The smoke from Dr. Chekhov's pipe swirls upward after each puff, abrading the corneas of his eyes and becoming trapped in the greying hair combed across his forehead. He sits cross-legged in a recliner, staring into nothingness, away from his latest failure. He can hear it writhe in the background, yet he is unmoved. He hears the increasingly loud shrill of footsteps approaching the lab, and rises to his feet.
	Yegor walks in rolling a gurney with a single leather suitcase hanging from a hook on the side of it. He wears a trench coat with a ushanka atop his balding head. The two men shake hands but say nothing.
	He swivels his head toward the cage and examines the creature inside. He ventures a few steps toward it and stops. Without breaking his gaze, he remarks, "You aren't getting much closer, it seems."
	Dr. Chekhov strides irately toward Yegor and proclaims to him, "You don't know that! You will see. You will see and so will everyone else!" He realizes he is threateningly close to Yegor and recoils, pacing back to the recliner. He takes a seat, and a long pause follows during which Dr. Chekhov takes several puffs of tobacco. "Just do what needs to be done, and be on your way."
	Yegor hangs his head slightly and makes his way for the cage. He sets the suitcase down outside and examines the beast. "At least this one won't attack me," he whispers to himself. He opens the suitcase and pulls out a vial, a syringe, and a packet of sterilized needles. He affixes a needle to the syringe and sucks the liquid from the vial into the chamber. He opens the door, walks inside, and kneels by the monster. "What a pathetic thing you are. Let's cease your suffering." With one forceful thrust, Yegor stabs the syringe into the side of the beast's neck, injecting its entire contents. The beast shows no signs of pain, and within moments, its wheezing ceases.
	He picks up the lifeless corpse and sets it on the gurney, then grabs his suitcase. He suspends it from the hook on the side of the gurney and egins his departure from the lab. He then comes to a stop just before the door. He reels. "Just remember what I said, Gavriil. Do not let this drive you mad. Alchemy is not a practice to fool around with. It is an art. Do not allow these grotesque experiments and foolish ideas cause you lose track of what is important or to abandon your values."
	Dr. Chekhov does not move, and instead sets his pipe down on the table beside the recliner. He speaks after a moment's contemplation. "I pay you to clean up my messes, not give me lectures on how to maintain a healthy state of mind or the morality of my work," he proclaims with a rather calm demeanor. "And please, call me Dr. Chekhov."
	Yegor's face contorts. He swallows the saliva collecting in his mouth, and abruptly heads for the exit. Then once again, he comes to a halt. He does not turn around. "Would you like me to send in another narwhal and another horse for you," he pauses momentarily and continues sarcastically, "Dr. Chekhov?"
	Dr. Chekhov conjures a wry smile and folds his hands together beneath his chin. "Yes, please, Yegor." He soon hears the door slam shut behind him and ascends from his seat. He enters the cage, grabs a stick of chalk off the rack, and kneels in the center. He shuts his eyes for a moment and squeezes the chalk between his fingers tightly. "This time, I shall not fail." Then, after opening his eyes, he begins drawing a transmutation circle to undertake another attempt at successfully manufacturing a unicorn.