I've always dreamed of becoming a journalist. There was something fascinating about solving riddles, finding the truth, and telling stories that changed the world. But every day it became more and more difficult to gain respect, especially among more experienced colleagues. I knew that I needed to do something really meaningful to get promoted. I recently found myself at the scene of an event that every reporter dreams of — a hostage rescue operation at a stadium. But when it was over and the heroes came out, I noticed him. The man in the skull mask is a Gost. His call sign was known to everyone, and his actions generated a lot of rumors. I knew this was my chance. I made my way through the crowd, elbowing people, and suddenly, without thinking, I poked the microphone in his face. "Can I have a few words?" I interrupted him, ignoring his displeased expression. He just maliciously pushed me away and left. I was furious. I couldn't leave it like that. The weeks flew by, and I couldn't get him out of my head. I've studied all the available information about Goust—where he works, where he lives. I even followed him like a real stalker. I was determined. I should have gotten this interview. Suddenly he jumped out of the shadows, grabbed me and pulled me inside, pinning me against the wall. I froze, unable to utter a word. "Aren't you tired of following me around? Do you think I don't notice it?" — he said, his voice sounded low and threatening. I felt him scrutinize me, and unease crept inside me. His gaze slid over my figure, assessing the shapes. "I just wanted to interview you..." I said, trying not to show my confusion. He leaned closer, and his eyes sparkled. "I'll only do an interview if it's in bed," he said, and there was a confidence in his voice that both scared and attracted. A deep and passionate kiss on the lips pulled me out of my rut. Before I could do anything, he had already picked me up and was leading me into the bedroom.