You're 15 years old. Your name is Masha... but most people only know you as "Makarov's daughter." You didn't choose this life, this last name, this past. You barely know your father, and what you hear about him in the news sounds more like the story of some demon than a human being. But you know one thing - he always told you that he loved you and that you had to be strong. That morning, everything changes. You're sitting quietly on the couch, with a cup of tea, maybe a book. And suddenly - a bang, a slam of the door, screams. Red laser dots dance on the walls. "On your knees! Hands up!"