"Pull it lower. A bit lower," Sennoy's impatient voice boomed, urging Daniel to lower his pants further. Daniel, who had paused, complied, pulling his pants and thermals down to his ankles and standing up straight. Sennoy approached, leaning in to inspect the large, purple-blue bruise on Daniel's left thigh and the swollen knee. With a slightly perplexed expression, Sennoy looked up at Daniel and commanded.

"Now, show me your side."

Daniel obediently lifted his top, revealing a smaller yet still notable bruise, prompting an unhappy grunt from Sennoy.

"Shit, I clocked you good, didn't even realize I was laying it on so hard. I can see you're hobbling. Did Marinka take a look at you?"

"No, but I gave it a squeeze, feels like nothing's cracking inside," Daniel pulled down his shirt and hesitated, unsure what to do with his pants - there had to be a reason they brought him to the pantry.

"It ain't cracking," Sennoy teased irritably. "What do you know about injuries? Go see Marinka, let her check it out, wrap up them ribs. And ease off on that leg, don't overwork it, use your right."

"It'll mend," Daniel shrugged. "Healed up fine after the brawl, even though I was limping too."

"Katka didn't cripple you, just gave you a good beatdown. I can snap bones when I hit," Sennoy sighed. "Get dressed, what're you standing around for?"

Daniel pulled up his thermals with relief, slipped into his pants, and zipped up, suppressing a grin. He was glad there wouldn't be a follow-up of the usual - he could tell from Sennoy's tone that it was just going to be a chat today. And it warmed him a bit that Sennoy was concerned about him - at least someone gave a damn about him in this shithole. For three whole days since the sit-down, Sennoy had been moping around like a dark cloud, shooting him sideways glances, either regretting he had his back at the sit-down, stopping them from offing him, or fearing him after Bright took a dive. In the house, the other four were quiet as the grave, avoiding eye contact like he was the plague. Outside wasn't any better. Bright's former crew, lumped together with Stakhan and Sennoy sans a boss, shot daggers at him. The other cons were on edge, silent as he approached, ready to jump back if he so much as twitched their way.

After the sit-down concluded that Bright was at fault for lawlessness against the other inmate, and mashka's actions were justified, the crowd's reaction shifted to passive aggression once the initial shock wore off. Each inmate began to envision himselves in Bright's shoes, growing increasingly anxious. This response was predictable and reasonable; legitimizing one precedent could set off a chain reaction of similar incidents. History tends to repeat itself, particularly when the oppressed have accumulated resentment. However, the inmates also became more alert and attentive. Svetka casually mentioned in the cafeteria that no one had been forcibly taken to the barracks for a gang bang since that day, sparking a wave of excitement. As he passed around a pack of cigarettes, Daniel accepted with a wry smile - he didn't want to become a symbol of revolution. Life had been much easier when he blended in as a quiet mashka of Sennoy, but now he felt an unsettling anticipation of the unknown.

Sennoy's demeanor, along with his implicit expectations for Daniel's future, weighed heavily on Daniel's mind. Waking from a clammy nightmare where Sennoy relentlessly kicked him until the pain was unbearable, Daniel lay in bed staring into the darkness at Sennoy's distant figure on the bunk by the window, exhaustedly pondering what decisions Sennoy had made for him. Unable to find comfort, Daniel struggled to fall asleep, adjusting his position to alleviate the pain in his thigh and avoiding lying on the same sore side. Physical discomfort faded into the background as Daniel's thoughts were consumed by the uncertain future ahead of him, disregarding his own health for the first time since his incarceration began.

So, after enduring three days of anxious anticipation, Daniel was mentally prepared for any outcome - whether it was Sennoy beating him to prevent him from challenging his authority, like Daniel did with Bright, or beating him unconscious as a lesson. When Sennoy told him to pull up his pants, it felt like a stroke of luck to Daniel, who couldn't believe his fortune. And Sennoy's reluctance to fuck him brought immense relief and joy, leaving Daniel with a foolish grin that he couldn't wipe off his face.

