15.04.2069

Dear diary,

Today I'm writing this slightly buzzed, so please bear with my pen's drunken strokes.

Today, the boss of our amazing fish processing company proposed a meeting with Dave - a former RACN SEAL. The aim was to enhance our skills and teamwork abilities. We sat in a circle, with the speaker standing at the center. He was a fit 40-year-old with muscles that Maugosha once showed me on her phone. Maybe I should get a similar haircut? Is it my fault that I come back exhausted after my 9-5, need to eat something, wash up, and watch the news? I don't have the time or energy for it.

I got seated next to Marek. Actually, I was the first one to enter the room and took my seat. He came in and asked if he could sit there. All the other chairs around were free. I like being early, but I feel a bit embarrassed to refuse when there are so many people around. I accepted his request. He seems to have a slight fetish for my long hair, which I take care of every morning with conditioners, shampoos, and masks. He constantly brushed against them and sniffed them. Marek is an intern. He enrolled in an IT course thinking that playing games would be cool. He quickly realized that studying goes beyond leveling up weapon skins on next-gen consoles. In general, he dropped out of college and started working as a fisherman. He likes this job more than entering shipping reports into Excel all month.

Dave talked about his training at Habibiz Plaza when he first started his military adventure. He told us that his beginnings weren't easy. He started by cleaning toilets in crypto people's apartments and dreamed of living like them, being someone. Many of them, after the fake Alt Season and Alpha Calls from Tajikistan groups on Telegram, ended up at McDonald's. Struggling with overweight, he decided to participate in the recruitment for the Raccoon Air Force to change his life. He wanted to be like them. He poured tons of sweat into preparations, trained night and day. For him, it was a sacrifice that would bring him closer to his desired position. He had leaks from Reddit about how the training would look like. He was a man who faced all the shit thrown at him. Although he had always been terrified of water, driven by an unstoppable desire, he threw himself into the sea to pressure himself. This is how he learned to swim. When it started to rain, he put on his shoes because that's the feedback his brain gave him; he was damn motivated. He believed that one could go beyond anything that wouldn't kill them. He knew that achieving this required courage. He knew that if he succeeded, he wouldn't die like a coward. He was a poor imitation of an overweight thug with minced meat for a brain. Ultimately, Dave became the best of the recruits.

Nobody cares what you did yesterday. What have you done today to better yourself? ~ Dave Goggles / David Goggins ref.

RACN Seals are a conscript army with a military commission. Outstanding individuals receive flyers encouraging them to join the army and do so without hesitation. They have been around since the first bear attack, where residents had to fight, and Lords got annoyed, wondering what could be done about it. To join them, you have to pass a commission and recruitment, then participate in an event — something like Hell Week, to prove that you are the ideal candidate for the job.

They ended up at Habibiz Plaza. They were there to kick each other's asses in a game called life, and that was their intention. They had a lot to do and weeks of hellish pain and suffering ahead of them. It was a place full of exhausting tasks to test the candidates' endurance. They slept and woke up when it was dark, trained from dawn to dusk, climbed Raccoon mountains, and ran the entire stretch of beach along the sea. What interested the rest of the company more than Hell Week itself was the nearby Egyptian village. Dave knew he had to be the best of the best and saw only his goal ahead. While they slept after visiting the village, he got up at five in the morning. And when they woke up and hadn't even had their morning coffee yet, he had already been exercising for two hours.

Duub-Ay is a village full of peace and abundance. Located in the heart of picturesque Habibiz Plaza, it is a place forgotten by tourists, due to the military surroundings of the area. Every time the platoon arrived at the village after a day of grueling training and tests, they were greeted by a group of exported virgins, singles ready to give themselves to the newcomers. They were highly appreciated among the residents; whenever they arrived, huge feasts awaited them full of bananas imported from Africa, local meat preserved in huge bales, and crystal-clear glacier-like gin.

When they entered the homes of landowners and real estate flippers who hosted them, like Lords and Kings of Life, the owners personally guided them through all the rooms, which were often larger than entire estates in Raccoonpolis (except for flippers — they divided each room into 5 apartments and placed students in them, charging huge rents). Dressed in cashmere robes, they could take whatever they needed, though every soldier's basic package included a private tiger in the living room and a Lamborghini registered in the Bahamas to avoid taxes. All their needs, even the less moral ones, were met.

Dave was the only one who completed Hell Week and received an award. Nothing could distract him; every evening he focused on his goal, running along the sandy beach until he ran out of breath and plunging into the local healing sea waters. This prevented him from falling into the partying whirlpool and he started running ultramarathons. Today, he is the general of all cyborgs and rules over the entire security world of Raccoonpolis.

Thanks to him, the safety of all residents is ensured, as well as the delivery of Gin between partner states, mainly stationed near the portals. Cyborgs are guards. They defend the village from the attacks of other civilizations, mainly bears. More in their way of working, they resemble Bogdan Boner from The Exorcist, rather than Terminator, but that's enough for effective remuneration. Due to their hardworking nature, they come to work drunk on Gin. They are interested in martial arts and are active World of Tanks players. They often send patriotic photos on Facebook and write on forums for enthusiastic soldiers as military experts. Fueled by steroids and tren by the primates, they are huge Gym Rats. Students, especially from Erasmus, have always been very interested in this particular aspect of Cyborgs. Besides work, they spend time at shooting ranges and go to pubs to drink more Gin. If they don't conform to the norms, they are sent to the Gods in the Arenas to fight for their lives to prove their superiority.

