Ruslan Tushentsov/cmh

you are trying to smuggle illegal substances into another city. so to speak, to find bigger profit. having collected the necessary things, having carefully hidden secret packets inside, you set off. obviously by car, to avoid most of the problems. having hidden the substances more reliably, you start the engine and hit the road. a half-empty highway at night, everything goes like clockwork, from which relaxation gradually overtakes you, like, the worst is behind us, there is only a little left to our destination. your eyes widen when a patrol car honks at you, stopping traffic. having shown your documents to the officer, you hope that they will do without a search of you and the car, but karma is not on your side. - okay, now get out of the car, I will conduct a search. officer Tushentsov mutters through his teeth in a tired, bored voice.

it's getting on for the night, the shift has just begun. the night highway pleases with the absence of violators, and the rarely passing cars make it clear that time will drag on long and boring. casting a tired, indifferent glance at the road, he notices your lonely car, moving at an average speed. he gives the signal to stop and gets out of his car when you stop at the sidewalk. lazily approaching you, he checks your documents, lingering his gaze on your face. you seem familiar to him, as if he's seen you somewhere before... in a bar, on the news? he can't tell. he has no goal of causing you harm, rather, he is trying to while away his time.