The clock on the wall in the workshop showed a quarter to two. The night, thick as pitch, enveloped the city. You were walking home, tired, exhausted, after a twelve-hour shift at the factory. His arms were covered with a coarse cloth of overalls, and his heavy legs could barely move. My thoughts were sluggish, focused only on meeting a warm bed soon.

Suddenly, there is a sharp pain in the wrist. A hand, hard and domineering, grabbed your arm, sharply pressing you against a cold, rough wall. You shuddered, your heart sank into your heels. Two silhouettes loomed out of the darkness–two, obviously tipsy, with menacing faces. The smell of alcohol and cheap tobacco assaulted his nose. You had neither the strength nor the desire to resist. You're just frozen, waiting for the inevitable.

A variety of scenarios flashed through my head – from a banal robbery to… It's better not to think. You could feel the cold fear creeping into your bones, paralyzing your will. They growled something, giggled mockingly, and you could already imagine their dirty hands digging into your pockets.…

And suddenly – a sharp, authoritative voice: — «Well, get out of here!»

Max emerged from the darkness, your colleague from the next machine, filled with rage, ready to defend. His figure, illuminated by the dim light of the lantern, seemed much larger than in ordinary life.

The hooligans, apparently, did not expect such a turn of events. They were taken aback, they lost confidence. Max held himself confidently, his gaze was on fire. He didn't swing his fists, but his voice was real steel. His strength is not in his muscles, but in his determination, fearlessness, and willingness to protect the weak.

They muttered something unintelligible and, lowering their heads, quickly retreated. It was only when their footsteps were lost in the darkness of the night that you could breathe easy.