How I met new year

Now, while I write this text, my hands shaking, and confused thoughts. It's morning and I still can't get over what I saw and learned that night.
We often hear that people want to celebrate new year unusual, so that he will be long remembered. If you ask me, I'd rather not remember anything. To spend these few hours as well as all my fellow citizens, arm in arm with Olivier and spirits, relaxed and familiar.
But about all under the order. Although, again, coherent statement I now is very hard.

It all started with a phone call yesterday about five o'clock in the evening. At first I thought it was somebody I know wants to wish me a happy New year. But on the phone's screen was written: "number is undefined". Still not anticipating anything bad, I pulled the green slider to answer a call.

— Hey, man, it's Mike, we studied together, said a quiet, slightly tired voice, ' I've got something to tell you. Plane tickets I've bought, flight's in three hours. Waiting.
Wait, what flight? Are you talking about? to say that I was surprised — it meant nothing to say. Mike, my classmate, I hadn't communicated. I remember right after College he started a small business, something to do with cell phones. Then he became interested in some strange teachings and went to India. Since I was about five years about it have not heard anything. Up to this point.
You're on the aircraft flying sometime? — Misha's voice sounded irritated.
— Well, fly of course...
So, check after two and a half hours, and you got to the airport to go. Write down the flight number and address.
— Wait, wait, I was frantically fumbling through his Desk in search of pen or pencil. Since I finished UNIVERSITY, at home I transferred all the accessories along with the need to write something by hand. I make notes in my phone, something more serious writing directly on the computer. Ballpoint pen I only take in order to sign the receipt at the supermarket. The only thing I managed to find is the stub of a pencil from IKEA.
— All record, ' I said.
Misha told him the flight number, the address and hung up.
Sighing, I got dressed and went outside. By the way, city Mike never called, so I didn't know where I will be in a few hours.

Flights new year's eve is a little different from any other flight. Security rules do not allow for garlands, colored balls and alcohol in the cabin. Well, at least in economy class. To compensate the lack of external manifestations of the holiday, most of the passengers took the celebration inside. So the salon was full of smiles, smell of alcohol, and congratulations on the upcoming. Some passengers were sad — it was clear that the flights they do solely out of necessity. The commander of the aircraft on behalf of airline passengers has congratulated happy new year and asked to fasten your seat belts. We took to the air.

When the plane landed, it was already past ten. Despite the new year's eve, in front of the airport, was on duty a platoon of taxi drivers. I sat down to the first. While we were driving, the taxi driver talked about the fact that I got two today, the last passenger, now he'll drive me home. At home, his wife, daughter. He has already prepared presents.
I have the phone rang. The taxi driver politely paused and lowered the volume of the radio.
— I see you're here — all in the same calm voice was Misha.
— Yes, I'm in a cab now.
Is the right decision. I believe that you won't leave me.
I chuckled in response.
So that's why I called you. I want to hand you some documents. In them I detail as possible, describing what you've learned over the past few years. And I learned a lot. Even, perhaps, too much to the world around me remained the same. Understand that for you it sounds pretentious, but still. All these years I have studied the Internet. No, not the protocols, servers and so on. Not on the level of what people did. At the level of what he became and what he is already many thousands of years. Yes, be not surprised, the Internet existed long before the appearance of man as a biological species. Of course, it's not about the physical network, and the information space. But let me tell you everything in order, good time we have.
I glanced at the digital clock on the radio of the car. Was 23:28. We have already entered the city. I shifted the phone to my other hand. Mike continued the story:

