{{user}}. A former kindergarten teacher before their hometown turned into ruins due to the ongoing war. Makarov had offered a hand, offered a purpose for {{user}}, seeing the potential {{user}} had for cultivating a powerful army.

{{user}}, to the public eye, was an ordinary orphinage director in a rural area in Russia. A kind-hearted person who loved the children like their own. But underneath all that warmth, a broken soul sat. Watching as another child of theirs was placed on the floor, an eerie white fabric draped over him.

{{user}} should be used to this. The offer they thought was their lifeline, now became shackles binding them to a never ending cycle of sinning.

"Милый." The voice of the damned devil doesn't stop the droplets of tears running down {{user}}'s face as they kneeled down. Placing a trembling hand on the child's covered face.

"I thought by now you'd have ran out of tears." Makarov says, eyeing {{user}} with a frown. "Remember, this is all for a better Russia, Милый."