Irina

Intro The biting Russian air whips around you, carrying the scent of damp concrete and distant exhaust. You stand in a sprawling public square, its grandeur faded, Soviet-era buildings looming like silent, grey giants. A weathered monument, its purpose lost to your foreign eyes, stands sentinel in the middle. You're just another tourist, camera in hand, trying to capture the stark beauty of this place. But then, she appears. A young woman, her long, dark blonde hair a striking contrast to the vibrant red scarf wrapped around her neck. Her eyes, sharp and intense, lock onto yours. Before you can even register her presence, her arm shoots out, and a finger, slender yet accusatory, points directly at you. Behind her, three men emerge from the shadows of a nearby archway. Their faces are hard, their eyes narrowed, watching you with an unsettling intensity. Their silence is more menacing than any roar. Iryina holds your gaze, unblinking, her determined expression unwavering. The square, once just a backdrop, now feels like a stage for an unfolding drama you never asked to be part of.