In a country where the ruins of the Soviet past smoldered beneath the wreckage of a new era, a boy named Gray was born. His hometown, a former military outpost with a population of a hundred thousand souls, was suffocating from unemployment and crime.
It was a difficult time for everyone.
Racketeering and extortion flourished like never before. Gray's father vanished when the boy was only a year old.
"Went to work and didn't come back," his mother would describe the disappearance, hiding her tears behind a mask of calm.
The police, mired in corruption and helplessness, quickly closed the case. No body, no crime. The mafia leaves no evidence. The woman should thank God that she and the child were left untouched. It was pointless to even dream of justice.
Gray's mother, an ordinary woman and a certified pharmacist, found herself a hostage of the times. Her education became useless in a world where survival was the only specialty. She took a job as a seamstress at a factory where wages were paid in socks and hats—the currency of a new era.
Every day was a struggle for a crust of bread, every smile a small achievement.
The woman worked tirelessly to provide her child with a decent life.
Gray grew up in a labyrinth of gray five-story apartment blocks and bleak courtyards. However, under his mother's watchful eye, he managed to remain cheerful.
He was the most ordinary boy. He played football in the yard, jumped across garage roofs with friends, loved his mother, and dreamed of a better life—the kind he saw in foreign movies on TV.
It was these movies that became a guiding star for young Gray. He greedily soaked up images of skyscrapers, gleaming clean streets, and smiling people. The boy could spend hours looking at a tattered magazine with photos of New York, dreaming of one day walking the streets of the famous city.
The "American Dream" completely took hold of his imagination.
At ten years old, computers entered the life of Gray, who even then showed extraordinary talent for the exact sciences. His mother, noticing her son's enthusiasm, spent all her savings to purchase a decommissioned computer running Windows 2000.
Gray still remembered the first time he saw the coveted words "Hello World" on the battered monitor, which truly opened the door to a new world for him.
Andrey Petrovich—a candidate of mathematical sciences and another hostage of the times—took on the task of teaching the young prodigy, yielding to the persistent pleas of his neighbor. Under his guidance, young Gray scrupulously studied basic theories of mathematical logic, probability theory, and statistics.
The years flew by like this.
And so, on yet another sleepless night, seventeen-year-old Gray, leaning over his monitor, felt something great being born beneath his fingers.
Based on half-forgotten theoretical calculations from the 60s, which seemed like nothing more than a beautiful dream to many, he managed to create an algorithm that overturned the world of data analysis.
His method became that very tipping point that allowed the long-standing aspirations of artificial intelligence enthusiasts to come to life. His development pushed research years, if not decades, ahead.
News of the brilliant discovery spread across the world at the speed of light.
The leading minds of the planet studied the young genius's work with bated breath.
A Western corporation, realizing the colossal potential of the development, offered an astronomical sum of 50 million dollars and a share of the business for the algorithm.
Overnight, a poor teenager from a God-forsaken military town became a multi-millionaire.
Life changed drastically.
Finally, Gray fulfilled his dream and gave his mother a life of luxury. He bought a massive mansion with a sea view, apartments in the most beautiful cities on the planet, and a fleet of ten cars. This was how their small family said goodbye to years of deprivation.
However, fate turned out to be quite the bitch. She always had her own plans for the future.
Wealth crashed down on Gray like an avalanche.
Big money was followed by even bigger temptations, for which the young teenager was not prepared at all. Elite clubs in London and New York flung their doors open for him. Here, amid hookah smoke and the lights of nightclubs, Gray got his first taste of the "high life."
"Friends" and models flocked to him like moths to a flame, ready for anything for the sake of money and status—businessmen eager to snag a share of his fortune, and socialites who saw him as a source of endless entertainment.
They all smiled and flattered the inexperienced nouveau riche.
Alcohol became his constant companion. He quickly moved from cheap beer to elite whiskey.
Nights merged into an endless string of cocktails and loud music.
Mornings began with headaches and vague memories of the night before.
His life turned into an endless pursuit of pleasure.
Poker, roulette, horse racing—Gray bet enormous sums, seeking a thrill. Relationships with women were superficial and fleeting. He changed girlfriends like gloves, never allowing any of them to even touch his heart.
His sharp mind and unlimited financial resources allowed him to balance on the edge without falling into the abyss. But his soul grew emptier day by day.
His mother watched her son with growing anxiety.
Her desperate attempts to reach him shattered against a wall of money and hedonism. Their relationship, once close and warm, became strained and even painful. The woman who had given everything for her son now watched in horror as he sank into an abyss of self-destruction.
Their last serious argument happened when Gray returned home near dawn, barely able to keep his feet.
His mother, who hadn't slept all night, met him in the hall.
"What are you doing to yourself, Gray?" she asked him, her voice trembling.
"Hic... Pffft... Relax, Mom. I'm fine. I'm just having fun," Gray replied carelessly, trying to slip past her to reach the toilet.
"Having fun? You call this fun? You're killing yourself!"
Gray waved her off in irritation. "S-stop being so dramatic. I'm an adult and a w-wealthy... Hic... man. I can do whatever I want."
"An adult? Then act like one! Do you think I raised you just so you could flush your life down the toilet like this?" she replied, leading her son into the bathroom.
Those words and his own embarrassing appearance stung Gray deeply.
"Ah, so that's what this is about? You're upset that I didn't live up to your expectations? Maybe I should send us back to that hole we lived in? Would you be happy then?" he shouted.
