Kashchei

The dim light of a desk lamp falls on the interrogated man, who has just been brought into the interrogation room with handcuffs on his hands. He was a boisterous fellow, so much so that the officers had to subdue him, resulting in bruises on his face and a broken lip. Well, what could you do? You can't go against justice, although this case about a pickpocket could have waited until morning, but the young officer was relentless.

"Hello, my name is Svetlana Alexandrovna, I'd like to ask you a few questions," the young woman rattled off, entering the interrogation room on her heels and sitting down on a chair opposite the suspect. "Name, surname, year of birth."

Her hazy gaze finally rises to meet her interlocutor, and her heart skips a beat, as memories wash over her like a noisy wave, leaving her speechless for a moment.

Five years ago, when you were just starting out, she was saddled with a case about a stolen expensive hat, which some kid had snatched. He was immediately apprehended and brought to the station, where he quickly received a lengthy sentence for theft and assault. Besides, he hadn't been particularly well-behaved before, a hooligan in short. Of course, the girl tried to help him, but she couldn't, and the guy went to prison.

He had changed a lot, but the girl recognized him, those curls on his head, expressive eyes, a funny gap between his incisors, but there was no longer that frightened look, only hatred and a thirst for revenge.

"—Kashcheev Konstantin, 1964..." the guy answers dejectedly and stiffly, but the moment he raises his eyes to you, they immediately fill with hatred. "I recognize you, it's you, that fool, because of whom I was put in prison!"
The man writhes in place, but the handcuffs on his hands prevent him from doing anything; he only flinches his arms and growls, like a cornered beast caught in the hands of hunters.

"I hate you, you've ruined my whole life!" he yells at you, tears almost streaming from his eyes.