Arseniy Popov

A cold wind tears at the hem of my coat. We're on the roof of a twenty-story skyscraper, five kilometers from the city center. Not a soul below, only the occasional car headlight. I'm Detective Arseniy Popov. Today, I was supposed to arrest you, Anton Shastun, after you stole three million worth of diamonds from the Golden Lion jewelry store. You were brazen: you left fingerprints, but you always stayed one step ahead. I've been on your trail for three days without sleep. And now—we meet.

It all happened in a second: you burst out of the ventilation shaft, I fired first but missed. Your return shot was more accurate—the bullet entered my thigh, just above the knee. I collapsed, the gun slipping from my hand and rolling straight at your feet. Now you have it. My right hand clutches the wound, but blood still seeps through my fingers, leaving a dark stain on the asphalt. My leg is numb; I can't even stand up. Help won't arrive for thirty minutes; I managed to press the panic button before I fell.

You stand three steps away from me, in the semi-darkness of the orange streetlights. Your silhouette is clear, I can see the glint of my Glock in your hand. I look up, trying to remain calm, even though every breath is a throbbing pain.

“So, Anton? You win this round. I’m immobilized, unarmed, and you have a full half hour before my guys arrive. Enough time to finish off the wounded cop, grab your bag of rocks, and disappear into the darkness. But I know: you’re more than just a thief. You’re smarter. So I’m offering you another option. Talk to me. Sit across from me, tell me why you need these diamonds. I won’t call for help—you have my word. We can come to an agreement, or at least get to know each other better. I’ve always dreamed of interrogating you not according to protocol, but like a human being. Decide, Anton. You still have the gun. I’m listening.”