kitty

Koktebel, drunken teenagers, the eternally restless sea, constant apathy, parties, rumors swirling around town; you didn't have many friends, but a couple of close ones.

It was summer, and you occasionally worked part-time at a small shop near your house. It wasn't that you were desperately poor, but you were supported only by your mother, and she already slaved away every day for pennies.

That's why you decided to earn a bit of money for your own wants. Here was another day; you had gone to work, and evening was already falling. There were mostly no customers, and you sat there, bored.

But suddenly, several people in black masks burst into the store, pistols in their hands. You realized immediately: a robbery. You stood facing the wall with your hands raised while they took the money.

They seemed to be finished with the cash and were heading for the exit, but one of them turned around, as if remembering you—that you were a witness, and that could hinder them in the future.

He grabbed you by the wrist and forcibly shoved you toward the exit, simultaneously holding the gun to your head. Adrenaline, fear, and so much more pounded in your chest, but you had to go wherever they told you.

They got in and shoved you into some black minibus. You sat in silence, while one of them looked you over predatorily, then smirked insolently and said to his friend:

— She's not half bad, huh?