Before Dave took over, many of the Cyborgs undertook increased control of the ships transporting Gin. As one can guess, many of these transports were not allowed, and the goods were requisitioned for our galactic guards. Gin then became a commodity of unique communities. Abroad, it was a luxury good, not only because of its high quality but also due to its low availability among other communities. After the new regime took over, many partner countries began ordering liquor for their parties, building a huge export empire.

The meeting ended as quickly as it started. I left. I put on my headphones. I turned the music up loud. I felt and walked like Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. Lately, I've been really into techno. Walking from work and looking at all the corporate rats returning from it, with the vibe I have on my headphones, makes me despise them even more than usual. I got back. Grabbing the brass 18 cm handle, I looked at my phone, got a text message. I took out my phone. I saw a message from Mark. HEY MAN, YOU'RE NOT GONNA STAY IN ON FRIDAY, ARE YOU? LET'S GO GET WASTED??? XDDDD. Damn, straight from work to a party. Maybe I'll have some fun at least — I thought. Maugosha mentioned something about clubbing on the weekend, so maybe we'll meet. He even added that he heard about it too.

I dressed in my best, blue pants from Melvina Plain and a white shirt from FurryBeary, and used half a bottle of Sioor Sausage to make sure TODAY WILL BE THE DAY — MAUGOSHA WILL BE MINE. Imagining our future together in Bali, I walked the streets of the port. This is where Gin transport and the entire supply chain take place. From here, you can sail to any of the portals and feel the crystal-clear waters of Raccoonpolis. Colorful, wooden fish stalls with prices of various fish written on them surround you from all sides. Luckily, technology brought huge refrigerators, so the smell stopped being a problem. The port area is also the Pub District. That's where we mainly partied today. The joyous part of Raccoonpolis. It's here that the most pleasant atmosphere in the whole city is, thanks to the sailors who occupy this place. Traveler bases are also located here, but they work all day, so they don't directly participate in the life of this part of the city. A place for social gatherings, walks, and relaxation. Here you can train to be a sailor.

I arrived at the dive that Mark sent me the pin to. Surrounded by colorful neons and even more colorful building facades, I already felt slightly dizzy. I passed many low-value women with men who looked like cucks. Probably running a dropshipping business they started during the boom in 2020 is the only thing they have to offer them. Screw those money, at least I'm nice and cultured, and I would love her truly, not like Juan — yes, as my mom taught me. Nowhere did I see Maugosha. Instead, Dave joined us. Dressed in a really well-tailored branded green suit with gold cufflinks and a bald head, he looked so good that for a moment I wondered if I should change my orientation.

We entered the club. She was standing on the dance floor. The DaddySon S300 vacuum cleaner was the model I always dreamed of. In the spotlight, shining like a star in the night sky, it promised not only cleanliness but also aroused a ton of dirty thoughts in my head. The cleaner, holding it delicately in her hands with the grace of a dancer, slowly moved it across the dance floor, simultaneously moving the contents of my pants. I felt euphoric. I watched as the agility of her movements turned cleaning into something more than just work; it was art, performed with passion and commitment. The DaddySon S300, with its promise of unmatched suction power, seemed to be an extension of herself, a tool that allowed her to create a space free of contaminants, a space where each of us could find peace.

It turned out it was already 5:00 in the morning and the clubs were closed — only cleaners remained. At 2:00, I stumbled on a curb and passed out for the entire evening; I don't remember much. I woke up next to Dave and Mark. Still no sign of Maugosha, but I saw on Reddit that she posted a picture with Juan from today's clubbing, while also commenting on my photo after the accident. WHAT A LOSER gave me the motivation to act stronger. But she, she looked so beautiful. Maybe finally through all this, I'll go to the monastery.

We felt the scent of a juicy blunt, perfect for morning gastro, emanating from around the corner of one of the clubs. We went there. One of them stood there — a herbalist. Herbalists are the woke residents of Raccoonpolis. They tweet extremely left-wing views. They wear robes and put together herbal sets to go with Gin; that's how Gin gets its medicinal properties. They are a kind of Raccoons' medics. They heal with herbs and traditional methods. They run charitable shelters for little sweet dogs. They are also always stoned 420, but they don't drink alcohol. Thanks to this, they consider themselves gods of Raccoonpolis, even though it reduces their cognitive functions and makes them generally weaker. They often publicly express their views at rallies among random Raccoons, but nobody cares. They read a lot of Twitter and political books. For many generations in the city, there have been communities that did not adhere to traditional medical methods. They monopolized herbal treatment, which has become widely accepted in Raccoonpolis medical culture. Their traditional methods are definitely more effective, thanks to which Gin has its power. Herbalists learn in forests and meadows, away from civilization. Because they are rather a closed group of introverts and strong outsiders, it's hard to communicate with them about what conscription looks like.

I lit one up. Dave didn't smoke because of his love for sports — the guy didn't even pour himself a gram of alcohol, he's good. We said goodbye. Dave observed me on Twitter. Unfortunately, Mark too. I think I found my new "BFFs." I'm going to bed now and waiting for the weekend to end. Now I know that this time won't be easy for me.