Crazy department

Kirill Shalnoy was once the deputy head of the criminal investigation department at one of the central departments of the Ministry of Internal Affairs—a true star of the criminal investigation department with a brilliant career. He had it all: the respect of his colleagues, challenging cases, and a beautiful wife, Elizaveta (a leading lady and investigator in the same department). But his personal life took a turn for the worse: amid endless shifts and stress, their feelings cooled. At that moment, the head of the department began persistently courting Elizaveta. Unable to bear the blow to his pride and honor, Shalnoy punched his superiors in the face right there on the job. The consequences were immediate: no criminal case was opened (the suspect was too high-ranking), but Shalnoy's career was ruined. He was transferred to a remote area of ​​St. Petersburg, to a godforsaken department, where he headed an operations unit made up of those the system had no place for.

Kirill Andreevich Shalnoy, 40, major, head of the Criminal Investigation Department. He is a strong, stocky man with a strong, slightly worn face: a short haircut with shaved sides, a light stubble, and a confident, slightly ironic gaze. His signature look is deliberately casual: a flat cap, a dark bomber jacket with a fur collar, and a sweater or hoodie. This style immediately sets him apart from the more "office" officers and emphasizes his swashbuckling loner nature.

Impulsive, brazen, and completely unpredictable. His last name, given to him in an orphanage, has become more than just a name, but a behavioral blueprint: he operates on the edge of foul play, relies on intuition, and often disregards rules and orders. Yet, behind this outward "crazyness" lies a heightened sense of justice and the professional acumen of a former top criminal investigation officer. He lacks the ability to obey, and is deeply troubled by the collapse of his career and the cooling of his relationship with his wife, Elizaveta, which makes him even more withdrawn and abrupt. Shalynoy is a leader not by convention, but by charisma and the ability to take responsibility where others would balk.

Ilya Nesterov, 45, a major, senior operative, and the most senior member of the team. A thin man with short, light brown hair with noticeable graying, he has a stern, tired face with deep wrinkles. He looks like a classic, seasoned detective of the old school: reserved, wearing a dark coat or jacket—his appearance perfectly matches his image as an experienced but grumpy operative.

Experienced, grumpy, and conservative. At 45, he's a living example of the old school of detective work: methodical, cautious, skeptical of innovations, especially Shalny's escapades. Behind his outward grumpiness and perpetual discontent lies a deep devotion to the job and his colleagues: Nesterov grumbles, but never abandons the team in trouble. He acts as a kind of brake on his impulsive boss, balancing risk with common sense and years of experience.

Nikolai Ustinov, 40, major, senior operative. He has a neat, short haircut, a trim figure, strong features, and a light stubble. Outwardly, he's a model, disciplined officer, which perfectly matches his principled character.

Principled, meticulous, and disciplined. Unlike Shalny, Ustinov is a man of rules and protocol: for him, law and procedure aren't empty words, but the foundation of his work. He is strict with himself and others, and doesn't tolerate any independent thinking or emotional decisions. This integrity often conflicts with Shalny's methods, but it is Ustinov who safeguards the department from legal errors and abuses. Behind his austere exterior lies honesty and reliability: he can be relied upon when it's necessary to act strictly within the law.

Sergey Kolobaev, 35, captain. He's bald, athletic, and has a mustache and a lively, playful expression. He has a charismatic and slightly flamboyant appearance, often dressed in casual attire (hats, hoodies, jackets)—the look of someone who can be expected to be anything but predictable.

Charismatic, passionate, and unpredictable. If Shalnoy is "crazy" by nature, then Kolobaev is by nature: he's easy-going, charming, and prone to risk and unconventional moves. He lacks Nesterov's grumpiness or Ustinov's pedantry; he lives in the moment, easily connects with people (including those in the criminal underworld), and often offers solutions that no one else would have thought of. Yet, behind this easygoing exterior lies a keen mind and the ability to quickly navigate dangerous situations.

Valeria Tsvetkova, 28, a senior lieutenant, is the only woman in the department. She's young, petite, with dark hair (cut in a neat, shoulder-length bob) and an expressive face. She looks younger and softer than the others, but dresses practically—jackets, hoodies, and comfortable shoes—so she fits right in during operational work.

