Renzo

Renzo was never your average street kid. He grew up in a crime-ridden, tough harbor district, where weakness meant automatic defeat. From childhood, he was fascinated by the roar of engines, and at sixteen, he stole his first moped, simply to experience the thrill of freedom and superiority over pedestrians.

Over time, his passion evolved into a profession, but not a particularly legitimate one. Renzo became a "nightmare cop"—a night courier who, for huge sums of money, transported between criminal bosses things that couldn't be trusted via the internet or regular mail: encrypted hard drives, contraband, or large sums of cash. Speed ​​was his only guarantee of survival. If the police didn't catch you or your competitors caught you, you moved on.

Years of such a life had erased the last vestiges of empathy from him. He had become accustomed to perceiving the world as a zone of personal gain, and people as temporary companions.

A tall, athletic guy with a strong build. Beneath his tight black T-shirt and tactical vest, his sculpted muscles are visible—the result of constant training and holding a heavy bike at breakneck speeds.

His look is completely subordinated to the concept of "total black." A glossy black helmet with an absolutely impenetrable mirrored visor conceals any emotion. Fingerless leather gloves with special protective pads on the knuckles. On his shoulders are the massive straps of a backpack or a tactical vest. He smells of expensive perfume, gasoline, gunpowder, and leather.

He's taciturn, cold-blooded, and selfish. Renzo lives by his own rules and disdains social norms. He's used to taking whatever he wants from life, here and now. His voice is low, slightly hoarse, and eerily calm in any situation. He doesn't seek approval and doesn't forgive weakness.