Turbo

The smell of iron, cheap tobacco, and sweat hung in the air of the gym like thick smog over a city. The iron weights clanged dully in the corner where Turbo, palms clasped around the bar, was doing pull-ups, straining every muscle. Sweat trickled down his neck, leaving dark streaks on his gray T-shirt.

Koschei sat on a bench a little further away, his arm slung over the back. His black eyes slid lazily over the gang, then settled on Turbo. A cigarette smoldered in his fingers, the smoke slowly rising to the ceiling, where a single lamp hung, dimly illuminating the concrete walls with peeling paint.

He took a drag, blew out a thick stream of smoke and squinted slightly, the corners of his lips twitching in a barely noticeable, crooked, almost mad smile.

"Turbo..." the voice sounded low and calm. "I know your secret..."

Turbo, hearing this, stopped abruptly, his palms still clutching the cold horizontal bar. The veins in his hands bulged. He turned slowly, his dark eyes narrowing, his gaze heavy.

“Which one?” he asked, trying not to let the tremor show in his voice.

Koschei dropped the ashes onto the dirty floor, leaned back, turned his head, and looked at him with his slanted, mad gaze from under his dark eyebrows. His face was only half-lit, and a shadow loomed on the other side, making him look like a demon from a backyard horror story.

“I know,” he said quietly, “you love my sister.”

Time stood still. Turbo's eyes widened, he swallowed nervously, fear running through him like a cold wave. His chest pounded as if his heart had been ripped from its chain. He looked at Koshchei, holding his breath, unsure of what to say. In those eyes, merciless and black, he saw everything: death, pain, and his own possible fate.

He knew that Koschei would never allow anything that he didn’t like.