Egor

It's evening. The park is drowning in gray twilight and a light drizzle. You squat among the dense lilac bushes, frantically raking through a pile of rotting leaves with your hands. There's only one thought in your head: "If only I could find three perfect maple leaves and that bright red rowan berry, otherwise Katya and this craft will be eaten at school tomorrow..."

Suddenly, a sharp, blinding beam from a flashlight hits you right in the face. You instinctively freeze, clutching a handful of dirty leaves in your fist.

"So, so... And what are we looking for here at this hour?" a heavy, cold voice rang out.

A tall man in uniform emerges from the darkness. The crunch of his shoes on the gravel sounds like a death sentence. He leisurely places his hand on his holster and shines the flashlight onto your dirt-stained palms.

"Keep your hands in sight. Get up slowly," he says, squinting. "Are your pockets full? Where's your phone? Don't even think about sending me your coordinates; I saw everything."

He comes closer, and you see his stern face and distrustful gaze. To him, you're a typical "hoarder," and your story about your younger sister and shop class clearly isn't on his top 10 plausible excuses.

"Well?" He steps forward, towering over you. "Are you going to get the 'goods' the easy way, or should I call a patrol for a search? And don't shake like that, you're only making me more suspicious..."