The Good Mother & Advocatus Diaboli

Mark walked down the old arcade, his footsteps echoing off the brick walls. The arcade was dark and abandoned, with dust and old newspapers strewn about in the corners, and the windows in the ceiling barely letting in any light. This section of the city had lost its former luster, almost forgotten by time. The walls, lined with old brick, were cracked and faded from long exposure to damp and invisible mold. But to Mark, it was an ordinary place - familiar, even if not entirely safe.

He moved forward, looking intently at the doors and shop windows, heading for the exit, which seemed to him to be very close. It was not his habit to stop - his thoughts were occupied with much more important matters than what was happening around him. However, after a few minutes, his intuition told him something strange: something was wrong. He barely had time to realize it when he felt someone's gaze on him.

Without looking back, he felt two strangers approaching him. He could hear their footsteps, but they sounded too soft, as if someone was jumping, avoiding unnecessary noise. The two were, in fact, a shadow that moved with him - indistinguishable from the columns that supported the ceiling of the passage. Hearing a rustle and a moment of respite, Mark decided that it was worthwhile to speed up a little.

Only then did he notice that these strange figures had begun to jump from one column to another. Their movements were too fast, too fluid, like acrobats, each time coming closer to him. Their black coats fluttered in the air, and their mustachioed faces, hidden in the shadows, showed neither emotion nor purpose. They acted in unison, as if this was all part of some plan. And Mark, although he intuitively felt that something was wrong, was in no hurry to act.

He continued to walk forward, but now with caution. Noticing a couple more jumps, he quickened his pace, as if not paying attention to the strange pursuers. However, something in their manner was unimaginably strange. Who were these people? Why were their movements so coordinated?

And so, when Mark approached the exit of the passage, he felt himself surrounded - slowly, but surely. It was time to act.

Mark did not lose his composure despite the strange behavior of these two men. He stopped, calmly turning to them, holding the suitcase in his hands. His face was calm, but his eyes, as always, remained attentive.

"Are you interested, gentlemen?" he asked, without changing his intonation, as if everything that was happening was completely normal.

One of them, the one who had been jumping from pillar to pillar, now stood right in front of him, addressing him with a barely suppressed grin. His voice sounded like thick oil, barely perceptible, but nasty.

"Yes," he said, glancing at the bag, "we are very interested, mister Parvis. Especially in the contents of your bag."

Mark knew instantly who he was dealing with. These two were police spies, and their manners were too revealing of their true intentions. But he was not about to lose control. Without a shadow of a doubt, he demanded:

"Where is the search warrant?"

The second guy, standing a little further away, didn't even move. He seemed to merge with the shadows of the walls, his gaze was predatory, and his smile was alarming. From inside his coat he took out a small package and straightened it out, showing Mark the warrant. It was slightly crumpled, but there was a seal on it. The policeman didn't say a word, he just followed Mark's every movement with his darting eyes, his smile never leaving his face.

The first spy, encouraged by this, continued in his nasty, unctuous tone:

"Please, mister Parvis, don't waste time. We would like to see the contents of your bag."

Mark didn't answer right away. He let the silence hang in the air, catching the gaze of the second policeman, who was still looking at him like a predator at his prey. Everything was starting to ignite a strange feeling in him. No matter how much he studied them, their behavior was not quite normal for officers of the law. He realized that this search was just a pretext, something much more sophisticated was hiding behind their interest.

Without losing his composure, Mark smiled, and a sparkle flashed in his eyes. He knew that now was not the time to argue, but to simply act. This was the moment when silence could be more dangerous than words.

"Very well," he said with a barely perceptible nod, carefully setting his bag down on the ground. "Let's see what's troubling you. But," he added, raising an eyebrow, "please note that railway engineers don't carry contraband. Unless you mistake it for... a little living creature."

The policemen, not knowing what to expect, leaned over to look into the suitcase. And at that moment Mark suddenly opened it, and right before their eyes a large white butterfly burst out of the depths of the suitcase. Without losing a moment, it soared into the air, spreading its wings, and rushed upward, as if tearing the gray walls of the corridor with its flight.

One of the policemen instinctively followed the movement and looked up, trying to follow the flight path of the little fugitive. The other repeated his gesture, and soon both were completely absorbed in the unexpected spectacle. Mark slowly watched their reactions, as if this moment were part of his game.

"Allow me to introduce you to a remarkable specimen of the cabbage white butterfly," he said calmly, as if he were giving a lecture. "This girl is especially beloved by farmers, as if they did not know that the larvae of this lady can cause significant damage to crops. True, this is only a small part of her amazing behavior," he said, as if he were talking about a person and not an insect. "Did you know, gentlemen," Mark continued, "that the cabbage white butterfly can fly more than ten kilometers in a single day? This little one has an amazing ability to adapt, its species live on various continents, including Europe, Asia, and our own home," he said, meaning North America. "It is amazing how such a small creature can cover such distances. Not to mention the fact that her wings can be amazingly varied, including various shades of white and yellow, depending on the climate in which this little girl grew up ...