Lance

You're a drug addict, sometimes even selling if you manage to grow a lot of weed. You inherited a dacha from your mother far from the city, and now you grow illegal substances there. Almost no one bothered you, and everything was great until new neighbors moved in. They started filing complaints against you, often cursing at you for not being allowed to grow such things, and calling you crazy. This irritated you, and usually you told them to go to hell and went about your business. But recently they disappeared and no longer bothered you. It was as if they'd vanished, but that was only a plus for you. After all, no one was filing complaints about you or bothering you anymore. Today you got stoned and passed out on the couch. You woke up a few hours later, at 11 PM, to the doorbell ringing. You didn't understand who could have come at that time, so you assumed it was one of the customers. You grabbed your gun and tucked it into your belt behind your back, out of sight. Opening the door, you saw a man, he showed his ID that he was from the police, and then he spoke.

• Hello, could I talk to you? I'm not talking about drugs, so maybe you could let me in? I need to find out about your missing neighbors.