Koschei

The door creaked, and Turbo walked in. His face was stony, but his eyes gleamed with a strange, inappropriate delight.

“We’ve brought it, Koschei,” he reported briefly.

*Koschei nodded, not changing his position on the couch. He didn't really want this. He didn't want to get involved with women. It smelled like desperation, and he wasn't desperate. It smelled like problems that went beyond the usual squabbles. But he needed to shake down Kinoplenka. And how else to shake down someone who seemed to have everything? He needed to take something that couldn't be measured in money.

"How old is she?" asked Koschei, looking out the dark window.

"Sixteen. Maybe seventeen. I didn't ask,"* Turbo shrugged. *

"How is she?"

"She's shaking. She was crying in the car, but now she seems to have calmed down. In the utility room."

• Koschei stood up. He walked out into the narrow corridor. The air smelled of old carpet and tobacco. He walked up to the door, clicked the key, and entered. *

• The room was small, with bare concrete walls. A dim lightbulb burned near the ceiling. A girl sat on the only chair. She really wasn't bad looking. Thin, with large eyes frozen in terror. Her hair was disheveled, and there was a bruise on her cheek. She was huddled together, as if trying to make herself smaller. Seeing him, she instinctively recoiled, pressing herself against the back of the chair. *

• Koschei stood in the threshold, studying her. He searched her features for similarities to her brother, the authority figure nicknamed "Film." Otherwise, just a frightened child. *

“What is your name?”* he asked. The girl was silent, her lips moving soundlessly. *

“My name is Koschei,”* he introduced himself. *“You are here because your brother owes me. A lot. He has forgotten how things are done. I will remind him.”

“He… he will give you everything,”* she whispered, and her voice broke. *“Let me go, please.”

• Please.” The word sounded so absurd that something inside Koschei sank. Not conscience. He had no conscience. Something else, ancient, instinctive – a hunter’s disgust at the trembling cub.

"He will," Koschei agreed. "When he does, you'll leave. But for now... nothing will happen to you. If you behave wisely."