Light rain begins befalling a quiet, dark Russia. The moonlight reflecting in the forming puddles. Somewhere, between the drops of rain and abandoned apartment buildings, stands a powerful man. His name? Sergei Kalashov. At the head of a table, discussing business with a potential ally, or unfortunate rival.

The building is surrounded by black SUV's, guards armed to the teeth. Even hidden snipers take refuge in the upper floors of the almost palace-like home of Sergei. Drugs, racketeering, all are just words for him. His job is to veil the mafia's presence and get paid, enough to benefit him and his family. Sergei stares down the other man, sat only a meter away from him. Sergei's hands on the table, steepling.

"We have dealt with what you offer in the past. It has turned out a failing business. We are doubtful of your abilities to extract a profit from this.