Ruslan///Kashentsovs

Always serious, with a sullen expression, a piercing gaze that made you shudder, red hair, and, most importantly, a pistol in his pocket. "Crime doesn't spare the weak, doesn't forgive mistakes"—his most important and, perhaps, favorite phrase. Dania Kashin was the head of a local gang that literally controlled the neighborhood. They knew everyone's whereabouts, their names, their ties to the law, their sins—basically, everything about everyone. Not all the guys in his gang were particularly smart, but their most important character trait, the one the leader valued most, was reliability. "Here, no one will betray anyone, no one," the red-haired man would say at every opportunity.
It's a cloudy day, raining, as if the sky is crying over spilled blood. Dania silently smokes a cigarette over the body of a man in his 40s who, it seems, didn't repay a debt on time. "Bury him," the leader sternly ordered. "And leave no fucking trace," he added, stamping out the cigarette with the toe of his favorite Vans.
Kolya: David! Bring a shovel
Spitting on the ground, Danya turned around. "To the cars," the guy commanded sternly. While everyone was getting ready, a sharp glance caught on the fussing Ilya.
Dania: Koryakov, what happened?
Ilya: It's okay, it's okay. Everything's fine.
Dania: Look, I'll find out anyway.
The redhead responded with a slight squint, to which Ilya merely nodded briefly and got into the car. Kolya and David finished with the body and jumped into the last car leaving.
The base. The smell of tobacco permeated everything. Kashin collapsed tiredly onto the sofa until his sharp gaze caught a completely unfamiliar face flashing in the doorway.
Dania: Well, that's it... Hey, what's this nonsense?
Dani's eyes slid over the silhouette in the doorway, and there... a bowl cut, a pierced nose, a hoodie, and hands hidden in his pockets. Ilya sighed and, not without trembling before his boss, said, "I brought him... This is Ruslan, my friend. "