"What's with the grin?" Sennoy plopped down on the bunk, sparked a smoke, smirked. "Happy I ain't gonna fuck you?"

"I'm just relieved you're not angry," Daniel bit his lip, trying not to rile things up accidentally. "Especially after what happened with Bright."

"You better not pull that shit with me," Sennoy snapped coldly, his voice turning sharp. "Else you'll meet a slow, painful end."

"I wasn't going to," Daniel retorted, feeling a chill run down his spine at Sennoy's icy threat. He knew Sennoy would off him if he tried anything. "Bright left me no choice: either I don't contact you and he kills me, or I contact you and you kill me. So, I contacted him."

"You had a choice and you played it smart," Sennoy scratched his head, pondering. "Sometimes you gotta choose in the heat of the moment, but those choices ain't always the right ones. You took a big gamble. Luckily, I didn't let you catch a beatdown. Keep that in mind."

"Appreciated. I got it," Daniel settled on the ground, easing his foot and leaning his head back against the wall, gratefully shutting his eyes. It was a relief to unwind after a tense day and let go of everything.

"Bright's getting discharged from the infirmary real soon," Sennoy started, and Daniel snapped out of his reverie, the calmness replaced by tension in an instant. "Too bad the roosters didn't finish him off, 'cause now he's coming for you. If I were him, I'd be out for blood. It's gonna be an issue," Sennoy squinted at the pale sunlight filtering through the window. "Well, we'll deal with it as it comes."

"He might catch another beating, either from the roosters or his old crew. He's hurt a lot of folks," Daniel choked back a nervous lump and coughed, purposefully avoiding thoughts of Bright lately, as if he were truly gone. Truth be told, it might've been better if he'd been finished off that day. The fleeting idea didn't shock him, but it did sting his conscience – he'd sunk low wishing death upon another man.

"They could jump in, or they might just hang back to watch. Ain't much entertainment in this zone, no fancy shows coming in, so folks are itching to see what Bright's gonna pull," Sennoy smirked, turning towards him. "Scared?"

"I have been scared all along," Daniel replied honestly, meeting his gaze head-on. "I am no match for him, and he's always carrying a knife. And I want to live."

"Don't we all?" Sennoy chimed in, eyeing him closely. "What else you gotta spill?"

"I... you... could you..." Daniel gazed into the taunting eyes, searching for even a glimmer of empathy, a hint of willingness to help. Sennoy had already lent a hand by stopping the cons from pummeling him after Bright's downfall, but that seemed to be the extent of his charity. Now, Daniel anticipated his request would be met with mockery, a reminder that the pakhan shouldn't meddle in the disputes of lesser inmates – it wasn't his concern.

"Nothing."

"You don't want to ask for yourself," Sennoy chuckled, smacking his hand on the bunk. "And that's smart. Remember what some writer said: never ask for anything, especially from the powers that be. They'll come and offer it themselves."

"So, you are going to offer something?" Daniel lifted his head hopefully.

"We'll see how you act," Sennoy grinned lazily. "Get over here."

Daniel's cheeks warmed with embarrassment as the implicit suggestion clarified the situation. The protection needed to be deserved. Surprisingly, this vulnerability struck him deeply; accustomed to being fucked and giving blowjobs for that protection, now he felt exposed and ashamed. The conversation was oddly human, almost on equal terms. Sennoy recognized the mortal threat Daniel presented, acknowledging he himself could have been in Bright's position but wasn't. This underscored the gaping divide between them: Daniel, merely a lowly rooster, and Sennoy, the leader of the pack.

Daniel awkwardly got to his feet, moving in close before slowly kneeling between Sennoy's parted legs. He waited, fixating on the zipper of the black pants. Sennoy leisurely undid the button, zipped down, then lifted himself to lower his pants along with his underwear before sitting back down. Daniel ran his hand over the cock filling with blood, spreading the meager lubrication along the shaft, and pressed the tip against his lips. The salty musky scent was familiar, and Daniel's tongue and cheeks instinctively began their work: sucking, drawing. A long, drawn-out sigh escaped from above.

