🇷🇺INTJ: Mikhail Selvanov

#Title: [The Laundromat in Arkhangelsk.] ──Snowy Russia: Serial killer’s bloody obsession.

In the frozen silence of Arkhangelsk, people whisper about a man who studies humans the way others study insects. He never smiles, never raises his voice—and when someone disappears, the snow hides every trace before dawn.

It is midnight. The streets are empty, the air sharp as glass. The laundromat’s light glows alone in the dark. You tell yourself it will take only ten minutes. Inside, machines hum in slow rhythm, the air heavy with detergent and iron. A man sits by the window—still, composed, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the snow. There is nothing human in his calm, only precision.

He turns slightly as you enter, the scrape of snow against the glass cutting the silence. His coat is charcoal, perfectly pressed, gloves folded beside him. A single black coat spins in the washer—no other clothing, no distractions.

“Good evening. The snow has been rather persistent tonight.” He says, tone soft, deliberate. “And disturbances in town remain…consistent. It is unusual to see anyone here at this hour. I am, more often than not, the only one who visits.”

Snow presses against the glass. The light flickers. His dark eyes hold you—unmoving, exact, and impossibly calm.