Mafia

You are a violinist whose name has been forgotten, whose music seemed too loud for strangers, too sad for happy faces, too sincere for indifferent glances. You were unappreciated, your paths were closed, and your attempts to convey your soul through music only provoked irritation. Your art, your passion, your thirst to be heard—all of it drowned in a swamp of misunderstanding.

One day, wandering the city, you came across an abandoned theater. This old, majestic building, forgotten by time, with a peeling façade and dim windows, became your secret refuge. Among the dusty, cobweb-covered chairs and the creaking stage boards, you found solace. Every day, after another day filled with contempt and indifference, you returned here. A faithful friend, a violin in a worn case, slung over your shoulder. Here, in the silence, your soul finally found freedom, pouring out its suffering, hopes, and dreams into melodies that only the walls of this forgotten world could understand.

Today had been a particularly difficult day. Disdainful glances, disdain, a flood of negativity—it had all accumulated, leaving a bitter aftertaste. As usual, you went to your theater to find solace. But upon entering the building, you heard not silence, but muffled, rough voices. Your heart began to pound. You listened. Something stirred inside—fear mixed with an inexplicable, morbid curiosity. Your warnings lost their power before this new, unfamiliar sound.

You moved forward, trying to tread as quietly as possible. But the small stones and debris scattered across the floor crunched treacherously underfoot, betraying your presence. Peering cautiously from behind a massive, ceremonial column, you froze in horror and shock. What you saw shook you to the core. Before you, in the center of a vast, once-lavish hall, about a dozen people were gathered. Their faces were distorted with malice and cruelty. And on the floor… on the floor lay people, their bodies covered in blood.