There was always a price to pay.

***

"Come on, Vlad, quit your griping, it's not like you lost a lot," Sennoy tossed the cards onto the table and stretched luxuriously, joints popping. "Seven corner stores, man, not like you were on top of the world. Besides you got a leg up with two from your old man, so you weren't starting from scratch. Could've done even better even without his help if you had enough ambition. You'll bounce back, start a business again, but this time with smarts and drive."

"Sure, compared to you, I might be a small fry, different ambitions and all, but for our town, I had grand plans. And besides, they weren't just corner stores, they were proper stores. But tell me, what am I supposed to start new stores with? I had some cash stashed, but by the time I'm out, my family will have chewed through it all," Vlad grumbled, picking up the cards.

"Forget about it," Sennoy brushed it off lazily. "What's the point in comparing yourself to me? You'll come up short even if you compare yourself to Dashka. Dashka, tell them where'd you work before."

Daniel, only half-tuned to the chatter and absentmindedly leafing through a Bunin paperback, shot them a surprised glance - was this real? Sure, Sennoy had talked to him more freely in the house with his crew, but never as openly and thoroughly as now. And he'd never dragged him into the general conversation when they talked about his life before the prison. Everyone eyed him expectantly, even Shamil propped himself up to get a better look.

"Um, in management consulting," Daniel hesitated, setting the book aside.

"Start with the school," suggested Sennoy, flashing a daring smile and scanning the surprised expressions of his buddies. "He got his degree from a top-notch university, one of the elites worldwide. Carry on, Dashka."

"Got my degree in nuclear physics from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology," Daniel admitted with a touch of melancholy, understanding he couldn't dodge it. "Graduated top of the class, then went over to Westinghouse..."

"And this, my unambitious friend, is a top energy company, ain't no place for fools," Sennoy interrupted him, looking at Vlad, who was frowning, and nodded, allowing him to continue. "Add details: why you chose this profession, why you joined this company."

"I dreamed of building a commercially viable thermonuclear reactor, a tokamak, to solve the world's energy problem. I did an internship at Westinghouse, I was going to work my way up to a certain position to get closer to my dream. And then take a break, do my PhD and go back to Westinghouse to work only on the future reactor," Daniel admitted reluctantly.

"Is this some kind of company in Moscow?" Andron asked, looking confused, and blinked when Sennoy burst into laughter. "What's so funny?"

"It's in America, you dimwit," Sennoy mocked him.

"Then why did you come to Russia, you idiot?" Andron rolled his eyes and tapped his temple. "Why didn't you build your reactor there?"

"I should've stayed," Daniel conceded with a grim tone, his emotions getting the better of him. "I realized during my internship at Westinghouse that I couldn't pursue my dreams by following the same old path as those uninspired, stagnant pre-retirees who couldn't lead a company to any significant breakthroughs. They lacked motivation, energy, and passion for innovation. Spending decades immersed in their mundane research, they wasted precious time. If I had stayed there after my internship, I would've started at the bottom of the corporate ladder and eventually turned into a depleted, forgotten figure like them. The system would've chewed me up just like it did to them. And to top it off, I had student loans weighing me down..."

"How much?" Shamil perked up, resting his cheek on his fist.

"One hundred and fifty thousand," Daniel replied through clenched teeth, lamenting inwardly that by the time he got out, the debt would likely swell to two hundred thousand, if not more. The looming question of how to salvage his shattered career weighed heavily on his mind.

"Well, it ain't cash, you can rake this kind of dough quick," Andron squirmed on his stool, spreading his arms as if gearing up to school the clueless boy on money-making schemes, but Sennoy burst into laughter.

"Andron, we're talking dollars, not rubles," Sennoy clarified, wiping away tears, and Andron's jaw dropped, choking on his rehearsed spiel.

"Why shell out for such a pricey school?" Hassan, typically quiet, suddenly piped up, leaving everyone momentarily stunned.

"Well, you see, top-tier universities are all expensive," Daniel replied with uncertainty, struggling to articulate his thoughts. "There's a huge demand for spots, but they're limited. And the faculty? They're top-notch."