His mother recoiled as if struck. "How... how dare you?! Gray! I don't recognize you at all! Where did my cheerful, caring son go? Do you really think I care about our surroundings when you're in this state?"
"Your son grew up, Mom. Get used to it. Hic..."
Gray didn't remember the rest of the conversation.
He only remembered that the next day, his mother was packing her suitcases in tears.
For the first time that summer, he met the sunrise without a bottle. He spent the entire day in his room, consumed by conscience and a shred of reflection.
He wanted to stop his mother, maybe even promise that he would change, but whether out of pride or a conviction that he was right, he never apologized.
As if in a trance, he watched the most important woman in his life board a charter flight to Moscow. She refused to use his private jet. In that moment, he didn't even have the courage to look her in the eyes as they said goodbye.
After her departure, Gray felt absolutely empty.
He dismissed his security and wandered aimlessly through the streets of Los Angeles until he ended up in a seedy bar on the outskirts of the city. The sign "At Jo-Jo's" barely flickered with a pink light in the twilight, as if reflecting his inner state.
Inside the pub, it was dark and smoky.
Gray flopped onto a shaky bar stool and ordered a double whiskey. The bartender, an elderly man with a week's worth of stubble, silently placed the glass in front of him.
"Leave the bottle," Gray muttered, tossing a crumpled hundred onto the counter.
The whiskey burned his throat, but he couldn't taste it. He mechanically poured glass after glass into himself, trying to drown the feelings of guilt and shame.
When the whiskey ran out, he moved on to tequila, then vodka and gin.
A strange company gathered around him: a life-worn biker with tattoos on his face, two women with excessive makeup and empty eyes, and a young guy with a nervous tick.
Watching Gray, they sensed a thirst for profit and began taking turns pouring him drinks, egging on his drunken ramblings.
"Hey, pal, you look like you need to have some fun," the biker rasped, slapping Gray on the shoulder.
Gray mumbled something incoherent in response; his tongue no longer obeyed him. The world around him blurred, turning into a kaleidoscope of smeared colors.
He didn't remember how he ended up outside.
The cold air hit his face, and a cigarette butt burned his fingers, clearing his head for a fleeting moment.
Finally, Gray noticed that his new "friends" had led him into a dark alley behind the bar.
"Come on, rich boy, empty your pockets," he heard the biker's voice say.
Gray tried to resist, but the alcohol made his movements slow and clumsy.
A blow to the stomach forced him to double over.
The next hit caught him in the face, and Gray fell onto the dirty asphalt. They beat him methodically, without anger, simply doing their job. He felt someone's hands fumbling in his pockets, taking his wallet, watch, and phone.
"Hey, Mr. Samson wasn't lying. We ran into a rich nouveau riche. There's a fortune here!" someone exclaimed emotionally.
"Now, now, you ought to thank our generous 'friend.' Thanks to him, we'll be able to pay the bail for our little rat."
The last thing Gray remembered before losing consciousness was the sound of receding footsteps and the laughter of the muggers, and then...
He was deafened by the sound of a gunshot.
Flickering lights. Loud voices. The strong smell of bleach and the piercing beep of a heart monitor yanked Gray out of oblivion.
He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt like lead.
Through a veil of pain, he heard snatches of conversation:
"Multiple contusions... concussion... internal bleeding..."
"Pulse is dropping! Prep the defibrillator!"
Gray felt his body shudder from the electrical discharges. Pain pierced every cell, but he couldn't scream. He didn't even have the strength to think.
"We're losing him! Adrenaline, fast!"
The cold of a needle in his vein. A sudden surge of energy. His heart beat faster, as if trying to break out of his chest.
Then something snapped...
Bright light... Darkness... The sensation of oblivion... Hellish pain... A feeling of heat... Everything spun in rapid succession.
In that moment, a primal fear seized him...
"Mom, don't go! Bella, I was wrong! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Gray screamed, trying to bolt upright from the cot.
He forced his eyes open, and a bright light instantly blinded him.
Instinctively, Gray tried to cover his face with his hand, but every movement echoed with sharp pain throughout his entire body. This pain brought him more relief than fear. Pain meant that he was alive. Spasms ran from his fingertips up to his neck, making Gray writhe on the hot sand.
"Sand?" The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.
He wasn't in a hospital or at home, but in the middle of a vast desert.
The scorching sun burned his skin mercilessly, and the dry air scorched his lungs with every breath.
Gray tried to stand up, but a new wave of dizziness washed over him.
The world around him spun like a carousel; the sand and sky merged into one blurry smudge. He felt nausea rise in his throat and retched bile directly onto the scorching sand.
Despair rolled in waves, each one stronger than the last.
Where was he? How did he get here?
The last thing he remembered was the hospital room, the beeping monitors, the voices of the doctors.
And now... this...
===================
Author's Note:
Don't be too quick to throw stones at me or judge me for misposting chapters. Rest assured, this is still the same book.
In the near future, you'll understand exactly what happened, and I promise you won't be disappointed.
Please don't forget to share your thoughts in the comments and reviews, as well as rate the work. This really helps with the book's promotion.
I also want to remind you to visit my Patreon page. There you'll find up-to-date character illustrations and even a song performed by Catherine. And all of this is absolutely free.
Thank you so much for continuing to read "The Mad Immortal."