He reached out to slap a "SEIZED" sticker on the silver clock. The moment his finger touched the glass, his heart skipped. A sharp, icy pain shot through his chest. He looked at his own reflection in the glass and saw himself—not as he was, but as a withered old man, gasping for air.
Hundreds of them covered the walls. They weren’t ticking; they were breathing. Each pendulum swung in a slow, rhythmic pulse that didn't match any standard second. In the center of the room sat Elias, staring at a massive, unfinished brass sphere. ZГskejte exekutora!
No answer. Viktor began his routine. Item 1: One oak table, scratched. Item 2: Three mismatched chairs. He moved toward the back room, expecting more junk. Instead, he found the clocks. He reached out to slap a "SEIZED" sticker
The room began to spin. The rhythmic breathing of the clocks grew louder, a deafening roar of seconds being swallowed. Viktor realized he wasn't there to take Elias's property. He had been lured there to settle his own debt—the debt of a man who had spent his life taking from others. He looked at his own reflection in the
Viktor didn’t carry a gun; he carried a clipboard and a stamp. In the world of debt collection, the stamp was heavier than any lead. As a high-ranking court bailiff ( exekutor ), his arrival was usually met with tears or curses. But tonight, at the crumbling tenement on the edge of Žižkov, he found only silence.
Viktor looked at his clipboard. The ink was fading. The words were changing. Instead of a list of furniture, it was a list of his own memories: Item 1: The smell of your mother’s perfume. Item 2: The pride of your first promotion. Item 3: The way your daughter looks when she’s sleeping.