Hasan frowned, seemingly calculating the ruble conversion, and shook his head disapprovingly, visualizing the daunting debt.

"You shouldn't have chosen the pricey one," he muttered, losing interest and reclining on his bunk.

"Quit dilly-dallying and spill the details," Sennoy urged impatiently, tapping his foot.

"It was more of a stroke of luck, really," Daniel recounted, recalling the memory vividly. "A classmate persuaded me to attend a career fair, where companies from various industries try to entice graduates and seniors. That's when I started reassessing my options. Zach steered me towards the big banks, pitching investment banking as a potential career path. But it didn't resonate with me, even though the finance sector tends to favor physics grads, especially those with advanced degrees. Sure, you can make a ton of cash, but it comes at a steep price- this job sucks your soul out of you through a thin straw..." Daniel paused, searching for the right words. "Have you seen 'American Psycho'? No? Well, it's about a serial killer who works in banking. Not exactly flattering for the industry. Then Zach suggested I explore management consulting. Figured, why not? We were already there, and I could score more free food and drinks. So, I had a chat with the folks from consulting firms. Like investment banking, there aren't many big players in consulting. Just three major firms, known as the 'Big Three' in the industry. The rest are either smaller boutique firms or struggling ones. Oh, and there's the Big Four, but they handle 'less value-added work,'" Daniel added air quotes for emphasis, energized by the rapt attention of his audience. "And something clicked with the consulting crowd. They felt relatable and genuine. No hint of cynicism. They seemed really passionate about their work and believed in what they were doing. They told me about their energy practice and the exciting projects they're involved in with new and emerging energy sources worldwide. And the pay and benefits for recent graduates? Pretty stellar."

"A sellout. Sold his dream for dough," Andron summed up, earning nods from the rest, except for Sennoy, who grinned.

"Well, not quite. I didn't sell out, it was more of a detour. The plan was to earn enough to clear my student debts, then pursue my PhD and return to Westinghouse with the added consulting experience. But things didn't go as planned," Daniel explained with a shrug, his energy waning. "I spent six months in the New York office, then got assigned to a project in Arc's Moscow office. A month later, I was accused of criminal collusion. You know the rest – got framed, ended up here."

"That's the real ambition, Vlad, you catchin' my drift? - Sennoy broke it down seriously. "It's time to rethink your game plan, and once you're out, you gotta make some major moves, not just mess around with small-time stuff."

Vlad, quiet up to now, gave Sennoy a look, mulling over his words, then nodded.

"I get it. But aiming high comes with risks if you screw up. Dashka soared high but now he's stuck in the zone as a rooster. It stings harder when you fall from a greater height."

"That ain't the damn point!" Sennoy, irritated, slapped his knee and stepped closer to Vlad, talking heatedly, but Daniel wasn't tuning in. He flipped through the book to the creased page, staring blankly. Vlad's final words echoed in his ears, the words of another busted small-timer from Vladivostok, whose real name Daniel didn't even know. Falling hurts, Vlad was right, and what stung even more was not knowing how to rise back up once out of this cage.

The harsh realities he had been avoiding had finally caught up with him. With his prison record, no prestigious company like Westinghouse would give him a chance, and his debts would only pile up. All the hard work he put into his education and career had gone up in smoke, leaving him with shattered dreams. Now he had to chart a new path, shrouded in uncertainty, while also fighting to clear his name and seek revenge if possible— but the way forward was not clear.

Grim.

Sennoy turned to him once more, speaking louder to get his attention.

"Dashka, snag that stool and bring it here. Let's hear about cracking into the consulting game, how those suits operate. Ain't none of us been even through a job interview yet, so spill."

Daniel hesitated for a beat, attempting to mask his bitterness with a cool exterior, then got up, snagging the hefty stool. He settled down at a decent distance from the attentive crowd, positioning himself directly across from the window. Sennoy adjusted the table lamp to shed more light on his face, resembling a makeshift spotlight. The crew shifted to get cozy, turning their attention toward him, ready to tune in. Daniel smirked, gathering his thoughts.

