahead. Stopped. Then again. The old lady was rocking on a back seat. I grabbed the purse handle and pushed it with all my strength. Like in slow-motion, as it felt. But I managed to loosen the grip and immediately left the car.

It was cold outside. But no wind. And extremely quiet. I tried to calm my breath. The lady also went outside. I remember sticking my hands out, to prevent her from approaching. She looked awful, awfully bad – breathless, with makeup ruined, her coat was unbuttoned. Like a 15-year-old dog that is hardly walking but still needs fresh air. I must have said something. Don’t think that we stood there in silence. But she tried to approach with a needle in her hand. I pushed her aside, still trying to avoid confrontation. She reached out, jumped at me. For a second, I felt that perfume once again when we both fell into the