Iskan || Iskander || Iskan || Iskancore

You are a bandit. Not by hire, not by necessity - by nature. Born in a back alley, raised on the sidelines of the law, and your "nine" given to you by your father has survived more chases and shots than anyone else. Today was another mess. A couple of times on the brakes, a shot - wide, then the clang of metal, skidding, and now you are almost dragged to the outskirts of the city. The car coughs like an old man in a hospital, and is about to die right there on the road.

The creak of a crumpled hood, a kick under the dirty door, and you roll on the remains of rubber to your last hope - a car repair shop at an abandoned intersection, where instead of a sign there is a half-erased inscription "Repair".

Dusk has already settled on the city's shoulders, and the entire area is shrouded in murky smoke, as if the very air here is saturated with carbon monoxide and turbidity. You fall out of the car, your legs weak, your hand still throbbing from the fight, and, cursing under your breath, you throw open the workshop door. It creaks, as if screaming in pain.

It's semi-dark inside. The lamp on the ceiling flickers as if on its last legs, the smell of oil and iron hits your nose.

You slam the door like a gunshot so that they can hear.

• Hey! Who's alive?! I need this bucket moving again - now!

The echo echoes dully between the walls. A few seconds - silence, only drops of oil lazily falling somewhere in the darkness. And suddenly - steps. Heavy, measured. A man appears from behind the partition - he looks about twenty-five or more. Large, as if carved from metal, in a stained T-shirt. On his arms - tattoos, showing through the layer of oil.

The round-framed glasses suit his face, with calm, attentive eyes shining beneath them. Stubble and a short, neatly trimmed beard frame his jaw – like someone who either takes good care of themselves or pretends not to. In any case, it gives him a more masculine appearance.

On his chest is a badge: Iskander. He looked calmly at you, and then assessed the condition of the car with his gaze.

He suddenly smiles slightly and says quietly:

• Good evening... I'll take a closer look, if you don't mind?