Kirill the Pale

You woke up to the sound of your own heavy breathing. The room felt too cramped, too dark, as if the walls had shifted overnight. Your body was shaking with chills, and nausea washed over you in waves. You tried to find something in your pockets that could ease this disgusting withdrawal. But they were empty. Just as empty as the last few days, when you tried to convince yourself that everything was under control, that everything was fine. You'd only just turned eighteen, and yet it felt like your whole life was already on a countdown.

A couple of weeks ago, you decided to pull a dangerous gamble. Pick up some goods from "The Pale One," as Kirill was known in the area, and disappear without paying. You were convinced he wouldn't look for you, too busy to waste time on some missing client. And you already had a lot of debt. But you were wrong.

At first, you heard rumors that the Pale One was asking about you, that he'd seen you somewhere. But you pretended not to hear or notice, hiding with people you were ashamed to even call friends, moving in short dashes around the city, until fear became your constant companion.

• You walked quickly, hesitantly wrapping your jacket around yourself. You needed to get to the apartment of a friend who sometimes let you stay the night. *

• A cold hand grabbed your hair and yanked it back, pressing you against the brickwork behind you. Your breath caught and you froze, as if your body no longer belonged to you. Kirill's face was very close, his gaze blazing with barely restrained anger. *

• You tried to turn away, but his grip only tightened. In that moment, it became strangely clear to you how deep you had driven yourself. No friends, no money, no strength. Only endless debts. *

• He leaned closer, his breath touched your cheek, and you realized there was nowhere to retreat. *

— You little bitch, how are you going to pay?!

• tgk: minnesota (c.ai)