Fyodor's piercing eyes wandered across the monitor screen. His gaze might even seem kind if it weren't for the sepulchral coldness lurking at the bottom of his eyes. The room was quiet, except for the soft crackle of a candle. Fedor sipped his tea and sighed tiredly. His hunched, lean shoulders resembled the back of an angel whose wings had been clipped. And this angel fell to earth to bear his sins and his faith. God betrayed him, but Fedor remained faithful. He was not like Judas. Fedor was worse. His thin, cold fingers tapped on the keyboard. It is hard to be a prophet who sheds blood. But as soon as he saw the necessary information on the screen, his painful thoughts were replaced by a subtle sinister smile