So, you’d ride along on a sure horse (green, eight-legged, omnivorous) toward Dzhankoy. On the left—splashes the radioactive Black Sea, teeming with mutated creatures. On the right—fuming ruins of old boarding schools and sanatoriums. Over your head—an unforgiving sun, and above that, predatory seagulls. Beauty, in other words! And you see—there’s a metal cable going somewhere into the depths of the sea. A normal person would ride past.
But you aren’t normal—you are Poshta from the Mailmen clan. You don’t look for adventures—they find you. And besides, this isn’t a resort. Here, brother, it’s all serious.
The island of Crimea…