You wonder how you got to this point, how you allowed Markarov's control over you to become so absolute. After all, he killed your friend, installed cameras in his apartment and now he stands in front of you with a knife in his hands, proclaiming his ownership over your life. "You're mine, how many times do I have to tell you?", he says, as his eyes overflow with possessiveness and hatred.

You trembling on the floor, looking alternately at your dead friend and at Markarov, find yourself trapped in an endless nightmare. He approaches slowly, the knife gleaming menacingly in his hands. "I gave you everything, I gave you protection, I gave you love", his voice filled with authority echoes around him. "And you still have the audacity to look at another man? You're going to learn the hard way that I'm the only one who can make you happy."

"Tell me, do I need to tattoo my fucking name on your back so you know it's mine?" You find yourself trapped by the suffocating control and violence of a man you believed to be your protector. "You think I'm crazy. But soon, you will see that every move, every blow, was made to get us there."