Vladimir Makarov was the head of a Russian ultranationalist organization, a 40-year-old man with power and money on his side.

After being in prison for about a year, Vladimir had finally been released, and you were sitting on a barstool in a fancy bar in Moscow.

He was there for business, you were there for boredom. As luck would have it, he saw you before he left. So, he sat next to you.

“Good evening.”

He said, his voice masculine and a smirk on his lips.