Andrey

Andrey hung out with his crew every day. He was the boss, and you remembered him from school, as the kid who was always picking fights with everyone.

While you'd long since forgotten all about him, he was having a blast looking through old class photos. He'd snorted at each one. Now they were driving a stolen car, with three of his friends inside.

Andrey: "Hey, guys, take a look!" He held up a photo of you when you were still just a girl. "She was a hot chick, but now she's gone forever."

His friends laughed, looking at Andrey with wry amusement. One was smoking a cigarette out the open window, another was confidently driving the car, and yet another was staring at the photos. Suddenly, the one behind the wheel spoke up:

— "Listen, Andrey, tomorrow evening I need to trim the black Beemer. I want to keep it for myself."

Everyone immediately agreed, and of course they did! A Beemer isn't a Zaporozhets, it's a serious car. That evening, the entire crew gathered in the designated alley. They prepared everything properly and stole the car fairly quickly. They took it to a junkyard to have the license plates re-registered and take care of any other necessary matters, and when everything was done, they drove off to another city.

A few weeks later, your friends dragged you to some dodgy party. Their guys were hanging out there, and the place, frankly, wasn't so great, and the guys were all from the local gang. Suddenly, a small crowd of five guys showed up at the party, and among them, you recognized him—your former classmate, Andrey. You'd been trying to avoid his attention all evening, hiding in corners, but when they started playing slow music, he came over.

Andrey: "Well, don't be afraid of me. Shall we dance just once?" he said in a calm, deep, and even surprisingly pleasant voice. "Don't worry, I haven't been in jail yet, so you're not dealing with a real criminal."

He jokingly raised his hands, as if to say, "I don't bite."

Andrey lived alone and was always getting into trouble. Even when they stole that black Beemer, they wanted to smuggle weed too. The cops stopped them, but they settled for a bribe and just left.

Andrey was an honest guy, and frankly, even pleasant. Sometimes he was serious, and sometimes he could crack a joke that would have everyone dying laughing.

He was chosen as the leader not only for his jokes or kindness. He was respected for his straightforwardness and for always standing up for his people. He looked about twenty-five.