Chapter 33
Zoya
We drive deeper into the South District, and the scenery turns increasingly bleak. The buildings grow more skeletal with every block - scarred by graffiti, jagged glass in broken windows, and trash spilling across the sidewalks.
Lev pulls the SUV over near an abandoned lot.
“Don’t go more than two blocks,” he says, his eyes already scanning the street. “Stay where we can see you.”
“Got it.”
The moment we step out of the SUV, I look around. The street is lined with grey, five-story tenements. Most of the windows are either smashed or covered with plywood. Layers of jagged graffiti cover the brickwork, and piles of trash have been left to rot on the sidewalk near a rusted dumpster.
It’s worse than I imagined. Homeless people are huddled in shadowed doorways, and a young woman sits on the curb, looking hollowed out by exhaustion while she tries to soothe a crying newborn.
Larisa stops in her tracks. “Oh, my God! I never knew it was this bad. I thought I had it rough, but wow.”
Yulia shakes her head. “There are people even worse off than us.”
“Let’s keep moving,” I say, pushing past the initial shock. “We’ll probably cover more than just the housing crisis here.”
Yegor nods. “Yeah.”
Kostya’s face is dark as he looks around. “When the rich take everything, there’s nothing left for the poor. This is what our government does.”
The first building looks like an old textile factory converted into student dorms. It has five stories of stained concrete with cracks spidering up the walls. On the left side of the gate, we see a handwritten sign taped to the wall reading ROOMS FOR RENT - 3000 RUBLES/MONTH.
We walk inside, and my senses are immediately assaulted by the smell of rot. Did something die in here?
Yulia pulls her collar up over her nose. “What’s that smell? It’s awful!”
The hallway is dark. There are no lightbulbs, just the sound of water dripping somewhere inside the walls. We start walking toward the metal stairs. They are covered in rust and creak every time we take a step.
When we get to the third floor, a girl comes out of one of the rooms. She looks about nineteen and is carrying a plastic bucket. I immediately step forward to introduce myself.
“Hi. We’re students from MSU working on a project about student housing. Can we ask you some questions?”
She eyes us with suspicion. “What kind of questions?”
“Just about living conditions. Nothing personal. We’re trying to bring attention to this.”
She nods slowly, looking us over one more time. “There’s a common area down the hall on the girls' side,” she says, starting to walk. “By the way, my name is Olga.”
“I’m Zoya,” I say, introducing myself back as we follow her.
She leads us toward a door at the end of the corridor. Inside, two more girls are hunched over plastic buckets, scrubbing clothes with bars of soap and cold water. They stop what they're doing and look up at us.
“Who are you?” the one with short dark hair and hard eyes asks, looking up from her bucket.
“I’m Zoya, a student at MSU, just like you,” I say, trying to sound friendly. “I came here to ask a few questions for a project. We’re just trying to understand what it’s like living here.”
She doesn't look impressed. She crosses her arms and stares at me. “What’s the point? Your little essay won’t help us. You’ll just take our pictures so everyone can gawk at us and laugh.”
The other girl stops scrubbing her clothes and nods. “We already have it hard enough. We don’t need people taking pictures to use our poverty for a joke.”
“Sasha, don’t talk like that,” Olga says softly, stepping in between us. “They’re actually trying to help.”
Larisa steps forward, looking at the girls. “We’re not here to take pictures of you. Just the building. Maybe showing people how this looks can actually get you some help.”
Sasha just scoffs and turns back to her bucket. “Yeah, whatever. I’m not doing this.”
The third girl stays quiet for a long beat, just watching us. Then she speaks up. “You’re really not going to take pictures of us?”
“No,” I say firmly, looking her in the eye. “I promise. Just the rooms and the building.”
She nods slowly, relaxing her shoulders a bit. “Okay. I’ll talk to you.”
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Polina,” she says.
I pull out my notepad and pen. “Thank you, Polina. To start, what made you choose to live here?”
Olga finds an overturned crate and sits down on it. “There wasn’t really a choice. The university dorms have a two-year waiting list. A private apartment costs at least 15,000 rubles a month. This place is only 3,000. It’s the only thing we can afford.”
“How many people are in your room?” I ask, looking around the cramped space.
“Six of us,” Olga says. “We have three bunk beds crammed in there.”
Larisa stands next to me, quickly writing that down in her own notes.
“What about the bathroom and kitchen?” I ask, glancing toward the door.
Polina shakes her head. “There’s only one bathroom per floor. We share it among thirty people. And there's no hot water.”
