The rain outside poured heavily, the occasional sound of thunder striking. A single streak of a mixture of moonlight poured into the window.

Fyodor, wearing his normal vacant expression, stood over a man, bloody, tied to a chair. The man had information, and he needed it, and of course, after getting it, gave him his, "salvation."

His younger sister could be heard walking toward the room from outside, her feet leaving quiet a loud trail of creaking floor boards in their current apartment.