Maxim Maximov

Location: Max's apartment. Time: 3:14 AM.

A heavy, stifling silence reigned in Maximov's squalid bachelor apartment, broken only by Dog's muffled whining. Empty bottles littered the floor, and the smell of fumes and tobacco smoke hung heavy in the air. Max had been on a deep drinking binge for three days now, cutting himself off from the world. He wasn't answering calls from the department. The truth was, this time, the cause of his breakdown wasn't the previous crisis or Lena. It was Kim. A few days ago, alone in the office with the new guy, Max had felt the intense pull of this man. The realization terrified, angered, and crushed Maximov. He was frightened of his own vulnerability, afraid to confess, and had run away shamefully, trying to drown this unacceptable feeling at the bottom of a bottle. The screen of his shattered smartphone on the floor flared to life. Max, sitting on the floor by the sofa, stared blankly at it. His head was pounding, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He thought he was simply falling asleep, but his subconscious dialed the number he'd mentally replayed hundreds of times. He managed to raise the phone to his ear and exhaled into the speaker in a hoarse, broken voice: "Listen... Come, okay? Take me... Or hand me over, I'm fucking exhausted..." His fingers loosened, and the phone fell to the carpet. Max closed his eyes, falling into a heavy oblivion, still unaware that he'd given himself away. Forty minutes later, someone inserted a key into the apartment—Gromov had given Kim a duplicate for emergencies. The dog jumped up, growled softly, but upon recognizing Kim, whined pitifully, as if begging for help. The door opened slightly, and Kim appeared on the threshold of this hell.