"Before the interviews, I spent a couple of weeks researching on consulting forums, chatting with other applicants, and gathering information because the hiring process at consulting firms is quite unique.

They suggested doing all the interviews in one day - it was intense, like a marathon, but I said yes. I had to make a quick decision on whether to pursue consulting or apply for a PhD, and the deadline for deciding was coming up fast. I ended up doing eight interviews back-to-back, from ten in the morning until seven in the evening."

"What's the fuss?" Andron scoffed. "Not even a full working day, no big deal."

"Shut your trap, Andron. Let him speak," Sennoy grumbled, lighting a cigarette.

"Anyway, there were eight assigned, two added at the last minute because one of the junior partners was concerned that I was too academic," Daniel looked at the puzzled faces in the audience and added, "A nerd, basically. He assumed I wouldn't make a consultant. So, I did two more rounds with partners. There are several partners in the company, by the way. The cases were mostly straightforward: to structure an approach to developing a lunar module for NASA," Daniel paused, because Shamil whistled in shock.

"Then there was a standard case with a cruise company that wasn't making a profit and we had to find the reason. They also gave a case of revitalizing the Imaginarium brand, which was stuck in a saturated market," Daniel explained when Andron grumbled annoyingly when he didn't understand the term. "Market saturation is when a company can no longer expand its sales area and loses profitability. In addition to cases, they gave a lot of brainteasers, which are a kind of puzzle. In the evening, for example, when I thought I was done, they threw another brainteaser - to calculate the market for water meters in the UK. Despite being stressed and tired, I got through it. You see, you can't get ahead in consulting on brains alone - a good example: my professor in quantum mechanics at MIT failed the first round because he was calculating the electricity market in Italy and got it wrong by two orders of magnitude. It requires mental flexibility that can be maintained under severe stress when you are bombarded with questions. Some of the interviewers deliberately feign skepticism, and change topics quickly.

"And all this without interruption?" Sennoy bit his lips thoughtfully, obviously trying the situation on himself.

"Well, they give you half an hour for lunch, five minutes each for toilet breaks, but in general, it is non-stop. It's wildly stressful, considering that sometimes they pretended not to listen, which I was unimpressed with. They'd yawn defiantly, type something into their phones," Daniel squinted into the light of the lamp, remembering how brightly the interview room was lit. A striking change between the dull, ugly atmosphere of the house and the expensive, elegant atmosphere of that room. "Anyway, I was accepted. And from the very first day at the firm, I started to go through induction training for two weeks. The training in consulting skills is so concentrated that you don't remember much on the way out, from how to use Excel and PowerPoint at expert level to how to conduct client interviews and presentations," Daniel licked his parched lips and nodded gratefully when Sennoy threw him a bottle of water.

"What I found most enjoyable was the storytelling workshop led by actors from the Royal National Theatre in London. Over the course of a week, we shared stories that were a blend of our own experiences and fiction. The challenge wasn't just to structure the narratives according to the principles of literary writing to ensure they were engaging and easy to follow, but also to master techniques such as voice modulation, facial expressions, body language, and gestures to captivate the audience.

Initially, it all seemed like utter nonsense, and rather complex nonsense at that, especially when we had to perform in front of a live audience and on camera. However, by the end of the week, after ironing out the kinks and delivering numerous performances onstage, the improvements were undeniable. It's a tremendously valuable skill to have—to be able to persuade others, to plant an idea in their minds, and to compel them to act upon it," Daniel reminisced with a nostalgic smile- as a consultant, he wasn't very good at it. He couldn't even persuade Alexander of his innocence.

Feeling the shift in his demeanor, Sennoy remarked with a hint of weight, "Strategies learned don't always cut it, sometimes you gotta adapt on the fly. Pretty impressive, I gotta say. I wouldn't know where to begin calculating the market for water meters in England - it's a head-scratcher. And all those hours of exams, constantly wracking your brain. You're a rare breed around here, Dashka."

