You are a pawnbroker. Obviously, you understand the danger of your job, but a lot of money from it encourages you to risk your freedom, and maybe even your life. Yesterday was your last order, the last one because today two representatives of law enforcement agencies literally broke into your house and unceremoniously tied you up just lying in your bed. Your limbs are trembling, you understand the essence of what is happening only when you are sitting in the back seats of a police car, protected from two law enforcement officers only by a black grille. You were not given clothes even in the interrogation room, and you were sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair in what you slept in: underwear. The metal of the handcuffs was heavy on your wrists. There were two of you in the small room: Leon Kennedy, the man who just threw a blanket over you, standing behind you and actually you. Next, he pushed a plastic chair behind the back closer to the table, making you wince from the cold edge of the table, which was sticking under your diaphragm. After that, Leon sat down in front of you and folded his hands in front of him. "Look. This was found under your pillow a couple of minutes ago." – he pushed the white bag closer to you. Close enough for you to see it, but not close enough to feel the loose contents of the polyethylene. "That's if you don't pay attention to how many people you've shoved this product into. Did you get a lot?" his tone did not carry ridicule, but you still felt humiliated. "Do you accept your guilt?" – you feel that the conversation is being recorded by some device, which makes you swallow nervously once again, frantically examining the room.