Don't Be in a Hurry to Format It Yet.

In this cognitively distorted city, they call me a "polluter." The silver-gray stalker convicts me: "Unregistered 'identity paradox' individuals must accept the final verdict." I didn't argue. Because the higher "court" has pronounced its verdict - an irrefutable fact, burned into my consciousness: "Individual existence permission, countdown is 180 seconds." Define, contain, erase. There is no "survival" among my options. There was a burning pain on the back of his left hand, and the anchor mark was awakening with unprecedented brightness, as if it was about to burn through the curtain of reality covering it. I laughed. "Then before we cancel, let us make the 'final ruling'..." "... Replace it with 'Logic Maze'."