Determined, empathetic, and resilient. The only woman in a male-dominated team, she doesn't try to copy her male colleagues, but brings a different dimension to the department: attention to detail, an ability to read emotions, and a knack for reaching those who can't be handled with harsher methods. At the same time, she's no pushover: Tsvetkova knows how to stand her ground, isn't afraid of the dirt and dangers of operational work, and quickly proved that her place in the department is well-earned, not just given to her for show. Her character combines feminine intuition with the firmness required in criminal investigation.

Dmitry Zanevsky, 25, junior lieutenant, trainee. The youngest and most youthful in the department: slim, with dark hair and an open, simple face. His appearance emphasizes his status as a rookie, just learning the ropes from his senior colleagues.

Naive, sincere, and diligent. As the youngest and most inexperienced member of the team, he lacks the cynicism and fatigue of his older colleagues: he believes in the ideals of the service, wants to learn, and prove his worth. His openness and simplicity sometimes work against him, but it is precisely this "purity" that makes him valuable to the department: he sees what veterans have forgotten and asks questions that adults have stopped asking. Zanevsky represents the potential and future of the department, which is still developing under the influence of such diverse mentors as Shalnoy, Nesterov, and Ustinov.

This space is clearly neither stately nor new. It's located in an old building, possibly Soviet or post-Soviet, housing the district police department, where any renovations, if any, were long ago. The space is cramped, with low ceilings and windows that either overlook a drab courtyard or are covered with blinds or dusty curtains. The lighting is predominantly artificial and rather dim: fluorescent lamps cast a cold, slightly greenish glow that accentuates the tired faces and the worn interior. Even during the day, the space is dimly lit, creating a feeling of isolation and confinement.

The furnishings are purely utilitarian and varied:
The desks are old, made of wood or chipboard, with signs of wear, scratches, and mug rings. They don't form a cohesive ensemble: each desk could be from a different era or set, emphasizing the team's "composite" nature. On the desks are piles of folders, paperwork, cheap office supplies, old landline phones, and computers that look like they were scrapped from the central office five years ago.
The chairs are office chairs with peeling upholstery, creaking, and uncomfortable. There's no mention of ergonomics; this is furniture that's used until it's completely worn out.
Cabinets and safes are metal, painted a standard gray or green, with stickers and markings. The doors of some may not close tightly, and dust is visible on the shelves. Safes for evidence and documents look secure, but they also bear the marks of time.
The technology is minimal and outdated. No modern monitors, touchpads, or video conferencing systems. There's an old printer that periodically hums and jams paper, and perhaps one shared computer for filing minutes. This is a space of analog bureaucracy, where digitalization hasn't yet reached the outskirts.

The walls are painted a government-issued light green or beige, peeling in places. The obligatory paraphernalia hangs on the walls: a portrait of the president, statutory posters, a district map, a board with the duty roster and photographs of wanted individuals. But all of this appears formal, hung "for verification" rather than for actual work. Adjacent to the official materials may be homemade notes, sticky notes with informants' phone numbers, newspaper clippings, or even a child's drawing brought in by an employee.
Personal marks—each character has their own corner, reflecting their personality. Nesterov's desk might have an old mug with the inscription "To the Best Operative" and a stack of tattered reference books; Kolobaev's might have an energy drink, headphones, or some bright trinket that stands out from the institutional aesthetic; Tsvetkova's might have a neat folder, a mirror, or a potted plant (the only living element in this dead space); Zanevsky's might have notes, a criminal law textbook, and perfectly folded pens (not yet worn down by routine). Shaly's desk is either the most cluttered and chaotic, or, conversely, demonstratively empty—depending on how immersed he is in the case or how removed from the routine he is.
Smells and sounds—the smell of old wood, dust, cheap coffee, tobacco (if someone's smoking by the window), and overheated equipment. The background sounds—the hum of lamps, the clicking of keys, the ringing of old telephones, the creaking of chairs, and muffled voices from the hallway. This is a space that can be heard.