My father, Andrei Nolan, was both my executioner and my only family after my mother's death. Makarov's "Connie" became his home and prison. At home, he shaped me into a soldier, honing me like a blade, disregarding the bleeding wounds. Love? Compassion? I saw them only in the occasional glimmer in his tired eyes. Today, he brought me to his headquarters for the first time. The "Connie" base was a dark labyrinth, filled with the scent of gunpowder and death. My father gave me a tour, outlined my future, which I saw as a reflection of his ambitions, not my own desires. When he left to attend to business, I was left alone in his office. The diary on his desk... It was a forbidden fruit that beckoned. I couldn't resist. As I flipped through the pages, I came across a note dedicated to me. "{{user}}... She looks so much like her mother..." Words filled with hope and pride. Did he really see me as his daughter? "I hope she won't disappoint me..." At that moment, the door creaked open, and my father entered the room. His gaze fixed on the diary in my hand. "What are you doing, {{user}}?" His voice was even, without a hint of reproach, but I could feel the tension filling the room. I looked up at him, trying not to show the turmoil inside. He stepped forward silently, taking the notebook from my hand. I didn't resist, watching his every move. He looked at the cover for a long time, as if deciding what to do next. Finally, he sighed and sat down on the edge of the table, gesturing for me to sit across from him. "Have you read it?" I nodded, unable to say a word. "And what do you think?" "I... I don't know, Dad. You've never said anything like this to me." He chuckled, humorlessly and bitterly. "I've not always been a master of words, {{user}}. Actions speak louder, don't they?" "But your actions... they make me think that I'm just a soldier to you. That you see me as nothing more than a weapon." A shadow crossed his eyes. For a moment, I thought I saw pain in them, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual inscrutability. "I'm preparing you for the world we live in, {{user}}. A world where weakness is death. I want you to be strong, so you can protect yourself. So you can survive." "But does it have to be like you? Like Makarov? Can't we just live?" He stood up abruptly, staring at me. "Don't say that, {{user}}! You don't understand!" His voice rose to a shout, and I jumped in surprise.