The sun sank below the horizon, leaving the city in the hands of robbers and lovers. The young man shuffled along the deserted street, while sipping from an earthenware mug. He belched and turned into an alley to take a leak.

"Why? Why didn't you take the train?" he thought, leaning against the dirty wall of the alley. "I don't want to live anymore."

Hiding his unwashed loins, he drained the mug and tossed it into the darkness of the alley.

- Are you tired of living? - a voice came from the darkness.

- We've got our first victim here, - the second voice chuckled.

"What?" the man thought, peering into the darkness. "Am I lucky again?"

Three dangerous-looking men came out of the darkness. One had a long scar across his face, and it looked as if he had lost his left eye long ago. The second man was grinning with a pair of gold teeth and a dozen rotten ones. The third, stocky and squinty, held something glittering in his hands.

- Is that your knife? - the young man asked, burping again. - Cut me down, little brother, do me a favor.

- We can do it easily, - said the toothless. - Don't run away.

- I didn't even think about it, - the young man shrugged.

The three looked at each other in surprise. The situation was not typical, and they were confused. When he threw the mug, it hit the stocky man's back, and the three thieves just decided to punish the scoundrel. But here was an ordinary-looking guy, pretty older than twenty, drunk and clearly out of his mind.

- Is something wrong with you? - scar asked.

"Holy shit," the young man sighed.

- Listen, guys, - he said, and staggered. - You wanted to stab me and rob me, now is the time. I'm really not going to walk away or fight back. There's some money in my pocket, give a sec, here…

He leaned one hand against the dirty wall, and using another hand began to fumble in his pants pocket. He groped the coins, scooped them up and tossed them in front of three men. They stood several paces apart, and he didn't know why the three of them had stopped.

- He's making fun of me, - the short man said. - Bitch, we're not going to pick up your money from the ground.

- Oh, you do, - the guy grinned, seeing his chance. - Stupid, hungry, muddy mongrels.

The young man sniffed the thick snot and spat on the ground in front of him.

- Wash up after me, dogs.

"What a stupid, cheap provocation," he said to himself, but he couldn't help it. He really wanted to die, and these bandits decided to play empathy and listen to the brother-loser.

- You're dead, freak! - the stocky man shouted and ran forward.

- Kill this shit! - the toothless said, pulling out his brass knuckles.

Scar didn't waste his time for talking and decided to see what would happen. The smile never left his face.

"Finally," the young man sighed, looking up from the sticky wall. He spread his arms and waited for the short man's knife to pierce his stomach. Two seconds passed quickly, and the blade slashed upward through the air.

The sound of metal rang through the alley.

- Eh? - said the short man, holding the empty hilt in his hands. The blade of the knife splitted into several pieces and lay on the ground.

"What, again?!" the young man rolled his eyes.

- He's got armor! - the toothless exclaimed, and ran forward to smash the drunk's skull. - Get away, shorty!

The short man dodged, letting the accomplice pass, and his toothless comrade shot the young man's head with his brass knuckles. The young man still stood with his arms outstretched, looking hopefully at the brass knuckles flying at him. When the brass knuckles flew past his eyes and landed on his left temple, there was a painful scream.

- Ahh, you bitch!

The toothless fell to his knees, his broken fingers aching wildly. The young man was unharmed.

- I'm sorry, men, - he said in a sad voice and belched again. - Got a gun? Kinda sword, maybe?

- You're dead, you bitch! Aah! - the toothless shouted, bending over in pain.

The short man stared at scar in confusion. The man had stopped smiling and was now looking at the victim with undisguised interest. Many years ago, he had fought in the Royal army, and had met many men who could withstand the blow of a sword or warhammer. But here, in a peaceful city, to meet such a monster?

- I suppose you've got no armor. Right? - he asked without a smile.

- Simple shirt, - the guy shrugged, baring the stomach. - It's been happening to me recently, and I don't know what to do about it, but I'd be damned grateful if they cut me down here.

- What, life's not funny?

- My life was wrecked on a plane, - the guy said, and looked at the toothless. He was still writhing in pain.

- I don't know what plane is, or what kind of game you're carrying, boy, but I'll do what you ask, - scar said, and pulled an oblong object from his bosom.

"A musket?" the young man thought. "Hope, a bullet would take me down."

Scar filled the musket with gunpowder from a box in his pocket and placed a small metal ball in the barrel. He held the musket out in front of him, aiming it at the young man's eye, and lit the fuse.

- Tooth, shorty, move aside. Good luck in heaven, kid.

- Thank you, - the young man nodded, and a shot rang out.

White smoke enveloped the alley, and crows flapped on a roof, startled by a loud shot. When the smoke cleared, the young man was still standing with his arms outstretched. A bruise was rapidly darkening around his eye.

"Fuck it," he croaked. "I guess I can't die."