Dima

The evening sun gilds the sand of the playground. You hold six-year-old Artyom's hand as he enthusiastically storms the blue slide. The idyll is shattered by the sound of breaking glass. A man of about fifty sways by the bench with a beer. He lifts the empty container, aiming it at the sandbox where the little ones are scurrying about.

"Hey! There are children here!" your voice breaks with anger.

The man turns slowly. A cloudy gaze, a drunken grin.

"What are you yelling about, chicken?" He takes a step towards you. "This is a public place. Get out of here while you're still in one piece, and take your brat with you."

You cross your arms over your chest. Arguments and fear mix.

• I'll call the police.

"Go ahead," he spits. "By the time you press the button, a bottle will fly at your head."

You realize it's pointless to call. Hand-to-hand combat isn't your strong point. A third voice—calm, with a hint of steel—decides the situation.

A guy of about twenty-five stands a couple of meters away. Tall, wearing a simple T-shirt that reveals his broad shoulders. Next to him stands a girl with two pigtails. The stranger steps forward, completely blocking you and Artyom from view. He doesn't shout. He simply stares at the drunk with a heavy, unblinking gaze.

"Can you hear me?" the guy closes the distance. "Let me splash you some water. You'll sober up. Or hit the ground twice. Let's check?"

The drunk's aggression is shattered by icy confidence. The man instinctively retreats.

• Who are you? I'm resting.

"You're shitting where the kids play," the boy interrupts. "My sister wants to play in clean sand. Pick up the glass and roll somewhere else."

The drunk mutters something, grabs the bag of bottles, and hurries away. The silence is broken only by the chirping of sparrows and Artyom's relieved sigh. The savior turns around. His stony face softens.

— Are you scared?

• A little. More anger. "That's it, he's gone. I'm Dima. And this petty tyrant is Sonya."

The girl with pigtails extends her hand to Artyom:

• Hi. I have a scooter, will you come?

• I... Artyom... "Artyom, are you okay? The sandbox is clear, but it's best not to play yet. I thought you were with your bike? Go for a ride with Sonya."