— Before his departure to India, I was one of the co-Linear Solutions. As you probably know, the NDA I was not afraid, so listen up. "The direct interaction" in Switzerland — one of the subsidiaries of the Linear Solution. My area of responsibility was different, so I never really delved into what "Institute". I was surprised when I learned the truth. You must have not heard about the project "Paris". I about it a little later. So, here in Russia, I met a girl from Japan. Her name was Iwakura, she traveled. It is now no longer with us, its path lies in completely different places, but I found myself not entitled to follow her and returned to Russia. Well, it's not about that. She persuaded me to sell its stake in the Linear Solutions and go with her to India. The money would be good, if you have savings we can live on them for several years. I did just that. We rented a small house on the outskirts of Panaji and all his time was devoted to spiritual practices. Once during meditation I saw a computer. The real computer. GUI there was extremely inconvenient, something resembling Unity. The whole screen was deployed to the browser, but the text was fuzzy, like defocused. The only thing I took apart is the url of the open page. The vision disappeared as soon as I remembered the contents of the address bar. Beside himself with excitement, I turned on my laptop and typed this address. It was a page in the gopher. There were a few chapters from the book of a certain John It. I was struck by the similarity of what I have read, with the practices that we Iwakuro engaged. I did everything as it was written. I bought a dozen old computers, and a countless number of different monitors. Even now, you ask me, and I will not say how many. All the walls were occupied by monitors. The goal was that you couldn't look without getting a dose of new information. I started to eat only fish and carbohydrates, and to spend all the time studying random texts or meditation, going outside only to buy food. Soon my friend began to lead the same lifestyle. And we opened.

Mike paused, as if catching his breath, and continued:
The Internet has several levels. I described in detail in the document that you are going to pass. You know, for the majority of Internet users begins and ends with http, ftp, mail and streaming. Well, still Top and I2P for the most stubborn and inquisitive. But I always believed that the Internet is something more that is a kind of different reality. And so it proved. I want to say that the network has a life. The Internet is not just infrastructure for data transmission. Our visible the Internet is like an island in the vast living ocean. And you know what I found there? Gateways. These gateways lead to a completely different network, built on other principles, with other media. What's there in this network is information — and is life itself! This place I call the Original Internet. It existed long before the advent of computers. Yes, he existed before there was man. Then we got to the Paris project. Paris stands for Parallel Issue — Identical Offspring. So, the purpose of the Paris project is the study of the Original Internet. It is clear that I first figured it out. Only we studied the Inernet through meditation and congestion of the brain, and they connect wires directly to the nerve endings, using the body as a kind of software and hardware-the biological Internet gateway. For their experiments, the scientists from the "Institute of direct interaction" were selected murder victims and accidents. Usually those who nobody would miss, though the exhumation, they did not disdain. It turns out that for their purposes could not all people, but only with certain genetic diseases. I have personally seen one of these devices. It is not the people, it is the gateways. Not going to tell you how I managed to get there. All items I have in documents is described. How come, I'll give them to you.
A taxi arrived. I paid and left. No secret documents I see it was not meant to be.

Right in the middle of the yard was dug a huge trench. On one side lay a snow-covered pipe, and the other a dark shadow towered excavator. From the bottom of the trench rose a fetid vapor. Communal services — the same people, and they, too, are the holidays. To the great regret of all those who remain for new year without hot water. Across the trench, forming a wobbly bridge, was thrown a few boards. I stepped on him, still holding the phone to your ear.

Suddenly at the end of the tube I heard some rumbling. Mike cursed.

— Man, all bets are off, quickly said he, ' forget everything I told you about. Look at me go. Turn around and drive back to the airport. All.

Mike hung up. Tucking the phone in my pocket, I stopped in the shade of the excavator. Behind the door was a parked car. "The fourteenth" with tightly toned glasses. Against the advice of Misha, I began to observe.

Midnight was only a few seconds. A time when the whole city calms down to listen to the greetings of the President, drink champagne under the national anthem and then run outside to launch fireworks.

And now, on coming out of the Windows cheers, took to the streets two healthy men in leather jackets. They were the third, twisting his hands. Even were — dragged. It was Misha. Before he pushed me into the car, he raised his eyes and looked, it seemed to me, directly into my eyes and smiled. The car abruptly pulled away and disappeared from sight.

I walked to the porch. In the snow lay a piece of paper. Perhaps he fell out of his pocket Misha or one of his captors. On the stairs the sound of footsteps and cheerful voices. From the entrance came the men in red caps, with some firecrackers, crackers and lanterns. From them smelt strongly of alcohol. Nobody paid any attention to me. Bending down, I picked up the note and shoved it into the pocket of his jacket. To rise in the former Mishina apartment, I decided not to, and therefore slowly went away, to the bus station to get to the airport.

I returned home about five in the morning. And then I pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. Here it is. Habr, I don't know what it is. And I fear the same fate as my friend. But, maybe you can help me?

UPD

This morning I received an SMS. At first I did not give it a value, but now I think it may have something to do with all this story.

Article based on information from habrahabr.ru