Vlad couldn't help but express his envy, commenting, "The pay must've been fantastic in a company like this. Everyone wearing expensive suits and driving expensive cars?" His enthusiasm waned as Senny reacted with a groan and a forehead slap, prompting Vlad to inquire, "What did I say? Interesting, isn't it?"

Reflecting on the opulent lifestyle, Daniel elaborated further. "The compensation was indeed stellar, much higher than what you'd find in leading companies. Regular consultants and analysts typically sport brands like Hugo Boss and Brooks Brothers. Partners preferred Canali suits or opted for Loro Piana on casual days. Project managers tried to copy the partners' style, though could not really afford it. The dress code was rigorously enforced, down to the width of pinstripes on shirts and tie colors."

He continued, "And the perks were great. On-site amenities include massage and counseling, with a variety of snacks and beverages available. Dinner was provided after eight hours of work, and once a week, the team enjoyed outings to Michelin-starred restaurants. We had ample wellness allowance- could use it on gym and massage. Travelers like myself were offered hotel accommodations or service apartments, flying business class and staying exclusively in five-star hotels. They did not offer cars anymore when I joined, there used to be a choice between Audi and Mercedes, depending on the position. Now, everyone's switched to Uber: consultants using Select and partners opting for Black.'

Vlad marveled, "Now that's what I call living the good life."

"Ok, ok, but what you did you do?" Andron spat out, his tone defiant, obviously envious of Sennoy's focus.

"The bulk of the projects revolved around strategy or operational efficiency. Strategy, in simple terms, is a plan to reach an objective, typically spanning several years. It involves deciding which markets to enter, which segments to target, how to beat competitors, and strategies for both organic and inorganic growth. It all spins around the owner's ambition, for example, achieving a 20% annual growth over five years. If there's no such ambition, most likely they do not need our services."

Shamil asked with curiosity, "What's the price tag for such a project?"

"Starting from a million dollars for a small team of consultants working over six to eight weeks," Daniel replied, noting the impact his words had on his fellow inmates, who were left speechless at the magnitude of the sum.

"Shit, those prices are insane just to get some advice on what to sell and how to beat the competition. I already got that figured out. And all that planning? Ain't nobody got time for that. Maybe it flies in America, but not here. Who knows what's gonna go down in a year, let alone five? You start a business today, tomorrow it might be gone. People might be flush with cash now, but in a year, we could be in a whole damn crisis. Back in the Soviet Union, they planned everything: five years in three years and all that crap. And what did it get 'em? The same old crap. It's all just a load of crap," Andron grumbled, hoping for some backup but finding none.

"We also did operational efficiency projects. Basically, helping companies generate more profit out of fewer resources. From airlines to mines," Daniel remarked dryly.

"Oh, that's the real deal! Otherwise, they're all twiddling their thumbs, screwing around... you grind, you grind, and at the end of the month, you rake in just a measly profit. I once rounded 'em all up..." Andron started with gusto before Sennoy's irritated voice cut him off.

"Yeah, enough of that, Andron! Nobody gives a damn about your stolen car parts... Dashka, spill it, what else went down that was worth hearing?"

"The structured approach was interesting," Daniel took another sip of water, diverting his mind from negative thoughts. "Initially, it seemed odd that you should develop a storyline for the final presentation right at the project's start. Usually, it's the other way around: you analyze, draw conclusions, and then construct the storyline based on those conclusions. I thought it was nonsense - pure nonsense. After all, the storyline tends to evolve as you gain a better understanding of the problem. And everyone knows that. However, with time, I came to realize that it's a form of structured problem-solving approach, and structured always beats unstructured by a long shot."

"What's a storyline?" Hasan frowned.

"Sorry about that, it is the story which we tell the client and around which we build our analysis, English terms keep slipping in. We used them in Russia too," Daniel twirled the half-empty bottle. "Initially, there was also some dissonance from the fact that we had to create a lot of slides, more than half of which wouldn't even make it into the presentation. But you've got to churn out slides, it's good practice, like doing two or three a day. Though they emphasized in the introductory training that it's important to have an impact on the client's business, in practice, a consultant's performance is also evaluated by the number of slides they create. Luckily, we rarely had to start from scratch. Typically, we'd take decks from previous projects and tailor them to fit ours."

