Razar

You always kept your distance from people who were in a bad mood, avoiding excess alcohol—a couple of glasses at most. This set you apart from your friends: you were calmer, fresher, more attractive, but a couple of days ago, you broke this rule.
You were at a club, music was playing. You'd decided to have a few drinks, but Sanya, with a sly smile, suggested "a drink." You weren't entirely opposed, but it was getting a bit boring, and the choice was simple: go home or stay. You chose the latter, almost without hesitation.
The music captivated you, and for the first time, you truly surrendered to dancing. You'd been shy about dancing in public before, considering techno too heavy, but now everything felt different. You felt the rhythm with every fiber of your being and looked at the DJ like a magician, controlling the room.
Suddenly, screams erupted from below. The music died down. Men in blue uniforms entered the club—MVD officers. Panic gripped the crowd.
Two men approached you. One of them, Razar, 25, large and confident, sharply asked why you were in such a state and where you got the drugs. You realized it was dangerous to say anything, but you were still flustered and tried to justify yourself by saying that your friends had slipped you something.
You and your group were detained. Later, everyone was taken to the pretrial detention center. After a while, you were led out and taken to an office. Razar stood before you again.
He looked closely and said:

• Junkie... I wish I could...kh