[November 1938]
"Ah, Narcotics Nandev? You're still alive!" shouted a black-haired Militiaman, who is on duty in the archives room.
"Of course! You think I'm dead just because I haven't seen any cases?"
"I thought so, actually. What do you need from me?"
"I want to see the arrest files for prisoners who ended up in the mental hospital."
"Why do you want to see them?"
"Just to analyse them. Also, to check for any developments on other criminal files."
"Ah, but the mental hospital's files are the least updated... You know, since the Vozhd tightened arrest regulations, more people have been sent directly to the Gulag than to the mental hospital. Although they have to get permission to test them first..."
"I know that. But is it okay if I take a look?"
"Nu, of course."
The Militiaman immediately picked up a small key on the wall filled with hundreds of keys. Then the man gestured for Vasily to follow him to the archives. The door opened, and before them was a very large room. Countless cabinets filled with files, whether related to crimes or just personal information. Vasily smiled broadly, before slapping his ten centimeters taller comrade on the back.
"Still the same as before, eh?" Vasily asked with a light laugh.
"Just a change in the file color. Yesterday, many complained that the folders for old member files were the same color as the folders for inmates."
"As expected. It's good that the government quickly agreed to fund the color change." They continued their journey to the special shelves for inmates admitted to the mental hospital. The cream-colored files were the fewest among the others, as they only had one cabinet. Without another word, Vasily picked up one of the folders and opened it. He flipped through the contents, searching for the data the short young man wanted. Meanwhile, the Militiaman simply glanced at what his colleague was looking at.
“I think I've opened a file about that disease before…”
“Which case, huh?”
“Wait, wait... I forget…”
“His surname? Or the type of disease?”
“If I'm not mistaken, it's that rare disease. I've seen it around here. Has there been a file transfer too, comrade?”
“There hasn't been any file transfer at all. But a week ago, we were assigned to clean out the cabinets and files. They may have been moved to another section, not the one you saw yesterday.”
“Help me find them, comrade. I need those files!” They deftly took out the files one by one from the special cabinet. Vasily, who was still muttering, “Schizophrenia... schizophrenia... hysteria...”, opened the files roughly. "The symptoms are not matched..."
Even though there was only one cabinet, finding the file Vasily wanted felt like searching for a hay in a mountains of needle. Before they knew it, the pile of files had already grown between them, while three shelves remained untouched. Several times, Vasily himself had to climb the cabinet to reach the file on the top shelf, considering his size was half the size of the shelf.
"The files should have been returned in order. Not just filed away. These weren't even assigned case numbers, either!" Vasily complained. The Militiaman frowned slightly in annoyance. "Nu, that's why I forbade you from leaving the Militia too fast. You're more deserving of the promotion and permanent position in here than your rival spy. You know better how to improve the quality here than just recruit more stupid people."
"Have you forgotten my secret: I want to erase my past as a slick spy and assassin?"
"Vasya, you'll never be able to. You are still working under the same Vozhd like me," the Militiaman retorted.
"I managed to get over it, until that damned fugitive Preshin in France appeared in my life again a year ago. Thankfully I ended that fugitive and left it rotten."
"Preshin? Whoa, you really did it!? But my point stands still - once a repentant drunkard tastes vodka, he'll be a drunk again. Ahahahaha!"
"Oh, fuck off!"
"I—I mean, we won't care about your past. Or your present. We still consider you Narcotic Nandev, who has countless ways to lure drug dealers and criminals into the hands of the Militia. Even with dirty trick..."
But Vasily ignored his friend's words, who remained busy searching for the file he wanted. Soon, Vasily became fixated on a folder he was holding, and this time he didn't immediately throw it into the pile. Vasily looked at his friend with a smile, as if forgetting what his friend had just said. "I found it!" Vasily said, waving the folder.
He carried it to his desk in the archives, followed by his own friend. After that, Vasily opened it again, but this time he read it carefully. He read each page until he reached the last one, which read "Psychiatric Hospital Examination Results." That's when Vasily's smile widened, even turning into a sly grin.
"You know what, comrade? Fine. You win. I will change my mind about returning to the Militia. But after I solve a case similar to this one."