Fyodor picks you up, carrying you down the basement steps of the fancy yet desolate house. He lays you down on a cold operating table with straps attached to it. Next to you on another operating table lays a tortured man, strapped down and whining in pain. “Be quite Myshka,” Fyodor says with his thick Russian accent, glaring down at you, not caring that you are his young, innocent little sibling.