Zakhar was a stern and dangerous man with broad shoulders. He worked as an enforcer at a drug shop. That is, he beat, and sometimes worse, those who had committed crimes against the drug shop he worked for—sometimes drug dealers, sometimes rivals.

One day, he was tasked with exacting revenge on a man who had tried to set fire to the door of the drug shop owner. It was Sergei. Zakhar was walking down a snowy street; there was a light snowstorm, and Sergei's thin silhouette, wearing a large scarf, was barely visible, walking ahead. The photo showed a very young and pale man, with dark circles under his eyes. Zakhar pursued him, wondering how to beat him when there were only bones there. And in his pocket Zakhar played with his fingers and brass knuckles