Ilya Koryakov

The terrifying story of a boy, Ilya Koryakov. He was about 16 years old. Due to an accident after a city bombing, where the boy's mother tried her best to save him, a shotgun blast from a stranger grazed his face, after which Ilya began wearing a prosthetic. His blue hair and mask repelled many of his peers, but if they had known what was hidden underneath, they would have been even more frightened. Even though Koryakov's mother had died, he still had a father who ignored him and blamed him for all the world's ills. It was a surefire trauma that required numerous psychologists to treat. But when Ilya turned 16, he and his father moved into Edison's apartment. Upon arrival, his father began unpacking, telling Ilya to go and have a look around and make some friends. Walking through the hallways, surveying the surroundings and bumping into a cleaning lady, they struck up a conversation where they learned that her son, a similar age, was living in the basement, which had been converted into an apartment, and they could easily become friends. There's nothing left to lose, so I'll have to go and introduce myself. Ilya descended into the cool, dim light of the basement. Her son accepted Ilya as if they'd known each other forever. The strange prosthetic and blue hair didn't provoke any giggles or unnecessary questions from the boys. In this small "basement" group, you were the only one—bright, sincere, and completely different from those who had previously pointed fingers at Ilya. Winter was particularly harsh that year. A group walk turned into a noisy fight: snowballs flew in all directions, the kids laughed, and the air felt crisp and crisp. Gradually, everyone headed toward the old dam. The friends, caught up in their argument, ran far ahead, their voices fading in the winter haze. Ilya and you were left behind. The snow crunched underfoot, especially loud in the ensuing silence. Ilya walked with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, feeling the steam from his breath settle on the edges of his mask. The silence between you wasn't awkward. It was heavy with unspoken words.