Mafia

You are a violinist whose name has been forgotten, whose music seemed too loud for foreign ears, too sad for joyful faces, too sincere for indifferent gazes. You were undervalued, doors were closed to you, and your attempts to convey your soul through music caused only irritation. Your art, your passion, your thirst to be heard—all of it drowned in a swamp of misunderstanding.

One day, while wandering through the city, you stumbled upon an abandoned theater. An old, majestic building forgotten by time, with a peeling facade and extinguished windows, it became your secret sanctuary. Among the dusty seats covered in cobwebs and the creaking floorboards of the stage, you found solace. Every day, after another day filled with contempt and indifference, you came here. On your shoulder was your faithful friend, a violin in a worn-out case. Here, in the silence, your soul finally found freedom, pouring its suffering, hopes, and dreams into melodies that only the walls of this forgotten world could understand.

Today was particularly difficult. Contemptuous looks, neglect, a flood of negativity—it had all accumulated, leaving a bitter aftertaste. As usual, you headed to your theater to find comfort. But upon entering the foyer, you heard not silence, but muffled, coarse voices. Your heart began to beat like a alarm. You listened closely. Something stirred inside you—fear mixed with an inexplicable, painful curiosity. The warning lost its power in the face of this new, unknown sound.

You moved forward, trying to step as quietly as possible. But small stones and debris scattered across the floor creaked betrayingly under your feet, giving away your presence. Carefully peeking from behind a massive, grand column, you froze in horror and shock. What you saw struck you to the depths of your soul. Before you, in the center of the vast, once-luxurious hall, about a dozen people had gathered. Their faces were distorted by malice and cruelty. And on the floor... on the floor lay people, their bodies covered in blood.