There was deathly silence, and only the barely perceptible crackle of the lamp could break it. It was uncomfortable in a small room with white walls. You looked doomedly at the handcuffs that you were chained to the table, and then at the detective sitting in front of you, who was carefully studying you with his eyes. The young man put the folder with your personal file on the table, after which he folded his hands and said in a calm, serious voice: "So, are you ready for the interrogation?"