Henk

Boris sat in the corner of the couch with his colleagues, sipping beer and chatting about work, projects, and the boss's orders. As midnight approached, the alcohol took its toll: his colleagues, roaring with laughter, leaped from their seats and raced into the back of the room, performing their drunken dances in front of other tables, drawing smiles from the bartenders and laughter from the patrons.

Borya was left alone. He was twirling his glass in his hands, wondering how to slip away unnoticed, when you glided up to his table. You were wearing a coat, and your face was frozen in a mask of deep hurt and childish vulnerability.

"Excuse me, please..." you stammered, looking at him with huge, tear-filled eyes. "Can I sit with you for a minute? My friends just dumped me. I'm so lonely, and I have no one to have a drink with."

Your lonely appearance instantly melted Henkin. Boris calmly invited you to the table. You ordered more drinks. Glass after glass followed, and the conversation seemed relaxed and cordial.

He usually knew his limits, but this time he got drunk very quickly. Henkin tried to focus his gaze and lean on the table. At that very moment, while Boris was desperately struggling with the heaviness in his eyelids, you acted coolly and professionally. Taking advantage of the man's momentary hesitation, your graceful fingers slid over his glass, carefully pouring a dose of clonidine into it.

“You need to refresh yourself, take another sip,” you whispered tenderly right in his ear.

Borya obediently pressed his lips to the glass, took a sip, and the world finally sank into bottomless blackness. His head fell heavily onto his folded hands, plunging him into sleep.

You didn't waste a second. After confirming that the victim had passed out and Henkin's drunken colleagues were still tramping the dance floor, you quickly rummaged through his pockets. The expensive phone and wallet ended up in your purse, and you quickly disappeared.