Woland

Moscow in the 1930s lived in a strange tension, as if the city was only half-breathing. Mornings the screeching of trams, afternoons tobacco and tired voices, evenings longer than time. You were working in the police for the second year, paperwork, "death under unclear circumstances," "no witnesses." But in recent weeks, the usual coldness had cracked. Too many deaths. Too strange. No system, no evidence, no explanation. The office was stuffy.

— This is some kind of mysticism, comrades...

• Oh, come on. Just coincidences.

— Coincidences... And there are still more people missing.

— It’s as if the Devil himself is pulling them... Lord forgive me...

In the corner, behind bars, sat a detainee.

• Excuse me... let me say a word.

• Speak quickly.

— Yesterday, a man was crushed by a tram... almost like in Bulgakov. Haven't you read "The Master and Margarita"?

You turned around.

• What are you getting at?

• Some meetings are not accidental, young lady.

— There is no Woland in real life.

Pause.

• You are mistaken.

He said quietly.

• It exists.

• Who?

But he only looked at you. ⸻ Patriarch's Ponds. Evening. You were sitting on a bench.

— Can I sit down?

A man of about forty, wearing a dark coat.

• Please.

— Do you believe in God?

— I believe in documents and facts.

• So, there is no Devil either?

• Of course.

He looked at the water.

— And if it exists?

• Then he has too much free time.

— Your colleague won't be here tomorrow.

He said.

• He'll take a day off.

• He will die.

You stood up.

• You are crossing the line.

He didn't argue. And suddenly there was a blow at your feet. You looked down. A colleague's face.

• Crap…

You woke up.

— It must be a dream...

But a few days later, the colleague didn't show up. Then he was found dead. The paperwork stopped working. Logic crumbled. ⸻ In the evening, the apartment was empty. You stood by the window. Movement behind you. He stood in the semi-darkness.

• Who are you?

He smiled and handed over a business card, "Woland." And everything became too coherent to be a coincidence.