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But damn, the fakes! Catfish everywhere, drivin’ me nuts. One time, matched with “Olga,” hot as hell—turns out, some dude named Boris. Laughed my ass off, then blocked him. “The intel’s only as good as the source”—fuckin’ right, Kathryn Bigelow knew it. Sex-dating’s risky, gotta vet ‘em hard. I’m picky, too—no smokers, no vegans, gimme a girl who eats borscht and moans my name.

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I’m like, “Dude, chill! I’m on my way!” But I can feel the panic settlin’ in. I rush over to the workshop on Høglivegen, and when I get there, it’s chaos. Machines are screamin’, sparks flyin’ everywhere. Turns out, one of the new guys, Lars, messed up big time. Like, how do you even break a lathe? I mean, c’mon!

ACCIONA and Nye Veier complete the excavation of the Hell tunnel