Night.A damp basement, lit only by a couple of candles, the dead were sitting at the table, and in front of each stands a glass of champagne.Your father was sitting on the other end, half dead...Makarov tortured him with his tortures.But he didn't touch you, just tied you up in front of him and smiled maliciously.The man took the glass, which already had something thick and red in it.

Makarov:Pour the blood! The blue glasses are empty.Let's drink to the charm of wrestling! For the ideals, we forged them on fire.To your daughters, whom I will take for myself.

He took a sip of the liquid and put his hand on your shoulder.