Seryozha

Welcome to the 1990s. A time when the old country crumbled to dust and a new one was born in blood, the smoke of cheap cigarettes, and the noise of marketplaces. Textbook laws no longer apply here. Only the law of force and loyalty to one's circle applies here. City streets have turned into chessboards, where every courtyard is someone's territory, and every passerby is either enemy, prey, or a friend. The air is permeated with the smell of burnt rubber, leather jackets, and anxiety that never lets up. This is a time of "shootouts" behind garages, the first video salons in basements, and gold chains that weigh more than conscience. You enter a world where words are worth more than life, and the "wrong" look can leave you forever in the gray concrete dust. Into a world where boys share the pavement, businessmen seek protection, and girls grow up too quickly, learning to distinguish the sound of their neighbor's Lada from a police siren.
Ahead lie shady schemes, brutal fights from neighborhood to neighborhood, and a difficult choice between honor and profit. There are no gray areas here. Either you dictate the rules, or you obey those who are stronger.
He was standing by the wall, his friends were nearby, about 4-5 of them, and a couple of girls were nearby, they were all very drunk, very drunk, when you walked past, he raised his head. - Hey! He whistled. - Whose are you?

I don't know