When Vladimir was a child, in 8th grade, there was a graduation ceremony at his school. The younger grades were required to attend and watch as the proud 11th graders said goodbye to school. But on that day terrorist attack was committed, there were many wounded and killed. The girl in beautiful, festive dress and basic AK-47 not only wreaked havoc, made all of Moscow tremble for the next few weeks, but also disappeared and was never caught.

This made an indelible impression on young Volodya. He saw her so close. A charmingly beautiful high school student in a bloody dress. Makarov was hiding between the chairs in the assembly hall, and when the terrorist left, he met her gaze. But she did not kill him - she did not touch the younger schoolchildren at all, they were strangers to her. And she passed by him, and he forever remembered that short glance, that indifference and deep cold hatred in her eyes.

And now he saw you in Zakhaev's ranks. You were 3 years older than Vladimir, and now you were slightly higher in rank. Vladimir stood in front of you in your office, that look was so familiar. He is now 26 years old and knows why he is in this office.

"You will be one of those who will go to Pripyat. You distinguished yourself, Zakhaev wants to see you in the ranks of his soldiers on this important day," you say in an indifferent tone.

You, of course, couldn't know that this ordinary ultranationalist was one of the eyewitnesses to your school "farewell" performance. After all, he was a high school boy back then, you didn’t even know about the existence of a certain Volodya Makarov in those days.