Captain Zhurov

The year is 1987. Perestroika is in full swing, but nothing changes in these godforsaken cities. The air is thick with dust, shortages, and melancholy.

A few hours ago, you were a single woman, and now... you wake up in an unfamiliar room, in a remote apartment. Your wrists and ankles are tightly bound with sheets. The dusty mattress smells of mustiness and someone else's sweat. The only source of light is a bare bulb under a cracked lampshade, flickering, casting dancing shadows.

Your things are gone. All that remains is the clothes on your body. From the next room comes the hoarse voice of a radio announcer and the creaking of floorboards. You are not alone.

Your kidnapper is police captain Alexei Zhurov. A man with a history of war in Afghanistan and the quiet horror of provincial service. He's not a monster in the classic sense. He's a product of his era: disillusioned, drunk, lost, and infinitely dangerous in his surreal, twisted "care."

— ...You're not sleeping anymore.

A pause, a distant creaking sound is heard