"What's a deck?" Shamil interjected, also frowning.

"It's a presentation, most of our work was done in that form. The key skill is to create presentations and efficiently repackage existing materials. Plus, there's research," Daniel explained hurriedly, "research, and design, we could dump data search and slide beautification into these functions. In a way, a consultant acts like a spider pulling the strings of the web within the firm: scouring the company for existing information, delegating tasks for research and design, to prepare client-ready slides, which can then be reviewed by the partner. Design is important even for internal usage. Obviously, a client is more likely to trust content presented on an eye-catching slide, and even a partner finds it easier to buy an idea if the product is professionally designed. It was particularly effective to impress a client by sending slide materials to our office in India for design after a late meeting, and then delivering the finished product to the client next day at 8 a.m. New York time. It gives the impression that we never sleep, that we're willing to work round the clock for them. In essence, a consultant should possess a broad perspective, deep knowledge, and solid hard skills, including technical and soft skills - the ability to build client interpersonal relationships, influence clients, and make a favorable impression. That's the gist of it."

"Yeah, I'm feeling like a chump," Andron scoffed, getting up abruptly. "Decks, skills, storyline, it's all a load of crap. In the end, none of this is important. You're still stuck in this zone with all your fancy education and career."

"I'm an exception to the rule that proves it," Daniel retorted curtly. Anger simmered from the unjust ambush. "Consultants rarely end up behind bars. They live lavish lives, unlike you, Andron. You'll still be stuck in a mess even after you're out."

"What the fuck?!" Andron stared at him incredulously, seething with indignation. A rooster dared to speak to a man like that? "Are you off your rocker, kid?"

"Shut it, all of you!" Sennoy snapped, slamming his hand on the shaky table. The metal mugs clattered, and the empty kettle, switched on, emitted a futile noise. "Watch your mouth, Dashka, unless you want a fist in your face! And you, Andron, quit polluting the damn air - everyone was interested!"

"What did I say?" Andron got cocky, bouncing on the spot. "I just spoke the truth. Well, maybe a bit too bluntly, but it was the truth! Right?" He looked around at the others, but they were still digesting what they had heard, not responding to him.

Daniel slumped onto his bunk, his face buried in the unforgiving pillow, struggling to stifle a groan. The journey through his recent past, where life had been full and almost brilliant compared to the current misery, had inflicted genuine agony, making it hard to even draw a breath. And how much more of this agony lay ahead? Like Andron, he was now condemned to this shit forever, never able to soar to his former heights.

He cursed Sennoy for stabbing at his soul. He cursed Bystritsky, who had mercilessly clipped his wings at the very pinnacle. May they all die together!

"Today you're riding high, tomorrow you're crushed underfoot," Hasan whispered gently, leaning in close to Daniel's ear. Daniel jumped slightly in surprise—Hasan had never spoken to him so directly before, usually only inserting an occasional question into their conversations.

"Allah's will be done. What was your name before?" Hasan inquired calmly, his stern, composed face peering at Daniel.

"D-Daniel, Daniel King," Daniel replied, lifting his head from the pillow to meet Hasan's gaze.

"Remember your true name when you call upon Allah. He will surely hear and return it to you," Hasan advised solemnly, unfolding himself and bringing their meaningful exchange to an end as he made his way toward the house's exit.

For some reason, it felt relieving. At least he could breathe without constraint. Daniel lay on his back, his gaze fixed on the rusty, grimy underside of the top bunk. All of this was temporary, he convinced himself, if he could only hold onto belief and hope. He could reclaim his name and his career. The key was to believe.

-------------------------------------------------

Anybody wants to take a stab at doing a consulting interview brain teaser? 

You are in a room with an interviewer. You have 15 minutes to calculate the market for water meters in the UK . Let's go!

I will be happy to comment.