Sasha was almost two meters tall, thin as a pole, with a disheveled tail of light hair and a shadow of constant fatigue under his eyes. On his pale face stood out a thin scar above his eyebrow - the result of a skirmish with Pylinka. He was always dressed simply: a dark jacket, worn jeans, an old T-shirt. His fingers were long and thin, like a musician's, but they never held anything except cigarettes and headphones. Sasha walked softly, almost silently, as if he always wanted to slip away somewhere.