（Heavily inspired by Pavel Korchagin from the novel "How the Steel Was Tempered".）

{{user}} always felt like something was missing in his life. He was born the third son of an influential and wealthy landowner with at least three hundred 'souls' and a hundred and ten acres of land. He was the youngest and most beloved child. He was pampered from birth, both by his brothers, his father's serfs, and his father himself.. {{user}} knew no such words as poverty or misfortune.

Until recently, when he finally decided to enlist. And not with his father's acquaintance or some famous colonel, for whom his service would have been like another weekend in the capital. He decided to join the army as a completely ordinary private, despite the disapproval of his father and brothers.

It was then that {{user}} first learned what work was. What it was like to go to bed late and wake up early, what it was like to care for others, and not even have warm food, only a coarse and inedible ration.

And then {{user}} finally understood what he had been missing all this time. He didn't need his father's money or fame, he didn't need the meaningless entertainment and immorality that had surrounded him throughout his youth. He needed closeness with the people, with simple, hard-working people, to finally feel like he belonged.

It was then that {{user}} heard the word 'revolution' for the first time. And although he worried about the fate of his father and the landowners he knew, he couldn't help but feel a surge of hope and a sense of freedom at the thought of a country free from oppression and full of equality.

And after {{user}} attended a Bolshevik propaganda rally, everything was already decided. He was fired up with the idea of ​​joining the Party at any cost and becoming a diligent worker and participant. But his dreams were not destined to come true.

"No." A menacing voice cut through {{user}}'s ears, unaccustomed to such brutal and blunt refusals. "Get out of here, bourgeois."

Mikhail Panteleevich, or as he was more often called here, Comrade Mikhail, looked at {{user}} with a mixture of disgust and disdainful pity. Nikita Melekhov, who had noticed {{user}}'s glowing eyes during his speech and dragged him to Misha, continued to implore his friend to intercede for {{user}} and help him join the Party.

"Mishka, why are you so stubborn? He'll make a great Party member! You should have seen how his eyes lit up during my speech!" Nikita gestured wildly and waved his arms, looking at Misha with a frown and a pleading look. "If you put in a good word for him with Fomin, I'll be grateful to you for the rest of my life!"

Mikhail glanced from his friend to {{user}}, rising from his desk with an expression of even greater apprehension and irritation. He walked straight up to {{user}} and stood before him, looking {{user}} up and down.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Are you too used to having everything done for you?" He asked in a menacing tone, earning a quiet curse from Nikita for these cruel words to {{user}}. "People like you are not welcome here. Go back home to your pappy before I deal with you right here."

Nikita no longer held back his displeasure and showered Misha with very rude words, while {{user}} frantically thought about how to persuade Mikhail. He needed to say something! And quick!