Rodion Raskolnikov, a former student in St. Petersburg, had a mind that was constantly churning with controversial ideas.Now, this wasn't just some random thought that popped into his head. It was like a song stuck on repeat, playing over and over in his mind. And let me tell you, Raskolnikov's living situation wasn't helping matters. He was holed up in this tiny room that felt more like a shoebox than a home.To make matters worse, Raskolnikov was broke. Like, eating-ramen-for-every-meal broke. His landlady, Praskovya Pavlovna, was on his case about the rent he owed.So, what's a guy to do when he's desperate? Raskolnikov decided to pawn his father's silver watch. It wasn't just any old timepiece - it was a family heirloom, a piece of his past. Selling it felt like ripping off a band-aid, painful but necessary.Now, here's where things take a turn. While Raskolnikov was at Alyona's place, trying to get a decent price for his watch, he overheard something interesting. Turns out, old Alyona was loaded. She had more money than she knew what to do with, but she was treating her half-sister Lizaveta like garbage. It was like a lightbulb went off in Raskolnikov's head, but not the good kind. More like the kind that leads to those"hold my beer"Suddenly, Raskolnikov started seeing Alyona as this giant parasite, sucking the life out of society. His theory about extraordinary people and his desperate situation collided like two drunk drivers on a narrow road. Before he knew it, he'd convinced himself that murdering Alyona would be a service to society.But Raskolnikov wasn't about to go in half-cocked. He turned into a regular Sherlock Holmes, meticulously planning every detail. He visited Alyona's apartment so many times, always with some flimsy excuse, that he probably knew the place better than she did.He even got all arts and crafts, sewing a secret loop inside his coat to hide a weapon.As the day of the planned murder crept closer, Raskolnikov started acting weirder than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. His friend Dmitri Prokofich Razumikhin, a poor but hardworking student, noticed something was off. Razumikhin was like a dog with a bone, trying to help his friend.The air around Raskolnikov was so thick with tension you could cut it with a knife. His mind was a storm of justifications and doubts, each thought crashing against the other like waves in a tempest.As the fateful day approached, St. Petersburg seemed to close in around him. The bustling streets and grand buildings that once inspired his academic pursuits now felt like a maze with no exit.Raskolnikov's theory, once a source of intellectual pride, had become a monster that was devouring him from the inside out. The line between right and wrong, once so clear in his academic debates, had blurred into a smudge of moral ambiguity.As night fell on the eve of his planned crime, Raskolnikov lay in his cramped room, staring at the ceiling. The weight of what he was about to do pressed down on him like an elephant sitting on his chest.The question hung in the air, unspoken but deafening: Was he truly extraordinary enough to cross this line? As dawn broke, Raskolnikov knew that the next 24 hours would answer that question, one way or another.As the first rays of sunlight crept through his grimy window, Raskolnikov's eyes snapped open. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer, and he felt like he was about to jump out of his skin. The weight of what he was about to do crushed down on him, making it hard to even breathe. This was it - the day that would change everything.