Millions of lives are lost in an instant, millions of ideas are sealed together, millions of ideals – unrealized, millions of misunderstandings – unforgiving.

Nikolai's youngest son begs him to buy him a set of coloured styrofoam pens, the daughter desperately wants to learn figure skating, and his wife jokingly promises to have other desserts besides apple pie.

He realized that these were the last wishes and joys of life, and that although they were so small, they were of great importance to him.

Homer wanted to have an epitaph for each of them, but a cemetery of the dead of all mankind was enough to have an epitaph.

Now, with only 30 days left to live, he feels it is his duty and obligation to choose the most appropriate words for this epitaph.

He hadn't figured out what order to use to arrange the words, how to fix them, how to decorate them, but he had already felt something:

A whole story unfolded before his eyes, and every soul, every emotion, every seed of knowledge he had patiently gathered, and himself, had their place in this story.

When dawn arrives on the ground, the shops in the subway will be busy, and he must find a clean notebook and a ballpoint pen.

In order to afford these things, he had to sell at least one magazine of bullets.

His future flashed like a mirage in his distance, and if he hadn't written down its outline on paper, the story would soon melt away in the distance.

Who knows how long he would have to sit at the top of the dunes, looking into the distance, before he could see his ivory tower start piling up again in the tiny grains of sand and floating air?

30 days may not be enough. Error-free updates @

His future flashed like a mirage in his distance, and if he hadn't written down its outline on paper, the story would soon melt away in the distance.

Who knows how long he would have to sit at the top of the dunes, looking into the distance, before he could see his ivory tower start piling up again in the tiny grains of sand and floating air?

30 days may not be enough.

No matter what the girl says, Homer knows that he has little left of his life and that he should keep his affairs on the line.

He smiled at the thought.

After a moment he remembered her curved eyebrows—like two white lights lying on her gray, dirty face, her slightly biting lip, and her unkempt dry hair, and a smile on the corner of his mouth again.

Tomorrow we must go to the bazaar to find something, Homer thought, and fell asleep.

The night at Paverets station is always noisy.

The light from the stinking torches cast on the blackened marble walls, the tunnel breathed unsteadily, and the people sitting at the bottom of the bunker whispered to each other.

The man on the station was dying, hoping that the hungry monsters on the ground would not be attracted by the breath of the corpses at the end.

But some of the most fortunate beasts tend to find caves hidden in the depths, can discern the smell of fresh sweat, hear the sound of their hearts beating, sense the sound of blood flowing in their veins, and then they begin to crawl downward.

Homer finally fell asleep, and the sound of the siren on the other end of the platform had a hard time getting into his consciousness.

The sound of a machine gun woke him from his half-asleep vision.

The old man jumped up, his eyes wide open, and fumbled for his weapon on the base of the rail car...

The deafening roar of machine guns was joined by the sound of several submachine guns, and the panic in the screams of the guards was replaced by real fear.

No matter who they were fighting against, it wouldn't hurt Homer in the slightest.

Now the fire is not only directed at moving targets, but has become a random fire between people, and everyone is only trying to save their lives.

Homer found the submachine gun, but he wasn't sure if he was going to rush to the platform hall, his will could only resist the idea of fleeing with his motor now - it didn't matter where he fled.

He was still on the railcar, his neck stretched, trying to see through the pillars to see the situation in the crossfire zone.

Suddenly one.

A shrill voice pierced the shouting and scolding of the guards—it seemed to be right there.

The machine gun stopped, and someone screamed so terribly and then stopped suddenly, as if someone had ripped off his head.

Fierce firing rang out again, but not so fiercely.

The scream rang out again—this time farther away, and suddenly, almost next to the railcar, a voice responded.

Homer counted to ten, and put down the lever with trembling hands!

Now, now he waited for his companions to come back and they could rush out.

It's all for them, not for themselves......

The railcar starts, choking smoke and the engine heats up.

Suddenly, something rushed out between the pillars at an incredible speed and quickly disappeared without a trace.

It disappears from people's sight faster than one can react to.

The old man gripped the lever tightly, put one foot on the accelerator pedal, and took a deep breath.

If they don't show up within 10 seconds, Hunter will abandon them......

Then, he asked himself: What happened? Why do you want to do this yourself?

Homer stepped onto the platform and stretched out his unsuspecting gun, as if to prove that he could no longer save his companions.

Homer leaned against the pillar and looked out into the platform hall......

He wanted to scream, but he couldn't breathe.

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Sasha knew early on that the world was not just the size of the two stations where she had lived and lived, but she still couldn't imagine that the world outside of the two stations was so beautiful.

Kolomna Station – flat, empty, dull – every tiny detail seems to Sasha to be a comfortable, familiar home.

The bus factory station was haughty, spacious, and somewhat cold—a station that turned her and her father away and spit on them, something Sasha could never forget.

The contact with Paverets station started from scratch, and the longer Sasha spent there, the more she wanted to fall in love with the station. @·error-free start~~

Fall in love with its unevenly distributed light columns, large attractive arches, and graceful and delicate marble walls with fine textures that look like the gentle texture of human beings......

The Kolomna station is barren, the bus factory station is too cold, and this station seems to have been built by a woman's hand, mischievous and frivolous.

Ten years later, Paverets Station will not forget the beauty of his past.

The inhabitants of this place cannot become cold and vicious.

Could it be that she and her father endured such a hostile station just to come to this magical paradise?

Could it be that even one more day of the father could be freed from hard labor and free?

Because Hunter didn't shoot at the wounded, she could plead for .......