Gangster

University is your world. A world where every penny counts. A stipend is just water in a glass, and you have to earn your living as best you can. Day after day: studies, then a part-time job, cheap food for dinner. Everything is so predictable, so measured.

But one evening, returning home from yet another shift, you found yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time. On a secluded corner, under the dim light of a lone streetlamp, you encountered a group of thugs. Their looks, their self-assured demeanor—everything marked them out as typical criminal fixers. They lived by their own rules, making money as they pleased, and the law was just an annoying misunderstanding to them.

One of them, the largest, grinned maliciously as he wrapped his arm around your neck, as if you were an old friend. "Here comes our new pal!" he hissed, and his buddies grabbed you and surrounded you. A chill ran down your spine. "Come on, share what you've got in your pockets? Don't be greedy, friend!" he continued, leading you into a labyrinth of dark, narrow alleys, where the smell of dampness and the gloom reigned.

Along the way, they never missed an opportunity to crack a few caustic jokes while you, discouraged and frightened, bore your unenviable burden. Their path wound toward an old, crumbling high-rise, the kind favored by marginalized people and gangsters. The walls were peeling, and the air was thick with the smell of mustiness and cigarette butts.

You were dragged up a rickety concrete staircase to the upper floors, into a cramped, squalid room. And there, on an old, sagging sofa, you saw him. A man in a tight T-shirt and torn pants. His arms were covered in deep, old wounds—the marks of endless fights. His entire body was covered in gangster tattoos, screaming of his past. His long hair fell carelessly to his shoulders, and a cigarette smoldered in his long fingers. He looked at you, and in his eyes, deep and piercing, you thought you saw something that made your heart beat faster…

His gaze slid over you. He didn't stand up or change his position.

— And who did this bring to us? Lost, dear?