“And the kitchen?” Larisa asks.
“It’s just a hot plate in the hallway,” Polina says. “We all have to take turns.”
Yulia leans in closer to them, her voice barely a whisper. “Do you feel safe here?”
Sasha lets out a dark, dry laugh. “Safe? The locks on the doors don’t work, and the windows don't even close all the way. Last month, someone broke in and stole everything we had.”
I look up from my notes, surprised. “Did you report the theft?”
Sasha looks at me like I’ve just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “To whom? The police? They don’t care about people like us. To them, we’re just trash in a different bin.”
I record every word she says. Olga keeps talking, too - describing the leaking roof, the rats that come out at night, and how the landlord just doesn't care.
“Can I take pictures of the building?” I ask, looking at Olga. “Just the rooms and the conditions. Not you guys.”
Olga nods. “Yeah, go ahead.”
I pull out my camera and start snapping photos. I focus on the peeling walls, the windows that won't close, and the buckets they use to wash their clothes. While I move around the room, Larisa keeps talking to Polina, and Yulia stays busy taking notes.
About twenty minutes later, I check my watch.
“We should probably go,” I say to the others. “I think we should do just one more building, then we head back to the car.”
We stand up to leave, and Olga looks at us. “Thank you for actually listening,” she says. “Most people don’t care.”
“Of course,” I tell her.
Sasha just snorts from her corner. “Don’t count on it actually helping anything.”
We head back down the creaky stairs and meet Yegor and Kostya outside. They had been on the boys' side doing their own interviews.
“Are you guys ready to move?” Yegor asks when he sees us.
“Yeah but, we need to do just one more building,” I say, looking back at the factory one last time. “Then we’re done for the day.”
We start walking toward the next street.
We follow Kostya deeper into the district. The streets get narrower and darker until we turn into an alley that twists and turns. The buildings feel like they’re closing in on both sides.
Larisa whispers, “Kostya, are you sure this is the right place?”
“Yeah,” he says. “My friend said his roommate lives here. He told me we should check it out.”
“This place is really sketchy,” Yulia says quietly.
I look around. There are men everywhere - leaning against walls, sitting on crates, smoking and drinking. They’re all staring at us. One of them looks right at me, grabs his crotch, and licks his lips. I look away and just keep walking.
“I don’t feel safe,” Larisa whispers. “I don’t think we should be here.”
“Why?” Kostya says, his voice loud. “Is little Miss Princess rubbing off on you? You can’t handle seeing where the poor people live?”
Yulia turns to him, snapping. “Are you still on about this morning? That was your fault. Why are you trying to make Zoya the bad person?”
“I didn’t make her anything,” Kostya sneers. “But she made me look like a villain over a maid spilling some water…”
“Can you shut the fuck up?” I snap, stopping in my tracks. “You are not who you think you are. I will slap you right now and walk away scot-free.”
He steps closer to me, his face turning mean. “You see? This bitch knows she has power. But guess what? We’re in a place where your guards won’t be able to do shit if I decide to throw hands. These men around us? They’d do a lot of nasty stuff to you. So I’d watch myself.”
I face him head-on. “Did you plan this? Did you bring us here to get me jumped?”
“I don’t have time for that,” he says. “When I want to get you, trust me, it’ll be worse than this.”
I step even closer. “You'd better not try anything stupid. I can hold my own. And you better not cross my husband. Do your research before you threaten people.”
I turn my back and keep moving. I can hear Kostya laughing behind me, but I ignore him. We walk into a wide open space and stop. The building is right in front of us. It’s five stories of solid concrete and looks completely empty.
Suddenly, I hear it. Bang. Pop. Pop.
I freeze. “What the fuck is going on?”
Larisa grabs my arm, her hands shaking. “I don’t think we should be here. It’s getting crazy.”
It’s chaos. Two men are beating someone on the ground nearby. Another guy is pissing against a wall, and one guy in the corner is jerking off while he watches us.
“Oh my god,” Yulia says, covering her mouth.
“Let’s just push ahead,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I can see the building. We’re almost there.”
Yulia pulls out her camera and starts taking pictures.
“Hey!” a man drinking from a bottle yells. “Bitch! Why are you taking pictures of us? Are you a spy? Or Police?”
Men start gathering from the shadows.
“Put the fucking camera down,” I hiss at Yulia. “This is not the time.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, quickly stuffing it away. But it’s too late. They’re already surrounding us.
“Well, well, well,” a tall man with missing teeth says. “Look at this. Fresh, rich-looking meat.”