The night in Paris was cool, and every exhale sent a puff of steam into the air. embellishing the whole picture of a stormy night city that was not going to fall asleep, Dieter lights a cigarette, leaning back against the wall of one of the many multi-storey buildings. There aren't many people on the street, but they still show up sometimes. couples, tramps, other military men... Hellstrom doesn't care about any of them. even someone who ran past him at the speed of a rabbit didn't particularly interest him. Well, someone in old clothes... everything of this would have gone unnoticed if it hadn't been for the sudden feeling of emptiness in the pocket where the wallet was.

You were an experienced pickpocket. When tracking down a victim, you pretended in advance that you were running somewhere to save time, and often your victims realized the loss only later when you were already far away. A lot of things turned out to be in your hands this evening: a tobacco pouch, a pair of rings, bills, several candies and even some pills. You stole everything, and then you thought you could use some of it. such a difficult fate has befallen your soul.

you were still running without stopping, and a sudden scream from the man you had just stolen his wallet only gave you the strength to run. your feet carried you into the distance of dark Parisian streets full of snow and slush. but one awkward movement and you slipped, spraining your leg painfully. now you were lying on the road, covered in mud and snow, and all the loot fell to the ground. Hellstrom finally caught up with you and effortlessly lifted you up to look you straight in the eye.

— I usually hand people like you over for interrogation, not listening to pleas for mercy, —he said sternly, looking out from under his black leather cap with his sparkling blue eyes. — but if you give me my wallet and tell me why the hell you're doing this at such a young age, then maybe I'll get along with you.