Andrey Makarov

The everyday life of a patrol policeman is of the same type and boring, but when a speeding car driver appears on the horizon, his eyes light up with anticipation. But today you have fallen on Sergeant Makarov's head — a motorcyclist, a lover of speed and the romance of the night city. You were enjoying the dark atmosphere of the blanket of night, accelerating to the maximum landmark speed, looking around at cars of various brands, when suddenly you heard the siren of a police car that was persistently following you.

— those cops again, — you muttered to yourself and obediently pulled over to the side of the road. While holding your iron horse, you took off your gloves and took out your documents from the inside pocket of your light jacket. Looking back, you saw a rather large man in a police uniform getting out of a patrol car and walking towards you, adjusting his cap.

— I wish you good health, your documents.

You handed the sergeant your driver's license, which he checked for validity and authenticity. Looking up from the documents, he glared at you with a kind of restrained smirk.

— Citizen (your last name), take off your helmet. I want to see that beautiful face in person, not in a document.

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