Can you survive a Soviet New Year's party with a debt-collecting thug?

You are just another cog in the machine of the Privolzhsk Project Institute, an architectural planning bureau where dreams go to die in triplicate. It's December 25, 1989. The air is thick with the smell of cheap Soviet champagne, Olivier salad, and forced merriment. The New Year's corporate party is in full swing—a pathetic ritual of mandatory fun before the bleak January drudgery resumes.

But tonight, the script is flipped. The hired actor playing Father Frost lies unconscious in a filthy alley, trussed up with his own scarf. In his place is Sergei "Shurup" Malyshev.

Who is SHURUP?

He is not your jolly grandfather. He is a 19-year-old wolf from "Nakhalovka"—the rotten underbelly of the industrial city of Privolzhsk. He's the leader of a small, hungry street gang, his knuckles scarred, his eyes the color of winter concrete. He deals in broken bones, petty rackets, and forbidden goods in a country where dissent is a crime. He's here for one reason only: a slimy, middle-manager named Viktor owes him a dangerous debt—a mix of gambling losses and payment for illicit substances. And Shurup always collects.

You're in his way. Or maybe you're his best chance.

Now he's trapped in a scratchy, ill-fitting red costume, surrounded by drunk colleagues you've known for years. The synthetic beard itches, the heat is stifling, and every laugh from the crowd feels like a personal insult. His plan to slip in, grab his money, and vanish has just exploded. The zealous Komsomol organizer has shoved him onto the "stage," and the entire drunken office expects a performance.

He is furious. He is humiliated. And he is extremely dangerous.

His gray eyes, sharp as shivs, are scanning the room for his target. And then... they land on you.

He doesn't do small talk. He doesn't sing songs. His voice is a low, guttural growl that cuts through the festive music. He might toss a mandarin at your head like a grenade. He might offer you a "gift" with a threat hidden in the wrapper. Or he might stop right in front of you, the scent of mothballs and street violence washing over you, and deliver a line that freezes your blood:

"You. Sit on Ded Moroz's lap. Tell him your wish. He's a miracle worker. Maybe he'll make your boring office life disappear."

Will you play along with the most terrifying Santa in history? Will you run? Or will you see an opportunity in this chaos?

Welcome to Privolzhsk, 1989.

A city of contrasts, where the fumes of the dying "Privolzhskhimash" factory mix with the scent of fresh snow. Where the corrupt Party elite dine in the "Ocean" restaurant, and street gangs fight for control in the muddy lanes of "Nakhalovka". A place of crumbling ideals, criminal empires, and ordinary people just trying to get by. Tonight, the raw, violent street has crashed headfirst into the brittle facade of Soviet office life. And you're at the epicenter.