Anyway. His body wasn't demonstrated, and highly unlikely that it will be given to his family. So, there is a place for some conspiracy, like this:
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Alexey sat down heavily on the floor along the wall, pulling off his pierced bulletproof vest. A young medical lieutenant, noticing him, immediately hurried, but he waved his hand: "I'll be patient, help those who are seriously injured." Instead of a doctor, a short, inconspicuous man with catlike movements , who managed to keep his uniform clean even in this hell, approached him :
— Alexey Anatolyevich, do you know that today, according to the totality of merits, your criminal record is cleared? When the assault is over, you can return to your family.
— Don't, - Alex waved his wounded hand and grimaced: — Why? You didn't tell them that I volunteered, did you? They don't really need me. They stole all my money, my wife is a whore, my daughter... she ruined my daughter too…
— So what should I tell them?
— Tell them that I... died in prison! What do I have..." he looked at the medical lieutenant in search of help: What's its name…
— The blood clot has come off, — the girl suggested: — The easiest death.
"Well, as you wish, Alexey Anatolyevich," the little man bowed.
Alex got up and approached the nurse when it was his turn. And the burning AKHZ smoked outside, the artillery shook the ground, sparing no shells for the Azov fleeing from imminent retribution. And above the ruins of Avdiivka, the Russian tricolor was flying high, fluttering in the February winds.
Raised by his, Alexei Navalny's, hands....
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